#I want this poll to go longer then a week so I used good old google forums

[ofsunnydays-and-moonlitnights]

What should I write next?

After Some more Mer-may stuffs I want to start my next SUN AND MOON FIC. The fic I've already writen is the first of a three or four part series I was hoping to do, But I'm not sure which one to write next (I do have a time line but that doesn't mean I have to write them in order... right?), let me know which one you'd like to see first.

I don't have much info I can give you on each story (not with out ruining some surprises. but If you don't mind spoilers feel free to ask me about them. ) but I've had these ideas running around my head for so long (I mean it's been a over a year maybe two since I started writing the last fic and these Ideas have been there probably around the same time lol)

We have:

Teacher AU

Apocalypse AU

Space AU

Feel free to suggest any ideas you'd like to see written.

[mssonepiece]

You said you wanted one..

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Content~Fluff

From this poll.

You and Satoru have decided to take the next step in your relationship by moving in together. You've been dating for five years now, and after bringing it up so often you decided to shoot the bullet and ask Satoru if he really wanted to find a place to grow and start a family of your own. You were nervous asking him such a question at first but he agreed that you'd been dating so long that you might as well live together. Adding that it would be much easier to sleep in the same bed when you aren't having to travel to each others houses every night. It's been a serene few weeks breaking into the new house and creating new habits. Picking a house that suited both of your requirements was very stressful on you and finally being able to relax knowing all the furniture was in place, was everything that you needed with this move. With everything being in order, you and Satoru were able to spend days at home resting on the couch or in bed. The move has brought you together much closer than you've ever been. It felt like you didn't need anything else from life in this moment. However, Satoru walking past a pet store on his way from work couldn't help himself from getting pulled into the shop. He took his time browsing around all the fish, birds, dogs, and eventually cats that were in the back of the store. There's a range of colors to pick from of small kittens, they have to be at least 3 months old. Instantly Satoru knew that he had to bring one of these kittens home to you. He remembers how you mentioned loving animals and wanting a few of your own one day, which is only temping him to buy one more. A yellowish-orange kitten with a cream colored patch covering half of its face stretches up the glass as far at it can reach, catching Satoru attention. He can't help but let out an audible 'aw' at its actions, smiling brightly at the thoughts in his head. He takes a minute to watch all the kittens play before walking up to the staff to show them which cat he will be taking home.

You got home from working at your office job about an hour ago, deciding to unpack a few of the remaining boxes lying around the house to tidy up a bit. It’s an attempt at trying to keep yourself busy while waiting for Satoru to get home from a "hard" day of teaching, though after a while you notice it seems to be taking a little longer today than normal. It’s not long before you get tired of emptying boxes and opts for putting on a tv show to past the time instead. Half an hour later the click of the front doors lock and the footsteps of Satoru's boots pulls away your attention from the show you put on. "I'm home," He shouts in a sing-song tone. "and I got something for us!" Closing the door behind him and taking his time to take his shoes off. You lunge off the couch and walk through the living room/kitchen to where the main entrance of your newly shared home is.

"Hi baby. Whatchu get?" You try getting on your tippy-toes to look around his frontside. He was attempting to hide something in his jacket but wasn’t doing a very good job as he was revealing the surprise to anyone in front of him. Satoru giggles, doing his best to not just show the cute kitten he's got on his detour to his lover. "Hey!" dragging out the 'y' when he still doesn’t show you what he's hiding. "Show me already Satoru!" You grab onto his sleeve, starting a small tug of war with him and his arm. Finally you pull him to face your direction with all your might, all he says is a quick 'tada' before presenting the small orange kitten to you in his large hands. "Oh my god.." Your jaw drops for a moment. Before you can register what's going on you're grabbing the kitten out of Satoru's hands.

"Be careful!" He jokes.

"I know. Oh my god Toru. I can't believe this! I've literally been wanting an orange cat for so long!" The smile on your face is more than worth it to Satoru.

"The worker said that this was one of their favorite cats in the store and she's such a little cuddle bug." Satoru laughs at the employees words, enjoying the view of the new responsibility. "She was climbing all over me on the walk home. She's a cutie, just like you sweetie."

"Aww. Really? That's so cute!" Your smiling so hard its starting to hurt but your certain your already in love with this kitten Satoru got. "I love her!" Cuddling the kitten up to your face you feel her purring lightly. Satoru feels a rush of heat flow through him as he watches his girlfriend with the small animal. His smile is also starting to hurt his face but he doesn’t care.

"What should we name it?" Satoru grabs your waist and pulls you into him. He has the perfect view of his girl and his kitty.

"It! Satoru!" You pet the kitten comfortingly as if it understood Satoru's comment. He rolls his eyes, giggling at the face you make and taking the chance to pull you closer. "We should name her.. hmm" You look down at the kitten to see if it'll ignite any ideas in your brain. "How about-"

"How about we name it Suguru?" Satoru chuckles.

"Shut up. We aren't naming her Suguru." You roll your eyes which only making Satoru laugh larger. "We need to pick a cute name, not our dead best friends babe." He juts out his bottom lip. He looks so cute that it makes you laugh. Your laugh always makes Satoru's heart do cartwheels, it makes him feel lightheaded knowing that he's the one making you laugh or smile. He drops his head to your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your neck. The kitten puts its small paws on his face, causing another cute laugh from you. "Aww, you look so cute together." He smiles at your comment, bringing one hand up from your waist to pet the kitten. "Let's name her Honey. Because her furs the color of honey, and she's super sweet." There's no response, you only feel Satoru nod and his hair tickling you from in your neck. You're sure you haven't dropped the smile from your face since Satoru walked through the door. Who would have guess he would have gotten you the kitten you've been wanting to get yourself for years. You always put it off due to work, worried that you wouldn't be home enough to actually take care of a kitten. Now with Satoru around it will be much easier to raise an animal. His warm breath against your neck and collar bones is relaxing, and the view of him petting and admiring your new kitten is causing butterflies in your stomach. You let out a satisfied hum as it seems life could never be better than it is now. Finally moving in with your long-term boyfriend, having a beautiful home, a stable job, and now a new pet to top it off. It truly feels like you are starting a family with Satoru after all these years..

Would y'all be interested in a part 2?

[dedicatednotobsessed]

A Hidden Love [Modern!Aegon Targaryen x Pregnant!Reader]

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Other HOTD stories [requests open]

So, I did a poll on a new character one shot and Aegon won by a long shot 😅 But I hope y’all enjoy this one! It is definitely one of my longer ones 💚

Summary: You had been working at the same diner since you were sixteen years old, working to support your family. You have had a particular regular, a boy your same age. You ended up being infatuated with him which led to an affair, even when he became married and had children although you have been holding a big secret from him….

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You had your hair pinned up so it was out of your face as you cleaned down the hostess station. You worked at a local diner on the outskirts of Kings Landing called The Gold Cloaks. It could be a tiring job, yet you were doing it for your younger brother and your sick mother. You lived in the lower parts of Fleabottom, so every penny counted.

“Isn’t this the third time we came here this week?” You heard a voice whine, a small smile coming on your lips.

“Yeah, but you did so good on your exam, I wanted to treat you to a sundae,” The other voice spoke up.

The younger boy groaned causing you to giggle. “Well, I was going to serve you, Daeron, but I see you don’t want to be here,” You said turning around with two menus. “The usual booth?”

Aegon had his hand on his baby brother’s head, his fingers tangled in his silver hair. “You know us so well, Y/N.”

You hummed, your eyes wandering over the eldest Targaryen boy with a small smile. “Follow me,” She said grabbing two menus and led them to their favorite booth; in the very corner outside of the sunny windows.

“Did you two want the usual or are you finally changing it up on me after three years?” You asked with a cocked brow as the brothers sat across from each other.

“Well, I promised this little shit here one of those giant hot fudge sundaes with extra cherries,” Aegon said with a nod. “He aced his math exam, top of his class.”

Daeron rolled his eyes a bit. “It wasn’t that hard,” He mumbled. “But can we get extra fudge too?”

You giggled a bit at Daeron and nodded. “Anything for my favorite boy,” You said with a pout while ruffling his hair.

Aegon the Second was the eldest of four siblings being twenty years young; his only sister, Helaena eighteen, Aemond going on seventeen. Then there was the youngest, who also was your favorite because of his attitude, was Daeron who was thirteen. They had been going to The Gold Cloaks for a while now, although it seemed to be more frequent in the last few years. At least Aegon became a regular.

Daeron waved your hand away from his hair but he had a small smile on his lips. “You don’t have many options for me to be your favorite anyway,” He teased looking at his brother.

You giggled and shook your head. “I’ll be right back with your usual drinks, two Cokes, right?”

Aegon nodded with a smile. “Now that never changes, love.”

“Coming right up.” You hummed lightly letting your eyes wander over Aegon before turning towards the kitchen.

You leaned against the side of the building, blowing out a puff of smoke from your cigarette. You had promised your ten year old brother, Thomos- or Thommy as you liked to call him- that you would try and quick yet balancing out working and taking care of your small family was wearing you down mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Your mother, Sofina has had Greyscale disease for a few years now and she seemed to become bed bound because of it. You were concerned that you could not find a cure for it and she would succumb to it.

You glanced up hearing the crunching of rocks and smiled lightly at the sight of Aegon. “I was wondering when you were going to show up,” You stated while putting out your cigarette.

Aegon rubbed the back of his neck. “It took a while to get away from Daeron. I’m actually thankful to see that little shit Jace for once. He came over and sat down, talking nerd stuff or some shit.”

You giggled while taking his hands to pull him closer. You leaned up and connected your lips with his, wrapping your arms around his neck. Aegon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body close to his as he deepened the kiss.

“Are you coming to the party tonight?” Aegon mumbled against your lips. “Your brother and mom can come too if they want?”

You pulled back with a small smile on your lips. “You know I can’t.”

“Come on.” Aegon pouted a bit. “I don’t want to be dying of boredom by old rich people at an elaborate fancy party.”

You returned Aegon’s pout. “You know I can’t. My mom is bed bound. Besides, I haven’t been feeling too good lately.”

Aegon groaned, laying his head on your shoulder. “Fine be that way,” He whined.

You laughed lightly. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” You assured him while you leaned up to give him another kiss.

“Oh, you will?” Aegon questioned as he returned your kiss.

“Mm-hmm.”

You smirked against his lips before he slowly pushed his tongue into your mouth as your hands went to his jeans. You were able to get it undone just as the door burst open.

“Oi, Y/N!” The head cook, Melvin walked out, his belly jiggling slightly as he walked. “Quit fuckin’ ‘im and deliver these orders before the food gets cold!”

You laughed a bit and looked up at Aegon who had a smug smirk on his features. You pushed lightly at his chest. “I need to get back to work before I get into anymore trouble. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Aegon chuckled and pulled you close for one more kiss. “I’m holding you to that,” He whispered in your ear and giggled when he gave you a playful slap on the bum before he made his way to the front of the diner.

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You held onto your stomach as you spit into the toilet. It had been close to a week since you’ve seen last seen Aegon; he hadn’t even been answering your text messages and you were beginning to worry.

“Y/N! Hurry up! You’ve been in there for ten minutes!”

You groaned while rubbing your temples at your brother’s complaining. “I’ll be out soon, Thommy!”

You clutched tight onto the bathroom counter, slowly standing. You flushed the toilet and walked out giving him a small smile.

“What took you so long? I’ve been trying to hold it for so long.” Thommy groaned as he pushed past you, slamming the door in your face.

You giggled and shook your head before heading out to the kitchen. You let out a small hum while you turned two burners on, one for the tea kettle and one for eggs. You glanced over when you heard the doorbell go off, but decided to let it go believing it was to be the post man with a few packages but groaned as it went off again.

You wiped your hand on a kitchen towel as you made your way towards the living room and frowned at the sight of Aegon when you opened the door.

“So…you ignore all of my texts and my calls for the past week and you decide to show up out of the blue?” You questioned with a raised brow while leaning against the door frame. “What do you want, Aegon?” Your tone was bitter as you looked up at him.

Aegon rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk about something…may I come in?”

You let out a sigh but stepped aside. “I guess you can.”

Aegon lightly tapped his nails against his mug of tea watching as you sat across from him. You had felt a wave of nausea while making the eggs and had to rush to the bathroom, Thommy finishing cooking breakfast for you.

“How’s your mom?” Aegon asked quietly, looking down at his mug before he took a sip.

You shrugged a bit. “She’s as good as she can be. The greyscale hasn’t spread, but she’s still in a lot of pain.” You cocked a brow as you relaxed in your seat. “What did you want to talk about?”

Aegon rubbed his face with a small frown tugging at his lips. “Remember when I told you that it’s tradition in my family to have arranged marriages?” He took a deep breath when you nodded before he continued, “my parents announced that I am to marry my sister, Helaena.”

Your heart dropped at the news. Aegon had promised you for over two years now that you would elope together and run off to Essos. You felt foolish to think he would ever want to marry someone of your status.

“Get out of my house,” You suddenly snapped.

“Y/N—“ Aegon began but you shook your head.

“Get out!” You felt the hot tears run down your cheeks.

He frowned at the shout before he nodded and slowly stood up. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave. I just want you to know, Y/N, I did not want this. I never wanted this.”

You shook your head while leading him to the door. “Just get out of here,” You choked out.

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You stared up at the bright white ceiling laying in the hospital bed, letting out a soft sigh. You had gotten severely ill at work and your boss, Vynce had called 911.

You glanced over when the door opened, the doctor offering you a soft smile. “So, I ran over your tests,” He began while sitting down with a sigh. “When was the last time you had your cycle?” He asked softly.

You furrowed your brows at the sudden question. “What does that have to do with anything?” You knew the answer though. It’s been close to two months since your last cycle, yet it wasn’t unusual for you to have irregular periods due to your body being in a lot of stress.

“Well, it means everything Miss. Y/N because you’re pregnant.”

You frowned at the news and looked down at your hands. You couldn’t be pregnant…at least you thought you couldn’t be….

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You closed your eyes as you wrapped your arms around Aegon’s stomach while the two of you settled after making love in the back of his car. You smiled lightly feeling his fingers run through your hair.

“You know, I was thinking….” Aegon began.

You gasped at that. “Oh gods, it’s bad when you begin to think,” You said teasingly.

“Hey, now.” He laughed while lightly swatting your bottom. “But, I was thinking we’re both of age now and we’ve always talked of sailing away to Essos.”

You smiled softly. “I think I know where your thinking is leading to,” You said sitting up a bit. “But enlighten me, Mr. Aegon.”

He chuckled a bit before tilting his head to look at you better. He lightly pushed back some of your hair, a loving look in his violet eyes. “We can elope and move to Essos. We don’t have to worry about any responsibilities and we can raise a big family on our own.”

