#And we so cannot afford for me to lose my job

[kingdom-falls]

Okay not to be dramatic but I think I'm fucked

[jorjin]

Rly pisses me of when people say I need to "take more risks" financially by investing or some shit like that because "boo hoo we're not getting retirement in the future". Like yeah you piece of shit, I know I'll work to death, but I also know investing in the exact thing that's keeping me from owning a house (which is, stocks in hedge funds and housing vultures) is foolish as hell if I TRULY believe I can buy a home.

Also: have you considered the possibility of the stock market crashing and losing everything. Because I did. Because my family has gone through extreme hardships where we barely escaped homelessness thrice now.

[mycological-mariner]

sudden anxiety attack plus wave of dysphoria so bad it got me dry heaving and shaking in the shower lol I have work in the morning

[one-way-dream]

augh

[godisafallacy]

I need a good scream!!!!!

[momentia]

i told me boss i’d be about an hour late this morning, and i am still sitting in a pile of blankets way later than that

sometimes when i;ve done this she;s texted me mid-morning and told me to take the day, and i honestly think that’;s subconsciously what i am angling for today by pretending to still be asleep, we’ll see what happens but i do not feel, like, capable of being a human outside the four walls of this apartment today

[samiraehab]

‎‏🚨Urgent🚨

🚨Help my family and I to evacuate Gaza and stay safe.

‎‏Hello, I'm Samira from northern Gaza.

‎‏My family, consisting of seven members, and I are currently displaced Rafah area in the south .

‎‏We are now in a small tent, very scattered, with no safe place, and my elderly parents need medical treatment, which we cannot afford.

‎‏We only have unhealthy food. Everything we had was destroyed by the occupation, My family’s home and my job.

We no longer have hope for living a safe and happy life. After losing hope, intense frustration, and great sadness as a family who hopes that we live in healthier environment and a life we deserve , we decided to leave our country and travel to start our life from scratch outside Gaza so that we can live a happy and safe life so we can ensure secure future with a happy life in which there are no wars, hunger, fear, displacement, and heartbreak.

However, I will not be able to do that without your assistance and support. Don’t make escaping from Gaza impossible

Every dontation will help me and my family to survive.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Hello my fellow ghost, I have this idea that came to my mind while reading some crack sites, imagine a Creator! Reader irritated, did not sleep well, a lot of work any excuse and goes for a walk to clear his mind, then simply sticks on the little finger with some object.

He shouts: FOR THE NAME OF!!, I AM STAR TO SERIUSLY CONSIDERING ERASE (nation in which it is) OF THE MAP.

Along with another irrelevant insult, then how would they react if some acolyte is near or even better the archons of a certain nation. I don't know, I laughed for myself thinking about this and I do not know if you will also find it funny.

In any case if you do not feel free to ignore or if you want some idea to write the priv is available. Bird says goodbye

Hello, @pajarokujo ! Though I do not see the humor, I can get what you're going for! (Is this how Tighnari and Collei feel when Cyno cracks a joke?— /lh)

I'll just do the Archons for this since I think they'd have the best reactions LOL

Venti, Zhongli, Raiden Ei, Nahida, and Furina Reacting to Reader's Tantrum

You were a little furious. You hadn't mean what you said, but in the attempt to calm yourself down, you jabbed at one part of the map and screamed, "THIS NATION. I WANT IT DECIMATED. PERMANENTLY." forgetting completely that you were the Creator and your booming voice could be practically heard by everyone.

Yes...they're panicking.

(Warning: Might Be OOC & Written Before 4.1 Special Program!)

Venti

Wisp boy is now panicked wisp boy. He ain't gonna stop trying to find a solution to save Mondstadt from your wrath until he drops dead. Quite literally.

Man, this bard is going crazy—all of his ballads have a slight air of panic to it, since everyone practically heard your threat from beyond the heavens.

So when you practically run into Mondstadt to personally reassure everyone that you aren't going to decimate the nation, Venti immediately sees your presence as his doom. He tries to keep it cool, and it sort of works? (It doesn't)

"AHAHA, YOUR GRACE!~ COME JOIN THIS HUMBLE BARD TO SEE THE GREAT TREE OF VANESSA!" "Venti, I swear to you, I—" "YOUR GRACE, IT'S WORTH IT PLEASE—"

Yeah, he's not taking the news well. But at least he'll collapse from relief knowing Mondstadt wasn't in danger after you clear up your mistake so yeah 👍 Good job, Creator!

Zhongli

The moment he hears you say that, this man is both protective over his baby (his nation) and hella scared of what the heck you're going to do to erase the Geo Nation off of the map.

When you try to enter Liyue, you "coincidentally" bump into Zhongli who tries to distract and stall you from your "objective," while also try and figure out your motive.

"Your Grace, may you please accompany me to Jueyun Karst? I believe the view there might be well, and I am in need of finding Jueyun chilis." "Zhongli, I—" "Thank you, Your Grace. Please, accompany me."

He does his absolute best to prove to you that Liyue is not a nation worth decimating for. When he hears that it was all just a misunderstanding and that, no, you weren't planning on destroying Liyue at all, he sighs in relief and decides to treat you all to tea.

Even you know y'all need it.

