#Dr Lye

[snail-friend]

Captain Marvel continues to be a menace to all villains

[sumrzda]

֗ ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა­ ִ MADISONS ! intro ּ ‿‿ᵕ͏ ִ

✶ . ࣪ ׅ basics ,

.    ׅ  name : mimi or lye !

𓈒 ◌ ㅤ۫ birthday : 7/31, ‘08 (6teen)

ꪆ୧ ㅤ۪ㅤ nationality : american, unfortunately..

ִֶָ ♡ ⠀࣪ ethnic : italian (40+%), korean (35-40%), then a bunch of other things (french, german..)

𓂂 ۫ ✧ shifting ,

ㅤ˳ ⊹ ㅤּ ﹫madiseul on tiktok ᵎ

៸៸ ˑ ♡ ͟ ׂ main drs : fame, harry potter, criminal minds, own girl group, etc ..

﹒✦ what will be posted on this account ?

shifting, symbols, dividers, etc..

©️ sumrzda 2024, i do not consent to any of my work being translated, reposted, or copied.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Who is the Sexiest Fictional Podcast Character?

After receiving 219 submissions for 152 characters from 52 podcasts and a round of preliminaries, we have our brackets!*

*20 characters from the podcast Welcome to Night Vale will appear later in a Night Vale-only bracket.

Round 1:

Scripted Bracket

Isabel Lovelace (Wolf 359) vs Cyrille (5 Minuten Harry Podcast)

Krejjh (The Strange Case of Starship Iris) vs Lady Ethel Mallory (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Lord Arum (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs The Witch Queen A.K.A. Daughter Dooley (Old Gods of Appalachia

Warren Kepler (Wolf 359) vs Ashley "Ash" Ramis (Georgie Romero is Done For)

Brutus Feels (Kane and Feels) vs Shan (SPINES)

Sir Caroline (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs The Dragon Narrator (Unseen)

Alé (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Hester/The Narrator (Within The Wires: Season 1)

Thistle/The Woman (Alice Isn't Dead) vs Sam Bailey (The Sheridan Tapes)

Peter Nureyev (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Butt (Pounded In The Butt By My Own Podcast: Episode 1)

Alice (Alice Isn't Dead) vs Diggory Graves (Hello From the Hallowoods)

Antigone Funn (Wooden Overcoats) vs Ryan Dallas (EOS 10)

Martin Blackwood (The Magnus Archives) vs Galileo (Let's Make A Music)

Lucifer Kane (Kane and Feels) vs Gin (Story Break: Heaven Heist)

Amaryllis of Exile (The Penumbra Podcast: Second Citadel) vs Mabel Martin (Mabel)

Pilot Pereya (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Hester Oleta (Within The Wires: Season 1)

Strelitzia (Additional Postage Required) vs Harold "HBD" Bastion Demetrius (The Soft-Boiled Detective)

Akmazian (EOS 10) vs Everyone from The Strange Case of Starship Iris

Damien (The Bright Sessions) vs Mari Datuin (Hi Nay)

Count Dracula (Re: Dracule) vs Static Man (Archive 81)

Dragana Vukovic (The White Vault) vs Elias Bouchard (The Magnus Archives)

Agnes Montague (The Magnus Archives) vs Vega Rex (Vega: A Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast!)

Mina Murray (Re: Dracula) vs Nicholas Waters (Archive 81)

Mark Bryant (The Bright Sessions) vs Laura (Hi Nay)

Georgie Crusoe (Wooden Overcoats) vs Kate Burnham (The Bridge)

Keisha (Alice Isn't Dead) vs SAYER (SAYER)

Chance Sequoyah (The Penumbra Podcast) vs Yaretzi (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Buddy Aurinko (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Dane (Dreamboy)

Sadie Doyle (Thrilling Adventure Hour: Beyond Belief) vs Hera (Wolf 359)

Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) vs The CryptoNaturalist (The CryptoNaturalist)

Rita (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel) vs Lou (Archive 81)

Dr. Joan Bright (The Bright Sessions) vs Ashvin Beeharee (Hi Nay)

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359) vs Clara Page (Who is Aldrich Kemp)

Unscripted Bracket

Pickman (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle) vs The Shadow Man ('Til Death Do Us Blart)

Beacon (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty vs Glenn Close (Dungeons and Daddies)

Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Grand Magnificent (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Taako (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Bathin (Stella Firma)

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Sago Glegg (Rotating Heroes: Arc 6)

Sans Undertale (Interstitial: Our Hearts Intertwined: Authority) vs M. Leopold Duvall (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Duck Newton (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Chine (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Tryst Valentine (Campaign: Star Wars) vs Mini Smithson (Chapter and Multiverse: Masks)

Gable (Campaign: Skyjacks) vs Hector Hu (Friends at the Table: Bluff City)

Michael (The Adventure Zone: Dust) vs Nicky Close (Dungeons and Daddies

Zolf Smith (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Fourteen Fifteen (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Coco Cashmere (Hey Riddle Riddle) vs Trexel Geistman (Stella Firma)

Killian Fangbattle (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Henrietta Salm (Pest Control: Fate)

Kalvin Brnine (Friends at the Table: PALISADE) vs Lye "Lyke" Lichen (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Rigour (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Chunt (Hello From The Magic Tavern) vs Suvirin Kedberiket (Worlds Beyond Number: The Wizard, The Witch, and the Wild One)

Tender Sky (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage) vs Pox (NeoScum)

The Firbolg (The Adventure Zone: Graduation) vs Ron Stampler (Dungeons and Daddies)

Azu (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Hadrian (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia) vs Caspian (Just Roll With It: Riptide)

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea) vs Jens Lyndelle (Not Another D&D Podcast: Trinvyvale)

Perennial (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE) vs Throndir (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Nadiya Jones (The Adventure Zone: Commitment) vs Ibex (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Cassander Timaeus Berenice (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight) vs Tech Wizard (NeoScum)

Vermillion "Milli" Blue (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN) vs Dak Rambo (NeoScum)

Rainer (The Adventure Zone: Graduation) vs Mercedes Oak-Garcia (Dungeons and Daddies)

Thisbe (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE) vs Echo Reverie (Friends at the Table: Twilight Mirage)

Kravitz (The Adventure Zone: Balance) vs Henry Hogfish (Not Another D&D Podcast)

Aubrey Little (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty) vs Glenfyr "Glen" Gladewyn (Not Another D&D Podcast

Cel Sidebottom (Rusty Quill Gaming) vs Adelaide Tristé (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron)

Kardala (The Adventure Zone: Commitment) vs Jacqui Green (Friends at the Table: COUNTER/Weight)

Hella Varal (Friends at the Table: Seasons of Hieron) vs (Former) Confessor Bartholomew Lamentations (The Unexplored Places: Ruin's Gate)

[frithwontdie]

Pls share your tips for nature preservation

Sure. Like I said in the last anon ask. Use vinegar cleaner instead of harmful over the counter products. Weed killer made from vinegar, salt, and Dawn dish soap. If your food goes bad. Don't throw it away. It can be turned into compost soil. Or if you live out in the country, walk out in the woods and leave it. That'll way it won't go to waste and a critter won't go hungry.

Also what @unclejingo stated in the other anon post.

Get a Litter Spike: Take it with you on walks in the woods and bring a medium sized garbage bag with you. Don't have to go crazy but you feel good for having done it.

Also, you can make your own homade toothpaste and mouthwash without harmful chemicals.

Also as @stillnotwriting mentioned, make soap from tallow aka cow fat.

You can also make soap without Lye, I believe @forknightshonor has the link.

Or if you don't want to make your own soap, you get it here:

Hope this was helpful.

[sapphicslaylist]

[STP] On Borrowed Paths Chapter 9 - Beneath The Brine

Prev Next

You've been here before. You know what you have to do. Just make it quick, and don't overthink. But trapped beneath the brine, memories begin to distill even further and cut deep into the soul. Phantasmic intervention may not be enough to hold it all back.

(Yep, this chapter is named after The Family Crest song. Namely the ending of it.)

TW:

Continued usage of cannibalistic/vampiric imagery, starvation, significant minor character deaths, fatal poisoning, intensive realistic PTSD episodes, child peril, prisoner of war imagery, active deep scar injury/associated internalized ableism, and metaphoric/allegorical depictions of sexual assault & forced intersex secrecy (Context is a spoiler; tl;dr is reclamation from abuse/forced conformist identity) are all present here. There are also slight allusions to Pristine Cut, but not to spoiler level.

If needed for health, feel free to skip this & the former chapter. The next one will be infinitely lighter now that all major backstories (3, 1, 2 in series chronology) have been addressed.

Thorn did her best to size up these men - carefully. They were an exhausted, bleeding mess, with only one of them spared from the slaughter. Any form of sleaziness they were trying to use right now was to a disadvantage; at least one of their targets was untouchable. And, well, looking Thorn over, they weren’t so sure about the second. Comparatively, a few tiny prickles was worth it when the alternative was a solid rending. So that meant she was exposed. Great.

The key to this interaction was sleight of hand. Nimble hands wove their dark magic - that’s right; nimble. This had been before those deep palm scars had rendered movement and sensation more challenging all the way from fingertips to wrist, and it was a good thing a secondary witness was taking it in so it didn’t have to ache all over again to remember.

“I suppose we should ask the same of you. We’re here for a reason, are we not?”

The bold words left Thorn’s mouth, letting the petals fold and berries stain slightly in her hands. One of the men snickered, drinking straight from the wine bottle. A trickle of viscous, bloody fluid seeped down his chin.

“Princess doesn’t get it yet,” he jeered. “It’s just the way things run around here.”

“Yeah,” a second muttered, wiping a few bloody spatters off their cheek. “They say to catch, and we fetch. Don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.”

These men absolutely reeked. One of the downsides of Wild Fae genetics was that keen sense of smell around human habitats; they always had that particular stench of sweat; testosterone; estrogen; decay . But these particular captors seemed to have it worse than usual; a fishier smell of vinegar, lye, and other putrid chemicals likely used in distillation. They weren’t good at hiding their intentions, were they?

“You could’ve easily scampered off,” inquired the man with a flick of his cigar, “but both of you are still here. So, tell me, what brings you here? There’s gotta be something you’re after.”

Was it better to be honest? Minus the poison, it could help gauge where they stood. Deflection certainly hadn’t done any good, and asking about the bottle would be a solid way to catch the wrong kind of interest.

“Well… Some better amenities would be nice,” Thorn started, avoiding eye contact. “Perhaps some food, water?”

There was a rattle from the other side of the wall. A cacophony of figures seemed to stir to life at the mere mention of sustenance. Thorn could almost see them through that interwoven sixth sense of the Network; a multitude of frail, clawed hands scraping the air before them; each other; their own arms and severed hands in desperation. The slam of a brutish human arm against the wall interrupted the skeletal trance as it retreated to the hollows of their cells, abandoned once again.

So there were others here. And judging from the ease at which the Network picked up on them, they were dying.

“Thieves don’t get cushy treatment,” the card player snickered. “We get your whole deal - you want to ‘borrow’ this, ‘borrow’ that - next thing, you want to ‘borrow’ the Crown Jewels. Already took care of one Princess, so now you’d better shut your mouth and sit tight. We don’t have to do this whole thing civil-like.”

“I’m sorry, did you actually want to talk or not?” 

The bitter, breathless question slipped out before Thorn could stop herself. Every part of the plan about playing it safe has gone out the window; this was about standing her ground. Already, the fearsome Fae beside her was coiling for another strike. They wouldn’t go for it if they were smart.

The man furthest took another long drag of his cigar. For a moment, his hardened gaze fell upon her, challengingly. Common tactic. Predators in the woods often sized up weaker members in a group. Thorn kept it directly, narrowing it until he finally slapped the broader man harshly on the back.

“Why don’t you shut your gob and pour these ladies a drink?”

 Cigar man must be the leader. The other two were lackeys.

That was about as much thought as they got out before, as expected, these men reached for the bottle and siphoned it into two [likely unsanitized] caps of test tubes. Their residue seemed to already be mixing with what, impossibly, was a less appetizing cannibalistic fare. So much for saving face.

“Oh, that’s not -“

The slender figure in the corner shuffled his deck, squinting. Razor squinted back.

“You’ve been eyeing that bottle an awful lot,” the dealer challenged. “Stuff ain’t cheap.” 

The hunger in the gaze returned. A thick, dazed fear in Thorn ran ragged despite attempts to smooth it back, not even wanting to look over at the sound of small sips and confused trills next to her began. 