Your smile widened. “Aegon, you know I can’t just up and elope. I have to take care of my mom and Thommy.”

“That’s why….” Aegon began as he reached over grabbing his backpack. “I got you this.”

You sat up a bit when he pulled out a small velvet box and gasped at the sight of the ring. It was a silver ring with a giant ruby in the middle and diamonds surrounding it. “Is this….”

“It’s not an engagement ring.” Aegon took your left hand and slipped it onto your ring finger. “It’s a promise ring that when we’re both ready, we’ll marry and run away together.”

You felt the tears in your eyes and laughed a bit as you leaned over giving him a sudden kiss on the lips. “I love you, Aegon,” You whispered against his lips.

He returned your kiss while pulling you close, rubbing your back lightly. “I love you too, Y/N.”

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“Oh, I always knew you would have a girl!”

You giggled hearing how excited your mother was as you sat beside her bed, handing her a glass of water. You had an appointment today to find out the sex of your baby and you were beyond happy to learn you were to have a girl. You would have been happy either way though.

“Did he text you back?” Sofina asked quietly as she sat her glass down slowly.

You nodded a bit. “He should be here in about fifteen minutes.” You took a deep breath. It had been the first time in months since you got into contact with Aegon, but you felt that he had the right to know he was going to be a father.

“He’s a good man, you know.”

You furrowed your brows at her words. “But he’s engaged.”

Sofina shook her head. “Do you remember the story of your father?”

You smiled a bit. “How he left some girl for you?” You asked quietly.

Sofina laughed and nodded. “It was because I was pregnant with you,” She whispered and reached out taking your hand gently. “He said he would have done anything for me and the baby. If he was a good man, he would do the same for you.”

You smiled gently and looked down before hearing the doorbell. You leaned down and kissed your mother on the head taking a deep breath, your hand going to your bump.

You slowly walked out and bit your lip gently as you opened the door, Aegon standing there with a bouquet of pink roses but his eyes weren’t on your face.

“Hi, Aegon,” You greeted with a sheepish smile.

“How long have you known for?”

You sat across from Aegon, rubbing your bump lightly as he looked over all the pictures of your child. The roses he gave you were in a vase in the kitchen.

“Almost six months now?” He repeated and you nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You blew out a breath. “Because you were engaged to your sister, I didn’t want to intrude on your life.”

Aegon frowned at that. “I would have dropped everything for you, no matter what my family thinks.”

You felt the tears in your eyes as you listened to him. You knew his mother, Alicent at least never enjoyed you. She always gave you looks when they came into the diner as a family. It was as though she knew of her son’s activities with you.

“It’s still not too late,” Aegon spoke up after a moment. He reached over and took your hand so you would look at him, tears glistening in his own eyes. “We can still be a family.”

You choked on a sob and watched as he stood up to bend down beside you. He looked down at your left hand, seeing the Targaryen ruby glittering back at him. He sniffled and shook his head.

“I am intending to keep my promise,” He whispered to you.

“How?”

Aegon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Let us elope, like we’ve always planned.”

You frowned a bit. “And what about your engagement already?”

He shook his head. “They’ll have to call it off if I marry you.”

You sniffled and looked down as he moved his hand to you bump. The tears rolled down your cheeks, a small smile coming on your lips. “It’s a girl.”

Aegon chuckled and sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “I can’t wait to meet her,” He whispered cupping both of your hands in his. “I want to be a family with you and our daughter so, Y/N…will you finally be my wife?”

You laughed and leaned down kissing him suddenly with a nod. “I would love to be your wife,” You whispered against his lips.

You gave birth to a beautiful daughter named Vysena, being named after Aegon’s ancestor, Visenya who was one of the wives to his namesake. You married shortly afterwards on Dragonstone in a private wedding and you still wore your promise ring. You wished for nothing, living a humble life with your small family while helping your mother and brother out. It was a peaceful life and you couldn’t ask for better.

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

this was supposed to be longer but i got tired (and realized maybe this wasn't such a good idea) so i kinda bs'd this to just finish it up. sorry it doesn't look all that good lol

transcript of my shitty handwriting + more rambling under cut

panel 1:

len: rin, just leave him—

rin: NO! i'm not going to give up now—

len: i know you're upset, but all you're doing is—

rin: HE'S NOT GONE YET!

panel 2:

rin: i know he still remembers, he has to...

panel 3:

rin: kaito-san, it's me; rin. you tried singing one of len and i's songs the other day. you got the melody right, remember? meiko-san's birthday is soon. remember her? a few weeks ago you said you needed to buy her a present. what were you going to get her? do you remember? tell me.

---

aight yea so this is what yall get for picking that ❄️📺❔🕚💾🪦 option on the poll (which btw was related to this drawing)

i'll just keep it simple: basically kaito gets dementia (or i guess the robot equivalent of it??). yeah.

not sure if this takes place on the cusp of v3 happening and just this specific kaito v1 module was unable to be updated for some reason? or if they're all still stuck in v2 and v3 hasn't happened yet/will not happen for a while... but i do know its def before v4 happened, so people like fukase and una don't exist yet

anyways though as you might expect, it pretty much sucks all around for everyone involved. not just the other 5 cryptonloids watching their close friend so previously full of life deteriorate into a husk of his former self, but for kaito himself too. he suddenly can't remember things like where he is or who the people around him are, and its incredibly frustrating b/c he knows he did have the memories at some point, its just as if they got misplaced... there's random bits of recollections that do come sometimes but as much as he tries to hold onto them they flicker and fade away just as quick as they appeared. left sinking back into a feeling of hopelessness that then becomes pure emptiness, as you can feel how you're losing yourself but there's quite literally nothing you can do

visually the static is used to represent a lot of that "foggy" feeling as things become more and more unclear, and given the robot/android nature it makes sense i guess? it's not really seen here but just as an actual machine might be when breaking down, his visual + audio processors begin to malfunction, causing a literal static overlay on his vision with faces/objects he can't recognize occasionally glitching out as well as constant white noise in his hearing and the sound of people talking to him becoming garbled and unintelligible. as time goes on he also loses his own ability to synthesize speech so aside from becoming withdrawn and quiet out of fear he'll say something that makes no sense, he then literally just becomes incapable of responding at all

again (as you might expect), the other cryptons aren't doing very well as this is happening. rin and len see kaito almost like a father, so watching one of your parental figures slowly march towards death is... not great. rin (as seen here) is still trying to hold on, because she swears kaito has had a few good days where he does recall more, where he seems much more like his old self, and maybe, just maybe if they wait a bit more he'll get better [tbh she's speedrunning the 7 stages of grief but goes between being stuck in some of the earlier stages its... not good]. len's grief on the other hand is manifesting itself in a way more similar to meiko's: he's not as distant as her, but he has already recognized that there's pretty much nothing that can be done and just wants to minimize kaito's suffering. len's just as shattered as rin though, but he's not showing it openly, figuring he has to accept it, as fighting against the grief like his sister won't help anything.

i just mentioned meiko so speaking of her: this is also probably extremely difficult on her, as, yknow, the counterpart v1 to kaito. she's withdrawn herself away from kaito, as she doesn't want to cause him pain in case he happens to recognize her, remember something about their relationship, but not comprehend what it means and just become confused/distressed. at least, that's what she says; it's more or so she can't bear to see him in this state, as he slowly loses more parts of himself, so she isolates herself in hopes the pain will be somewhat less when its all over, for having seen him less and not having false hopes of his recovery. that being said though she has definitely still been around him and tried to keep her composure... from kaito's pov, in moments of recollection, its disheartening seeing your wife close friend suddenly ignoring you, almost like she's mad or sad about something, but you can't remember why. did you forget to do the laundry? is it something unrelated? you want to ask her but she won't tell you; why? did she already and you just forgot? why...

miku's usual cheeriness has also crumbled, as even with rin's attempts, she can't find anything to be optimistic about in this scenario. she just feels this immense guilt, that she should've done something about this; she has influence as the most popular of the entire group, surely she could do something to make it all better. but aside from the arguments and indecisiveness regarding ethics and not wanting to do something without everyone's collective decision, she does know deep down its not her fault. maybe someone like one of the technicians or programmers would be more at fault, but she doesn't want to blindly throw accusations either, because surely they hadn't foreseen this happening either; nobody would intentionally throw in such a cruel fate for someone, it was an unfortunate system glitch that they were working to fix, but even if they did come up with a patch for it, it would be far too late for kaito at that point. she doesn't want to dwell too much on the logistics of it, miku just wants to be there for everyone else, because she knows how deep in despair the others are—she is too—and doesn't want their whole group to fall apart after such a devastating event.

as for luka: i would assume we're kind of actually seeing everything from her perspective, so as an audience lens she'd be more objective about presenting everything as it is without putting too much of her own bias/thoughts into it. but she's not completely unfeeling either. she tries interacting with kaito quite often, despite some of the others warning her about doing that too much. she tries talking to him about random things, not necessarily aiming to get him to remember anything in specific, though if any of his memories do surface in conversation she'll def address them and ask if he recalls anything more (and if not that's alright too). on some occasions she's been accused of being insensitive, but she doesn't want his death to be this huge tragedy, she would want him to be somewhat happy in his last moments. after everything that's happened, he deserves to leave in peace, in her opinion.

i've mentioned death a few times and there's a literal gravestone in the original emoji combo so safe to say, yeah, he dies. unfortunately the damage to his hardware is beyond repair from the critical/fatal errors and glitches, and it's decided that it'd be best to ultimately just deactivate him and delete all his files to not prolong any pain he might've been in for any longer. not exactly sure what would happen afterwards (aside from an obvious aftermath of the grief): if this is before/on the verge of v3 happening, there's the situation i thought about of them receiving a new replacement v3 kaito module, which has its own angst w/ it: its almost like seeing a fucking ghost, but it's not the same one they all remember, nor does it have all those memories. and this v3 kaito himself experiencing conflicted feelings as someone who was brought in to try and give back happiness to this group, only to seem to cause more despair for being so similar to someone long gone that he'll never truly replace. again though i'm not sure if i'd actually have that happen for the sake of everyone involved's sanity but it is something interesting to think about

i've been typing this for like 3 fcking hours now and i have no idea if this makes any goddamn sense lolol uhhh. like all my things it sounds way better in my head than when i actually put it on paper 😭 but congrats if you actually went thru the effort of reading all this. i might do more explanations like this of my things if anyone's interested, like of the other poll options, but we'll see

[kcrossvine-art]

AHOY MATEYS! Super unrelated question, would you be mad if i sneezed cutely in your ear?  Today on the Final Redwall Cookbook cook-through we have a burrowers baked good delight- Nunnymolers! 

It's been a long time coming and I don't wanna ramble up here, but y'alls support and interest in this series has meant the world to me. After this post goes up I'll be posting a poll where you guys can vote on the next series of dishes we're going to cover!

(back to the topic, you can find the original recipe for Nunnymolers at the bottom if you’d like to follow along)-

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Nunnymolers?” YOU MIGHT ASK

All-purpose flour

Confectioners’ sugar

Unsalted butter, cubed

Strawberries

Raspberries

Honey

Raspberry OR strawberry jam

AND, “what does a Nunnymoler taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Well, Unfortunately. It was raw in the center again, while the outside started burning. I tried making it again and the same issue occurred with a lower and longer cook time, unfortunately the idea came to me that my old oven may be uncalibrated to what the digital display says, but I can't afford don't have an oven-safe thermometer to double check.

...It smelled good though!

Sad and pathetically, he cries

.Dough required about 3 times amount of water to have any consistency .Dough still was too crumbly/hard to wrap around the berries

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Even with an extra 40 minutes beyond what the recipe called for, the tarts didn't cook all the way through- with raw dough in the center. This has been a consistent issue with the book, giving very low cook times and sometimes very high temperatures for the  recipe. Part of me also wonders if the liquid from the fruit and jam contributed to the center not being able to bake.

I live at the same elevation as most of England does, where this was written from, which is part of my frustration with this cookbook. The author as far as i can tell is also the author of the bookseries themselves which is very sweet! But him not being a chef may contribute to some of the off measurements and under seasoning :( I can't blame him for this as its still very much a love letter to his fans but I do want to state it to give context.

My final thoughts on this book is that its an interesting piece to own, but on the scale of cookbooks from strict to loose, the recipes should be taken as loose suggestions. Conceptually I really admire that it adheres to vegetarian restrictions for almost all recipes (Legitimately i think the only exceptions to this are one instance of shrimp, and a handful of instances of eggs. Even then most baked goods make a point to avoid using eggs!), its a trait that makes it stand out from the growing crowd of other defictionalized recipes.

Not to mention all the cute story bits in-between the food itself, it follows Sister Pansy through 1 year in the Abbey, working her way to head chef. Various familiar faces share recipes with her (and us!). Each collection goes through the 4 seasons of the year, introduced by a poem.

This book holds a special place in my heart, I started it not being much of a cook and overtime it encouraged me to grow my abilities and interest in food. I cook most days of the week now and it can't be downplayed how much this book inspired that curiosity. It should also be said that half of that curiosity came from troubleshooting and adapting the recipes to my set-up, with times like these where I couldn't figure it out being the outliers that stick out. 

It'd be a fantastic gift for any fan of the Redwall series, but if there excited about cooking and also new to it, I recommend making a hangout of it- cooking together! The moral support will make the failures more fun and easier to learn from.

I can't rate Nunnymolers as I wasn't able to taste them fully, but I can rate the Redwall Cookbook by Brian Jacques- and its squirreled into my heart. I'm giving it an 8/10 overall.

Concept: 10/10 Presentation: 10/10 Instruction: 4/10 Taste: 9/10

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter or margarine, cubed

1/2 strawberries, hulled

1/2 raspberries

Honey

Raspberry or strawberry jam

Method:

Preheat the oven to 350° F. In a bowl, whisk together the flour and confectioners’ sugar. Add the butter or margarine and rub it into the Hour with your fingers (alternately, pulse the dry ingredients and butter in a food processor) until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Sprinkle in 3 to 4 tablespoons ice water, mixing with a fork (or pulsing in the food processor) until a dough forms.

Divide the dough into twelve 2-inch halls. Use your palm or a rolling pin to flatten each hall into a 5-inch round.

Spread each round with a thin layer of honey. Place 1 strawberry and I raspberry in the middle of each piece ofdough, then fold the edges of dough in toward the center, leaving a small opening in the middle, and pinch the folds of dough together. Put a dollop ofjam into the top of each Nunnymoler.

Bake until firm and golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack before serving.