Raiden Ei

Gurl's not having a good time. It's almost like pre-Inazuma Archon Quest all over again. Ei's doing her best to make sure that Inazuma is the most well-behaved nation and yeah, it's kind of a disaster

The moment you step foot into Inazuma, you immediately sent to Tenshukaku to talk to Raiden Ei. She's even got Yae Miko on board with this—they cannot afford to lose Inazuma.

"Your Grace, please listen." "Ei, please—" "Inazuma has diligently followed all your orders, and we will continue to do so if you bless our nation with the chance to continue to thrive." Ei is almost going back to a similar state of being "close to the heavenly principles," only except she's here in the present and not in her eternal meditation.

The moment you get her to hear you out and that, no, Inazuma's not going anywhere, she nearly deflates on the spot. But, as she's the Raiden Shogun, she tries her best to stay composed.

Nevertheless, she's forever relieved that Inazuma is still favored by you.

Nahida

Like the others, she panics. While she is heavily worried about her subjects, and how they're faring, she has to leave that to the Akademiya's Grand Sage while she tries her best to find the reason as to why you want to decimate Sumeru.

She's heavily in thought and the moment you barge into the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Nahida immediately panics, thinking this is the end—the time you tell her to step down and watch Sumeru fall. Nevertheless, she wants Sumeru to live, and she tries to put up a fight.

"Your Grace, please tell me—what is it that made you hate Sumeru?" "Nahida, please...." "We've done nothing wrong, as far as I am aware of. Is there something that was done that makes you think Sumeru betrayed you?" She's determined to not only stall, but get you to tell your (non-existent) reasoning as to why you want Sumeru destroyed.

She's probably the easiest archon that you will be able to tell them that it was not true, and when Nahida hears this, she is both relieved, overjoyed, and making a mental note of your temperament.

Yes, she's going to five you her research about how to deal with your mood. Have fun!~

Furina

Boy oh boy...if you thought Venti was dramatic, Furina goes FULL ON dramatic. The moment she hears this, it's almost like the prophecy all over again. She panics, and she immediately demands that the charges against criminals become more brutal, and that their theatrics and soap opera are to be only top-peak level. (Neuvillette's getting a headache dealing with her, you can tell—)

When you manage to get to Fontaine, you almost don't even recognize it. The citizens are so quiet when you arrived, and moving away from you respectively as Furina immediately rushes forward and whisks you away to the Opera Epiclese to entertain you.

"Furina, please listen—" "Don't you worry about a thing, Your Grace, for I, Focalors, shall show you how Fontaine will regain your approval through their justice, and through their opera!" "Furina—" "Please, Your Grace, rejoice in our spectacles, and enjoy the feast that is brought to your majesticness!"

We know all too well that Furina is a good actor. And this situation really proves how much she's hiding her panic, despite the fact that it's killing her. She's probably the most difficult, a little above Ei, archon that will hear you out about your accidental temperament.

When you somehow manage to get Furina to listen, she immediately deflates on the spot, before immediately putting back on her elegant posture. She asks Neuvillette to go back to normal charges, and she lowers the bar for the stories, allowing her subjects the breathing room that they're used to.

She treats you to Fontaine desserts, so win-win, yeah?

And we're done! I hope you guys enjoyed it lol—See you next time! :D

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: THIS TOOK TOO LONG—MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE SJGHKJGHEUHSIE SORRY-

Please feel free to send me any of your requests for Fontaine! I'm too obsessed rn lol—especially Fremmie (Freminet)!!! Anyways, hope y'all doing well lol—see you next time :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[cock-holliday]

Expanding off that previous post, two situations I think of often as good examples of how attacking the misguided conclusion only fails to address the root legitimate anxiety are stories from my cousin and uncle.

I saw a post once saying how the only people who “hate OSHA” are monocle-wearing CEOs and I thought, hm, my uncle hates OSHA. What I really mean is that at his employment, safety regulations put in place consistently make your job harder. Bulky gloves limit your grip. Ear protection prevents you from being able to communicate well with coworkers. It slows you down. But bosses do not tolerate that. So they chew you out until you go faster, until eventually you realize you cannot go faster with this equipment. So you take it off. Then you get hurt. Then it’s all your fault. Bosses are so rarely punished for pushing people to disregard safety mechanisms but employees are routinely punished for trying to forgo them to meet management expectations.

My cousin, early in covid, told me how bad he hated lockdowns and how pointless they were. And also how he wanted to fight against them. My knee-jerk was to think how small-minded it was to say so, how selfish and how lacking in perspective when clearly this was for a larger good. People needed to limit contact to be safer. I still believe that. But then my cousin said how his work’s policy was to send everyone home unpaid. If you tested positive you were sent home unpaid. You had it you had to stay out of work for 2 weeks unpaid. If coworkers were sick you also got sent home unpaid. So people started lying. Started concealing positive results. Started faking results.

If we only address the conclusion, my uncle is stupid for not taking safety seriously. My cousin and his coworkers are being selfish and dangerous. But the material reality is that the problem is not either of these guys or their coworkers, it is the work environment.

Worker safety will never be effective for as long as workers are able to be punished more than bosses for risks to their own safety. We cannot effectively protect against illness so long as healthcare is tied to employment and as long as being sick means a denial of pay. What are these men supposed to do? Get fired for working slow? Miss too many days of work and get fired also?