Great, so the other Borrower had no issue with vampirism. But then again, that was to be expected with a Fae named “Razor,” wasn’t it?

“Your friend seems to like it just fine,” he added, giving a shrug. “I always figured the lot of you were animals when it came right down to it. And I mean, unless you plan on replacing it-“

“- I would.”

That was an opportunity if she ever saw one. The man squinted at her - as did something… long and blonde curled up around his neck.

By the Wilds, please tell me that’s not a Weasel.

The fun never ended here, did it?

“And how, tell me, would you plan on doing that?” The cold words reeked of anticipation; both man and mongrel seemed ready to pounce. 

“I know what’s in that bottle. You and I both know that. How many of those have you been drinking, and have you actually gained anything from it or not?”

One of the men checked over the label. “Stuff’s too distilled. That’s why we prefer doing it ourselves.” A grin; all teeth. Thorn stood her ground.

“You don’t need our blood for that. You won’t gain anything unless it’s presented to you. But, if you’ll allow me-“

The card dealer turned from his crew towards the heiress. His body language was obnoxiously relaxed. Then, after a moment he turned towards the slinky form on his shoulder. 

“Check her.” 

There was a look of intrigue as the creature - yep, definitely weasel - looked over at its master and gave a nod. Next, there was a twinkle in its eye as the weasel glanced back and gave a wink towards the Heiress. So he was playing both sides for advantage.

Not to be trusted, that one; she knew the moment he slid down to strike. This game of wits was familiar, but low from such a cushy opponent. Weasels were common familiars kept by huntsmen to ravage narrow Borrower tunnels, and the confusing maneuvers of their “war dance” made them harder to evade in the open. But with just as serrated an ally standing a few paces away, this one wouldn’t get far.

…Probably.

This weasel, however, didn’t seem to be coming in for a fight. His headlong stride and clear avoidance of Razor’s path seemed to say it all as he opted for the more vulnerable target. Moreover, it seemed by leaving Razor the space to take her own pickings (she was still fixated on the damn wine), he’d avoided a single scratch.

“I’ll be taking that, thank you.” One of the weasel’s paws shot out, kneeling by Thorn’s own, er… “helping” of the sanguine tonic with a few laps of his tongue. Then, catching her gaze: “What? You certainly weren’t going to be touching it.”

With a huff, the weasel glanced from eager crowd to hesitant Borrower. A few more sips passed in silence as he focused on his target, watching every twitch sadistically. After what seemed an eternity, he pushed over an emptied serving and stepped forward:

“Alright. Toll taken; I’ll talk.”

Immediately, a burst of vines snagged along one forepaw, leaving rigid cuts along his coarse fur. This he merely huffed at, swiping forward with the same paw in lazy ease. The jolt that followed seemed to make his target all too easy as deft claws snared the blooms and clutched them to his chest with a snicker.

Well, shit. There went the only edge she had against these men.

“You’re a jumpy little heiress, aren’t you? Oh, that look of shock on your face is priceless, ” he sneered, pawing a petal jeeringly. “Sweetheart, if you have a weapon, it belongs behind your back.” A paw flicked over the wrapped blooms. What was he doing?!

 “Hmm, not bad craftsmanship. Suppose it’ll have to do for now.”

There was quite an audacity around this one. Right now, he had her cornered, and there was little Thorn could do about it. Avoiding the weasel was one thing, but they were still in the presence of several hungry humans. If only that damn chimera would actually do something other than linger beneath the wooden table - did she actually care enough to intervene?! Clearly, someone who knew the stakes should. Or else maybe it was just that she herself needed to get better at this whole situation.

Someone is going to die here. Please let it not be us.

This all boiled down to how this Opportunist presented himself. And right now, watching him turn and bolt away conspiratorially with the blossoms, it wasn’t looking good.

“Excellent news,” the Opportunist crowed, standing in the center of the table. “She indeed brings magic. And not just any magic; these are a rather special kind of flower. Oh yes! You’ve gotten lucky, boys.” There was a snicker as he looked back over towards the pair of Borrowers, grinning. “Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve had a real high?” 

————

The labyrinth of castle tunnels seemed mostly undisturbed when it came to the lower levels. All fighting came up top, with little support below. The occasional bashed-in weapon or dented gauntlet seemed to glimmer in these empty halls, letting the sounds of footsteps grow on the cobblestone basement below. To the left, the cellar; to the right, an armory. This was the area they should’ve protected to begin with, but what’s done was done. The guards had let it go to waste for a reason as the Princess took neither passage and went straight ahead to greet the abandoned souls within the third corridor.

“Where are you taking us?”

The Princess turned around. It seemed the strange avian was pondering the surroundings worriedly, giving a clack of his beak. Talons clicked unceremoniously on the flooring as he shuffled, uncertain - but it seemed that he was still keeping pace. Hopefully he wasn’t getting cold feet.

“The Bestiary,” the Princess murmured, voice turning more solemn. “There’s someone here who should be able to help.”

There was a click of the lock as the door to the vacant space opened and gave way to the spectacle of remaining chimeras. Many seemed to be recovering from their own specific hunts, gnawing on bones which had been thrown in haphazard to keep the beasts from resisting. Several looked to have been given sedatives to mark them improper watchdogs. Tentatively, the Princess picked up the hem of her dress as she entered. The forms of the remaining creatures awake snapped to attention at the scent of Fae blood, rattling their chains or pawing at kennels as they tried to reach her.

“Hang on, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Quiet murmured, watching the pack snarling and salivating. “Aren’t they trained to-?”

“Wait, good fellow,” Smitten huffed, putting a stocky paw against his leg. “The Lady has a plan here. We’re just here to run interference if anything goes wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

Smitten chuckled. “I’ve been around a long time, and Wilds’ heirs seldom choose poor company. In order to find Her Divinity this cycle, we have to play her game. That includes trusting her allies and vessels.”

Quiet squinted. “And sic a chimera on her again?”

There was a breath of unease - perhaps offense? - as Smitten squinted back. “Oh… Dear. This really isn’t the time for someone to be catching up on their history lessons. Just watch.”

The Princess waited momentarily for the crowd to settle. Standing in its center, she was safe from most of them as she squinted through the darkness. A single cage had been left unattended in the corner with a large, malnourished creature’s back towards the commotion. A flick of the furry tuft indicated it had heard, but did not wish to interrupt. This was the only chimera who was silent.

A soft whistle swept through the air. Immediately, the gangly beasts retreated. The silent chimera, comparatively, turned their antlered head. The Princess knelt down and patted her knees in indication to approach. The rest clicked into place therein. The relaxed creature obeyed her command, although there was a hesitation in the skittering steps of six legs passing by the others.

Quiet looked over, bemused. “Huh. I didn’t expect them to all just back up like that…”

There was a deep chuckle as Smitten stepped forward. “Have faith in these maidens; they nary leave themselves unarmed by wits. And a damsel of pure heart oft leaves hidden the lengths she’ll go for Justice.” Padding into the room with theatrical banter, the badger settled beside the Princess with a gaze of approval. “Excellent choice. The Old Guard still remembers their allegiance.”

The chimera looked over him and gave a bow of her head. Then, tongue sweeping -

“Gyah! Have mercy; my pelt’s been through enough disheveling today-“

The Princess giggled at the pawing badger, only to squeak in alarm as the creature barreled her over to the stone floor with a flurry of affectionate licks.

“Hey, hey- Den! Get off!” But it seemed her protests and playful wrestling with this animal were only interrupted by the clearing throat of the corvid behind them.

“Princess-“

“Right.” Stumbling to her feet, the Princess held the creature’s cheeks to her face to whisper in close. “We need your help to track a scent. Would you be able to assist?”

Reaching into her pocket, the Princess retrieved a small twig that’d come from her own forest adornments. Den sniffed close, pondering it a moment - her steps took off in the opposite direction from whence they came, leading back around to the other side of the cellar. The door, consequently, was locked - which didn’t help in hearing what sounded like a very tense negotiation between the smaller folk.

“Damnit,” Quiet mumbled under his breath. “I would just slam it in if we weren’t at risk of hurting the Fae.” His blank eyes looked over with a tilt of his head. “Does this open up anywhere else?”

“There’s a trap door by the kitchen that leads down,” the Princess replied. “We’d just have to go back around the dining room, and-“

There was a grimace upon the realization. She’d been hauled off before most of the venoms took effect on the diners, and chances were no one had bothered clearing the area. But it was a risk she had to take; poison or no poison. Besides, the immunity should still be in her favor there.

“We’ll need someone to hold off the guards if they come through in the meantime. Do you think you can do that?”

Quiet nodded. “Show me where and I’ll keep it secure.”

The Princess nudged the chimera towards him. “Take Den with you. She has antivenom; it’ll be safer if anyone comes in with poison.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Smitten echoed as he approached the Princess. “You’ll need someone experienced with handling the castle’s vermin. I have a nagging suspicion someone is here that ought not to be. And I intend to avoid any martyrs.” Several scars glistened along the badger’s rough coat; clearly, he’d seen his fair share of skirmishes. “All set? If so, destiny awaits.”

Quiet winces as he stepped away from the door. The final sound which escaped were raspy chokes from the windows of the old study, and heavy, head-sized thuds against a mahogany table piece.

It seemed, at least, the Fae had won this time around. But how true or not that was, they’d have to see.

——

As Quiet left the adjacent door, heavy breathing filled the castle cellar buried deep below. The remaining shreds of poppy petals laid absent on these thugs’ desk, next to the dead eyes of several voracious men. Looming over, they had been a spectacle; here, paralyzed and choking out, it was almost worse. The Opportunist gave a brief shake of his head, uttering a soft tsk tsk tsk.

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled darkly, scampering over to the face of the card dealer in feigned sympathy. “Well, that’s certainly a high of a lifetime, am I right? To be fair, I might’ve miscalculated a bit; opium does intensify with a bit of drink. I didn’t realize you didn’t know that.” He leaned theatrically against the dying man, placing a claw along their chin with a laugh. “So, you feeling magical now? Or did the cat finally catch your tongue?”

Thorn stared in horror at the state of the room. Bloodied spit had trickled besides their mouths, with only one left to hold on. They deserved this; there was no mistake. But it was still hard to take in the instantaneous effects of her own dark magic. 

A murder, even if justified, was never easy. Especially not the first of several surely yet to come.

The glasses of poppy-speckled wine tipped over, leaving a bloody pool in its trace. Sprays of sanguine fluid flew through the air across from the pair of Borrowers; one flinching, one observing with disturbingly ardent curiosity.

“Hmm… So there are other ways to kill the big ones. I thought I was going to just slice them to pieces.”

Razor’s presence was a grating sound on all things ethical and sane. Even for people this vile, the death they faced was a bit overkill. But a Borrower did not get to choose how they murdered their captors. This was about survival , and no amount of convincing otherwise would change that.

“What did you put in that?” A growl rose in the leader’s throat; the only one who hadn’t fallen for the trap. Without the heavy lacerations from Razor’s assault, he was just as formidable here as had been before - only this time, all the cards were on the table.

“I was merely making sure that you knew this was a trap; sometimes it takes a few expendables to make the point,” the Opportunist chuckled. “Really, when you come right down to it, you should be blaming her and not me-“

“You.”

Hands slammed on the table. It was taking all of Thorn’s current concentration not to fall over, wincing as he geared up for a definitive strike. The air bristled with impact as muscle memory took the place of cognizant thought. She had a weapon. This would just take a quick strike-

Thorn wasn’t quite sure how the palm of his hand met her teeth first. But that certainly seemed to be the case as the man gasped and recoiled, inflicting a bleeding wound across her face with the flick of a nail. But it seemed the immediate backwards slide wasn’t of his own momentum; that chimera was dragging him by one foot with a sharp bite of her own.

“Faster,” Beast growled from behind bared teeth. “Go back to your pack and reconvene before it’s too late; and make it count . I’m putting a lot on the line staying here for prey like you.”

Thorn didn’t need to be told twice. Taking the lead this time, a catlike scurry through the tunnels was all that it took to finally make her way through. A few poppy petals were the final thing left in her place; a warning, perhaps, for whoever recovered the bodies.

These Borrowers were not going down without a fight.

——

And neither was the Princess.

There was no decorum as the darkened room began to filter in with the heavy, putrid air of burning charcoal on hanging sconces. With purple drapes, gold-trimmed carpets, and visages of stained glass across the centuries, the dining room would’ve been an exquisite sight, if it weren’t littered with the spatters of blood - both human and Borrower in the form of sanguinary consumption. Axes and unsheathed weapons laid waste to cavernous, disassembled bodies; some guards, some royalty, some… Familiar.