[thinking-about-writing-mm]

Chapter 13

Title: Those Evil Ways

Pairing: OT7 x Y/N (female reader)

Genre: supernatural au, slow-burn, medical, fluff, angst, smut, war

Word count: ~6 700

Characters: (Demons!BTS) Namjoon/Corson, Jin/Agares, Yoongi/Baal, Hoseok/Alastor, Jimin/Aamon, Jungkook/Mammon, Taehyung/Gaap, human reader (with special abilities later in the story)

Warnings: description of Y/N's phobia - some tension, Y/N transforms/ritual, a bit of planning for the upcoming battles, Y/N gets out of her "low", supportive and lovely Jungkook, kiss-kiss – if I have missed something please send a pigeon 😅❤️

Summary: Y/N is a third-year medical student going through life like others do. On one unfortunate night she gets in unexpected contact with otherworldly beings who drag her into their world of violence, war and fight for power.

Author’s notes: TAGLIST OPEN.

After the poll we have a winner! The majority decided that Y/N is turning... *drum and roll*... ah not telling you here 😅 You have to read and see. I'm so excited about the new possibilities that the shift will give me.

Please, enjoy! <3

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“I haven’t seen you in a while” Jimin smiled when Jungkook entered the meeting room. His hair was longer than the last time that they saw each other but the silver color was still there.

“Been busy” Mammon replied without trying to explain why. All of them knew.

At the other side of the room Noir, Alastor and Gaap were discussing something over an enormous map that was laid out on the table. When the General saw the other King he approached and the two shared a brotherly hug. “I hope things are going well” his tone was just as calm as always.

The tattooed man only nodded.

“A man of few words” Namjoon spoke without lifting his eyes from the map. “Just on time. We have to make a decision but it’s a tie so your input would be more than appreciated.”

“That’s why I came - to help.”

Taehyung felt how tense Mammon was and wondered if this combined with what he was about to hear next is going to be the perfect recipe for disaster. Gaap liked to be prepared for all kinds of situations so he got closer to Jungkook in order to stop him from pouncing on someone if that ever happened. Let's just include a short note here and say that King Mammon was not aggressive without a good reason but now considering what had happened with Y/N not so long ago the other four wondered if he could have become irrational.

Hoseok was fidgety by the table at this point and wasn't paying any attention to what Namjoon was so eager to explain. He had to keep his head high but explain the struggles he had to deal with the previous weeks.

"Can I talk to you before we start?" He asked, meeting Jungkook's sharp eyes. At this point there was no wrong or right way to say whatever - everything has gone to shit so the only option was to be as transparent as possible and hope for the best.

"Let's hear it" Mammon's smug and mocking expression was enough to put off anyone. His side smirk was laced with disgust and bitterness. "Please note that nothing you say now will be able to make up for what you've done."

Hoseok sighed softly, nodding once before he gathered the courage to begin. "Look I hate this. I don't like apologies and won't give you one but I know I've caused you pain. And… Y/N too." It was still hard to say her name. "There's nothing more I desire than to fix what my jealousy and pettiness managed to destroy."

Jungkook laughed and on the side it sounded like a whole-hearted genuine laugh but it wasn't. The other three demons were standing quietly on the side, pretending to mind their business. Taehyung could see King Alastor becoming anxious.

"You know this tale about the bear and the bad word? In one of the nations in the human world, old people use it a lot to teach the kids to mind their way of speech." There was a note of sadism in Jungkook's behavior, the man was enjoying this and wanted it to last for as long as possible. He wished for Hoseok to crawl and suffer in Y/N's place. "It goes like this - the boy saw a bear cub in the woods one day. It was struggling, stuck in a thorn bush so the boy decided that it was best to help. The mama bear somehow saw it and offered the guy a friendship and he accepted. They became close and talked for a while. One time as a goodbye the boy kissed the bear's snout. It smelled so bad and without even thinking he expressed the disgust he felt when the stench hit him. The mama bear didn't say much, just asked him to hit her with his ax on the head, as hard as he could. Even though he tried talking the bear out of it, in the end the animal threatened to eat him if the guy didn't comply with her wish. He did it and felt extremely guilty for it. For a few years after that they didn't see each other in the woods. At some point their paths crossed once again in a different place in the forest. Before he left the bear asked him to look for the wound but no matter how hard he tried nothing could be seen on the animal's skin - there wasn't even a scar. The boy was amazed by this but the bear said then that a bad wound can be healed and forgotten but a bad word can never be forgotten. It would stay with the bear until the day it died." Jungkook walked closer to the King and stared at him with cold eyes. "Do you get it now? It doesn't matter what you will say to me or to Y/N. She is in a bad place now but things are looking up. What you did to her mind is another topic though, the terrors you've put her through will never be forgotten even if she decides to forgive you."

Long silence followed after Jungkook stopped talking. No one dared to move and Alastor was trying to decide if there's a point to continue. Jimin was surprised, mildly said, to see this side of his friend. To be honest he didn't even remember if there was a time when Mammon was ever like that… "Jungkook, I hate this. This is my promise to you now - I may have been biased and quick to judge Y/N but this is in the past now. I will do everything in my power to support and keep this girl safe since she's so important to everyone. In reality she has never done anything bad to me or anyone else for that matter. Everything after a certain point was my wrongdoing and it will change in the future if she lets me… and you too."

"We will see about that. It's all up to her." There was nothing more to be said. King Mammon turned around and approached the table where the other three demons had gathered.

…

"Monica?" Y/N whined squeezing the pillow in her hands. She needed someone to hold her so badly and the feeling of being alone was simply unbearable. "When i-is Koo coming?"

"In a while m'lady" the maid rushed to the bed placing her hands over the girl's in an attempt to calm her down. "He promised a few hours right?"

"Mmh." Feeling completely worn out the young woman plopped down on her side facing Monica. "You 'ave pretty hair" she whispered. Y/N was becoming drowsy once more and a few minutes were keeping her away from the oncoming nap.

"Sleep m'lady. You will feel better when you wake up…"

…

“What?!” Jungkook spat out, his voice bubbling with anger. “How did you even reach this… this… I don't even know what to call it?”

“Decision?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t get cheeky with me.”

“But it’s the best we can do” Jimin slammed his hand on the table, feeling like he had reached his limit. “If we leave the frontline unsupervised, who knows what might happen!”

Taehyung sighed and opened his mouth to speak but at the same time King Mammon began shouting, throwing his hands in the air. “Why the fuck did Taehyung trained all those sergeants if they're gonna stay here and scratch their balls?" The fact was that the military personnel was enough to cover the Northern and Eastern borders without any problem but Jimin and Hoseok doubted it would be enough. Taehyung of course trusted his men with his head and Namjoon had faith in the General's judgment. "Only two borders need protection at this point. The other two nations have nothing to do with this war so they won't interfere." Jungkook was fuming.

"Are you sure?" Alastor asked with a low voice. He knew from the beginning that the King of the North would be against this proposition so now he wondered why they were even trying to persuade him.

"A thousand percent sure" the tattooed demon gritted his teeth in the end.

"I know for a fact that Agares will join the troops no matter what our decision tonight is." This was a simple fact but Jimin felt the need to say it. The silver-haired man also knew that…

"I don't care about Agares or Baal or whoever else." Ah… so predictable. "My vote goes for us to stay here." At this point his signature involuntary action made an appearance again - when he was annoyed or angry Jungkook was poking the inside of his cheek with tongue.

This was turning out to be a disaster like their previous talk. A new idea struck Noir while he was folding the map. "Listen to me, I think I found middle ground just now. What if we take turns going to the borders?" The King smiled widely, extending his hands to the sides. The strong presence he had always came in handy especially if he needed to persuade someone. Now after all he had heard the demon saw it as convenient to have one of them with the low-class demons at all times.

"Take turns?" It was Taehyung who spoke up now, intrigued by the new suggestion. "You mean as in someone stays here and someone goes there?" This could be interesting. King Corson nodded, seeing his first supporter in the face of Gaap.

"Precisely." He clicked his fingers engulfed by excitement. Maybe this time the conversation wouldn't go to shit and everyone would be happy. "You see to some extent I agree with Jungkook and Taehyung that the soldiers are trained for a reason but also…" Namjoon smiled. "I prefer to take part and overlook the battle. It's our duty as Kings. The new abilities we got with the Sins we possess now…"

King Alastor's eyes began shining with excitement "It will be just epic. The victory can be ours if things play out nicely."

At this point this sounded like the best option for everyone - Agares would stay with the troops probably the whole time, Baal too, as for General Gaap it was a hundred percent sure. The other four - they could take turns because it wasn't a good decision to leave Doordale in the hands of the Ministry. Jungkook was still deep in thought. He couldn't stand the fact that he should leave Y/N alone for certain periods of time, the demon felt responsible for her and wanted to be there but at the same time he knew his duties very well. Also let's keep in mind that all of them were demons, higher ones at that and warfare and depravities were part of their nature.

As much as some of them wanted to run away from all that - it could never happen - you can never change those primal roots of origin.

"Fine. Let's split the "shifts"" Mammon looked tired and drained. He just wanted this to be over already. He checked his watch - he still had around an hour and a half. Even though he would be back on time the man was considering actually going to the goldsmith and getting a golden bouquet for Y/N.

"Me and Alastor will go first then" it was Jimin who took the initiative. The two Kings worked together like a well oiled machine and what one was lacking the other - was compensating. Such a nice duo.

"I will join you too" Taehyung stepped forward too. "My suggestion is that we switch every five days. No need to travel by horse - it will be most convenient to use the Wishing Well."

Jungkook frowned upon hearing those words. "That's not enough."

"In a normal battle - maybe - but now imagine that: they will start to think at some point that we've shown all there is." The General began gesturing with his beautifully sculpted hands. "At some point when the new party arrives - boom! New tactics, new leaders, new formations."

"Does this mean that whenever we switch places new soldiers will be joining us?" It hasn't occurred to Namjoon and it definitely didn't sound very practical, hearing it now.

Taehyung waved his hands in frustration. "No, no. This is very impractical. How are they gonna travel?" The demon clicked his tongue, to him all of this sounded so simple and easy to think of but apparently to the rest - not so much. The main reason Gaap had this position was because it all came naturally to him - the demon wasn't stressing out or struggling to come up with different plans and no efforts were required. "Listen now - a lot of transparent potions will be prepared. The troops responsible for carrying weapons and food will be also transporting the vials. When they reach this place" the General placed his gloved finger over the map "there's literally nothing here. Only greenery and many animal holes. The vegetation is so abundant here that it will be perfectly fine for the soldiers to hide the stash." His eyes were burning while explaining every little detail. The other four were listening patiently, memorizing each word. "Some of the troops will stay behind and begin drinking the potions. You know the effects - they will lose shape and color for five hours. The groups will be scattered around a three kilometer perimeter so if something happens they would be close enough." Jungkook was impressed - if he didn't know the General he would definitely think that the plan took weeks to be developed. "Everything clear?"

"Certainly" it was a question for all but Namjoon answered instead, as he was the core of their bond.

"Very well. We depart in three days."

…

When Jungkook entered the palace everything was just the same as when he had left earlier today. No commotion, nothing out of the ordinary, only the guards and the staff at their respective places.

"Good evening, Your Majesty" the butler bowed and reached out to get the cloak off the King's bread shoulders.

"Is everything okay with Y/N?" He asked flatly.

"Of course Sir. The maid stayed by m'lady's side the whole time, now she's asleep." The butler followed Mammon through the corridor informing him of the events that took place around the residence while he was gone. "Is there anything you would like Sir?" It was a simple question asked as per usual with a tone devoid of any emotion, just part of the protocol.

Usually Jungkook either waved a dismissive hand or immediately said what he wanted to be done but this time the demon stopped in his tracks and turned to the man. The King looked at the butler - his face was still blank, there was a scar that began from his left ear and ended in the middle of the chin. Long time ago this demon was part of Leviathan's army but after the coup he joined Mammon's household. Siwan was his name and he was the one to join the palace's staff first becoming the head of it, recruiting and taking care of the other members. "You see I need you to do something for me, it's important to be done as fast as possible because Y/N's wellbeing could depend on it."

"Certainly My Lord. Just say the word."

"Listen…"

When the King entered the bedroom Monica was sitting on the chair next to the window, reading a book. The second he opened the door she jumped to her feet and bowed to him.

"I believe things were fine?" he asked, whispering.

"Of course! Lady Y/N was anxious in the beginning but after a while she fell asleep." The maid seemed happy that the girl was recovering, even though it was a slow process.

Jungkook turned to look at the young woman - she was resting and no sign of distress could be seen on her face. Not like last time… the demon winced, feeling physically sick while thinking about the agonizing terrors Y/N had to deal with. "You're free to go now, Monica."

He removed the leather vest and his shoes, then got closer to the bed. On the nightstand there was a glass of water and another one filled with milk. Mammon left the golden bouquet there too for later when Y/N woke up. Climbing in the bed he carefully wrapped his arms around her figure, taking a deep breath - she felt so fragile and small. How could this body hold such great powers he wondered. Y/N's hair smelled like almonds probably because of the hair soap. The warmth emitting from her was enough to calm the demon down and put him to sleep. He felt dizzy and lightheaded so Jungkook closed his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness.

…

"You got the letter right?!" Jin almost busted down the door to Yoongi's office because of the excitement. Another day gone and he was still the same old exhilarated self.

Baal turned around in his chair, swirling the liquor in his glass. He nodded with a smirk. "Sure did."

"We're leaving in three days! It's been so long!" The Master was ecstatic which was something that hasn't happened in so long, ever since the problems with Y/N started. Now he was in his element.

"Just don't break anything," his advisor laughed lightly. Both of them were dressed casually with silk shirts and black pants but Jin wanted to have a celebratory dinner and dress up for the occasion.

"Let's spoil ourselves tonight Yoongi! Let's have a drink and… no more like lots of drinks and party!" He spread his jewelry-cladded arms and the metals produced a nice jingling sound.

The other demon just continued smiling then nodded once, feeling the excitement too. But then his joy faded away just as fast as it came. "Hey, Yoongi, what's wrong? I thought you wanted this to happen?" worry surfaced on the Master's face.

"I just wish Y/N was here so we can share it with her too, you know?"

It felt like daggers were stabbing Baal's heart after saying each word. "I know…" Jin sighed and his glee also died down a bit. "But you know she will be here for the next one - we will have many other occasions to celebrate with her. Even the victory-"

"We don't know if it will be a victory" the mint-haired demon cut him off mid sentence. "Don't jinx it."

"Okay, whatever. Let's just go change and do our thing. You will feel better."

"Fine…" now what Yoongi needed was a way to pass the time until Y/N had recovered and the oncoming battles were just the right thing. Then and there the advisor made up his mind to give it his all and win.