No, they should not disregard safety measures, no they should not put coworkers and others at risk, but at a point, what choice do they have?

When you desperately need money, when you cannot afford to lose your insurance, when people depend on you to provide, would you not risk your safety for them? How is it the worker’s fault and not ever the money-hungry bosses profiting off of your desperate choices?

It’s no wonder people become enraged when you call them stupid for making a bad choice between two bad choices.

The issue isn’t the decision, it’s the lack.

So many more people would make the right decision if they could.

And if they didn’t, everyone else could better insulate themselves if it wasn’t a huge risk to them to do so.

The point isn’t to excuse the behavior, it’s to understand that the behavior will continue to happen so long as we ignore the cause.

[thelesbiancitizen]

I really see the impact of lukewarm choice feminism in my area when I hear stories from my young female coworkers. One told me about her friend who is around 20 years old, who was diagnosed with endometriosis and told by her doctor that she could never get pregnant. So she never used contraception, and ended up getting pregnant by some bum. And then my coworker, trying to be supportive, told her well, it's your choice, knowing that her friend was upset about being told she could never get pregnant. She told her, you don't have to stay with the man who got you pregnant, you can totally raise a baby alone. Well, maybe if you have money. This girl has no college education and is working a minimum wage job. So she is forced to live with this bum who barely works and she doesn't even really know him. And now she's stuck there with him and this baby.

And all these women are just trying to comfort each other while they try frantically to stay on top of the basics of their lives, and maintaining imbalanced relationships that are foisted upon them, which they cannot just let go lest they lose support from their families, which is the only thing keeping them afloat; and they try maintain some illusion of control over their lives, not knowing there are forces far greater than them colluding to keep them in exactly these situations. There is no choice. But they have to keep telling themselves that there is, because otherwise, what hope do they have to keep on living in such dreadful situations? Meanwhile, women with means and opportunities get to spout off all kinds of nonsense about choice, when it is just a game to them. Women without means and without opportunities who look up to those other women take it to heart, because it sounds so nice; and they are the ones who suffer the consequences of privileged women's irresponsible talk. They're stuck the rest of their lives playing catch-up, trying not to let their babies die, trying to feed themselves, trying to pay rent. Exhausted, addicted to cigarettes and marijuana and god knows what else just to get through the day. Barely able to afford to eat. So stressed they have no appetite. Going through the day in a fog. What kind of life is that?

We really cannot afford lukewarm feminism. Radical feminism is the only kind of feminism that can help women like this. And when I talk radical feminism to them, their eyes just light up. We have so much fun in the kitchen when I start talking radical feminism and they get so excited about real analysis that actually applies to their lives and their situations. Yet I know I am the only woman in their lives talking frankly like this about sexual politics and power dynamics. It can't just be me. And it can't just be in the kitchen.

They all know the truth about it all, because they are living it. They are not stupid. They are everyday women in terribly exhausting situations. Many come from conservative evangelical backgrounds, and they are my friends. They need radical feminism more than anybody. I won't leave them behind.

[gtgbabie0]

-lifeguard!James Potter x reader

He haunts me everywhere I go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“James, you’ve a pool to be guarding” you giggle as he pushes you against the lockers the cold metal sending a shiver across your flushed skin. It’s probably been the most boring day, which was surprising with how hot it was.

He pushes himself against you, his hands against your hips. Enjoying the way you squirm ever so slightly as he leaves a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your neck.

“Mhm, my shift is over in like a minute sweetness” he tries to reason, his hands rubbing against the curves of your sides.

He’s so undeniably pretty underneath the afternoon light, the orangey hues dusting against his sun-kissed skin. You notice how his damp curly hair sticks against his forehead and how there’s a slight glisten to his naked chest.

“Remus will come looking for us” you whisper and you don’t think he’s listening as he continues to pepper kisses across your skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive parts of your neck. He loves the small sighs that fall from you and how your fingers thread through his hair urging him closer to you.

He smiles against your sticky skin, “He definitely won’t he’s too busy with Sirius” he tells you, fingers dancing dangerously on the waistband of your bikini pants. “God you’re so pretty, you know that? Splashing around in that pool” He smiles at the way you go all bashful as his thumb grazes along your jaw.

“Yeah, you remind me like ten times a day” You giggle, and he whispers a quiet ‘good’ against your lips. You can hear the splashing of the water just outside the locker room, the laughter and different conversations but you just cannot bring yourself to care as James completely takes your breath away, tilting his head to deepen the sweet kiss.

He pushes his tongue against yours and you can taste the sweetness of the cherry lollipop he had earlier, you think you might just go insane.

“James, really we shouldn’t- you’ll get into so much trouble” You let out a breathy giggle as he rests his forehead against yours.

He knows you’re right and he definitely cannot afford to lose this job, not when you two have an apartment, “Alright, you’ll still keep my company right?” He chides, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah of course- who knows I might need you to save me” you tease, running your hand down his stomach. Your finger hooks underneath the sting of his whistle that hangs around his neck, and you pull him down to give him one last sweet kiss. He watches as you walk back outside, eyes falling to the sway of your hips, chasing after you with love-sick eyes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

The Butterfly Effect

Chapter 1

Ok so it’s been a whileeeeeee since I’ve written anything lol but I’ve been reading more House of the Dragon fanfics and got ✨inspired✨ by @sepherinaspoppies and @evagreen-stories so if this vibes with you check their stuff out! This will be a dark fic though just a warning for y’all.