It was hard to take the sight of the slaughtered king sitting at the head of the table. His mouth still trickled the same elixir that had taken them hostage from its stolen magic. Somewhere, the Princess knew how she was raised wasn’t the pinnacle of loving parentage. The Fae seldom lent out their own magic, and it seemed he intended to keep its existence within these walls like some awful secret. Like a disappointment on an otherwise “normal” child.

A secret kept even from her. For while her powers grew stronger, the more insistent the calls for total obedience. The supernatural, and anything outside of royal protocol, were forbidden. To question for oneself was an act of betrayal.

At least, that was until she met Witch. Two traitorous teenagers joined together by spite and love - ones who paid dearly for the crime of free spirit. She wouldn’t let this end here. It couldn’t.

Now, the only thing left of that rule was a few bloodied bodies. For all intents and purposes, she was free. But that alone was hard to fathom.

“This place is… Unnatural.” 

Smitten pranced onto the table, knocking over a poisoned roll of bread.

“Yes,” the Princess breathed. “It is.”

“So artificial,” he continued, raising his claws in anguish. “So lifeless. Drab scenery like this can really alter the mind, no matter how they dress it up. This is sacrilege. Torment. They kept you here for an awful long time, didn’t they?” His eyes met hers, tilting his head. The Princess bowed her head in a respectful nod.

“They tried to keep me away from the world beyond. Permanently, if they’d won.” A few chipped pieces of oak fell from the table legs. “They didn’t want me to know about any of this. About who I was.”

Smitten sighed, raising his head.

“They ask for the Fae’s assistance, then scorn the child delivered to their doorstep. They decide to keep you locked up here and deny you all information about your birth. How humanity continues to defy all sensibilities.” There was a tone of remorse as he shook his head, sniffing the sulfuric air.

“I wasn’t what they were looking for; I was too curious,” the Princess responded, her voice distant as she scoured the area for anything useful. “They didn’t expect the Fae side to be noticeable enough.”

Smitten scoffed. “And so what? Seems they could use a reminder that caged birds don’t sing.”

“They wanted to keep the dance their own; to bring me up to take over. I suppose I paid the price for disobeying.”

“And mighty good you did; can scarcely imagine an arranged partner bringing you that same joy as your own.” Smitten sighed, jumping off the table to circle back around to her.

“Well, now you’re free from all of that. You took it into your own hands. It’s yours now.” The badger pawed over to a sconce on the wall. “Everything that they kept from you, take it.” With a swipe of one paw, the light evaporated. “Be you Fae or human or in between, you are a force of nature they tried to stifle. Humanity be damned, if they cannot see what you have to offer then we’ll show them, once and for all.”

A swift, angered slash knocked the sconce to the floor. The Princess jumped, and he bowed his head apologetically. 

“Ahem… Getting ahead of myself. We shouldn’t linger too long with your betrothed in chains. Even if they did manage to throw off their captors-“

“Wait. I think we’re being followed,” The Princess whispered. 

“Oh, good,” Smitten grumbled. “This is exactly why you needed accompaniment - you know what to do.” This time, the Princess breathed in deep to attune herself. The heavy stench of copper, metal, rot and gore -

It was unpleasant, yes. But it was another way of getting around this place, long forgotten. No longer having to rely on sight and the swirling torrent of images, the  unwanted presence became clearer.

There was a black feather not unlike Quiet’s trailing from the heavens. The scent of fresh meat hung lucid from the perch of a ravenous creature who had either not noticed, or not cared.

A singular raven stood beside the windowsill, pecking. The scent trails finally aligned as the click of talons settled on the ledge. The turn of his head was almost mechanical.

“Hello there.”

The deep voice sauntered down from the stained glass above as a sizable raven stood stagnant from his perch. The Raven studied both figures for a moment. There was an agitated puff as the black and white familiar stood his ground, eyeing the opponent with heavy suspicion.

“Echo.”

“Servant.” The Echo denied the dignity of a title. “Go crawl back to the Wild where you belong.” A talon dragged along the stone walls. “We don’t have to make this difficult.”

“When he descends, run ,” Smitten whispered. “I’ll hold him off.”

“But-“

“I can handle him. And you have more chivalrous things to attend to than this mere mongrel.”

The silence was deafening. A beak of razor sharp teeth illuminated in the pale moonlight, as though questioning his move. By the time that wings fluttered open and began their descending dive -

-The badger’s coarse body leapt up, catching him midair. There was a shriek of rage as Smitten tussled him to the floor, wincing at the slash of claws that worked its way into an exposed neck.

“Now!”

Smitten’s eyes leapt desperately towards the Princess. There was a pleading glance and nothing more; footsteps found their purchase despite the guilt, knowing for a fact that time was of the essence.

She had to get their first. There was no alternative. There was no telling what could possibly have happened in that basement, but the sound of its progressive assault began to carry from up the steps.

——-

Back at the cages, it seemed that the remaining three Borrowers were left uneasily on standby. “She should’ve been back by now,” Prisoner grumbled, placing a hand to her forehead. “Please tell me she actually dealt with it.”

“She will; I’m sure of it,” Adversary asserted.

Prisoner wasn’t as impressed. “Should we be worried yet?” 

“Why would we? She’s fought off far worse than a couple brutes back home. Probably just making sure the job is done.” There was a flick of agitation as Adversary’s tail traced the metal prison. Her grip still remained firm on Witch’s stirring form, seemingly recovered from the most of the poison’s effects. There was still the weariness as she settled in Adversary’s grasp; the past hour or so had been a confusing, hazy blur, and she twitch of sleep seemed it wouldn’t shake. But during that interval, the words she’d heard were… Interesting.

Keen hearing and a sharp sense of wit picked up the familiar in the midst of the unknown. Somewhere trailing far above the grates, there was that angelic voice that had charmed her from the start - but it was harsher; more determined.

There was a bubbling ache in her chest. Correct; this clearly was the castle. And if this was the cellar… 

Did the Princess even know they were here?

“There you are.” Adversary’s gruff voice echoed out at Thorn’s approach, her own tail raised assertively. “I knew that you could do it. You know how this goes just as well as I -“

Witch’s body stiffened. “She’s hurt.”

Witch wriggled out of Adversary’s grasp, running quadrupedal towards her sister. The weeping wound across the side of one cheek was clear even from here, leaping up with a touch of her own magic.

Any attempt to meet her sister’s gaze was slighted. Numb eyes wandered imaginary lengths as the cut healed unevenly; the remainder tore a scarred gash in its place. The wrap along tender fingers was the only way Witch could tell she’d even noticed.

“… Thank you.”

Some things just wouldn’t heal. It was a lesson they would both have to learn the hard way; blood had been spilled. There was no turning back.

“You kill all of them?” Prisoner turned towards Thorn expectantly. There was only the solemn nod; it seemed the heiress understood this was above emotion. “Good. Then we can finally get out of here.”

“There’s hundreds more Borrowers here in the other room,” Thorn choked. “We shouldn’t just leave them there.”

“We need to make sure we don’t join them,” Prisoner stated plainly. “Going in would stall vital time. And in case you’ve forgotten, we need you to stay alive.” There was a look of cold empathy as she regarded the rising queen. “We can’t save everyone. Do you even have any clue how you’d bust open the locks?”

There was a heavy stomp of a hoof behind her as Adversary cracked her knuckles.

“No. You can’t seriously expect to break each one by hand-“

“Try me. Give me five minutes.”

A lingering scent was beginning to trail in from the top of the corridor; faintly bloodied, but palpable. Witch could smell the distinct cascade of familiar foliage;  giving a small sniff to the air, it seemed to be getting closer. But it was mixed with something else…

There was someone else in the fray. But it seemed between the squabbling, she was the only one who noticed until the steps were near the cellar’s entrance. A chirp of alarm arose; one which only caught Thorn’s attention. But thankfully, a slam against the wall above seemed to be the thing that cued the others in.

“They’re gathering recruits,” Prisoner scoffed. “Their scouts must’ve been out of commission for too long and they’re checking up. Run.”

The final word came out more like a command than an urgency. Razor didn’t budge. Adversary’s gaze lingered from monarch to strategist, unsure whose hand to take.

Thorn’s attention had, much like Witch’s own, drifted above. That desperate child’s voice, now filled with a sense of dignity and rage… It was familiar. But that didn’t mean that staying out in the open was the proper protocol. 

“It’s her,” Witch murmured. “I don’t know how or why-“

There was a sharp bite against the sleeve of her dress. She didn’t have to even look over to tell what that signal meant; Thorn wasn’t about to hear her out on this one.

“We need to get to shelter,” Thorn finally echoed. Her words remained dutiful, albeit stripped of anything but hollow tones. “If there’s time, we can go back. For her; for anyone else. They’re right; we need to get out of here ourselves.”

“She sounds like she’s being followed-“

“That’s my point. We’re not going to be able to fight off armed guards like this. Tunnels; now.”

Prisoner gave Thorn a nod of respect. Finally, it seemed the heiress was taking the proper steps forward. Her hand locked around Razor’s functional wrist, dragging the protesting Borrower towards the tunnel in the corner. This one, however, was more of a semi-dugout corridor than one that lead anywhere. Hopefully Razor behaved, or else they were all in trouble. 

“I can take them! Let me go; I can slice them down just as easily as last time!”

“We need to get out, not start a battle,” Prisoner scolded like a disapproving parent. “If things go south, you know what to do.”

Adversary looked over from Prisoner to Thorn, giving a curt nod. “As much as I’d love to see them bleed this time, it’s not a fair fight. There’s no honor in a place like this.” Instead, her gaze drifted down to her partner; it was obvious that speaking, much less moving was difficult for her other half. This was easily fixed with a brisk snatch around Thorn’s waist, throwing her over one shoulder. “Come on; you need to stay alive if we’re ever going to get that fight. And I am personally looking forward to going down in battle for your ascension.”

“Once we’re safe,” Thorn murmured. “Then I’m yours.”

With the other hand, Adversary ushered Witch to her side. The door opened from above; the descent was silent. Cautiously the three descended down the path towards safety. Witch followed suit, but as Adversary made her way down with Thorn draped over one shoulder, something caught her attention. A flick of an elven ear caught what was footsteps growing closer -

A hand jutted out. Stinking of sweat and bloodied from another skirmish - this wasn’t something she wanted to arise from the shadowy confines of this prison. Instinctively, she dodged and scratched, managing to throw off the felon draped in dark clothing. But as they went in for another attempt to grab the youngest of the group, something sharp hit their back and made them recoil with a yelp.

The flash of a silver blade found its target, and proceeded to retract. There was a kick of scuffed up regal flats in their direction as the assailant stumbled back, chest exposed. And that was when it went straight for the heart. Again and again and again, but missing vitals. A shaky breath seemed to come from the attacker, as though trying to stifle an apology they didn’t deserve.

Despite it all, Witch stopped to watch with a tilt of her head. “Jugular,” she murmured, raising her voice just enough to be audible. As if on command, the blade danced across a bloody throat, finally dropping the choking body to the floor. “Close enough.”

Glancing up like a cornered predator, the attacker glanced up. Blue irises glinted from what little light shone down from above. The shadows could only hold so much; light reflected well off of their own eyes, yet this was different. And even without a proper introduction, even with the jagged edges of a dented helmet concealing the top of her head, the little Fae could tell who she was staring at.

Humans didn’t usually have eyes that shone in the dark. It was definitely her, but something was wrong. She smelled different; reeked of a scent Witch dared not place on a blood-spattered face. But that gaze, oh; it was paralyzing. Longing. Feral.

What was she supposed to say to this? Did the Princess want her back as a partner, a friend? Or perhaps now weak and vulnerable, she intended on holding them hostage as pets now. A chirp of alarm signaled to Witch that regardless, it was time to go. A nod of acknowledgement down on fours was all the speech Witch gave back; she’d seen and known who this was, but lost the ability to trust. 

“Wait-!”

But it was too late for a quick recovery. As the Princess scrambled to Witch’s side, all she caught of the Borrower in her escape was her tail.

Two sets of feral eyes widened in horror. The grip was strong, but tender as the tufted end lashed in protest. Carefully, Witch turned around, claws raised to inflict the first wound in the coming altercation -

But it never came. The Princess looked over towards her with a pleading gaze, and Witch merely shook her head. 

“I’m leaving. You had your chance to make things right.”