Baal got distracted with imaginary situations - in his mind a picture appeared of how the seven of them are returning from the war victorious. Yoongi's armor - covered in blood, as well as his face and hands but when Y/N sees the demon she runs up to him and they kiss like there's no tomorrow. It was nice to dream…

"Hey Earth to Yoongi!" Jin was snapping his fingers in the other man's face. "Get it together! We have three days ahead of us to down each bottle in the residence!" The laughter that followed almost made the windows shake.

…

At one point Jungkook felt hot breath on the curve of his neck and his eyes flew open and the pupils shrunk to small dots. Without moving an inch the demon began "mapping" the parts of his body and Y/N's. He was flat on his back with one arm still wrapped around her waist and the other - supporting the demon's head. The girl was sleeping peacefully partially draped over Jungkook's body - head slightly tilted upwards and back on his shoulder while hugging the King with a knee between the man's legs.

Oh, the desire to turn around and kiss her was real. So real.

"Y/N…" Mammon gritted his teeth and closed his eyes in an attempt to center himself.

"Hnhg…" she began stirring. The demon froze immediately. What would he do when she wakes up? How to behave? "Kookie?" Y/N rasped, taking a deep breath. To her he smelled clean, like freshly cut wood and grass.

"Hey princess. I'm here" the first thing he wanted to do was give the girl her present. Carefully Jungkook tried getting up but she squeezed him and produced a whiny sound of protest. "Shh. I just want to give you something pretty" reaching out he felt for the metal and then presented the bouquet to Y/N. "I kept my promise to be back in time but still decided to give you this because you're my special one."

When the young woman saw the shiny object her eyes widened and turned glossy. She felt confusion setting in and then realization hit her - he promised to be back and did it but still wanted to surprise her. That's what responsible grown up people do. And also they thank each other - Y/N’s mind was slowly guiding her back to normality, trying to reassure and lead in the right direction. “Thank… you” she whispered, taking the gift with trembling hands. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you” Jungkook smiled, the lip rings hitting his teeth.

The compliment made Y/N’s face turn hot and red. It was so adorable in Jungkook’s eyes but she felt embarrassed and annoyed. “D-don’t say such things if you’re going to leave me alone again” the woman huffed and squeezed the metallic flowers to her chest.

“I will not.” Lie. Of course it was a lie but Mammon had six more days to help his precious girl recover and by then maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to leave her at all…

The next day preparations for the upcoming battle began in the capital. The armory was turned upside down, each item carefully counted and written down in the book, the swords were polished and sharpened, some of the shields - sent to the blacksmiths in order to get reinforced and so on…

Warlocks gathered in the Academy around noon so they could begin working on the potion stash. Taehyung was leading the operations, shouting orders here and there if it was needed, also giving final instructions to the soldiers and revising their strategy. Jimin and Hoseok were back to the West and South so they could take care of the local affairs before departing, while Noir stayed in the capital, having coutnless meetings with the people from the Ministry.

What everyone hoped for was for a possible comeback from Y/N so she could lend a hand if needed. Of course they all knew it was a last resort considering what she'd been through and that was the reason why they didn't even try asking Jungkook about it.

The King of the North was giving his best to reassure and help Y/N on her journey to recovery. The progress was slow but the conversations were getting better, she was becoming more confident in expressing herself and getting bolder. The key was to not pressure the girl in any way so she doesn't revert and have another breakdown. The same day while the two of them were dining a male servant knocked over a silver jug full of water. The loud sound terrified Y/N and she screamed in horror, then knocked back her chair and ran to Jungkook who hugged her and began whispering soothing words in the girl's ear. In the process the demon had thrown a cold hateful stare at the man, then tilted his head to the door signaling for him to leave the dining hall.

It was a rough period but with patience and diligence Mammon believed that everything was fixable.

On the second day Y/N woke up earlier than usual and got out of bed to look at herself in the big mirror hanging on the wall.

“My hair…” she whispered. It was a total mess, tangled and fuzzy. On a regular day the young woman would never let this pass but now was an unusual occasion. Memories of the past flooded her mind, making Y/N wince and scrunch her nose in disgust. She took a few strands between two fingers and lifted them up looking at the state of the hair. Long ago, when those episodes were happening regularly the regression period was ending usually in a few hours to a day. She was giving it to the fact that Mrs. Y/L/N was helping her, the sessions at the psychiatrist and also - the poor thing’s brain hadn’t had taken such a massive hit.

Going to the door she took a few deep breaths and pressed the handle. Going out in the hallway barefoot didn’t bother Y/N much at the moment. You know how kids walk around in the morning when they wake up - in their pajamas and no socks or slippers to speak of, then their parents would scold them that they would eventually get sick. Y/N was the same now. “Monica?” she said quietly but no one answered. Two guards stood at the end of the corridor, facing each other and heard the girl. One of them immediately vanished, heading somewhere. “Monica I need a comb…” she went on while walking on the cold marble.

“Can I help you m’lady?” It was the demon who was left standing in his place who asked.

“Where’s Monica?” the curious tilt of her head made Y/N seem like a little girl.

“In the kitchen. Should I call-“

“Y/N!” Jungkook’s voice came from the further side of the hallway. Immediately recognising the sweet comforting voice of the King she spun around on her heels and ran towards him.

“Kookie!” The girl jumped in the demon’s open arms and he lifted her up. “Let’s do something today,” the tone was joyful and his muscles relaxed. Nothing bad had happened.

“Why are you out of bed barefoot?” Looking down the King asked calmly.

“I wanted to find a comb.” Y/N explained with a pout. “My hair is terrible.”

“Your hair is fine,” he replied with a smile. “Just… oh look!” With a shocked expression Mammon pointed a finger at her. “There’s a nest with small birds inside! That’s amazing!” He ruffled the girl's hair and she began laughing.

“I don’t!”

The guards and the servants passing around heard the two of them laughing and were shocked and surprised to see and hear all of this. No one in the whole Kingdom would believe that the King of the North who was usually so cold and quiet could behave in such a way. He was notorious for acting haughty and harshly but now… there wasn’t anyone who would believe the stories of the servants telling how their King was playing and laughing with a woman.

Jungkook lifted Y/N up in the air and began walking back to her room. “Come I will brush your hair.”

“Put me down! Don’t carry me around like that! I’m not some fragile princess!” The protests fell on deaf ears.

“Oh but you are!” He closed the door behind them and the guards were left speechless in the corridor, looking at each other with wide eyes.

On the third day everything began looking almost as it was before. Y/N was serious most of the time, quieter. There were only two outbursts of laughter during the day - once when Jungkook made a disgusted face while looking at an ugly handwriting of one of the officials in a document and the second time - during lunch when he choked while swallowing a vegetable.

"It just sounded funny," Y/N said with a wide grin. The King didn't mind one bit.

Later the two were taking a stroll in the back garden and she paused in front of one big crooked tree. The girl appeared deep in thought so he didn't bother her by asking why she had decided to stop exactly at that spot.

It was a difficult time for her - she understood perfectly well this state of mind was not normal for Y/N and yet it was comfortable. Her brain was not straining or running laps like a while ago but now it was all coming together. The young woman felt ready to talk to Jungkook. "I need to tell you something."

"Sure. Tell me Y/N" he put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

"First of all I want to thank you for the efforts and enormous patience you've had with me."

"But that's not needed, I did it because I care about you." Those words made Y/N blush and turn shy but she tried pushing forward despite the need to regress once more.

"Uhm… sorry, it's… you almost made me revert back." With an awkward smile she turned to look at him. From what the psychiatrist had said certain words and behavior could trigger shifts in her state of mind and it was best if the girl warned those around her about those. "I feel so much better now, almost as before. Just…" she took a deep breath trying to sound confident. "What I think is that from this certain point on you can behave like you did in the past. Of course keep in mind you have to be careful not to trigger me for a while, but I think I'm in the safe now."

Jungkook's chest began rising up rapidly, oh this thrill, the buzz of hearing this was making him want to fly. "Whatever you want Y/N" his voice rose a few octaves and with trembling hands Mammon cupped Y/N's face. The urge to envelope the young woman in a tight hug was almost unbearable and also…

"You can kiss me," she smiled kindly. "I see you want to."

Without waiting to be told twice he dived in. It was so long since the demon had felt this whole. Jungkook moved one hand to her waist and the other places behind Y/N's neck, pulling her closer. The feelings this action stirred were mutual - she was content and thankful for all the demon had done and proud because the struggles to overcome that low-point led to a happy ending in this "chapter" of her book. After a few seconds they separated and Y/N rested her forehead on the King's collarbone. "You think we can call Trophonius here so he can help me fully recover and guide me further into choosing a side?"

"We can do it now" Jungkook grabbed the girl's hand and the two ran back to the palace.

A few hours later the Oracle was there and they were escorted to one of the training rooms. Jungkook promised not to bother the two so he returned to his office to look at some war diagrams.

The sun was setting already but the white-haired man and Y/N were still talking, sitting cross-legged facing each other.

“Are you sure you want to choose the darker side? Your parents wouldn’t want you to, they were striving for the Light their whole lives.” It was irritating to listen to this but Y/N was giving her best to be rational and reasonable and listen to all the Oracle had to say.

“It’s so tiring to think of what someone would want from me or for me. It’s my choice in the end, isn’t it?” So much for the attempts not to sound like a brat… Trophonius’ lips widened ever so slightly in a small smile. This was a sign that Y/N has not given up on her free will and wanted to be in control of what was coming her way. Satisfactory enough.

“Very well child” Trophonius praised and put his hands together. The girl appeared confused for a few seconds but quickly understood that his words were just a test so she nodded with a straight face. “So how you want to go about it? There’s a way to get those abilities faster or you want to wait and help me guide you naturally to them?”

A question for a million dollars. How to do it…? She remembered that time when Mammon had explained how the demons were getting their powers and the process usually was taking decades.Y/N couldn’t wait that long. “I want the shorter way” was what she told the Oracle.

“As exprected.”

“General!” one of the soldiers saluted when he entered the meeting hall. “I have terrible news.”

“What?” Taehyung placed the pen calmly in the holder and casted his eyes up at the lower demon. “Pilwon came forty minutes ago to tell me that the check was going well.”

“We have seventeen long swords missing.”

Gaap’s ears began ringing. “How is that possible?”

“I decided to do a double check before sealing the armory and this is what I came up with” he presented a sheet of paper with the newly counted weapons. The swords that were gone were made of draconic steel and were causing severe burns if someone was cut with it.

“This is bad. Very bad… there’s still a spy among us. Fuck!” The General shouted and kicked and desk, it toppled over and sheets of paper and ink began flying everywhere. “Impossible! That’s just impossible! We checked every unit in the legions!”

The other demon stood quietly on the side, looking at the raging man. “What should we do?” He asked quietly.

“We can’t do shit now! We’re leaving in a few hours…”

Later Trophonius was ready to do his thing. He was standing straight, facing Y/N and holding hands with her. Their energies were intertwining and doing an invisible dance. “Now be ready to let go of all barriers in your head. We’re going back to the time when you first saw the markings on your face. Don’t be scared. You must let them spread all over your body and soul.”

“Is it going to hurt?” she asked the white-haired man sheepishly. The small child in her was still surfacing from time to time.

“Don’t worry to much, I will be as gentle as possible. Of course those things are not pleasant but the key is to not give up. Can you do that for me?”

Taking a deep breath there was one final request from Y/N before starting the ritual. “Can we call Jungkook too? I need him to be here…” there was shyness in her voice but Trophonius seemed unbothered. Letting go of the the young woman’s hands he nodded.

“Let’s call the King.”

Minutes later the demon appeared at the doorway, his gaze falling immediately on Y/N. “You sent for me? Is there something wrong?”

“No. Y/N wanted you to be here for the initiation.”

“Oh” King Mammon looked surprised. Closing the door he stepped closer to the two. “You’ve chosen a side then, princess?” Wide smile softened his sharp features and the man’s nose scrunched at the base. His happiness was not fake, not anymore. The demon was ready to accept whatever Y/N had chosen.

Y/N answered him with a confident smile.

“Then you should take a seat somewhere and wait patiently. Don’t interfere because our bond might be severed and I don’t know what might happen.” Jungkook turned around and slowly approached one of the chairs that were further from them.

“Now then. Take my hands” Trophonius instructed the girl. “I will tap in your memories once again and find the one we need. It will play just the way it had happened in the beginning but you need to find the precise trigger moment and change it yourself. I told you” the Oracle’s long slim fingers were wrapped around Y/N’s tightly and she could feel the soft electric surges going through her. He was already doing it. “Let it play, don’t fight it, don’t be scared. You must let the change wash over you.”

“Okay…”

And it began…

Y/N was back in the bathroom of the room she was using then. She was lazily washing her face and teeth, not paying any attention to anything. Then the girl bent over to rinse her mouth of the toothpaste and when she got up there were the markings. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the reflection. Scream was ready to escape Y/N’s lips but she took a deep breath in an attempt to ground herself, then her facial features haredened and the eyes got colder.

Raising her voice she called for King Mammon specifically this time. “Jungkook! I need you now!” The sound echoed loudly in the bathroom and seconds later the demon was standing at the door.

“What…” when he saw the scene his eyes widened. “What is going on?”

“I need your help with this.” Y/N informed him flatly and turned to the pierced demon. She placed her hands on his muscular chest and stared straight into Mammon’s eyes. “Do you know what are those weird stains?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the inky black substance sliding down the girl’s chin and neck.

“You’re a demon Y/N” the King gritted his teeth still in shock. “Those are the markings of the transformation.”

“What is their purpose?”

“To show what kind of power you will possess once you’re fully turned.”

She closed her eyes and leaned forward a bit, still touching the demon. He didn’t move one bit and even placed his hands over hers. The young woman’s throat was burning and it felt like her whole chest was on fire. Mammon looked down and saw how the black substance was spreading in thin lines through the girl’s veins. “Let it pass through you, don’t fight it love” he encouraged her and turned Y/N towards the mirror. She slowly opened her eyes and they looked muddy and unfocused.

The King lifted his hand and as if he was in trance with a single motion he smudged the mark on Y/N’s lips even more, pressing himself harder to her back. The vision was so captivating that the demon couldn’t stop.

Tears were glistening in the corners of the girl’s eyes, threatening to spill out any moment. “I feel like…” she chocked on air. “Like I’m dying. What is going on? How much longer is it going to take?”

Back in the real world Trophonius was kneeling in front of Y/N who was breathing heavily, sweat was covering every inch of skin and the hair was sticking to her face. King Mammon was on the verge of losing his mind yet again but then the marking began appearing and he realized - she’s turning into one of them.

Oh the joy…

With trembling hands Y/N leaned on the counter. The black liquid was reaching the tip of her fingers now, it was scary to look at it. On top of that shiny transparent scales began appearing on her cheeks and coming down her neck. The girl’s eyes turned transparent too, the blood vessels were visible under her new “skin”. This was the form she was going to take when shifting. The King found the new Y/N extremely beautiful and unique - he has never seen a demon with a transparent alternative form. The raw excitement triggered his change too…

After one whole agonizing hour the whole ordeal was over and the young woman collapsed on the ground completely drained and breathless.