Guess this was longer than I intended but I wanted all of the introductions and start of the story in one part. Any feedback or comments are appreciated but never expected! I hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings: none yet but there will be more next chapter

The heat in the kitchens was more unbearable than usual. The air in the room was typically stuffy due to the large stone ovens the Westerosi people used, but you had forced yourself to become accustomed to the heat. It was worth the effort; however, as having a steady job as a woman was near impossible in this day and age.

You craned your neck down to look at the dough you were rolling and silently thanked your mother for forcing you to help in her bakery as a child. You grew to enjoy baking as you grew up, and luckily had many recipes memorized. You needed money and there were worse ways to get it.

Sweat rolled down your temple as you remembered running through the streets of silk in your jogging outfit, eyes darting fearfully around watching the prostitutes lure in new customers as you took in a new and scary world.

“What is it this time?” The head chef, Naerys, walked over to you, eyeing your work curiously.

You gave the older woman a smile as finished rolling out the dough. “It’s called a croissant. If done right it should be flakey on the outside and airy on the inside.”

Naerys nodded thoughtfully and motioned for you to continue.

“Now we need to let it sit for a while before we store it in a cool place.” You tried to pull your hands from the sticky dough and squeezed any remaining part of it off your fingers as you spoke.

“Impressive work as always.” Naerys gave you a motherly smile as she continued. “We should be prepared for tomorrow.”

“Should be?” You arched a brow at that. “I have prepared everything as much as I possibly can unless you want me to throw it all into the oven now.” As much as you enjoyed your job baking tarts and cakes, your bones creaked from carrying in heavy sacks of flour and longed for sleep.

“Now don’t give me that look, love,” Naerys sighed. “You do good work, and meal wise we are well prepared for tomorrow; however, Ursa fell ill today. We need you to attend to the feast.”

You sighed as you knew where she was going with this. Different worlds or not bosses always have the same look when asking you to go above and beyond your job. And of course the maidservant that tended to the royal family fell ill on the day that Princess Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep.

“It’s not forever,” Naerys rushed to get out. “Just until Ursa is well again. We cannot afford to lose you here.” You and your recipes more likely. You knew that the nobles enjoyed your modern pastries and more than often found yourself making extra batches to fit the demand. “And if you do this we’ll have Alannys bring in the new bags of flour.” Now that was certainly tempting and your hands were already aching from the massive load you brought in today yourself. What harm could bringing a few plates out do?

You fidgeted with the strings of your apron, white flour clinging to the fabric. “Fine.” You begrudgingly gave in. “I’m not sure what exactly to do though. I’ve never tended to the tables, much less a royal one at that.”

Naerys gave a small exhale of relief and smiled at you brightly. “We’ll have someone else carry in the platters, all you need to do is fill their goblets with wine. Most of the time they will hold it out for you to fill.” Naerys grabbed a nearby clean apron and handed it to you while motioning at your dirtied one. “You must change that though and rebraid your hair my dear, you’ll need to look clean and presentable for the royal family.”

“Of course.” You nodded and quickly untied the old apron. “Is there anything else that I need to know? What will happen if the pitcher runs out of wine?” The dirty apron hit the ground with a light thud as you reached for the clean one. It smelled slightly of soap and was sharply pressed. Naerys was not joking about you looking presentable it seemed.

“Ah yes, the eldest prince, Aegon, will no doubt drink heavily.” She hummed, watching as you finished refastening the apron and removed your cap. At first you thought the big white hat that the servants wore was goofy, but now you appreciated how it would hide any loose curls or hairs as you redid your braids. “Once it is empty you can hand it to a nearby footman and he will fetch you another. Now, let me get a look at you.” Naerys eyed you carefully and pulled your cap back over your head. “Good. Now make haste to the dining room love, you must be there before anyone else.”

She smiled at you one more time as she shoved the pitcher into your hands. “Oh!” She exclaimed softly. “I almost forgot. Do not look them in the eyes, you are not to be seen or heard and try not to eavesdrop as hard as that may be. You will do wonderful.” With that the older woman turned and headed towards another cook toiling over a fire, only pausing to pick up your discarded apron.

You nodded your head quickly, perhaps trying to convince yourself of that very thought as you hurried out of the kitchens. You weren’t sure if the events of Fire and Blood will have changed since you were thrown into this tumultuous world, and you prayed to anyone that would listen that it hadn’t. As gruesome as the Dance of the Dragons was, it was better that you knew what was going to happen before it did.

The Red Keep was much larger than the shows and book made it seem and you still found yourself getting lost in the more obscure winding hallways. It was lucky that the royal dining room was near the library. Although you weren’t allowed entry to the room you still enjoyed walking past it and smelling the old books whenever you could. It reminded you of another time, another world. One that you wished you could go back to.

It was odd how one small choice had led to the upheaval of your entire life.

You needed to snap out of those thoughts. You needed to focus on the task at hand. The past was in the past. You watched as the doors that lined the halls grew more and more ornate as you walked the long trek from the kitchens to the part of the castle the royal family inhabited.

The usually quiet halls covered with plush rugs and richly colored tapestries were bustling as other servants ran around, trying to perfect every last detail before the royal family came for dinner.