A saddened, understanding vow. The Princess allowed the final ligaments of the tail to pass through the space between her fingers. Witch scurried towards the table legs, noticing the resigned status of her companion. And to her back, she also noticed something else.

Despite everything, the Princess deserved a fair fight. And if there were still people there trying to wrangle them back up, it was better to have someone large enough to take them on in their stead.

“Behind you!”

The Princess blinked upon Witch’s warning. Her reflexes were just a bit too slow to do much more than swipe to the side as another dagger lunged towards her side, staggering to the cellar floor on all fours. The threat was close again; this was a chance to lash out. But nevertheless, Witch had to wonder: wouldn’t that just put them all as targets?

“Shit! Damned pests!”

Witch didn’t get a chance to ponder for long. Thick brambles has ensnared the attacker’s hand to their weapon, stabbing deep into an unprotected knee. Looking down, Witch caught the focused gaze of her sister weaving them further along the man’s arm. And then, a glance again for Witch to follow.

“My my, that’s why you need protection,” the Opportunist seemed to have merely spawned in again on cue as the man writhed against his viney entanglements. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to earn my council. So far I’m not impressed.”

Witch could tell that was her cue to leave. Taking her turn to leap headlong off the table, the little Borrower found herself caught alongside her sister as Adversary raced them towards safety. 

It was all up to the Princess now. Hopefully, she was strong enough to take them on.

“Go towards the back,” Adversary instructed, lifting each sibling off her shoulders and shoving them into the crevice. “If they try anything, they’ll have to go through me.” A prideful claw pointed towards her chest, slithering in alongside them. With five borrowers in the narrow space, it was hard to breathe; an anxious, freshly scarred tail flicked against the tougher of the three. Adversary returned it with her own, firm and supportive; and it seemed to be enough to relax Thorn for the present moment.

The Princess hadn’t moved from her spot, goading the new opponent to charge her again. The hesitation to strike back gave the assailant the advantage as she stumbled to her feet, noticing an easier target on the other side of the room. There was a thick slash of a blade as the mercenary turned tail to make her move; grimy fingers just barely missed as sharp metal sunk into their unprotected back. The princess was back up again, and determined to keep these brutes on the back foot.

Clearly, these merchants weren’t expecting a fight with their quarry. Steely thuds hit the doors upstairs as he wheeled around, taken aback - only to find a single child standing before her, the Blade gripped in steady hands. The woman hunkered down, then chuckled dryly.

“Princess,” the woman spat, “I thought you were supposed to be at the altar.”

There was a deep, seething rage that began to brew upon the words in Witch’s heart; of course the Royal heathen got out of things unscathed. And here they were instead, left to nearly… No, it wasn’t even something she wanted to put into thoughts. Moving on, getting away - why was she even here?

Here was the girl that she loved; that deep, sinking cacophony of a four letter word crashing into the past seeing the visage of gore along her face. While taking a stand against this merchant, she could finally pinpoint what was on her face. The stench of the vinery was just as potent on bare cheeks and arms as it mingled with her once sweetened scent.

This was no mere accident. She had become something else. And even meeting eyes with her so desperately, she wanted someone, anyone, to tell her it was something other than a trap.

There was nothing they could do. There was nothing to be done. Trapped between definitive enemy and supposed ally, the only thing left was to watch. 

The fight was fire itself. The blade pulled from the merchant’s pocket was jagged and uneven, maneuvering towards the steadied ground of the Princess. A swift dodge and kick sent the British woman flying backwards, the impact of the wall behind them breaking her skull. There was a notable look of horror even then as she looked back over, giving the Borrowers an apologetic look. The Princess would’ve still been cute if it weren’t for the dribble of Spirits condemning her to consumption.

A backup rogue managed to leap down from the staircase, blade digging into her shoulder. Giving a yelp of pain, the Princess staggered back, wincing.

“You’re going to regret only taking that helmet,” the weasel sighed, leaping from the wall to drape across her shoulders. “Clearly, you need some support. Alright, now follow my lead-“

The very sight of that foul Opportunist said it all, watching all the cunning fade away as she struggled to balance out and wield a weapon. But Witch knew better than to feel sorry for her. “What the hell is she doing? Do beans not train up their royalty? I could take that bastard down with my two hands.”

“She’s fighting more like Fae,” Prisoner commented, “but not well enough. Her knife work is sloppy. She’s not going for vitals.” Then, a little backhandedly: “It’s no wonder the coup succeeded. I doubt that she managed to escape it without help, much less back here.”

“No survivors,” Razor shrugged. “At least, that’s what they thought. I do wonder if she’s missing on purpose? Would make for a more exciting fight.” An eager grin spread across her face. “Maybe she wants help.”

Adversary blocked her way. “Don’t.” 

There was a coarse laugh from her opponent. “I thought they were joking when they sent out this many reinforcements. But no, they were right; you’re a monster .”

The words were familiar as they hit the younger Borrower’s ears; these were no mere mercenaries. Judging by the way they navigated the halls with haughtily divine grace, they were all Tower’s scouts.

And then it clicked.

That kind of altar. There were no wedding vows to be exchanged; this was a fight for their lives. Whatever rope had tethered them together had strung its cord tightly around the Princess of humans and second-born sister, but if that was by mere association or not Witch could not tell.

The weasel on the Royal’s shoulder was whispering something to her. But what, she couldn’t tell. There was a steadying grip as the Princess tightened the blade, and a twitch of one ear as she swiveled to locate her opponent.

Even under the helmet, Witch could see that spaded tip of an ear nestled beneath. Her blood went cold as the word whistled low like a warning through her brain: 

Fae.

There had been reason that the Princess had found them. There had been reason that her presence felt so strange, yet familiar. If the world ceased to let live what they could not understand, then there would always be those would find them and cherish them for what they were.

“Unconventional to them, perhaps,” Witch echoed out from the open tunnels, “but it takes one to know one. Their excuses are weak. Something nasty finds itself on those stairs, but it isn’t you.”

There was a momentary hesitation as the Princess glanced over. Their eyes met for a moment, both brimming with tears.

It was sometimes said that Scorpion’s Tonic steeled more than just resolve. And right now, looking from the advancing horde of monsters and a girl just trying to survive, there was only one entity who felt particularly stabbable right now.

Unfortunately, the moment’s hesitation had given the enemy the upper hand. Another glancing blow, another advancing foe to deal with. The Princess’s initial target went straight for his quarry as the Borrowers huddled in the corner. There was a single, sweeping blow of cold air as the flickering torchlight swallowed up its hostages in the darkness. The reaching hand had settled its grimy fingers along the peeling sediment of the wall, nails scraping just a few inches away from the Borrowers. But this time, Witch did not permit the hand that tried to sweep her back and stood guard in her stead. Instead, she nuzzled Thorn back a moment, placing gentle clawtips against unwavering fingers.

“No. It’s my turn, sis. You go get the rest of them out; there’s something I need to do first.”

There was a splutter of hesitation from the eldest sister. Witch bared her fangs, flicking her tongue over one of them.

“Please. Let me show you once that I can get us out of here and fix this mess I started.”

The draw of the fingers got nearer. It seemed the only thing stopping Razor’s aid was the proximity of the tightly-packed earth, or else it would’ve been easy. But even still, Witch knew what had to be done. With a broad leap forward, her teeth ensnared against the ragged flesh of the invasive entity. Venom injected into the assailant’s skin. There was a shriek, and a rough grab - and that was all there was to it. In the end, allowing the jagged brambled hands to scoop her up and drag her out was Witch’s alone, giving a short nod as they snapped up their target and retreated.

Every second of being dragged out of that tunnel in reverse had Witch’s heart beating a mile a minute. The foul impact of calloused skin, the stink of human sweat along clammy palms - it would’ve been torture far beyond endurance if not for the knowledge of what was yet to come. But Witch was clever, even then; by the time this villain wrenched her free, she could detect he was not alone.

Human sight was limited in the pitch black corridors. But to Changeling and Borrower, this was perfect. Bite after bite, Witch inflicted newfound venom deep and wriggled free. The form fell dead not long thereafter.

This was a momentary pause; Witch knew she wouldn’t get another chance like this. Ragged claws scrambled across the darkened paths, tail twirling along damaged tulle and silk as she made her ascent from the hem of the Princess’s dress straight into her trembling arms.

“You really came back,” Witch squeaked.

“I wasn’t leaving here without you,” the Princess chuckled, nuzzling her face close to the little Borrower. “We’ll have to be quick. It looks like someone tipped off the guards -“

“- There’s other Borrowers here besides us. Lots of them.”

The startled look in the Princess’s eyes lasted only a minute. Time was of the essence; in and out.

“Take me there.”

Witch nodded. Clambering up to her lover’s shoulders, she shoved the Opportunist to one side and scrambled towards her ear.

“It’s in the study. Door’s locked, but I can get you in.”

The sound of heavy footfalls shook the ground beside the other Borrowers as the Changeling advanced. For a moment, everything appeared to be calmer as the pair of them approached. A small tangle of roots slithered from one side of the door to the other, and with a soft click it opened before them. The stone-cold storage room showed its horrific spectacle bit by bit; first cages, then hands, laden in a spattering of blood. It seemed several of the hostages had chewed off their own limbs to avoid starvation; others to free themselves of thick, binding chains. No amount of protests could hold the heiress back as the sight grew more and more prominent; the creeping tendrils of the Network had slithered on from untrained hands, and wouldn’t stop until it made it to their destination.

One way or another, this ended now.

Walking behind Witch and the Princess, Thorn stepped into the room with a shaky breath. It was too late for most of them - but with luck, there could be a few survivors.

It was time for the lost to be spared the fight. Kneeling down in respect, Thorn placed her hand against the stony foundation once more; properly summoning the Network would be crucial. 

An echoing of solemn voices filled the space around her. The brush of an invisible hand against her cheek. The paths divided to collect more in this ceremony of quick, painless death; a final relieved exhale, and then no more.

The neural webbing slunk into cage after cage of dying form, wrapping the bodies of countless Borrowers in weaving tendrils as final breaths choked out. Their embrace was delicate; a nest of cerebral salvation that brought each one down to their thankful graves. There, they would be safe at last and join the expanses of trees that rooted deep beneath; to soil, to earth once more. And once the path was cleared, they vanished without a trace of their mortal bodies. Humanity would not exploit the dead.

It took a certain kind of emotional control to maintain the crucial role of reaper. This was not something Thorn had much ground on yet. And thus, as the flicker of fading magic dispersed, it seemed that so did the tears.

It was mercy. But why did mercy feel this hard?

“You did the right thing.” Adversary padded up to her side, the click of hooved feet echoing across the floor. “We can’t save all of them. At least this way, they get to die with a bit more dignity.” 

Thorn leaned into the soft grasp of her hand along one shoulder. There was that strong yet gentle press against her chin as Adversary lifted it to her face. “Once we carve our own path down there, you won’t have to worry about making the executive decision. It’ll come naturally, you and me…”

“It’s… Not now.” Thorn’s voice was barely a whisper. “We need to get the survivors out.”

There was a hesitation from the captives as the Changeling Princess approached the cage doors. Many of the remaining Fae backed up and cowered; others snapped aggressively at the bars of cramped cages.

“I’m with you; it’s okay.” The Princess dropped her helmet into her hands and tossed back her hair. Upon the sight of those familiar ears, many of them ceased. Some bowed in respect.

“How are we going to get them out of here?” 

Witch looked over inquisitively as the Princess raised a hand, eliciting a small spark in the palm. One by one the locks glowed with a warmth that melted them clean off, freeing them from the confines.

“I’ll be damned. You actually did it.” Prisoner looked over in calm confusion, watching as they hopped down and dispersed. Some leapt into the overturned helmet in the Princess’s hands to be deposited on the floor. So perhaps there was some sense in rescuing them, after all; Borrowers were safer together than alone, and this would make things simple enough. “Well done. I know which tunnels lead outside of the castle; presuming everyone keeps up, I can take them with me.” Despite her cold demeanor, Thorn could tell there was a spark of pride in those eyes. She’d finally earned this strategist’s favor.

Several borrowers lined up where they’d been signaled. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“We’ll follow. We’ve already gotten your scent.” Now that the area had been cleared, there was one more thing to do.

Paths cleared as the Borrowers followed Prisoner’s lead; it seemed that in the midst of things, the only one missing was Razor. Most likely she was slinking off for some new unfortunate soul to torment - and thankfully, that didn’t seem to be any of them this time. Perhaps her absence would make the newcomers less wary. Even still, there was an eyeroll from the seasoned captive as she made her way down, watching each and every Borrower trail behind her. The only one who stayed behind to wait was Adversary; always faithful, always prepared to take on a scuffle. But even she knew here and now was not the time as she leaned against the far side of the wall near the tunnel.