“Congratulations Y/N” the Oracle spoke quietly “Weclome to your new life.”

Mammon was hovering over her, holding a glass of water in hand. “Hey princess, you did well” the velvet-like voice caressed the girl’s ears and she lowered her eyelids, basking in the pleasant sound. The blurry vision and vertigo were messing with her head but the demon was her anchor and Y/N was thankful for that. “Let’s take you to lie down comfortably. You should rest.”

Once in the bedroom, Jungkook continued talking to the young woman who was already drifting in and out of consciousness. “This was the most beautiful transformation I have ever seen. You will be great.” She only smiled weakly. “Now I can make you my queen for real…”

Chapter 12 / Chapter 14

Masterlist

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

@princess-sunshyn @thedarkwinterrose

[mayakern]

Since you're doing regular drops now, will you possibly be doing small drops of the less popular designs? I haven't seen any polls for design drops which I thought would of come up by now so I feel like I may have missed a change in how some things work? I've done my best to keep up! If I'm blind and missed it you can just ignore this part of my question and I'll get to trying to search for the answer on my own. My next question is if you'd do a small drop of the Luna Moth skirts? Ive seen a few asks about them but they were always just kinda referred to the polls and if people wanted them. And also, if you ever intend to do the minis/skater style skirts again? Again I'm sure I've just missed some updates but I appreciate you taking the time to read. Incredible work as always, I wish you the absolute best with your business!

some of this has been addressed, some hasn’t!

i run the design surveys not on a schedule and not for every merch order, but as needed. the biggest need for them was for preorders, which we are no longer doing.

the other need was for stuff like choosing which color variants of patterns would return. that is a pretty infrequent occurrence so while i’ll probably do that again, it won’t be for a while. and by a while i would say that color variant polls will probably happen, at most, once per year.

over all, merch production happens much more slowly than y’all probably realize. from placing an order with a manufacturer to listing skirts in the store, it’s usually a 2-3 month process and that doesn’t include the design process beforehand.

that’s also only the timeline for when we have things squared away with our manufacturer. the last two orders we placed with our manu were very small by our standards (about a third of a normal order size, about a tenth of what we ordered for march preorders) because we were hoping to iron out quality control with our manufacturer so we could keep working with them.

unfortunately that’s just not going to happen because while the first of those two orders was good, the second one has 92% defective rate which is… ridiculous. we haven’t listed those skirts yet but will be doing so in the upcoming weeks. the good news is that they’re print defects, not the awful fabric defects, and so most can be sold for $5-10 off so we won’t be selling at a loss. the bad news is this is the nail in the coffin for that manu. i’ve never even heard of a defect rate that abysmal.

and while we do have some promising leads for new manus, getting samples and ironing out product chains takes time and money and it’s not something you can rush. it can take months or years to get production started, especially with a new manu, especially if it’s a new product. luckily i don’t think it will take years to start production on the skirts again as they’re a relatively simple item, but we do have to start as simply as possible so as to decrease the number of variables we have to account for.

what that’s looked like so far was us discontinuing (for now) the miniskirts. in part because our old factory fucked them up so bad for march preorders, in part because we are a really small team and it’s hard to keep up with the volume of orders. the midi skirts are the best sellers and my personal favorites so that’s our priority, but i’m hoping after we’ve got things squared away with our new manufacturer(s) and can hire more people on our end that we can bring minis back.

the bad news is that all these defects have been incredibly expensive on our end and it has slowed our trajectory for being able to hire new people, which really sucks. but it’s really important to us for us to expand slowly and sustainably and to never put ourselves or our employees at risk of instability. we don’t ever want to worry about not being able to afford payroll.

now about the moth skirt specifically: there is good and bad news here. the good news is one of our promising leads uses a 2 color printing technique that the moth skirt would be perfect for. the bad news is they have a really high minimum order per design (about the equivalent of what we would usually order for three designs combined, or maybe two really popular designs) and the moth design was incredibly unpopular and did not sell well.

i never expected it to sell as well as the bee skirt, which is was made to be a companion to, but it performed absolutely abysmally. and the thing is, it’s not that it lacked votes. iirc it made it top ten or top twelve, high enough that we included it in preorders, but when it came time for people to purchase barely anyone bought it. this same thing actually happened with my monstera design as well.

with us losing money on all the defects this year, we have to be extra careful and not make a huge order of a design that doesn’t sell well. it could literally bankrupt us.

anyway we’re doing our best to plug along but it’s been an incredibly stressful year

also i know this has been incredibly long but it’s my hope in explaining WHY we do things that people have a better understanding of our process and what we can and can’t do.

[hehe-hoho-ohno]

Cut scenes from Misfits under the cut. Fair warning: most of this isn't up to my usual standards of writing.

I know that in the poll I said these were cut from chapter three, and that wasn't technically a lie. But this first scene was meant to be for chapter 2. It wasn't working, so I moved it to chapter three where it got cut again. I actually rewrote this one several times and hated all of them. I'm only showing you the two least cringe versions, so the sake of my own sanity.

-- ver 1 --

Emmet has only had Ingo for a week, but if anything happened to him he would burn down this entire palace with himself inside.

Ingo walked beside him on patrol, face set in a neutral frown. Emmet was fairly sure that was just his normal resting face but he was still working on learning the nuances of Ingo's expressions.

It was all in the small details, especially around his eyes. He smiled with his lower eyelids, a happy little upwards scrunch, which was different from his puzzled squint. For that one his brow would furrow, usually accompanied by a head tilt, as he narrowed his eyes. Emmet was proud of himself for figuring out the differences, especially because Ingo often combined them in a pleased-but-confused look. An expression which was similar but distinct from his amused-but-concerned look, which involved a softer curve to his eyebrows.

Ingo did the eye smile a lot, actually. It was strange that Emmet had ever thought him dour or angry, when he was so relentlessly joyful and optimistic.

Maybe it’s a little preemptive to think - he’s only had Ingo for a week - but Emmet loves him. Emmet loves him so much already.

So, all in all, Emmet is being verrry normal and well adjusted about having his first and only friend.

-- ver 2 --

Even now, on patrol, Emmet was staring at him.

Unable to bear the pressure any longer, Ingo turned to him. "Do you need something?"

"Nope!" Emmet chirped, picking up a burst of speed and marching away from Ingo.

Ingo soon pulled level with him. Emmet resolutely did not look at him.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Emmet stopped. “What?”

Ingo looked down and fiddled with his fingers. “…It’s understandable if you want some space, since you’re used to being on your own. We can split up for the rest of the patrol, if that’s what you would prefer.”

“We should stay together. Unless you want to leave?”

Ingo looked away. “I don’t have a preference,” he lied.

Emmet scrutinised him.

-- Author's notes --

I never got past the intro, but this was going to lead into a scene that was similar to the scenario in chapter 1, where Emmet is weird and Ingo copies him, but this time Emmet is genuinely being playful. There's some miscommunication at the start, where Ingo thinks Emmet is trying to annoy him into leaving again but they get it cleared up and have a grand old time.

The point of the scene was to show them having fun and getting along. This got replaced by the entirety of chapter 2, which I think is for the best. Part of the reason I struggled so much with this one was because there was a lot of telling and not much showing. I was trying to condense all the progress they had made in their relationship and it wasn't working because those were the fun bits. By taking place immediately after chapter 1, chapter 2 avoids this problem completely.

The next one is actually from chapter 3.

----

The moment Ingo stepped through the doorway to the archives he was immediately stopped by two marble cat-like figures blocking his way.

“Halt!” The bookend on the left shouted and the one on the right quietly repeated her words.

Ingo hastily bowed to both of them. The archivists were far older than him and should be given their due respect. It was also essential to stay in their good graces if he wanted access to the archives or the library. “Miss Espeon, Miss Umbreon. It’s good to see you both again.”

“Little Matchstick,” they greeted him in return, still towering over him and blocking the way like a pair of sphinxes.

If Ingo could be honest, he would have to admit he’s not terribly fond of the nickname. He tried not to take it too personally. “May I pass?”

“May he pass!” Espeon scoffed.

“(May he pass?)” Umbreon crooned, her tail swishing behind her.

Willing to continue the circle, Ingo opened his mouth to ask again when Espeon cut him off. “No! Of course not! You’re still banned! Banned for a hundred years!”

Ingo’s eyes went wide. “A hundred years?! You said it I was banned for a week!”

Espeon haughtily lifted her head. “I changed my mind.”

“(A hundred years,)” Umbreon agreed. “(Shouting in the archives is strictly prohibited.)"

Ingo winced. “Yes, I understand. I’m truly sorry about that, it won’t happen again.”

Umbreon rolled her eyes. “(It won’t happen again.)”

“A likely story!”

Ingo lowered his head. “Please, I promise I will not be a disturbance. I’ve been sent to fix an error in the archives, and it is a time sensitive issue. Would it not be possible for you to make a brief exception?”

Espeon narrowed her eyes. “An error? In our archives?”

“(Sent to fix an error?)”

“Yes, sent by whom?” Espeon prowled towards Ingo, tail lashing. “On who’s behalf are you doing this?”

Ingo hesitated and had to remind himself that wasn’t really a lie. “Emmet’s.”

She straightened up and exchanged a confused glanced with the other bookend. “I don’t know that name.”

“Yes, that’s rather the issue.” He folded his arms behind his back. “His name is Emmet, but it’s been recorded as Null instead.”

They exchanged another, more calculating, stare.

“(A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet,)” Umbreon cautioned.

“I am aware.” He swallowed. “Please, this isn’t for me.”

Espeon sighed. “Well, I suppose we could make an exception. I wouldn’t want any mistakes in our archive.”

Umbreon’s mouth tugged up into a little cat smile. “(And he looks very polite.)”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you very much-“

“But first!” Espeon puffed her chest out proudly. “You must answer these riddles three!”

Umbreon slowly turned to stare at her counterpart, slack jawed.

“Understood!” Ingo stood up straight. “I accept your challenge!”

“(Et tu, Brute?)” she whispered, even quieter than normal.

[AN: There was going to be a section here where Espeon asks Ingo three riddles, at least one of which is a pun. I never got around to writing it.

Ingo answers all of riddles correctly and Umbreon offers to walk him to there]

Umbreon paused. “(One more thing.)”

More?! How many more hoops were they going to make him jump through? Hadn’t he done enough?

Ingo took a deep breath and folded up his frustration into a neat and tiny square and then threw it away. He was doing this for Emmet. Having to complete a few more tasks was nothing in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t mind.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice containing nothing but curiosity.

“(Are you familiar with the story of the Little Match Girl?)”

“I’m afraid not…”

“(Would you like to hear it?)”

“Certainly!” It was a little odd that she was asking for his opinion, he was fairly certain that she would tell him regardless of his response. Still, it was nice to be asked.

“(It’s Christmas Eve and a little girl stands barefoot in the snow. She is selling matchsticks but no one is buying. She doesn’t have a penny for her efforts and she has no home to return to.

Nobody helps her. She may as well be invisible.

Shivering, she retreats to an alleyway and lights a match to stay warm. Inside the flame she sees visions, a shooting star, a tree full of lights… a loving family exchanging presents. Comforting images that vanish into smoke when the match blows out.

She lights another match and sees her late grandmother, the only person who ever loved her. In a desperate bid to keep her family with her she lights all her remaining matches. The fire burns brightly and her grandmother seems more real than any of the visions before her. So real that she could reach out and feel her warm embrace.

But a hallucination could not keep her warm. No dream, no matter how lovely, can shield you from reality.

The little match girl freezes to death with a smile on her face, with burnt out matches scattered by her frostbitten feet.)”

That was quite possibly the most upsetting story Ingo had ever heard.

“(Did you like it?)”

No, he hated it. It was immensely distressing and he wished the girl had gotten a kinder ending. “Yes, it was… poignant. Thank you for telling me.”

“(You have learned nothing,)” she hissed and her ears folded back. “(It’s a wonder Cassandra ever speaks.)”

“S-sorry?”

She didn’t respond and they walked in silence for the reminder of the journey.

----

There were a lot of reasons this one got cut.

Too much time with unimportant OCs

OCs act way too much like Ingo's friends. Ingo isn't allowed to have friends yet. Him having 0 friends until meeting Emmet is extremely important to the core of Misfits so they had to go

Scene is mostly filler

And... that's everything. I might still reuse some of these ideas in the future but idk, probably not.

The final nail in the coffin was that I couldn't get the Little Match Girl parallels to align as perfectly as I wanted. (If you've read Two Car Train, it was supposed to be similar to That Scene.) Since that idea was low-key the entire point behind all of this, it was extremely disheartening that I wasn't able to articulate what I had wanted to. [matchstick, burn out, cold isolation.]

Anyway, the rest of the chapter worked just fine - if not better - with it gone.

Since the Little Match Girl wasn't working out, I did briefly consider swapping in The Steadfast Tin Soldier for... obvious reasons. But honestly that one is so much weirder and even less thematically relevant, could you imagine?

Umbreon: (and then he gets eaten by a fish)

Ingo: this is the strangest threat I have ever received.

[bopinion]

2024 / 34

Aperçu of the week

"I Believe The World Needs More Canada".

(Paul David Hewson, Irish musician, better known as Bono from U2)

Bad News of the Week

The apocalypse begins in Germany next Sunday. And we are in the dark. Elections will be held in the eastern German states of Saxony and Thuringia. With the real danger that the far-right AfD (Alternative für Deutschland / Alternative for Germany) will win numerical majorities for the first time. Traditionally, election forecasts are no longer published in the last seven days. This gives me a queasy feeling, because these races will be decided in the last few meters.

At the same time, the equally populist party BSW (Bündnis Sarah Wagenknecht / Sarah Wagenknecht Alliance) is expected to win by a clear double-digit margin. This party was only founded at the beginning of the year - by Sarah Wagenknecht. She was once the parliamentary group leader of the Left Party. And is now managing to top their figures from a standing start. It doesn't seem to matter that, at least in terms of geometry, left and right are pretty much the most opposite things there are. This is because the positions of BSW and AfD are surprisingly similar.

The key point of the unequal Partners in Crime is to distil dissatisfaction with a blanket rejection of the status quo. Do you feel misunderstood? We understand you. You feel left behind and don't get what you deserve? Exactly, the establishment rejects you. Your problems are not being taken seriously? Be angry, be against these old parties, come to us. This leads to dangerous distortions of reality. Maybe Putin isn't so bad after all, you have to see things in a more differentiated way. This alleged climate change is only making energy even more expensive. This encroaching Europe wants to over-regulate everything. The abolition of borders was a mistake because all the Romanians and Bulgarians are now taking our jobs. Every spleen of this left-liberal wokeness now wants to have its own gender. I also want the Deutschmark back and all foreigners out!