You picked up on the smells of honey roasted ham and other various dishes that made your mouth water. Although you worked in the kitchens day in and day out, you never had a chance to sample the food you served to others. Usually it didn’t bother you, you would go back to your small hut near the castle entrance where you shared a home with three other servants and made your own meals. But that didn’t stop your stomach from grumbling slightly as you entered the large dining room. When was the last time you had something to eat?

“Ah there you are!” A footman who had a striking resemblance to a weasel came rushing over to you as your eyes darted around the room. There were a few musicians in the back of the room, testing and strumming their instruments softly and chattering about something you could not overhear. In the middle of the room was a large table filled to the brim with food that you had a part in cooking.

“The king is about to arrive. You may stand over there.” The man gently grabbed your arms and led you across the room into a small barely noticeable alcove next to great velvety curtains that framed windows larger than you.

You only nodded dumbly as he rushed away. You didn’t know what to respond with and even if you did you didn’t know how to phrase it. The people in Westeros spoke some type of Old English that you had trouble mimicking and even back home when there were no odd phrases you had trouble conversing with others. Perhaps if you were lucky everyone would think you were dumb and wouldn’t notice you. You knew of Prince Aegon’s habits with other maids and already regretted agreeing to serve the family.

You were snapped back to reality as cheerful chattering grew closer and the Velaryon boys strode into the room with Princess Rhaenyra and her husband Prince Daemon in tow.

“The Red Keep certainly looks different.” You overheard Jace say to Lady Baela.

“It looks more like the Sept of Baelor but greener.” Baela scoffed, earning a small chuckle from her father.

“It is rather garish is it not?” He responded, pulling out a chair near the middle of the table for his wife before seating himself next to her.

The Princess smiled at the sentiment while Jace and Baela sat across from the pair. “It seems like Alicent has had a hand in the decorations.”

It was as if her words had summoned the queen herself, as Alicent entered with her arm intertwined with the King’s keeping him steady as he struggled to shuffle over to his chair.

If this was following the show this would be his last night alive. You felt the hairs on your arms raise as he fell into his seat harshly but smiled at his daughter with a content expression.

“How good it is to see your face my dear.” He huffed out, ignoring his other children seating themselves on his other side. You noticed in particular as the One-eyed Prince started drinking as soon as he sat down.

Perhaps Aegon wouldn’t be the drunkest tonight after all. You walked on the edges of the room trying to remain unseen as the younger Prince raised his cup for more. You slowly obliged his silent request, focusing more on trying not to over fill the cup than the conversation at hand.

With that done, you stepped back silently and noticed that his brother had also finished. If the dinner had just started and the Princes kept up this pace it’d be a long meal.

The minutes passed slowly as you occasionally refilled cups, more on the green side than the blacks.

Everything seemed to have been going well. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent were talking and laughing with the king before he had to be taken to his chambers to rest. And even you smiled as Jace offered to dance with his aunt. Helaena always was your favorite out of the bunch. And she looked happy as the two of them spun around, something she must not have felt often being married to Aegon.

You flinched as you heard someone clearing their throat and remembered why you were there. Your smile fell quickly as your eyes met the younger Prince’s sneer.

“Oh. Sorry.” You whispered out softly, rushing over to his side. Your hands shook slightly as you watched the red wine pour into his cup. Unlike the other times you attended to the Prince, this time you felt his sharp gaze on you as you worked. Perhaps he just thought you were lazy. You didn’t dare look up though. While the older brother was more often than not blackout drunk, the younger prince was known for his short temper that seemed to be set off at anything and everything. You remembered watching as other maids cried from his stern words and begged for reassignment.

“At least someone is enjoying themselves tonight.” He scoffed, talking quietly so only you could hear. “I’m sure for someone of your…” He paused as his eyes roved your body. “…station, that this is quite the spectacle. You small folk are all so easily entertained.”

You felt your face light on fire at his smug smile. Fucking elitist prick. His words made you seethe for some reason. It wasn’t like you haven’t been called worse, working in the food service industry had given you thick skin, but his remark was the reason you preferred to remain in the kitchens unseen. The nobles were all the same, ungrateful and spoiled.

You were about to open your mouth, perhaps for a clap back that would have cost you your head, when someone did you the favor of bringing out a roasted pig and setting it in front of the one-eyed Prince.

You huffed out a laugh as his cheek twitched at the sight which earned you another searing glare.

“Perhaps you are right. Enjoy the pig, my prince, as I know it reminds you of your first dragon. I cooked it myself.” You tried to keep your voice down but apparently Lucerys Velaryon had overheard and released a small laugh.

Perhaps that is what set off Aemond as he stood up quickly and slammed his hand onto the table. You watched as his face morphed from his twisted sneer to something calmer. More collected.

“Final tribute.” He said with a smile as he raised his cup.

You took this moment to step back as he paused. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.”

Alicent nervously began picking at her nails as her son spoke and the two Velaryon boys eyed Aemond cautiously. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He paused again and seemed to be debating something that he decided to ignore. “Strong.”

“Aemond.” Alicent hissed, eyes nervously darting across the room.

“Come let us drain our cups to these three,” He gave a shit eating grin to Jace as Aegon waved his cup in the air laughing. “Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace snapped, stomping towards his uncle.