“Ready when you are.”

Thorn nodded, slowly approaching. But a raspy cough caught her attention millimeters away from their way out, followed by a chirp of concern. 

That was right. Witch was still with the Princess.

“Witch, come on-“

Her voice was calm yet urgent; they couldn’t linger long. But the flicking of a nervous tail along the royal’s shoulder revealed the cause for stagnant concern.

Heavy lacerations had raked themselves across her back, sides, neck. While the Princess had managed to hold off the onslaught and release the remaining survivors, she has taken a toll indeed; blood trickled from weeping wounds, falling to her knees. There was a yelp of alarm as Witch held on-

Judging by the way she was holding up, she wouldn’t last long with how tremendously she bled out. Even if vitals had been missed, the sheer number of marks told the tale well enough.

“You’d better go,” the Princess coughed. “I’ll… Figure something out.”

By now, the Opportunistic weasel had fled the scene; things were no longer in his favor. Figured.

Witch leapt down from her back. Now that the Princess was hunkered down before them on all fours, she seemed somehow less immense. Her eyes pleaded for them to leave, tears streaking down her cheeks. But it was obvious by the way that she was wounded that  leaving her here was condemning her to die. 

Was that really fair, after everything? Thorn could scarcely imagine leaving a child amidst the decay of dead, poisoned bodies - much less one as young as Witch. There was much more life left in her, and her first fight for autonomy shouldn’t be her last. Witch didn’t move from her spot, either. 

It seemed the choice was made.

So against better judgment, it was Thorn this time who approached their massive ally.

“You’re going to be okay,” the heiress echoed, gulping back the fear. “You deserve so much more than this.” 

At nineteen, the situation was horrific; thirteen was unimaginable. And yet, both she and Witch had undergone it and survived; no, they would survive. And that was the thought that finally shifted her towards scratched palms as soft vines wrapped around them like a bandage.

“We… We’re staying?” Witch chirped back in confusion, but soon noticed how tenderly her former lover was taking things in with an appreciative look towards her sister. “Those wounds are deep; if we stay to heal everything-“

“If we don’t, she’ll die. ” 

Witch jolted, looking over at the Princess with a resigned laugh. “Even now, you manage to hinder things, don’t you?” But it was obvious by the way Witch scuffled over, the sarcasm was full of fondness and fear. It was hard to know where to start.

“It doesn’t need to be all the way,” Thorn instructed. “Just enough to stop the bleeding and wrap things up.” For a Borrower who had little medical powers, Thorn was definitely onto something. “She saved us. Now, it’s our turn.”

Witch let the moment pass with a nod. “Right. Wretches stick together, after all.”

Nervously, Witch extended her hand. Pressing it against the pulse of the Princess’s wrist, she continued once more in switching over her magic.

Bog moss to package the wounds to ease the bleeding; small clumps of aloe smashed and prepared like a paste to smooth over the injuries. There was a hiss of pain as Witch placed the topical ointment on, scurrying around to get the rest. With each one, it seemed the softer vines wrapped around their applicable purchase, be it shoulder or across the neck. Working together, then seemed to be doing just fine.

“Here; take this. It should ease the pain.” Thorn approached the Princess tentatively as she conjured up the proper dosage of petals. After everything that’d occurred, spawning the poppies again left a sickened twinge in her stomach, but carried on regardless. They had just as much ability to help as harm, after all; as was the vine of life and death that strangled them both. Even if humanity had condemned who they could not understand, the Princess still had allies amidst the Fae. She was, after all, one of them. 

“Your best move is to play dead from here. Those should help make that easier. We can’t exactly carry you out-“

It seemed the Princess’s stamina got the message before her mind. A slip of one hand from beneath her and the crouching figure collapsed, eyes closing in dazed exhaustion.

For a moment, both siblings watched uneasily. But the moment was brief. Shakily, Thorn took her sister’s hand and retreated to the darkened corners. 

“You always were soft,” Adversary chuckled. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”

The memory began to dim as somewhere behind the three of them, there was a scream and shatter of glass.

The neck of the chimera, their staunchly standing scapegoat, tugged against an unyielding chain. A scolding yell from her captor, crying out for them to flee. A triad of weasels emerging from the tunnel; the familiar face which stood out between them, growing draped in vines and briars. Clawed hands raked against the Opportunist’s throat. A second, a third -

“Thorn, we have an opening! We need to leave.”

“ They won’t let us. They’ll just keep chasing and chasing until we’re dead-“

All other voices fell to silence. Even knowing that the fight wasn’t alone, the ringing in Thorn’s ears and the focal glint of vision kept her hostage. Biting, clawing, kicking against every foothold - and oh, how the claws lashed out in turn. Shreds of fabric turned mangled in unknown grasps. Forepaws lanced the length of arms and legs in deep, bloody scars. And what’s more, through all the rage and pain even Adversary couldn’t reach her. It was all spent on making sure that Witch didn’t befall the same fate.

They were always going to be gladiators. To this end, at least they got to choose how they died - not stuffed between the cork of a bottle. Surely, anything was better than that. So for everyone’s sake, that’s how she’d carry on - thrashing the creatures who turned their backs to the woods. But soon, even holding onto him was bad enough as another weasel took their turn.

In all technicality, she was right. But trying to take on a triad of mustelids unarmed was a rather foolish miscalculation - Daughter of the Wild or not. Poisonings, mercy kills to the Network - just how many more people needed to die before they got to live? The question spun round and round as feral mortality sprung back to the surface and claimed all sense of self once more. It was just luck that there were two others in this mess with her. Two others, two weasels- their luck could be better.

But it wasn’t until another weasel pried her off that the hopelessness really sunk in. Their grip wasn’t gentle; it was taking all instinct not to cry out as claws gouged into the backs of her hands. With just a few scratches all sensation was lost as a bite to the back of her neck sealed the deal; it was time to take her own advice and “drop dead” for the moment as more and more blood was lost in pools on the floor.

“Okay, that’s enough to prove the point,” the Opportunist scolded. “We need her to stay alive, remember?”

The Opportunist waited beside Thorn almost mockingly as he gave a whistle for the new humans to arrive on the scene. The other two each grabbed a Borrower - this was taunting and unfair. But nevertheless, the lashing of a defeated tail continued as he curled around her, grinning with amusement.

“You’re certainly quite the fighter. Honestly, gave me more of one than I expected -“

His gaze turned towards two looming figures, giving them a nod.

“By the way, no need to thank me for saving your lives. Any other way and they wouldn’t even bother buying you more time in the arena. Now you’ll be just as prepared to take them on as-“

The rest of the damn weasel’s rambling was silent. It seemed exhaustion and blood loss were the culprits this time of a lost and hard-fought battle, only feeling the weight of the mustelid’s teeth carrying her by the collar. The other two creatures followed suit with equally combative hauls, struggling to walk with Adversary’s grip around their neck and Witch’s kicking form. But even this seemed to be a temporary measure. 

It seemed that her mind went next as the world became hazier. Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if she’d seen or imagined a shadowy figure levitating the body of the Princess somewhere above the grate and through the corridors of the castle. But even still, a shakily bleeding hand reached out -

And everything went dark.

…..

…………

……………………

—The next thing she could remember in the midst of it all was the clatter of metal and twist of a tiny, frightened body around her.

Witch.

There was no stopping the inevitable in a new environment stinking of wildlife and bloodlust. Three out of twenty-five Borrowers lined up for the slaughter.

Five or so were auctioned off immediately to bidders in the Black Market. Some were classified as Domestic Fae and would live a somber life in captivity. But at least those ones would likely live. Two who didn’t survive the trip over - tossed out to whatever creature would take them. Those blackened talons now felt distinct as the now-familiar fiend of the raven took every scrap he was offered.

Eighteen Borrowers shoved from travel crates into birdcages- tighter, more compact. Seventeen as one cage tipped itself over and a singular Borrower managed to evade all obstacles and dart out into the night. So there was hope, after all. Another likewise seemed to cross the threshold and make their way to freedom. Despite the upcoming tournaments, spirits grew bolder. 

Naturally, Adversary was the first opponent. It seemed the challenges could be survived as she brushed off the new scrapes proudly upon recapture. The opponent would have to heal up first before taking on another, she’d said. There was time until then.

Sixteen cages, lined up one by one. A variety of chatter from Borrowers; some fearful, others determined. The tales of daring escapes from former households and wild predators filled the gloom with some light, and the time spent didn’t feel nearly as desolate. The brash form of their first champion, Adversary, arrived from the arena and back again to tell the tale each time, with more ideas to share on how to brave the tides.

Others thought they could do it; it’d be easy. But what they seemed to lack was the knowledge that within a single blow, an unseen figure would abscond in the night and lay claim to six of them with no trace but clawed-open cages. Be it some predator or thief, they did not know. But the outlooks for the remaining ten seemed tenser, and sleep did not come easily. For now, they had to keep close watch on their adored ones and pray for a kinder end.

The sparks of hope were dying out.

Ten full birdcages. Nine, then eight as two Borrowers befell a lone chimera upon their escape; the captors had learned to keep it guarded now. Seven, and Adversary’s place at the arena was moved. Clawed hands reached out desperately one last time; vines pulled away at the bitter grip that dared to try. But it seemed that strong as she was, Adversary had her own limits; a final glimpse and a promise of return were all that remained as she, too, vanished without a trace.

With every single snatch, every Borrower dragged off and cage removed, the lights got dimmer and dimmer. No tales filled the halls and stories of escape were a horror story; no one got out of here unaided. No one lived, only died.

This was torture.

Five cages remaining. The classification continued in solemn diligence. A hand snagged on briars as it tried to reach towards the angered, shaken teen within. It bought them time.

Moved to another corner. Forgotten. Alone, clutching at the final remains of a dying society. A stifled breath as Witch buried her face towards the final heart in the area still nearby. Days turned to silence, cradling the thread that untethered.

Three cages. The final shouts of a triumphant Borrower making it out of combat by the skin of their teeth. Moved back to the corner of the room with a final cage as rigid hands yanked another poor soul away.

Two. No one had made it out thus far. Just a hasty, two-man shuffle of blood tests and shunting from one place or another. Fae, or common Borrower; survivor, or cattle. This was how it worked as those hands finally reached out towards them again.

There was no one left except two sisters in a cramped birdcage, knowing what happened next.

One.

The light finally dissipated before the hand could make its way in, releasing the all-familiar sting. Somewhere far above the enclosure, there was that familiar voice echoing empathetically.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

The hand that extended in its place was not one of a bloodstained killer, but phantasmic; comforting. Not a moment’s hesitation passed as Thorn took it and allowed it to pull her from the bindings.

Weakened starlight began to fill the open air and sweep through the chilled night. Hushed silence spread as the world, too, faded; only that tender gaze laid upon her as Spectre pulled her upwards. The soft, half-open gaze fell open and closed. Releasing control without the knowledge of what came next would’ve been unthinkable in any context but this.

But now, it was time to let it breathe, and let it go. What had happened, happened. There was no changing that. Yet surrounded on all sides by that flickering gaze, Thorn wasn’t alone anymore.

All the secrets kept from a child too young, all those nights unslept - finally, after years there was someone else who knew. So even when that viscous, bloodied tint came through the piercing darkness of the sky, Thorn merely held her breath and let her ethereal guide take it from there.

The acidic, bitter taste of copper and fermentation choked at her lungs. The sting of alcohol threatened to clog up all senses and render them inert. Yet still clinging on, there was a gentle finger running along the tapestry of latent scars that finally broke it.

I’m not letting go. It’s okay; Breathe.

Thorn took the command and exhaled - deep. The fizzing sensation of potent residue finally let go, allowing her to surface. A gentle hand finally dragged her crawling body onto a small hill next to the tide of wine and released her, gasping.

It felt like getting spat up by an unrelenting monster. There was a shudder as the pool of viscous fluids lapped at the shores, returning to its spot down below with qualm, not quarry. The deadened gaze seemed to threaten to return, to bury it all back in - but something seemed to stop her.

Spectre’s shaky gasp. Her ardent, patient watcher, hovering just a few inches above the nonexistent landscape. It was just this hill, and the sea of bloody wine.

For a moment, no words. Hardly a glance forward. The only sound was the unceremonious drip of rotting fluids along Thorn’s drenched, aching form, begging for some kind of answer.