The worst thing is that the only established party worth mentioning that is currently in opposition and at the same time leading in all forecasts for the upcoming federal elections - namely the conservative CDU/CSU - is joining in with this very chorus. With rather shrill tones. For example, everything that the Greens put forward in terms of proposals in day-to-day politics is branded as paternalism across the board. Funny, in the past this was called a regulatory framework and legislative procedures. Perhaps I now also perceive the road traffic regulations as paternalism, drive on the wrong side and park in the middle of the junction. Hello?!?

So now I'm silently hoping for a moderate apocalypse in Thuringia, that the much-cited firewalls will hold and that enough lazy democrats will still be frightened into action so that they will come to the polling station next time, even when it's raining, to make a half-hearted cross in a reasonable place to prevent something worse from happening. Because I don't want to admit that a political majority is growing up in our society that rejects so much that can be considered progress in terms of tolerance, freedom and respect. We are not going back!

Good News of the Week

I take a rather critical view of the church as an institution. On the one hand, the Christian religion is undoubtedly a key foundation of European culture and society. On the other hand, it seems out of date or incapable of moving with the times. Just the other day was the Catholic holiday “Assumption of Mary” and we discussed in the office whether there is still a sufficient basis for it - and whether World Children's Day, for example, should not be a holiday instead.

Almost one million people have left the Catholic Church in Germany alone in the last two years. Just under 24% of the population are still members, and the trend is clear. It is certainly not just the questionable reappraisal of the unprecedented series of primarily abusive scandals or a disproportionate influx of people of other faiths that play a role here, but the fundamental feeling of many that they are not (or no longer) represented by the institution. And of course: why should I as a woman, for example, support an organization that still does not recognize my equal role in society?

Together with the 22% of the population who are members of the Protestant church, professing Christians are now in the minority in society. This raises fundamental questions - which are now also being addressed by the German government. This is not about abolishing Christmas. It's about money. Because in addition to the church tax, which the state collects as a free service provider for the churches, there are also state benefits amounting to 550 million euros per year. These are paid for by all German taxpayers. This includes those who have consciously decided against the church.

Specifically, the money, which has to be raised by the federal states, serves as compensation for the partial expropriation of the churches as part of secularization at the beginning of the 19th century. And, if the churches have their way, it should probably be paid for all eternity. Now the traffic light coalition believes it is time to further disentangle the state and churches. And they want to regulate this with a final one-off payment, which they will enforce if necessary even against the will of the federal states - who are opposed to it because they would have to pay it. Berlin has my blessing for this. It's time to shake up this taboo subject.

Personal happy moment of the week

After weeks of construction-related changes, I can finally take my normal train to the office again. And I have a real sense of luxury: I save time, I'm sitting at a desk that's really suitable for work, it's not overcrowded and the air quality is good. Only now do I realize how well I've actually been doing all this time. And I now accept the five to ten minute almost obligatory delay with a confident smile.

I couldn't care less...

...that the traffic light coalition is already arguing about fundamental issues again after the agreement on the 2025 federal budget. The interests of the temporary partners Social Democrats, Greens and Liberals are simply too far apart. And Social Democrat Chancellor Olaf Scholz's talent for taming the centrifugal forces of his coalition partners is manageable. Not to say: leadership looks different. A rematch after the 2025 elections seems out of the question, and a government of the increasingly reactionary conservatives is becoming more and more likely. It's a shame, because something really new could have been distilled from the colorful potpourri of ideas, what called itself "coalition of progress" back in the days.

It's fine with me...

...that the Federal Court of Justice has passed what is probably the last judgment in the reappraisal of National Socialism in Germany. It concerns a now 99-year-old typist in the commandant's office of the Stutthof concentration camp near Gdansk. And about aiding and abetting mass murder in 10,505 cases. At the announcement, the presiding judge of the criminal division said that some people wondered whether the acts of the concentration camp secretary should still be prosecuted at all more than 80 years after the Holocaust. But the law is very clear: “Murder is not time-barred.” That's right. Sometimes you have to categorize things in black and white: if you're not against it, you're for it.

As I write this...

...I'm sitting on a plane. 8 hours and 20 minutes flight time plus cab, onboarding and offboarding etc. In an incredibly narrow seat - I'm taller than 1.90m and can therefore either put my legs upright or fold down the tray - and without WiFi because the Fly-Net is down. On the other hand, drinks, food and in-flight entertainment are okay and there are no snorers or stinkers in the immediate vicinity. But none of that really matters. Because we are on our way to French Canada. Where my wife will see her father again after five years and I will see one of my sisters and her lovely family again after eight years tonight. Followed by many more family and friend reunions, pilgrimages to places from the past and reawakening precious memories.

Post Scriptum

Shame on you, Mr. Robert F. Kennedy Jr.!

[hangezoeenthusiast]

Papa

Part 2 Part 3

let me know if you wanna be tagged please. this will be a series

fem!daughter!reader

word count: 1,855

person: c!schlatt, c!quackity, c!karl, c!sapnap

warnings: parents, cursing, yelling, orphans, cigars and alcohol mention (btw these are the warnings for now)

synopsis: you were loved, you were cherished, then someone left, and other people replaced that person, and you didn't like that.

-

Your biological parents threw you out of their home because they couldn't care for you. You were at least at the brink of 2 years old when this happened. They put you in a little stroller and took you to an orphanage. "Miss Jessica's Home For Orphans", it was a stupid place, but the place got you fed, and clothed.

On some fortunate day, you were going to get adopted. Quackity his name was. He came in, and asked for kids 2-6. "Those ages are easy to maintain", he thought in his head. He was contemplating whether or not to get a child of his own. He was lonely, no one to love, no one to care for. So Miss Jessica called everyone 2-6 years old to come.

With help from a older person, everyone 2-6 came downstairs. Quackity looked at everyone, and wondered which child he would bring home. Then he looked at you. you looked so adorable, so cute. He asked you, "Hey kid, what's your name." "I'm Y/n, how are you." you smiled at him with barely any teeth. He pulled you gently off to the side, "Hey kiddo, do you want to come with me to my house?" "Yes Mr." you answer.

You were glad to go to Quackity's house, you never had any love from anyone.

-

(Spongebob theme) 8 years later

You were 10 years old, living happily with Quackity. 8 years ago, he came to the orphanage and picked you up, ever since, you were showered with love and care. But there was one thing, you never called Quackity dad. You would just call him Alex or Quackity.

“Hey Quackity, what’s for lunch?”

“Ummm, some pizza with wings, buffalo right?”

“Yeah.”

Quackity felt bad, you never and did call him by dad, or any parental name. “Hey kid, can i talk to you about something.”

You put down your water, “Yeah, what’s up?” “So lately I’ve noticing that you have been calling me by my name?”

“Are you uncomfortable with me using your name.” you asked. “No, no, but it’s kinda weird, since, yaknow, I adopted you, and I’m a parental figure in your life, so maybe if you would call me dad or another parental name that would be cool?”

“Ohh, the only reason I was calling you by your name because I thought you were uncomfy with me calling you dad?”

“Oh thank goodness, I thought I did something wrong.” he sighed out.

"Could I possibly call you papa, since you-" he cut you off by hugging you. He squeezed his arms around you really hard, 'YES, YES, ANYTHING."

So after that, you would call him papa or dad, and sometimes use his real name.

-

6 years later, you were 16. The election happened, the calling out of the votes, Coconut2020 coming in fourth, which was last, who was lead by Fundy and Nihachu, Schlatt2020 coming in third, lead by Jschlatt, Swag2020 coming in second, lead by Quackity who is your papa and Georgenotfound, and Pog2020 coming in first lead by Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot, and Tubbo. Also the sudden announcement of Schlatt2020 and Swag2020 polling votes, and the speech by Schlatt stating that Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit were no longer citizens of L'Manberg now turned Manberg.

You were surprised, you didn't know that your father with add his votes with Schlatt's. So immediately after Wilbur and Tommy got banned from Manberg, Quackity and Schlatt called you and Tubbo up to the stage. "HEY YOU TWO, COME UP HERE." Schlatt yelled at you both. You both were reluctant to go, Schlatt was scary, his ram-horned self.

"It's ok Y/n, you're ok." your father told you. You stiffly went up the stage with Tubbo. "Tubbo, I want you to be the Secretary of State, and Y/n, I want you to be the First Lady, since your dad is the Vice-President." Schlatt demanded you both to be.

You didn't really want to be in a position of power. You were happy with living with Quackity, in L'Manberg, with no place of authority over anyone.

"Are you sure Schlatt, I mean, I suck at authority." said Tubbo. "Yes, I'm sure, I'm totally sure."

-

You were doing some paperwork for Schlatt when Tubbo came into your office, "Y/n, Schlatt and Quackity want you in their office."

"Ok, I need to finish this paperwork for Punz, he needs-"

"They said it's urgent."

"Fineee." you got up from your chair, "Thanks Tubbo, by the way, can you finish the paperwork, if you aren't busy."

"Yeah sure Y/n, just hurry up, they are really acting crazy in there." he jokingly stated. "Trust me, they're doing nothing."

You went out of your office, and walked all the way to Schlatt's. There, you found Quackity and Schlatt sitting together, talking about some random presidental shit. "Hey, what you guys needed me for?" you asked. You were desperate to go back to your office, still not used to this place. "We need to tell you something." they synchronized.

"Okkk, so what?"

"Umm, well Y/n, meet your new dad." you gaped at Quackity, then Schlatt repeatedly.

"NOPE."

"NEVER."

"WHY HIM."

"HE SUCKS ASS."

"HE SMELLS LIKE CIGARS AND ALCOHOL, WHY WOULD YOU WANNA DATE SOMEONE WHO SMELLS LIKE THAT."

You rambled on and on until Quackity covered your mouth to stop your obsequent talking, "Calm down mi quierda, first of all, it's not your choice, he makes me happy, I make him happy, and lastly, he smells great."

"YEAH I DO, YOU TELL HER BABE, I DON’T STINK." Schlatt yelled across the room.

“But why him, like there is multiple other people who is better than him.” you whined.

“Ok kid, I like, no love him, he loves me, why can’t you be happy with that.” Schlatt told you irritated.

“But-”

“No buts, just please be supporting of us, please mi amor?”

“Fine, doesn’t mean I like it.”

-

After that little argument you had with Schlatt and Quackity, you finished leftover paperwork so there wouldn’t be a pile of it when you came back to the office the next day.

You heard a knock on the door, and told them to come in. To your surprise, annoyingly, it was Schlatt, holding up your favorite hamburger from McDonalds. “Hey kid, what you doing?” he asked you.

You didn’t respond to him, trying to stay silent and finish the paperwork. “Your dad told me your favorite meal from McDonald’s, yaknow, as a present I guess.”

You still ignored him. "Kid, I know you don't like me, I wouldn't like me either if I found out my dad was dating-" you interrupted him, "It's not that, I want dad to be happy, it's YOU, you don't deserve his love. Do you understand Schlatt?"

He put his hand on your knee, "I know, I don't deserve him, I'm not trying to replace anyone in your life, I just want to make Quackity and possibly you happy."

You blankly looked at him, "Ok, that was a good statement, but if you hurt dad, I will make sure you live the rest of your life feeling like shit."

"We got a deal kid, you accept this partnership between me and your dad, and I'll won't break his heart, deal?"

You shook his hand, "Deal Schlatt."

-

"Hey kid, we're going out to a date, you want anything from outside?" Schlatt knocked on your door to your room. You were reading your favorite book when Schlatt interrupted your reading process, "Nah, have a good date."

You were kinda accepting Schaltt dating Quackity. You didn't like their PDA though. It was absolutely digusting, but it made your father happy. "Hey babe, what you doing in here?" Quackity appeared at the frame of your door. "Nothing, just talking to little ol' Y/n, isn't that right?"

"Yes, don't call me that though." "Ok then, you ready babe?" asked Schlatt. "Yeah, Y/n, don't do anything stupid while me and Schlatt are gone." You rolled your eyes, "I'm not going to do anything stupid papa, just have a great night with Jcum." "HEY, DON'T CALL ME JCUM."

"Love you both." you got back into your book, not knowing that the both of them were shocked.

Those three little words got both of them gaping at you. You didn't like Schlatt from the beginning, and you were saying to him "love you"? "What did you just say mi amor?" "I said love you both." you didn't know that those words were significant to Schlatt.

He wanted your approval of dating Quackity, since you are his only daughter. "HOLY SHIT, YOU SAID LOVE YOU TO ME, TO ME." Schlatt leaped with joy. "Don't take it too serious Jschlatt, you kinda warmed up to me these past weeks." you smirked.

He walked to your bed, and hugged you with all his might.

"Schlatt."

"What are you doing?"

"You are squeezing me too tight."

"I can't breath right now, let go of me."

You squeezed out, he was crushing all the oxygen out of your body, "Sorry, Y/n." he shyly spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. "Schlatt, we have had a lot of arguments, I didn't like you, still kinda don't right now, but you are actually a good person, and I actually, not fakely, approve you to date my dad."

Schlatt ran out your room screaming repeatedly, "YES, LET'S GOOO."

-

Quackity was out doing some random things for Schlatt, while you were cooking Schlatt's favorite food. Since last week you declared that you were actually ok with their relationship, you actually got comfortable with Jschlatt being near you.

It was a teasing relationship, you guys making fun of each other when the other did something wrong. To kinda celebrate the event, you were making food. You heard the door open, and there Schlatt was in his presidential suit. "Hey Schlatt, what's up?" you questioned while mixing the pasta in the pot.

He took of his jacket, shoes, and tie, looking stressed, "Nothing kid, just stresed out" "About what?" "Tubbo needs a lot of items to get something for me, but I don't have them." he sighed. "What does he need?" "He needs stupid netherite, the only thing I don't have in hand." "I actually have some, I could give it to Tubbo." you stated. "Thanks kiddo." "No problem Schlatt."

"Anyways, food is going to be ready in an hour."

"Thanks, I'll be in my room."

"Ok dad." He stopped in his tracks, "What did you just say to me." "What do you mean?" "Y-you just called me dad." he stumbled on his words with unbelief lacing them.

You smiled over your shoulder, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, who knows?" "You actually consider me to be your dad?"

"Well yeah, you're nice to me and papa, you take care of me, you love me, so why not?"

He hugged you from behind, "Thanks kiddo, I'll receive this announcemet with honor," he jokingly stated. "No problemo dad, just go take a shower, you stink." "NEVER." he wrapped his arms around you as much as he could.