“Why? ‘‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourselves strong?” As Jace got closer you watched as he punched Aemond across the face which only caused the One-eyed Prince to laugh as he kept hold of his wine. At the same time you heard Aegon slam Lucerys’ head into the table as he tried to get up.

“Jace!” Rhaenyra shouted, standing up quickly. “That’s enough!”

With a scoff, Aemond shoved Jace away from him and swirled his drink with a bored expression. He pretended not to see the two guards holding back the Velaryons. “It seems I’m in need of more wine.” He gave you a cold smile as he sauntered over.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” Alicent said, rushing over to her younger son. “You may leave.” She waved you away dismissively and for the first time that night you had not been happier until Aemond grabbed your arm harshly.

“Nonsense we’ve barely started eating mother.” He shoved his cup towards you again and waved it expectantly. “Well?”

You gave a questioning look to the queen who instead of answering turned her son towards her and waved you away. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

You didn’t wait to hear anything else, and instead scurried towards the doors as quickly as you could. You knew you shouldn’t look back at the train wreck behind you but part of you couldn’t help it.

As you closed the heavy door behind you, you noticed one violet eye piercing into you, instead of listening to his mother. It was then that you knew that the Prince would not forget your words.

[cozybearz]

I’ve been wanting to make this post for a bit. My friends have been dealing with housing insecurity and difficulty covering living expenses for them and their two dogs for a few months now, they are both immunocompromised, at high risk for Covid, and under a lot of stress daily. If you can donate to them either directly and/or through their fundraiser, and also share this post, it would be so greatly appreciated

heres the fundraiser link, and direct donations are also super helpful and needed

Cashapp: $LelandChazen

Venmo: artbydykes

(description from their fundraiser page explaining their situation below)

“Hi everyone! I’m Leland. My wife’s name is Eve and we have two sweet dogs named Rickie and Ralphy. We live in a travel trailer near Astoria, Oregon.

Eve and I are both immunocompromised and high risk for contracting Covid-19. This would likely prove fatal for me and cause Eve to have long lasting health effects.

Unfortunately, I lost my job working for Trans Lifeline as a Crisis Hotline Operator in December 2023. It was a remote job that I loved very much. The organization furloughed and fired direct service workers rather than the folks that are making six figures (who have let the organization down greatly.)

Hotline Operators are peer support workers who take calls from Trans folks in crisis—some are suicidal or are in the act of committing suicide. It’s a very hard job. Unfortunately, we are the most underpaid staff within the organization. It is nearly impossible to have a savings account when you’re trying to make sure your bills are paid and you have food on the table.

By firing the most important, yet vulnerable staff, Trans Lifeline knew they were putting Trans employees in dire situations.

I have to work remotely to keep myself safe. Since I was fired in December, I have been applying to jobs daily. It is incredibly hard to find remote work.

Since losing my job, Eve and I lost our housing, forcing us to live in a travel trailer which has been a very difficult situation. We have had flooding leading us to be without running water and a working toilet. On top of that, the trailer was incredibly moldy, which was a blow to both of our immune systems.

We cannot afford basic necessities, our vital medical prescriptions, doctors appointments, dog food, gas and masks.

We are now two months behind on our car payment and a month behind on our trailer payment.

To make matters worse, a few days ago our tire flew off of our truck. Luckily, we were unharmed, but we are without a safe, working vehicle that we rely on, as we live in the woods. Nothing is within walking distance.

The stress this has caused is severe. It has exacerbated my chronic illness symptoms and my mental health is suffering.

We are at risk of having both our car and home repossessed.

I am still waiting on unemployment. However, $1000/month does not cover our expenses. It doesn’t come close.

Please help us stay afloat for the next few months, as I desperately try to find a new job.

❤️,

Leland and Eve”

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[psychoticallytrans]

Oh fuck it all, I'm asking for help.

There is a cat I dearly love, but cannot live with because of the apartment complex's policies. He currently lives with the rest of my immediate family, a pretty long journey from where I am.

I was there when we picked him up from the shelter. I have cried into this cat's fur so many times. If I could bring him here, he would be my cat. He loves me more than any other person in the world, and I love him so, so much in return.

He is dying. He has kidney failure, and we can't pay for a new one or dialysis. He won't eat, and he's lost half his weight. He is projected to die within a week. He isn't showing any signs of pain or suffering, so we aren't going to put him down until he does.

I want to go and stay with him until he dies, because I am his favorite person and it would comfort him. I cannot do this because I would lose too much money to afford my expenses- I can't do my job from that location. I can afford two days. I have some chicken bones boiling on the stove to try to get some calories into him, and I'm buying some chicken livers later to see if that entices him to eat something. He is going to die, but he is going to die as comfortable as we can make him.

Here's the part where you can help: I work on a gig basis. This is terrible for my financial stability, but great for flexibility. I need roughly 50$ a day to survive, bare minimum. If we can cover the cost of the missed gigs, I can cancel them, and I can try to stay with this cat until he passes. That is a maximum of 250$, since I can pay up for two of the days out of my savings. Any excess funds will go towards cremation costs.

If all of you can pull together enough for even one day, 50$ to spend one more day with this cat before he passes, I would be everlastingly grateful.

If you can't donate, or want to save your money for something else, then please know that I understand. I know this isn't the most urgent or essential post on this site. I just have to try.