This time, it seemed the coy ghost was just as lost for words as she. No retorts, no clever comebacks; just an eternity staring deep and mutually horrified. The soft trickle of empathetic tears seemed to cascade gradually, even if no words came out. 

It was enough. It was vindication. The permission had finally been granted to let it all free, and Thorn took it all.

Coarse, ragged screams of rage and torment began and they did not stop. The stream of tears, every hitching, struggling breath; the dizzying sensation of relieved sinuses at the downpour of snot and saliva. There was no longer anyone to pretend to; to save face. It didn’t matter anymore how much ground beneath was dug into, how much strength was lost and gained. It just mattered that she was here, finally safe, with someone old enough to finally understand the depths of what could not be explained.

And then, it stopped.

A warm pang settled deep within an aching throat. The chill along back and spine felt soft, comforting as Thorn let the remaining purge of spit trickle down her chin. There was no honor in any of this - just the steady, finite release of cortisol throughout pleading nerves. Everything felt like it was on fire, chilled, extinguished all at once - but finally, something other than numb. The long-gone spark had begun to return to Thorn’s deadened eyes, letting this dreamscape carry on its brutal mercy.

Spectre’s gaze trailed down once more, still uncertain. A hand reached out, retracted, attempted again. There was no jumpiness left as the heiress stared up long and hard as she finally stumbled to her feet.

“……. I thought I would have more thoughts on how to help once I’d seen it,” Spectre admittedly, embarrassed. “I’m sor-“

No need. The quickened chase of footsteps launched itself into open arms - and this time, they caught her in full. The opaque form of Spectre was no longer intangible; in this lucid, fearful landscape, every silken trace of her hair and gossamer trail of that once-bloodied gown was palpable. Caught in the gentle embrace of possession, she could feel it all.

No wonder Spectre always looked so lost traversing the world outside.

But this wasn’t about her. It seemed for once, it was okay to know that as the phantom nuzzled her chin against ragged, frizzy strands of hair and draped her arms around her. Hand in hand and gazes locked, it seemed natural to take that lean forward in heady momentum -

But the moment stopped just short of Spectre’s lips. The soft brush against the phantom’s hand seemed to cue her in well enough the moment was over, looking over her with almost pleading apology.

“I’m sorry, I… Can’t.” A restless rage seemed to bubble beneath her hollowed form, tail lashing at her side. “Not here. Not now. I don’t -“

“That’s okay.” The hold against her was no less tender. “You know you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Thorn lamented. “It’s just…”

“Too soon. I can see that.”

The sadness seemed to be mutual, even if it seemed despite the empathy the pain was apparent on Spectre’s face. But even still, that willful vulnerability wasn’t cast aside when the other’s desires weren’t met. So perhaps she really was more than just a pretty face to kiss.

“I like your company no matter what form it takes. Take your time to figure it out; that isn’t the reason I’m here. I could tell you needed help.“

“And you needed someone to talk to who understood you. I guess this still serves both of us, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Talking through it felt better than the act itself. What needed communication broke the silence was understood; it was too early to move on with wounds transcending beyond the surface of skin. It would take time to become independent from Spectre’s tender care; necessary now, but too soon to determine the realness of romantic connection. Not like this.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

A resigned nod met Spectre’s words. Leaning closer once more, a gentle tilt of her head planted a chaste kiss on her forehead instead of on the lips; a reminder that someone else understood. It was okay to breathe it in.

Thorn took every opportunity.

Here they were, two victims of inhumane sights and scars that ran far beyond neural tissue. If it had been possible, this moment could’ve lingered on forever. But as promised, it seemed after checking in Spectre intended for the nightmare to end. The last moments lingered under sanguine starlight and began to fade into nothingness but the dull, healing wound that grew heavier in a dreamless sleep.

[gerrydelano]

hello yes i just came to say martanny is like. a phenomenal pairing. they're my favourite relationship out of late-stage pbr (sliiightly edging out pharos and tasmin) what the fuck did you put in them to make them so good.

thank you so much! i've been thinking about them lately (the epilogue is. hard. given Events.) and so tbh they're stumping me but i am SO glad i included them because they mean a lot to me and were such a fun experiment and writing exercise and i just had such a good time with them & i'm glad you did too!

core martanny ingredience: angel/demon, sword/shield, protective energy gone mildly pathological, martin's extremely stark contrast to lye both physically and figuratively (which is coming back to bite me in the tragedy), straight up initial and then increasing alienation from the others which leads to Notable Codependency, a sense of duty from both that can read as chivalrous or romantic but is actually Kind Of Sick When You Think About It but to the two of them it means the world, and also the fact that martin is also a little bitch who can handle danny's attitude when he lashes out/withdraws and is trying to keep other people away from him (and therefore the reverse is also true)

tl;dr: we put breaking benjamin in them

[scuddle-bubble101]

Asks are opened!

new post comes new name prompt! Please feel free to come on by and say hi!<3

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

Achro

Agnus

Allan

Alloy

Alyssum/Sy

Ashes

Basketball

Barley

Bubbles

Bound

CC-CottonCandy

Callie

Chains

Cherry

Chipper

Classic

Cold-Chills

Color pallet!

Comet

Cons

Cower

Crane

Crimson

Crow

Cub

Cynti

Data

Damian

Deeveri

Denna

Dile (Mr. Dile)

Doll

Donnit

Dr. Diyo

Edit

Eli

Etch&Sketch

Evris

Falis

Fire-Cracker

Fractal

Genie~

Gentlan

Glaze-fall

Glimmer

Happy

Hazard~

Hybrid

Hybridus

Hydrangea

Hym'eka

Infra-red

Insignia

I'suim(Isu)

Jakko

Jazmine

Jazzy

Karli

Kippee

Kosha

Lavender

Laxy

Lost

Lorral

Luci/Lucky

Lye

Mackle

Maga/Mags

Malcolm

Malfunction

Mason

Mavery

Minx

Mistyline

Moris

Morticia-Morgue

Papple/paps!

Patches

Pebz

Penpal

Persimmon

Piers

Pumpkin

Puppet

QuailFeather

Quarry

Rama

Rane

Raven

Rebirth

Reflection

Reeds

Resin

Rose Gold

Ruby

Rust

Rylin

Sapphire

Scatter

Se'mais

Serrated

Shards

Silco~

Smiles

Splotches

Squirrel

Stalos

Stephanie

Stick

Sun-Screen

Tanjo

Tansy

Tally

Tattered

Teddybear

Teeki

Tenny

Tic-tac

Thomas

Towin

Trial

Tribal

Typhoon

Vase/Vessel

Vision

Whacky

Wicker

Zer'hyah

Zonnel

z'Xavier

[coralei]

｡:ﾟ乁. 💜 Coralei Crash Course 💜 .ㄏﾟ:｡

…ᘛᐷ· Pronouns — She/Her

…ᘛᐷ· Age — 30s, Born 1992, Scorpio

…ᘛᐷ· Content Rating — Roughly 16+: Some nsfw text and sexual humor, mentions of weed, suggestive art or mild artistic nudity, liberal use of swears and some reclaimed slurs

…ᘛᐷ· Queerness — Trans woman, Bi dyke, Polyam

…ᘛᐷ· Identity — Mixed white/???, Socialist/leftist, ADHD-haver, furry, sex/body/fat positive, likely a singlet but plural friendly

…ᘛᐷ· Pronunciation — COR-uh-lye, rhymes with Lorelei or Coraline (or just call me Cora)

…ᘛᐷ· Fandom — Furry, Deltarune, MCR, Kingdom Hearts, secretly a Homestuck sleeper agent

Tags below the cut.

---

This is my mostly-sfw main blog, but if you're 21+ you can request the URL for my far sluttier side blog.

---

I tag sporadically, but my most used tags are as follows. I'll add some of these to this post for easy access because Tumblr search sucks.

#coraposting for original posts, #dr for Deltarune, #hs for Homestuck, #furry, #cool art and #insp for art I like, #mental eels for personal posts about mental illness, #mcr for My Chemical Romance.

I also use the format "#cw [thing]" without brackets for content warnings.

I avoid reblogging anything too nsfw but I do use #suggestive or #artistic nudity for art that's possibly risque or has nonsexual nudity.

[weekendviking]

Whoh, yeah. Historical pastimes get historical injuries.

*I stepped in a vat of caustic lye for soap making with animal fat when I was 5, that burned the surface skin off my foot.

*My older brother, who's a film armourer, gunsmith and reenactor, is missing part of a finger on one hand due to an altercation with the gun trail of a 77mm Krupp fieldgun from 1896.

*I know what it feels like to have an 1888 pattern bayonet grate on one's teeth after passing through my cheek. (The Dr congratulated us on our field medicine, quote 'I don't need to even add any sutures, this is probably not even going to leave a scar' (it didn't))

*Started getting trench foot once, but as a roadie setting up a music festival rather than a reenactment for once, but mostly wearing various milsurplus kit, again, unable to dry one's feet out after a solid couple of weeks, and my feet started swelling and the skin began to delaminate, but I remembered my WW1 vet grandfather's advice 'When it's wet, Boy, Grease your feet!' and applied my fat based boot dubbin directly to my feet, and it solved the problem (basically multiple days wet de-fats your skin oils and then you get runaway osmosis and delamination and then infection in the feet...)

*One forgets that safety glasses apply to pre modern tools as well - left the safety glasses with the chainsaws we'd been using earlier to fell the trees for a cruck beam hovel, and I had a split second of insanity when I thought 'The wedge for this treenail for the ridge beam is too long, I'll just cut a couple of inches off the end' and my second thoughts were saying 'hey, that's crossgrained, the chip's gonna bounce' but my sideaxe was already moving. You get acid to mescaline grade colours as your retina gets overpressure damage from the bleeding. Remarkably I kept the eye, and even most of the vision in it, but the macula is spattered with blindspots and I have to wear a permanent eyepatch with diffraction grid as the iris is paralysed and most light levels are too bright, and the diffraction grid/pinhole camera effect is the only way it can focus beyond the end of my arm now. But the eyepatch makes it two lines above the eye test line where they stop it being legal to drive if it's my only eye (think about that, because I do have a spare, but that means there are people out there driving with only one eye as badly damaged as mine.) Also every week I make small children believe in pirates, which is an okay side benefit but not worth part blinding an eye.

*Had a guy doing a WW1 French Poilu proudly show up to a reenactment showing off his new purchase of a near perfect mint condition WW1 waterbottle appropriate to the kit he needed, which he then proceeded to ostentatiously fill and drink from during the battle reenactments at the air show we were at. He then proceeded to get a mint condtion case of WW1 Dysentery, as he'd neglected to sterilise and clean said waterbottle (why using originals is a fraught concern, not just because of their rarity and antique value!).

*Have another friend who has a really gravelly battle field officers voice, and a scar that goes 3/4 of the way around his neck under the chin and up the side of his ear, because he was in an ECW reenactment with the Sealed Knot and Unbeknownst to a guy on the opposing regiment, his blank firing matchlock had accidentally been loaded because the wee brass washer on the end of the ramrod had fallen off, and thus blew through my mate's neck, severing one carotid artery. He went down gushing blood and would have died had not the the woman beside him been an ambulance officer and the man on the other side of him was a Gulf War vet medic.

*Jousters. There's no way to make two horses, both carrying armoured humans with long wooden spears, moving at 30kmh, safe. Enough said.

*Had the school nurse back in the seventies, who was unflappable and in her eighties at the time, regularly do 'Just test the whole little country school for various metrics to generate useful data' and she was doing hearing tests. After the testing she came back to the school had the principal call my parents to come in, and she sat down my Mum and Dad and said 'Ok, Your children are fine, but they all show a gap in their hearing ranges that I've only seen before in combat soldiers'....

You know you've fucked up when you go to a doctor and the thing you have wrong with you has been named after an occupation that isn't a thing anymore. Like imagine a doctor looking at you and going "yeah you've got ox-drawn ploughman's disease. We don't even test for that anymore. Yeah the reason you've never heard of it is because the last known case was in 1927 and happened to some guy who was like 98 years old and didn't believe in modern medicine of the time. What the fuck have you been up to."

[postsofbabel]

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[docrotten]

THE LOST CONTINENT (1968) – Episode 180 – Decades Of Horror: The Classic Era

“Silence! Am I not El Supremo, the direct descendant of Jose Quintero? And was not Jose Quintero the Almighty’s right hand when Cortez carried his word to the Mexican heathens? In interrupting me, you are interrupting God!” You never know when you or someone you’re with might want to signal someone by lighting a match. Join this episode’s Grue-Crew – Daphne Monary-Ernsdorff, Chad Hunt, Doc Rotten, and Jeff Mohr with guests Richard Klemensen (Little Shoppe of Horrors Magazine) and Bill Mulligan – as they take a leaky boat on a perilous, Hammer-sponsored trip to The Lost Continent (1968)!