(This is the end of this first part, this is my first time making a series, let me know what you think)

[undoundue]

i don’t know anything except how stories go

i don’t know anything except how stories go

the music isn't as good as i thought it would be

i'm not sure if i've taken enough drugs or too much

when i take too much, i get grandiose: big ideas. little follow-through.

when i take not enough, i also get grandiose, but i know it,

and i sound like a graveyard glass harmonica when

the wind passes through. when i take the right amount, i do not ask

whether i've taken enough drugs or too much.

instead i hallucinate that i'm a cicada, an elegant disgusting jewel

smithed by mommy nature to reproduce a tinny song,

and i'm grateful to my parents

and the 17 years i spent gestating

and this morbid cherry tree

because nobody buckles their tymbals like i. also, cicadas lack

the relevant receptors altogether,

so the dosing question doesn't apply.

(beat) say,

have you noticed that zoomers are really into columbo?

(you nod)

i've seen him on twitter twice lately, asking "just one more

question—which would you prefer as an afternoon snack?"

and there's a poll, cheez-its

or little debbie snack cakes.

the appeal, i think, is to a generational forgetfulness, to

a generation most in need of alarm clocks and aricept,

to the desire to see forgetfulness as a superpower, as an

equivalent to innocence, to be so impervious to

reality's demands. but haven't we been here

before? didn't milennials all die for the sin of inventing "retro

gaming"? and by the way,

did you hear the one about the guy who gave himself three-hundred

and ninety-one concussions, each time suffering retrograde amnesia

which knocked out his memory of his last pokemon red playthrough?

ah. ah yes. it is not a tale the jedi would tell you.

when i take too much, i get despondent. when i take not enough, i

get grandiose. but the line breaks are for the poet's benefit anyway.

besides, there are kids smoking brick weed in lebanon, we should be

thankful for what we have.

and hex maniac is pretty cute. her pupils spiral

counterclockwise,

going from out to in; in some of the fan art they go the other way but

you can tell those guys don't "get it"; the allure of a counterclockwise

spin on how you are perceived, to have your silhouette distorted

and your details properly misunderstood, to lose at games you've

never heard of it, to eat with chopsticks incorrectly,

to trip and fall and look at the sidewalk and say "thank you.

yes. i had grown complacent in my patterns, my

nucleus accumbens

was running on fumes; and i certainly wasn't expecting that!" and

mean it. i did this once. i was in a state of rare tranquility after

masturbating for sixteen consecutive hours (essentially a

performance enhancing drug for meditation—which is why,

in the tibetan olympics, strict no-fap is required for a week

before competition—and they take semen samples to be sure!)

so (you nod), when the buddha saw me

so grateful for life's misfortunes, he made a "look

at this fucking guy" gesture to ganesh and then said "look at this

fucking guy" as if the gesture wasn't enough. naturally,

i was offended, and besides i recalled the old koan "If you meet the

Buddha on the road, kill him," which i had read in a collection

of koans for children titled "If you meet the Buddha..." which

my Mom had purchased for me in the novelty gift section

of an urban outfitters in santa barbara ("Mom, why are you shopping

at urban outftters?" "son, yr mama just tryin' ta stay cool. say, you

heard of this MF DOOM cat?" "ugh! Mom!") and which had

such thought-provoking aphorisms as:

"If you meet the Buddha in an airport, buy him a cheeseburger."

"If you meet the Buddha at a dive bar, play him some new wave—the

Buddha is big into that shit." the idea being, you're prepared for any

circumstance, which is what buddhism is all about. so i did a

bunch of fast attacks; the buddha blocked; i said "shouldn't

it be all the same to you if i kill you?" the buddha said "it would,

except i want to get home and watch columbo, and i don't

want to wait to respawn." i said, "jesus. just—jesus." then the buddha

kicked me through a brick wall. everyone in the WeWork

screamed and fled, leaving their kombucha behind, and

for some reason the sprinklers went off. then, after the initial

impact, a lone brick fell (because of torque—force times the length of

the lever, remember) and hit me comically on the head, causing a

concussion. i said "guh."

yup, (you nod sympathetically),

i was feeling mighty grim. then it occurred to me: why don't i

play pokémon red? unfortunately, on my cellphone i only had

the romhack version, you know, where all the pokémon are allegories

for depression. so you got your depressionmander, depressioneleon,

depressionizard, and for pokémon where that doesn't work

they use it as a suffix, e.g. bulbadepression, ivydepression,

venudepression. also you can't leave the starting room and

your character moves really slowly. the indie gaming press

loves it. one of the features that reviewers single out is

that, instead of a lone Stand By Me reference, the TV in your room

goes line by line through Aguirre, the Wrath of God, except the

murders are replaced with pokémon battles and at the end

aguirre tries to command a horde of mankeys ("depressionkeys"),

which is a metaphor. dark stuff. it makes me think back on my youth:

lying on my child-king sized bed, masturbating to polyhedral

stellations, suffering from severe geometric dysmorphia as i

compared myself to the grandeur of those idealized forms—god, i

used to hate myself for those wasted hours. i mean, i still do, but i

used to, too. only after years of therapy have i developed a mantra

that eases the pain:

"i am mostly a cylinder.

i am mostly a cylinder." presto. you can get off to anything, even

loomis.

(you nod, hesitantly.) on saturday night,

i throw open the window and scream at the children: "you'll get old

too! an abstractome of brittle opinions even as your bumbling

homunculus drops the data you once used to back them up!"

the children reply "not necessarily, given the rate of advances in

biotech. also, no one cares, grandpa." they play soccer. my

mad pilgrim hair blows in the wind. i scream: "suffer! suffer! i am

omniscience!" they say: "oh yeah? how many fingers am i

holding up?" "four! five! four!" "it was five, you old fart." "the thumb

doesn't count as a finger! you should have a specified!" "OK, new

game: what sort of person am i?" "you are—you are—!" and so

i peer into their souls and know the answer, but i can't

find the words. the words do not come. i have forgotten them.

silently i draw away from the window. the children smirk, but only for

a moment. for they know i am right.

ah, to reveal the soul's heist, to be seen through by the omniscient

and powerless, what a delight! who among us would not cheerfully

kill the buddha when he's comin' through the rye? who among us

has not been blessed by the kind words of a stranger? and yet, we

shouldn't incentivize people to be strangers. society would collapse.

besides, we are no longer strangers to ourselves, you and i.

(you nod.) we will have much to discuss about that.

[jackoshadows]

A fascinating and educational twitter thread about how Prohibition helped Botswana become one of the most stable countries in Africa. 

For decades since its independence in 1966, Botswana was an island of black sovereignty & stability between apartheid South Africa and white-supremacist Rhodesia. Some say it was the inspiration for #Wakanda in the movie #BlackPanther.  

In southern Africa as the world over, the Brits and European colonists ran the EXACT SAME PLAYBOOK of alco-colonization.

Read more at the link

Step 1: Introduce hard liquors--industrial distillates--to native populations with no experience with drinks of such mind-bending potency.  4/ Step 2: Clutch their pearls, and recoil in horror at the drunkenness and violence that predictably occurs within the native community and against white colonizers and liquor purveyors. In Africa, they called it the “black peril.”

Step 3: Cite that drunkenness as evidence of natives’ inability to be “civilized,” thus justifying white political domination over them. Africa, Asia, North America, even Ireland--everywhere it was the same pattern. See also: opium in China.

Hard liquor (whiskey, rum, gin, vodka, schnapps, etc.) was the perfect tool of exploitation. Highly potent. Concentrated. Easy to transport. Highly addictive. Didn’t spoil like fermented brews. Easy to make. Incredibly lucrative.

European colonizers would share liquor as a gesture of goodwill, and then once the alcoholic stupor set in, get tribal leaders to scrawl an “X” and sign-away their land, resources, and even people.  8/ More importantly, promoting widespread addiction to liquor made indigenous populations reliant on the colonists, just as junkies rely on drug dealers. Again, see also: opium in China, and two Opium Wars resisting it.  

What did natives have that colonists wanted? Ivory, food, furs, ivory, exotic ostrich feathers, rubber, ivory... the land and the minerals in it, and everything living on it. Also: ivory. And finally, the natives themselves were commodities: as labor or slaves.

If you’re a European trader & the locals trade ivory or furs for (say) your iron kettle, the entire village can use that for 20 years. Blankets might last 5 years before they need to trade with you again. There’s little demand for your wares. Or you. But if you can hook the community on booze that ONLY YOU supply, they’ll have to come back to you all. the. time. Now you’re indispensable. Addiction is self-renewing demand. Becoming the sole drug dealer to a community of addicts is ridiculously profitable. Need proof? Riddle me this: What was the first factory on the continent of Africa? Of course, Africa is rich in every resource imaginable: minerals, gems, ivory, rubber, oil, cocoa, fruit and timber that could be processed into goods.  

Here it is. In 1881, the Dutch Transvaal government granted a monopoly on distilled brandy to the Hatherley Distillery near Pretoria. The company was called “De Eerste Fabriken”--the First Factory. It wasn't first because the white settlers drank it. They largely didn’t.

Instead, with the discovery of gold & diamonds, white mine-owners needed black labor. They lured workers to the mines with promises of liquor, knowing if they had large booze debts to pay back, tribesmen would have to work longer, rather than returning to their village.  

(South African Breweries--today the world’s largest brewer--was founded soon thereafter to provide British-style beer to a white clientele, while the cheap liquor from Hatherley was reserved for indenturing black workers.)  

Consequently, every native leader worth his salt was a prohibitionist--defending his people against the “white man’s wicked water.” King Moshoeshoe in Lesotho. Chief Waterboer in Griqualand. Tembu headman Mankai Renga & hundreds more. In Africa as around the globe, temperance and prohibitionism became the banner for subaltern sovereignty against the white colonial junkiemaker.

Which brings us back to Botswana. Or Bechuanaland, as it was then known. It had long been ruled by tribal chiefs, led by Bamangwato King Khama III ("the Great"), who’d allied with the British against the Dutch Boers.

Three months after ascending the throne in 1873, he informed all white traders on his territory that trading liquor w/ his people was now prohibited. “If, when you give one another a drink, you turn around and give it to my people also, I shall regard you as blameworthy.”  Europeans scoffed & kept selling--until Khama expelled them all: “I am black and am chief of my own country. When you white men rule then you will do as you like. At present I rule, and I shall maintain my laws which you insult and despise.” Prohibition was sovereignty.   “There are 3 things which distress me—war, selling people, and drink,” Khama wrote the British in 1876, asking the Queen’s protection. “All these I shall find in the Boers.”

By 1884, Bechuanaland was British protectorate, respecting Khama’s prohibition.   Meanwhile the 1890s, Britain’s Cape Colony was dominated by the notorious Cecil Rhodes: founder of the De Beers diamond syndicate, quintessential imperialist and unapologetic white supremacist.

“I contend that we are the finest race in the world and that the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race,” Rhodes wrote. “Africa is still lying ready for us--it is our duty to take it.”   In 1889, Rhodes organized his mining interests into the chartered British South Africa Company (BSAC), which had its own government and army. In 1890, he also became Prime Minister of the Cape Colony.   In the First Matabele War (1893-94), 750 BSAC “police” with machine guns killed over 10,000 Matabele spearmen, bringing Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) under Company control. Khama’s Tswana tribesmen served on the side of the Company.

According to BSAC shareholder reports, one of the first items of business wherever the Company set-up control was to farm-out the liquor trade to white settlers. Profits are profits, regardless of prohibition promises.   Rhodes famously dreamed of building a trans-African railroad connecting Cape Town to Cairo... which meant taking Bechuanaland, even though Khama was regaled as a loyal British ally.

From 1892-95, the conniving Rhodes used every administrative trick possible to place Khama’s Bechuanaland Protectorate under the sovereignty of the Company, but was stymied either by Khama or the Colonial Office in London.   By 1895, Khama had enough. Together w/ fellow chiefs Bathoen and Sebele, he voyaged to London to petition Queen Victoria’s government to keep Bechuanaland out of Rhodes’ grasp.

“The two points on which the natives seem to be apprehensive,” the Imperial Secretary in Cape Town telegraphed London, “are the questions of land and liquor.”   The 3 kings arrived in September 1895, and were supposed to meet with Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain. But he--like the rest of the Queen’s government--had left for their annual vacations until November.   “I have for years tried to abolish the use of strong liquors in my country, and prevent the importation of European drinks,” Khama told the London press, lamenting that his efforts “should be hampered by agitation in my country and outside it.”   While awaiting for an audience with Chamberlain or Queen Victoria, Khama, Sebele and Bathoen toured the width and breadth of the British Isles, winning British public opinion to the side of their temperance and sovereignty. 

The Review of Reviews reprinted Khama’s plea that “you, O British people, will not paralyse my efforts by compelling me to submit to the invasion of my country by the trader with his poisonous liquors.”   If Britain were to ignore Khama’s calls for help, the papers editorialized, then the British people “should stand condemned as the most God-forsaken set of canting hypocrites on the whole round earth.”   Following the kings‘ temperance visits, a flood of popular petitions inundated the Colonial Office from across the country, strenuously opposing giving Bechuanaland over to Rhodes‘ Company.   Prior to the meeting, the kings plead their case to Chamberlain: “We fear the Company because we think they will take our land and sell it to others. We fear that they will fill our country with liquor shops, as they have Bulawayo.”

The kings offered concessions and the payment of additional poll taxes, if London would only delay the inevitable annexation by Rhodes’ Company by 10 years. “Do not let them bring liquor into our country to kill our people speedily.” 

On Nov. 6, 1895, Chamberlain finally met with the chiefs to dictate terms. The chiefs would pay a hut tax and sacrifice a strip of land for Rhodes‘ railway in exchange for maintaining their sovereignty as a protectorate.   “White man’s strong drink shall not be brought for sale into the country, and those who attempt to deal in it or give it away to black men will be punished. No new liquor license shall be issued, and no existing liquor license shall be renewed,” Chamberlain declared. 

Weeks later, Chamberlain escorted the Chiefs to Windsor castle for an audience with “the Great White Queen” herself, Queen Victoria, who confirmed the arrangements that Chamberlain had made.   “The sale of strong drink shall be prohibited in your country &those who attempt to supply it shall be severely punished,” the Queen declared. “I feel strongly in this matter, & am glad to see that the chiefs have determined to keep so great a curse from the people.”   Pleased, though unaware of British protocols, Sebele told the press: “Her Majesty if a very charming old lady... But I had no idea that she was so short and stout... I shall go back home contented.” They did.   Far less pleased was Cecil Rhodes, who telegraphed London: “I do object to being beaten by three canting natives especially on the score of temperance.”

And then: “IT IS HUMILIATING TO BE UTTERLY BEATEN BY THESE NI***RS.” 