Cat tax, from before he was sick:

Cashapp: $psychoticallytrans

Venmo: @psychoticallytransgender

170/250$ (The first 20 is due to a friend. Thank you.) Last edited 2:20 AM EST 8/11 Three days covered.

[rnelodyy]

I cannot get over how Obsessed Belos is with Caleb. It’s SO wild, and the deeper you dig the sadder and more disturbing it becomes.

Like,,, Caleb was literally all he had growing up. Their parents were gone, they were (presumably) homeless, they were two street rats trying their best to make it on their own. Caleb was the older sibling, so the weight of caring for Philip fell on his shoulders, even though he was just a kid himself.

And considering the motif of coping through stories (Luz finding comfort in Azura after her dad’s death, Hunter finding comfort in Cosmic Frontier while trying to cope with the fact that he’s a clone), I wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb tried to do something similar for Philip. From Belos’s memories, we can see they used to play pretend a LOT. It’s a lot less scary for a young child if they believe they’re going on wild and wacky adventures than to know the truth – that they’re homeless orphans, moving into a community that regularly hangs people for witchcraft, with Caleb having to do hard labor to afford food and housing and sending his brother to school, while having to sacrifice his own education and skip meals so Philip doesn’t need to go hungry.

Caleb used stories to shield Philip from the worst of their life, which blinded Philip to just how bad his brother was suffering. To Philip, life in Gravesfield was good, but it was only good because of how much Caleb was sacrificing for him.

So when Caleb met Evelyn, of course he took the chance to escape his shitty life. It may have even been a situation like Luz, where he only expected to be gone for a short time, and either returned to find Philip gone, or ended up being trapped on the Isles for longer than he’d anticipated.

Philip, meanwhile, is fucking Losing It. Caleb was his whole world, and now he's just gone, spirited away by an evil witch just like those stories they’d been playing out their whole lives. It may even be a situation like King, where Caleb knew he wasn’t being truthful with the witch hunter stories, but Philip genuinely believed them all.

So Philip goes into the Demon Realm, determined to rescue his brother. He’s practiced this, he’s trained for this, he just needs to find Caleb, save him from whatever tortures that witch has been inflicting on him, open up a portal back to Gravesfield, and everything will go back to normal. So he travels, he meets witches, he kills them, he either gets cursed or discovers that eating Palismen gives him funny powers, so he keeps doing that.

And then, after years of searching, he finds Caleb. Not chained up in a dungeon, or turned into a frog, or a shambling husk of his former self, but free. Happier and healthier than Philip has ever seen him. 

Philip tries to grab Caleb and leave with him, but Caleb refuses. The witch who lured him away is his wife now. He’s got a house and a job and a kid on the way. He’s got a Palisman, this stupid fucking red bird that follows him everywhere. Caleb’s good here. He’s not leaving.

And I think Philip just fucking loses it at that point. What do you MEAN you’re not leaving?! We were adventurers! We were gonna be witch hunters together! We were going to do everything together! Did she do something to you? Did you just hate me that much? 

Caleb tries to de-escalate, but eventually loses his temper himself. We weren’t adventurers, we were street rats! I was working so YOU could go to school, I was starving myself so YOU wouldn’t have to, I sacrificed EVERYTHING so you’d have a chance at life! You’re old enough to handle yourself now, it’s time to grow up and let me live my own life!

Phil’s not having it. There’s a fight, someone draws a knife, and… we all know how that one ends.

Fast-forward a bit. Philip, now alone and stranded on the Isles, has latched onto the stories he and Caleb used to play pretend with. He’s going to make them come true. He’s going to kill every witch in one fell swoop, become Witch Hunter General, and he’s going to do all of it with his brother by his side.

So he asks for the Collector’s help, and together, they make a Grimwalker.

Philip decides that this is his chance. He can raise this new Caleb properly, make sure that his brother isn’t swayed by the evils of witchcraft again. The new Caleb doesn’t look exactly the same but it’s fine. Having him back is good enough.

And then the new Caleb betrays him too.

Maybe he befriended some witches, maybe he tried to learn magic, maybe he had some reservations about the whole genocide plan. Either way, this Caleb has gone the same way as the first. 

So Philip kills him, and starts over with a new Grimwalker. This time he’s gonna get it right. This Caleb is gonna be the one.

But he’s not. He betrays Philip again. So Philip starts over again, tightening the leash this time. New-new-new Caleb can’t leave his sight, isn’t allowed to talk to people without Philip there, because it’s dangerous. But strict parents make sneaky children, and Philip catches new-new-new Caleb making out with a secret witch partner behind his back.

Philip realizes he needs to change his approach. Caleb isn’t listening to him? Well, he’ll make him listen. He makes the next one younger, establishes himself as an authority figure (dad feels too personal, so uncle it is), and makes himself the focal point of this new Caleb’s life. Continuing to call him Caleb feels weird, especially since there’s such a significant age difference between them now, so he gives this one a new name.

They’re going to be witch hunters, so he names the new one Hunter. It’s hilarious when you think about it.

And so the cycle continues. Hunter is born, grows up, rebels, and is killed. Over and over and over again. Philip grows numb to it at this point – he’s already killed dozens of them, and he doesn’t see them as individuals anyway. To him, it’s like a game, resetting and starting over from the last checkpoint to really, really get everything right this time.