Decades of Horror: The Classic Era Episode 180 – The Lost Continent (1968)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

ANNOUNCEMENT Decades of Horror The Classic Era is partnering with THE CLASSIC SCI-FI MOVIE CHANNEL, THE CLASSIC HORROR MOVIE CHANNEL, and WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL Which all now include video episodes of The Classic Era! Available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, Online Website. Across All OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop. https://classicscifichannel.com/; https://classichorrorchannel.com/; https://wickedhorrortv.com/

The captain, crew, and passengers of an old freighter – all with dark secrets to keep – find themselves adrift in a mysterious land full of monsters, conquistadors, and killer seaweed.

  Directed by: Michael Carreras; Leslie Norman (uncredited)

Writing Credits: Michael Carreras (screenplay) (as Michael Nash); Dennis Wheatley (novel, Uncharted Seas, 1938)

Produced by: Michael Carreras (producer); Anthony Hinds (executive producer) (uncredited); Peter Manley (associate producer)

Music by: Gerard Schurmann (as Gerard Schürmann); Carlo Martelli (uncredited)

Cinematography by: Paul Beeson (director of photography)

Editing by: Chris Barnes

Special Effects by: Robert A. Mattey

Selected Cast:

Eric Porter as Capt. Lansen

Hildegard Knef as Eva Peters

Suzanna Leigh as Unity Webster

Tony Beckley as Harry Tyler

Nigel Stock as Dr. Webster

Neil McCallum as First Officer Hemmings

Ben Carruthers as Ricaldi (as Benito Carruthers)

Jimmy Hanley as Patrick, the Bartender

James Cossins as Nick, Chief Engineer

Dana Gillespie as Sarah

Victor Maddern as Mate

Reg Lye as Helmsman

Norman Eshley as Jonathan, the Prisoner

Michael Ripper as Sea Lawyer

Donald Sumpter as Sparks, the Radioman

Alf Joint as Jason, a Crewman

Charles Houston as Braemer, a Crewman

Shivendra Sinha as Hurri Curri

Darryl Read as El Diablo

Eddie Powell as The Inquisitor

Frank Hayden as Sergeant

Mark Heath as Customs Man

Horace James as Customs Man

Maxwell Craig as Crewman (uncredited)

Sylvana Henriques as Traveller on Boat (uncredited)

Cynthia Myers as Native Girl (uncredited)

A bit of a Hammer oddity, The Lost Continent (1968), directed by Michael Carreras, is a blast! Richard Klemensen, publisher/editor of Little Shoppe of Horrors: The Journal of Classic British Horror Films, and the voice you hear in the commentary track of the Scream Factory Blu-ray of this film, joins the Classic Era Grue Crew for this one. Bill Mulligan, co-host of DoH 70s and DoH 80s will also make the cross-DoH jump. Now we’re talking fun! The composite crew covers everything from seaweed to monsters to El Supremo to balloons, including Dana Gillespie. 

Please excuse the technical issues we struggled with, but after rescheduling twice, we decided to forge ahead, We hope you have as much fun viewing/listening as we had recording!

At the time of this writing, The Lost Continent is available on physical media as a standard Blu-ray format disc from Scream Factory.

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror: The Classic Era records a new episode every two weeks. Up next in their very flexible schedule, as chosen by Daphne, is I Vampiri (1957, Lust of the Vampire), directed by Riccardo Freda and Mario Bava. Bill Mulligan from Decades of Horror 1970s and 1980s will join us because, well… Bava!

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: leave them a message or leave a comment on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel, the site, or email the Decades of Horror: The Classic Era podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com

To each of you from each of them, “Thank you so much for watching and listening!” 

Check out this episode!

[lboogie1906]

Dr. Lucius J. Barker (June 11, 1928 - June 21, 2020) was a political scientist who broke through racial barriers to become a leader in constitutional law, civil liberties, and African American politics. Born in Franklinton, Louisiana, he was the fifth of six children of teacher and principal Twiley Barker, Sr., and Marie Hudson Barker, an elementary schoolteacher.

After obtaining his BA in Political Science from Southern University, he received his MA and Ph.D. in Political Science from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. His brother Twiley, Jr. received an MA and Ph.D. in Political Science from the University of Illinois.

He took a position at Southern University. He worked at the University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee. He served as a Liberal Arts Fellow of Law and Politics at Harvard Law School. He married Maude Beavers. He returned to the University of Illinois for two years and served as Assistant Chancellor. He began teaching at Washington University and served as Political Science Department Chair. He took a position at Stanford University where he was the William Bennett Munro Professor of Political Science. He held posts as a visiting professor at other universities including Harvard before retiring from teaching.

Lye published several books. He and his older brother Twiley, wrote Civil Liberties and the Constitution. He wrote African Americans and the Political System. He wrote Our Time Has Come about the Jesse Jackson Presidential campaigns in 1984 and 1988.

He served as a delegate to the DNC representing Missouri. He was president of the Midwest Political Science Association. He was engaged in countless presidential campaigns as an activist and observer, from John F. Kennedy’s campaign to Barack Obama’s campaign.

He was the founding editor of the National Political Science Review and he became the second African American president of the American Political Science Association. He was appointed to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences Association.

He was a member of Sigma Pi Phi Fraternity. His wife, Maude, died 33 days earlier. He is survived by two daughters. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #sigmaphiphi

[steamexperts]

Steam Experts Sydney - Why You Should Steam Clean Your Carpets

Steam cleaning is an effective way to improve indoor air quality in your Sydney home by killing dust mites and odour-causing microbes. It also removes stubborn stains and freshens the overall look of your carpet.

UNSW Canberra’s new STEAM initiative will explore the intersections between art and science, and the knowledges, philosophies and skill sets they bring to life. It will begin with a seminar by Dr Rousell.

Choose the Right Steam Cleaner

A Steam Experts Sydney is a great way to deep clean floors, tiles and windows. They’re efficient and environmentally friendly, killing germs without the need for chemical cleaning products. They are also helpful for allergy sufferers as they eliminate toxic fumes and irritants such as bleach, ammonia or lye.

Different models come with a range of attachments and features to suit specific types of cleaning. For example, some steam cleaners have a window squeegee, others have a sink unblocking system or garment steamer attachment for clothing and curtains. They can even come with a specialised brush nozzle to tackle grout, scraper nozzles for ovens and stovetops, and angled nozzles to reach corners and other hard-to-reach areas.

You’ll also want to consider how much energy the cleaner uses, as this will affect your electricity bill. Many use around 1000 to 1800 watts, so you’ll need to factor this into your budget. Additionally, you’ll want to check whether the steam cleaner has a water tank and how easy it is to refill it.

Steam Cleaning Your Couch

While a regular vacuuming is crucial to the health of your couch, it's also a good idea to steam clean it twice a year. This will help reduce allergens in the air and prevent your furniture from becoming dingy and smelly.

Steam experts cleaning is one of the best ways to clean a fabric couch because it uses high temperatures that kill bacteria and germs. It's also effective at removing dirt and stains.

It's important to pretreat stains on your couch before you start steaming. This will ensure that they come out as well as possible. Pretreating stains also means that you won't have to go over them multiple times with the steamer, which can waterlog your upholstery.

It's also a good idea to do a dry vacuuming after steaming your couch to get rid of any moisture left behind. This will help speed up the drying process and prevent mold from growing. Once the couch is dry, it's ready to use again!

Steam Cleaning Your Upholstery

The superheated steam of a professional steam cleaner can kill bacteria, dust mites, pollen grains, pet dander and mold spores. This can reduce symptoms of allergies such as sneezing, watery eyes and respiratory problems.

Chemical-based cleaning products release toxic fumes into the air, which can cause respiratory problems and skin irritations in those who suffer from asthma or other respiratory conditions. These chemicals can also damage your furniture over time.

Regularly steam experts cleaning your upholstery can help to extend the life of your furniture and keep it looking like new without the use of harsh chemicals. Just make sure to choose the right type of steam cleaner for your furniture and be prepared to allow it to dry thoroughly before using again. The experts at Laurastar can steam clean your leather furniture with a unique blend of cleaners including lanolin to restore, nourish and protect it from early wear and tear while keeping your upholstery free from harmful allergens and pollutants.

[vivienneastor]

~ & kitchen convo : @aresmelaina

ares brings vivienne some soapworks supplies, and is rewarded with a beard-trim while he draws out some of her loss.

Ares Melaina: Hey. You are... Vivienne, right? -still a bit damp from the shower he took after his last raid, he makes his way into the community center kitchen holding his bag; plopping it down on the counter he opens it to reveal a bunch of white plastic containers- I got the lye you needed. I, uh.. got a lot of it, though. Some of these essential oils, too, since I was already there.

vivienne astor: -stops what she's doing, namely reading the label on a bottle of dr bronners castile soap, and stares at ares- Is that so? -greedily starts looking through the bag contents- When I asked for this, I didn't think it would actually appear in this lifetime. And you got oils? Did you choose them yourself?

Ares Melaina: I found an abandoned hardware store, and I guess not a lot of people wanna loot lye. -he watches, feeling a little proud of his loot- I just kinda grabbed what they had. And what I thought sounded good. That's what you need for soap, right? Lye and scent stuff?

vivienne astor: In a manner of speaking. Working with lye does take a certain amount of skill and precision, and fortunately I have a higher than common quotient of both. -she starts sorting through the oils, then beckons to ares- Come here. Closer.

Ares Melaina: Yeah, you kind of seem like you'd be very dexterous with stuff like that. -he steps up next to her at her command, peeking into the bag- Something wrong?

vivienne astor: Nothing is wrong. -reaches up and deftly grooms his hair with her fingers, then opens one of the bottles of essential oil and dabs a tiny amount against each of his temples, drawing the wand through his hair- Oil of neroli. It's bitter orange, green and floral and fruity but with its sweetness complicated by the bitter.

Ares Melaina: -he blinks in surprise as she suddenly touches him, but finds subconsciously himself leaning into it just a bit- Neroli? -he's sure he's never heard that word before; the aroma wafts into his nose- It smells very... orang-y. Do you normally put that stuff into hair?

vivienne astor: I put it wherever I want to. -since Ares isn't moving away, she continues to anoint him with it, touching the wand to the hollow of his throat- I think it's a beautiful laundry scent. Evocative without being oppressive. Should you ever find another bottle, you should keep some of it for yourself. It suits you.

Ares Melaina: Oh. Huh. Thanks. I don't think anybody's ever told me that. -he swallows when he feel the oil drip onto his throat, feeling the wand shift with it; it's making him feel a little flushed; he meets her gaze, giving her a little, crooked grin- Guess I'll have to use the soap you make, huh?

vivienne astor: The soap I'm making now is for laundry. So you will be using it. You don't have any choice in that. -she caps the bottle of oil again, starting to line them all up on the table- But after that I'll make bath soap. -she notes his flush, and her lips twitch slightly, but she easily schools her expression back into haughtiness- It's an extraordinarily intimate process, you understand. Making something that people will use on their naked bodies. It requires them to have complete trust in me that I'm formulating something gentle and cleansing that won't hurt their skin.

Ares Melaina: I never really thought about that much. -he runs a hand through his hair, feeling even more flustered by her words- Makes sense. That it's intimate. The trust stuff. -he watches her line up the bottles, taking one and flipping it in his fingers before he looks back at her- I mean - you wouldn't do that, right? Make something that hurts someone on purpose.

vivienne astor: Ares! Of course I wouldn't. But sometimes the thought exercise is enough, isn't it. To marvel over how much we put our bodies and peace of mind into the hands of other people, every day.

Ares Melaina: Yeah it's... Really, uh, interesting. -he swallows, his mind still caught on the whole "putting your body into other people's hands" part- You don't really seem like the type who does that. Who puts herself into other people's hands. -he grins at her again- Am I right?

vivienne astor: -smiles suddenly, reaching up to pinch ares' nose between her knuckles- You are right! I have a healthy amount of distrust when it comes to personal care products. Not that I can maintain the same standards I had before, naturally, but one must at least attempt to have some civility.  What do you do to make yourself feel good, Ares? To make yourself feel ... -runs her hands down her face and throat, giving a showy shiver- ... pampered.

Ares Melaina: -he's not really bothered by the pinch; seeming more amused than anything; the question catches him off guard though- Feel good? -he repeats, his mind going a bit to the gutter as it follows her hand, before it returns- Long showers, kinda? A bit hard to do that when there isn't a lot of water. -he grins- Heh. Guess I'll be using your soap for that soon. What about you? You seem like you enjoy taking care of yourself. You're really, uh... -he searches for the right word- ... Pretty. Well groomed.

vivienne astor: Long cold showers don't have the same sybaritic effect, that's true. -she keeps smiling at him, charmed by his full-on engaging with her questions and challenges, and then his simple but effective compliments- Thank you. You are also pretty, although you could stand to be groomed more. Do you not have someone to groom you, dear boy?

Ares Melaina: Sybaritic? -he has absolutely no idea what that word means; he shakes it off- Wow.  Thank you. -he grins, actually feeling pretty happy with the compliment- Mayra cuts my hair from time to time. Do you know her? She's pretty nice. The shave I do myself. -he runs his hand through his beard, aware it has gotten long- Guess I could stand a good grooming.

vivienne astor: Sybaritic means luxurious and self-indulgent. Not at all the feeling a cold shower gives you, even when it's too hot outside. -she watches his reactions, the genuine pleasure at being called pretty, and reaches to take his hand away from his beard- I don't know Mayra, though I suppose that will come if she's good at cutting hair. -she runs her fingertips through his beard a few times and then says decisively- I will trim your beard. Right now.

Ares Melaina: Yeah, that definitely isn't self-indulgent. -he readily let's her take away his hand; his eyes widen slightly in surprise- Right now? -he's starting to feel a bit like a broken record player; he grins- Why does it feel like I can't say no to that? But not here right? Since it's the kitchen.

vivienne astor: The kitchen is a perfectly appropriate place for a proper trim. We have water, we have soap, we have scissors. You will do exactly as I tell you, so there won't be any mess. -she grooms his beard a little more, envisioning what she wants, and then nods decisively- Sit on that stool. I will get everything ready.

Ares Melaina: Alright. You know what you're doing. -the whole thing seems to fluster him a little, but not in a bad way; he seems to enjoy it; he goes to sit down- Did you do this before?

vivienne astor: I tended to my ... -she hesitates for a moment at the sink; it's strange, having the opportunity to talk about Hunter and Zack without worrying over gossip and scandal- ...my beloved this way. Not my husband but his brother, Hunter. If it wasn't for familial duty, Hunter and I would've married.

Ares Melaina: Oh. That must have been hard. Getting married to a person you didn't want to marry. -he looks at her sympathetically- Is Hunter here now?

vivienne astor: Hunter is dead. -wets a towel with warm water and a touch of some of the oil of neroli, coming over to wrap Ares' chin with it, patting his face more than necessary- It was quite recent. Outside of Redwood, where my husband Zack found me.

Ares Melaina: I'm sorry. It must have been hard losing him. -he glances up at her; carefully- How did it happen? If you want to talk about it. You obviously don't have to.

vivienne astor: -keeps petting at him, finding it soothing- He wasn't well. It was hard to know what exactly it was, medical diagnoses not being what they used to be, but likely some form of heart condition. His mother's side of the family was prone to it. We were on the road and our car broke down, and Hunter was trying to repair it enough for us to get where we were going -- another safehouse -- but he... -she stops, going still for a moment and closing her eyes- I was in the car. He had the hood up and I heard him start to say my name, and then I heard him hit the engine. I think it was the engine. I don't know what's where, under a car hood.

Ares Melaina: Shit. That must've been horrible. -he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up to put his own hand on top of hers, giving it a squeeze; a quiet encouragement for her to keep going-

vivienne astor: He drove racecars. He was a surgeon but that wasn't enough, so he drove racecars. He would've known how to repair the car, if it could be repaired. -opens her eyes again, clasping Ares' hand briefly before moving to the sink- I heard him fall and he was already dead by the time I got out of the car and went to him. There was nothing to do. I tied him to the front fender so when he turned, he'd be protection for me.

Ares Melaina: And then Zack found you? -he asks; he didn't want to imagine it, having to sit in that car with your dead significant other dead and tied up; she always seemed so composed- I'm sorry. About all of that. That must've been hard. -he blinks up at her- You must miss him a lot.

vivienne astor: I missed him even when he was alive, because we couldn't be properly together. -she fills a bowl with water and puts a drop or two of soap lather in it, then collects a few towels and comes over to Ares, draping him- Do you want it short, or just shaped and cleaned up? Zack found me and had to put his brother down. It wasn't easy for either of us.

Ares Melaina: Short would be good. -she had gone through a lot; seeing her husband kill the person she loved- Do you want to put a cross up for him? There's a graveyard here, where the people bury their dead, or remember them.

vivienne astor: -she pauses, staring at Ares until her mouth starts to tremble, at which point she sets it into a thin, hard line for a moment and brings out her scissors, holding it against his face to measure angles- That would be very kind of you. I would appreciate that. His name was Hunter McLaren Astor.

Ares Melaina: Hunter McLaren Astor. -he repeats, memorizing the name; he notices the tremor in it- Alright. I can get the cross made and you could choose a spot he would've liked. That's a plan.

vivienne astor: -she doesn't say anything, just combs Ares' beard and then starts trimming it with her scissors, working for a while before she speaks again- Have you lost someone close to you during this ... all of this? The undead.

Ares Melaina: -he let's her work, relaxing into it the same way he does when Mayra gives him a haircut- A few friends. Most of my family. My parents and my sister. I don't know if they're alive. My brother said he visited the house but it was empty like they left. So they could be out there. I kinda hope they are.

vivienne astor: Why would you hope they are? -she seems to catch herself, pausing- I suppose there are many other places like Redwood. That's what you meant, isn't it. Not that you think of them out there trying to survive on their own.

Ares Melaina: Oh no, I meant- I just hope they're alive, y'know. Not dead. It'd be cool if they found a place like this.

vivienne astor: -she takes the moment to inspect her work, trimming some more off one side of his chin, then holds his face in her hands and strokes the sides of his mouth with her thumbs, briskly- You look incredibly handsome now, little one. I like to think your parents would be glad you're being taken care of.

Ares Melaina: -he looks up her, eyes slightly wide, leaning into the touch- You really mean that? -he has to swallow hard for a moment- Thanks. I mean... not just for saying that. For the trim, too.

vivienne astor: -she melts a little bit at his big wide eyes, though it's not entirely comfortable inside her, the memory of another boy with big clear eyes stirring around in her memory- I mean it. And it felt very fulfilling to do some manicuring on you. If you ever want it fully shaved, you must promise to come to me first. I'm a genius with a straight razor.

Ares Melaina: Okay. I promise. -he smiles at her, feeling a bit lighter now as he carefully pushed off his stool- I'm gonna go head out now. If you need anything for soaps, let me know, okay? Or just anything in general.

vivienne astor: -has already started her cleanup, turned towards the sink- I will. And if you ... if you need ... -she pauses, then continues- Have a good day, little one.

Ares Melaina: -he looks at her, slightly confused as she breaks off; considering to ask but deciding against it- You too. -the smile can be heard in his voice as he trudges off-

[greyborn2]

For the Asks to Spread Love 💖 :D

2. Tell us why you love one of your OCs or an obscure canon character (link to any fics/art you have featuring them!) 

8. Best thing about canon

15. A topic you never get tired of discussing

Asks to Spread Love

Eeee! Thanke for the asks! Had been wondering if I'd get any!

2 - Why not both? So for OC's gonna go with Daro Lye because she has been rotating in my brain a LOT lately. TL;DR on her is Khajiiti cultist of mehrunes dagon who isnt just a 'ha ha! lets end the world!' cultist. Adore her both for just how... lively and jokey and constantly vibrant and moving she is? She has this sorta infectious (to me) joy that always manages to hit me hard just by writing her or thinking about her. Plus she's tied in with my favourite daedric prince so OF COURSE I love her. Did some art of her over here but gosh should I do some new stuff for her. That art is ooooold. For obscure canon character... Wylandriah. the court wizard of Riften. Interacted with her a ton on my last skyrim playthrough and GOSH I love her. She has such a fun vibe. Love mad scientists and, the adjacent, mad wizards and she's spot on in that zone. Wish she was a marriage option honestly!

8 - Ok, so I dunno if this is more of a best thing about canon or just best thing about how TES is written but either way its one of the things that has led to it being my permanent hyperfixation in the back of my brain no matter what other hyperfixations come in to cohabitate with it. The... I guess I'd word it as internal consistency? But how there is almost an unspoken science to the metaphysics and magic and sorta 'how the world works' of TES, that extends even to other parts like history and culture, that means if you know some parts you can fairly accurately theorize on other parts. Its not random disjointed parts, its all really cohesive (to me, anyway) and fits together like clockwork and that just makes my brain go brrrrrrr with happy noises. The intense satisfaction of unravelling TES lore like a clockmaker taking apart a time piece and then reassembling it lovingly.

15 - Ok, outside of TES? Just lore in general. I am a self prescribed Lore Gremlin and if someone gives me the right prompting now and then I can ramble about the lore of ANYTHING for hours. Something about lore and worldbuilding is just crack for my brain. But for TES specifically? Any of my favourites squad. Orcs, reachfolk, maomer and khajiit (vaguely in that order, though it varies sometimes). Adore those guys and ye, big brain brrrrr (affectionate)

[historical-halloween]

Pages 5-6 of “Death Makes A Holiday: A Cultural History of Halloween” by David J. Skal

Since demonic possession was never much of a real issue in mainstream American life, the extraordinary success of “The Exorcist” might be best explained as a veiled self-recognition by the public in a time when many families were indeed being torn apart, if not by psychokinesis and the corrosive effects of green vomit, then by political acting-out and violent disagreements with children over the war, politics, and culture. To many parents, Linda Blair’s spook-house persona may have been hardly distinguishable, at least on a gut level, from the matted-haired, obscenity-spouting war protestors and hippies who were taking up an increasingly disturbing amount of cultural time in the early 1970s. Like Linda Blair’s levitating Regan, they seemed to operate on a different moral plane entirely- just like the insidious, invidious, elusive-but-omnipresent Halloween-candy tamperer.

It was during this tumultuous period that the New York Times gave its distinguished imprimatur to the Halloween terrorist legend:

Those Halloween goodies that children collect this weekend on their rounds of “trick or treating” may bring them more horror than happiness. Take for example that plump red apple that Junior gets from a kindly old woman down the block. It may have a razor blade hidden inside. The chocolate “candy” bar may be a laxative, the bubble gum may be sprinkled with lye, the popcorn balls may be coated with camphor, the candy may turn out to be packets containing sleeping pills.

The Times reflected the sociopolitical overtones of the legend in quoting Dr. Reginald Steen, a Hempstead, Long Island, psychiatrist who had strong, right-leaning ideas about the possible cause of sadistic Halloween incidents. It was “the permissiveness in today’s society” that was responsible. “People who give harmful treats to children see criminals and students in campus riots getting away with things... they think they can get away with it, too.”

Within a few years of the New York Times’s authoritative warning piece, newspapers everywhere routinely warned parents to guard against Halloween sadists, giving the danger equal footing with more sensible concerns about flammable costumes. There was, however, one problem with the media’s uncritical acceptance of the reportings: a report is a very different thing from a confirmed tampering, much less an actual injury or death. In keeping with the spirit of Halloween, hoaxes were afoot, too- lots of hoaxes, as it turned out.

Most of the reports involved only the alleged discovery of pins, needles, and razor blades in treats, with no follow-ups or arrests, much less physical harm done to anyone. Joel Best and Gerald T. Horiuchi, researchers at California State University, concluded, “Children who go trick-or-treating know about Halloween sadism; they have been warned by their parents, teachers and friends. A child who ‘discovers’ an adulterated treat stands to be rewarded with the concerned attention of parents, and, perhaps, police officers and reporters.” Similarly, parents who claim to have discovered hidden dangers receive positive attention from peers and public authorities.

Actual cases involving minor injuries do occasionally occur, but they are so rare and scattered that they do not constitute a significant pattern. Best and Horiuchi examined seventy-six cases of Halloween sadism reported by the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, and the Fresno Bee between 1958 and 1984. The found “no reports where an anonymous sadist caused death or a life-threatening injury,” and that “there is no justification for the claim that Halloween sadism stands as a major threat to U.S. children.” A decade earlier, Editor and Publisher had reached the same conclusion.

Want to read more? Check the book out here!