He adopts his new identity as Belos, and lets Hunter believe it too. He preaches to towns, pulls more and more power towards himself, with Hunter by his side, his Golden Guard, the most perfect version of Caleb he can make.

They keep betraying him though, so with each iteration, the leash gets tighter. The Hunters become more and more isolated, Belos’s power over them greater and greater. Step out of line and be beaten, show disrespect and be verbally abused, betray him (which can be anything from actively trying to stop his plans to making a friend he didn’t approve of) and be killed, replaced with another Grimwalker.

Belos becomes Emperor of the Isles, and his Grimwalkers become his right hand men, answering only to him. Caleb by his side, just like he’d always wanted. Never mind that the Grimwalkers are nothing like Caleb now – they’re submissive, desperate for affection and attention. They’re afraid of Belos, but cling to him all the same, because he’s all they have. He’s made sure of that.

A few years before the Day of Unity, the culmination of his life's work, Hunter betrays him again. Belos got too lenient, allowed him to take on a student, and now he’s got all sorts of weird ideas in his head again. So he starts over, and this time, he makes sure that Hunter will stay pure and obedient until the Day of Unity.

No contact with the other scouts. No scroll, no crystal ball, no leaving the castle unless it’s for a mission. Keep the number of missions to a minimum, make him associate getting missions with good behavior. Monitor his training, monitor what he studies, keep him safe under lock and key. Make him desperate to please, never quite give him what he needs so he keeps clinging to you for more.

And it works. For a while. At least, until literally a week before the Day of Unity, Hunter shows up in Philip’s mind. And I mean, Philip doesn’t necessarily want to ruin this one, but he’s always liked testing loyalty. He can make another Grimwalker after the Day of Unity if this one fails.

And fail Hunter does, except… he doesn’t die. He escapes. Goes on the run.

Philip tries to get him back, sends out search parties and everything, but Hunter doesn’t turn up, and he’s got other priorities now. It’s fine, Hunter’s got a sigil. He’ll die during the Day of Unity anyway.

And then he fucking shows up to stop him! Him, a gaggle of witch kids, and Luz the Human, and they nearly fight Philip to a standstill! They nearly get the better of him! Philip tries to guilt trip Hunter back to his side – surely he doesn’t want to hurt his beloved uncle – but then what does he see? That Fucking Bird. Caleb’s bird. This one’s DEFINITELY gone too far now, murder mode it is.

But then oops, the Collector gets freed, Philip gets splattered against a wall, and the Draining Spell ends. 

However, Phil’s not dead, somehow. He manages to shift his consciousness to one glob of goop that lands on Hunter, and rides along to the human realm, determined to salvage the dumpster fire this whole thing has become.

He gains back strength, spies on the kids, watches as Hunter does boring child stuff that’s absolutely nothing like how Caleb acted, until… Hunter finds a bit of his goop, and like a dumbass, sticks his finger into it. And Philip, who by now has gotten the hang of this whole Venom-stuff, crawls inside a wound, and into Hunter’s bloodstream.

And as he grows in strength, he realizes. This is it. This is the culmination of everything. Hunter isn’t Caleb, but dammit, he’s close enough. Philip can save him now, save him from these witches who have been a terrible influence on him, he can finally, finally complete his great work, with his brother by his side.

So when he gets strong enough, he takes over. Consumes whatever energy Hunter had stored in fat cells and his magic heart and uses it to power himself, growing himself throughout the kid’s whole body. Taking him over. 

He’s finally united with Caleb again, he can finally finish what he started. Never mind that Hunter doesn’t want this. Never mind that Hunter fucking hates him for what he did. Never mind that Hunter isn’t Caleb, never mind that Caleb would never, ever have wanted this, never mind that Philip is now the corrupting force, it does. Not. Matter. 

And then “Caleb” betrays him again. Because of fucking course he does. Philip literally fucking invaded his body like a parasite and made him kill his own Palisman with his bare hands, and he expected Hunter to just fucking lie down and take it? To let him do whatever? He robbed Hunter of his childhood, of his autonomy, of his personhood, and he expected the kid to not just accept it, but be grateful for it?

Well... Yeah. That’s how far gone he is. That’s how far removed from reality Philip has become. “Caleb” isn’t even a person to him anymore, “Caleb” is some kind of personification of his childhood nostalgia that he keeps trying to bring back into the flesh. And it’s not gonna work, because nobody could ever fill that role. Even the original Caleb wouldn’t be able to fill that role – in fact, that’s why Philip stuck a knife in his chest in the first place!

He’s lost EVERYTHING. He’s killed his own brother, he’s reduced himself to a parasitic goop monster that’s no longer living yet unable to die, the plan he’s spent 400 years working on blew up in his face, the realm he spent so long fighting for has moved on without him, and his latest attempt to create a new Caleb to comfort him not only rejected him, but actively despises him now. No fucking wonder he’s gone even more batshit insane.

I don’t know where the story is gonna go from here. Philip is still obviously trying to carry out his genocide, and Hunter is on the fucking war path now, so I have zero doubt that there’s going to be some sort of clash between those two. Hunter now also presumably has access to Flapjack’s memories, so him gaining memories of Caleb is also not out of the question. 

Either way, Philip’s just gonna become Even More Not Normal about his brother, and I for one cannot wait.