Bechuanaland’s stay of execution may have been short lived, were it not for what happened next. Upon returning to Bechuanaland, Khama met Sir Leander Starr Jameson, who was leading a BSAC military force.  Jameson’s orders were to instigate an insurrection across the border in the Dutch Transvaal, whipping-up British sympathizers and lead to an all-out British invasion to topple the rival Dutch Boers.  But in a crowning irony, Jameson’s Raid was doomed by liquor. To take the Dutch by surprise, the British would cut the telegraph lines so Boer outposts couldn’t sound the alarm of invasion.  Instead of cutting the telegraph lines, a drunken British soldier instead cut a farmer’s wire fence. The Dutch anticipated and tracked the whole raid, ambushed and decimated the attackers & imprisoned Rhodes’ brother Frank.

London condemned Rhodes‘ reckless adventurism, forcing him to step down from the BSAC in disgrace. The imperial threat to Bechuanaland’s sovereignty and sobriety was over.  The British honored Khama’s prohibition & sovereignty right through Botswana’s independence in 1966. Today the bronze Three Dikgosi Monument honoring Khama, Bathoen & Sebele is the most visited destination in the 🇧🇼 capital of Gaborone.

Were it not for their 1895 temperance mission to Britain, what is today Botswana would’ve long been absorbed into either Britain’s Cape Colony (now South Africa) or Rhodesia (Zimbabwe)--much to their people’s detriment--instead of becoming its own independent country.   Without prohibition, there’d be no Botswana. And in honor of their Founding Fathers, Botswana emblazoned the picture of the chiefs‘ 1895 temperance mission to London on their 100 Pula note.

HEY! If you liked this liquor-politics thread, may I humbly suggest checking-out my new “Smashing the Liquor Machine: A Global History of Prohibition” book, which contains literally dozens of them. 

[lokislittlemagpie]

I don't enjoy doing this, I'm too stubborn and my mom doesn't even know I'm making this post. We have a nearly 100 year old property 1 mile into Montana and my GG worked and worked on this place for decades only for her "best friend" David to manipulate her and take over the place. He put the water heater on the second floor of this old cabin and it fell through, he used fraud loop holes to steal over 12,000 dollars from her that she saved her whole life to have a small ranch (it sadly didnt happen before her first major stroke). This property is falling apart and after 3 major strokes, she can no longer care for it and my mother and my grandmother took it upon themselves to leave everything behind to fix this 5 acre property. My mom and I work together for 11 bucks an hour and my grandmother does Caregiving for 15, all of us having pets and my sister to care for along side this falling apart property. I dont want to pull a sob story and I didnt even want to do this post, but the cabin is falling in on itself, theres a hole above the shower from the water heater collapsing through, the house is no longer on foundation so the rain and weather is causing the whole 'falling in on itself' issue, and we live directly off the high way. People have pulled in and stole things from my GG since day one and we want to get good cameras for the place so it cant happen anymore. The internet is awful and if pics of the property's damage is needed, I'll give them once I'm in signal with good data (town is 15 miles away both ways.) I dont have a pay pal or a GoFundMe yet bc I didnt know if it would piss off my stubborn mom or not, but after watching her cry bc of our only guaranteed place to live/GGs whole life just falling apart at the seams I just cant sit here and do nothing- I'm 20 now and I'm determined to help and if that means 10 to 12 hour shifts 6 days a week to help along side studying, I'll do it. But this place needs a lot of money just to be safe again, so I'll make a poll and in one week this spreads and my mom can finally see that not everyone will sabotage us and actually help out, I'll make at least a GoFundMe for her and this old property. I'll do my best to send pictures and even take a vid to add to this post when in data range, but for now my words will have to do. I will not make a GoFundMe till I have pics of the place you would be helping to fix so you know you're giving it to something real (I've been cheated out of my money on there before so I understand.) While I take pics rn as we speak and save them for when I get to Troy (MT) or 3 Mile (ID), Please let me know if you're willing to help. I cant watch my family do this alone anymore and with my asthma and my mothers heart issues, we can only do so much alone. I'll take pics of progress from the help we hope to receive to show that the money is actually being used for what it was given for. This place is all we have, and after years of watching it fall, I'm on my knees begging- Anything, a penny to even just a dollar would go straight to bringing this place back from the dead.

So please, would you be willing to help my family with this old place? I will even try to find a way to give something back- We dont have much of anything with value, but I'll do my best to figure something out. Send me a private message or comment a simple yes if your willing and if no, thank you for at least reading this long ass post and if it can be spread around then it's all I need and it's still help. I know people have it worse than us, and once were on safe ground, I'll do what I can to help others as well. My nick name is Bluejay or Jay, mom Is Amy, sister is Kayla and my grandmother is Monica btw! Great grandma prefers to go by Yvonne. Thank you for everything you're able to do, money or not, and if I make a GoFundMe, I'll edit this post and add it here.

[jerseydeanne]

William is quietly winning the battle of the royal brothers - Their responses to Bashir revelations are as different as they are as people, but we knew they would be

It must frustrate Prince Harry that his own popularity has become so obviously inversely proportional to his brother’s. They had a highly competitive relationship before Harry and Meghan decided to throw a grenade under the Queen and the Royal family in favour of earning Kardashian cash in the US. It often appeared that a large part of the Sussexes’ beef with the monarchy was that they constantly felt in the Cambridges’ shadow. Yet their bid to seek “financial independence” in California has cast them completely in the shade in the minds of the majority of Brits, many of whom would prefer it if they disappeared from view altogether. The more they have accused the “racist” Royal family of “total neglect”, the more they have succeeded in encouraging the British public to throw their support behind the institution – as shown by a YouGov poll last week finding six in 10 people want them to be stripped of their titles or to stop using them. The better William and Kate perform, the worse Harry and Meghan look for breaking up the Fab Four in the first place. The Yanks might not see it like this, but we do because, unlike naive Americans prone to endless psychobabble, we were never under any illusions about the dysfunctionality at the heart of the Royal family (or any family, for that matter). In his latest outpouring for his new Apple TV documentary series, Harry voiced his resentment at being told to “play the game” to make life easier in the House of Windsor. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of my mum in me,” he boasted. “The only way to free yourself and break out is to tell the truth. ”Yet, ironically, the one person in The Firm who “played the game” better than anyone else was Diana, Princess of Wales. That was until she took the disastrous decision to pour her heart out to deceitful Martin Bashir – albeit under what we now know were false pretences. By continuing to stoke the flames of publicity with his smug, self-pitying and at times, spiteful rhetoric, Harry shows he has actually learned nothing from his mother’s experience. For in trying to emulate her doe-eyed confessionals to speak his “truth”, he is repeating her mistake of squandering popularity for the sake of evening the score. While there’s no doubting Harry’s noble intentions in wanting to raise awareness of mental health issues – let’s make no mistake here, like Diana deciding to air her dirty linen on the BBC, this is a man out for vengeance. With his team of officious LA-based PRs and unwillingness to appear on any platform that actually offers a right of reply to the people he trashes, he’s hypocritically playing his own, one-sided games. Exactly like his mother at her lowest ebb, Harry seems to think the world is out to get him. Yet far from it being personal, there is a word for what has happened to him over the years. It’s called “life”. While he was a 12-year-old walking behind his mother’s coffin in 1997, there were literally hundreds and thousands of other children also coming to terms with the loss of a parent. Around the same time, I was a teenager, scraping my alcoholic mother off the pavement. As any therapist worth their salt will tell him – you can either hold onto the past and let it dictate your future, or let go and truly “find your freedom”. William has had to endure exactly the same fate as Harry. In fact, as the elder brother and “heir” rather than “spare” it has arguably been even more difficult for him. As his dignified statement on Thursday night made clear, he vividly remembers “the fear, paranoia and isolation” of his mother’s final years. It was his shoulder upon which she cried about the breakdown of her marriage. It was he who promised her, after she lost the HRH style, that he would “give it back to you one day when I am king. ”As the child of divorced parents myself, I know all too well that while every child is adversely affected, the oldest is often at the coalface, shouldering most of the burden. Despite this, and having to come to terms with being tethered to a life mapped out at birth,

William

has borrowed from the best of his mother’s playbook. He has resolved to serve others, rather than himself. Instead of growing up to resent the rules of the game, he has used them to his advantage, realising – as all the best royals do – that it is never really about “them”, but about “us”. Unlike Harry, who has misinterpreted the Queen’s “never complain, never explain” mantra as a gagging clause – William has used it as it was intended, as a protection order to ensure the lines between the professional and the personal do not become too blurred. Like the mute button on Twitter, he has silenced his critics not by taking them on, but keeping calm and carrying on regardless. And in stark contrast to his brother, William has shown he understands the press as well as Diana did. By actually reading the newspapers (rather than obsessing over the online comments like Harry), the second-in-line to the throne has come to the sensible conclusion that the media, while imperfect, can be used as a considerable force for good. While his brother was using Lord Dyson’s report as a stick with which to once again beat the tabloid press, William was mature enough to acknowledge that if it wasn’t for the newspapers, Bashir would have got away with his rogue reporting for even longer. “Public service broadcasting and a free press have never been more important,” he magnanimously declared. Harry’s nonsense claim that “practices like these – and even worse – are still widespread today” only serves to highlight just how unqualified he is to act as referee on matters as serious as the First Amendment, which he described as “bonkers” on a recent podcast. Both these royal brothers are playing a game – but only one of them is winning.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2021/05/21/william-quietly-winning-battle-royal-brothers/

[causeiwanttoandican]

The Telegraph - Camilla Tominey

William is quietly winning the battle of the royal brothers

Their responses to Bashir revelations are as different as they are as people, but we knew they would be

Camilla Tominey21 May 2021 • 8:00pm

It must frustrate Prince Harry that his own popularity has become so obviously inversely proportional to his brother’s. They had a highly competitive relationship before Harry and Meghan decided to throw a grenade under the Queen and the Royal family in favour of earning Kardashian cash in the US. It often appeared that a large part of the Sussexes’ beef with the monarchy was that they constantly felt in the Cambridges’ shadow.

Yet their bid to seek “financial independence” in California has cast them completely in the shade in the minds of the majority of Brits, many of whom would prefer it if they disappeared from view altogether.

The more they have accused the “racist” Royal family of “total neglect”, the more they have succeeded in encouraging the British public to throw their support behind the institution – as shown by a YouGov poll last week finding six in 10 people want them to be stripped of their titles or to stop using them.

The better William and Kate perform, the worse Harry and Meghan look for breaking up the Fab Four in the first place. The Yanks might not see it like this, but we do because, unlike naive Americans prone to endless psychobabble, we were never under any illusions about the dysfunctionality at the heart of the Royal family (or any family, for that matter).

In his latest outpouring for his new Apple TV documentary series, Harry voiced his resentment at being told to “play the game” to make life easier in the House of Windsor.

“I’ve got a hell of a lot of my mum in me,” he boasted. “The only way to free yourself and break out is to tell the truth.”

Yet, ironically, the one person in The Firm who “played the game” better than anyone else was Diana, Princess of Wales. That was until she took the disastrous decision to pour her heart out to deceitful Martin Bashir – albeit under what we now know were false pretences.

By continuing to stoke the flames of publicity with his smug, self-pitying and at times, spiteful rhetoric, Harry shows he has actually learned nothing from his mother’s experience.

For in trying to emulate her doe-eyed confessionals to speak his “truth”, he is repeating her mistake of squandering popularity for the sake of evening the score. While there’s no doubting Harry’s noble intentions in wanting to raise awareness of mental health issues – let’s make no mistake here, like Diana deciding to air her dirty linen on the BBC, this is a man out for vengeance.

With his team of officious LA-based PRs and unwillingness to appear on any platform that actually offers a right of reply to the people he trashes, he’s hypocritically playing his own, one-sided games.

Exactly like his mother at her lowest ebb, Harry seems to think the world is out to get him.

Yet far from it being personal, there is a word for what has happened to him over the years. It’s called “life”.

While he was a 12-year-old walking behind his mother’s coffin in 1997, there were literally hundreds and thousands of other children also coming to terms with the loss of a parent.

Around the same time, I was a teenager, scraping my alcoholic mother off the pavement. As any therapist worth their salt will tell him – you can either hold onto the past and let it dictate your future, or let go and truly “find your freedom”.

William has had to endure exactly the same fate as Harry. In fact, as the elder brother and “heir” rather than “spare” it has arguably been even more difficult for him.

As his dignified statement on Thursday night made clear, he vividly remembers “the fear, paranoia and isolation” of his mother’s final years. It was his shoulder upon which she cried about the breakdown of her marriage.

It was he who promised her, after she lost the HRH style, that he would “give it back to you one day when I am king.”

As the child of divorced parents myself, I know all too well that while every child is adversely affected, the oldest is often at the coalface, shouldering most of the burden.

Despite this, and having to come to terms with being tethered to a life mapped out at birth, William has borrowed from the best of his mother’s playbook.

He has resolved to serve others, rather than himself. Instead of growing up to resent the rules of the game, he has used them to his advantage, realising – as all the best royals do – that it is never really about “them”, but about “us”.

Unlike Harry, who has misinterpreted the Queen’s “never complain, never explain” mantra as a gagging clause – William has used it as it was intended, as a protection order to ensure the lines between the professional and the personal do not become too blurred.

Like the mute button on Twitter, he has silenced his critics not by taking them on, but keeping calm and carrying on regardless. And in stark contrast to his brother, William has shown he understands the press as well as Diana did.

By actually reading the newspapers (rather than obsessing over the online comments like Harry), the second-in-line to the throne has come to the sensible conclusion that the media, while imperfect, can be used as a considerable force for good.

While his brother was using Lord Dyson’s report as a stick with which to once again beat the tabloid press, William was mature enough to acknowledge that if it wasn’t for the newspapers, Bashir would have got away with his rogue reporting for even longer.

“Public service broadcasting and a free press have never been more important,” he magnanimously declared. Harry’s nonsense claim that “practices like these – and even worse – are still widespread today” only serves to highlight just how unqualified he is to act as referee on matters as serious as the First Amendment, which he described as “bonkers” on a recent podcast.

Both these royal brothers are playing a game – but only one of them is winning.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can you imagine Chris with a fever? Trying to tell jake he doesn’t feel well, he wants to be held, but the high fever only makes it harder to talk? Everyone in the safe house crowded around, desperate to cool him down bc they can go to a hospital?

CW: Feverish, sickness, mentions of symptoms of sickness + references to past noncon/dubcon, plus fucky thought processes around that. Vague references to past torture.

Timeline: Chris’s first week at the shelter.

Tagging:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

His bones hurt, but he keeps that to himself. It's just bones, after all, and he's had way more of him hurt much worse than this.

At least, it starts with bones, just in his upper arms and in his thighs, and he thinks maybe it’s because he is always tense in this strange new place. The house seems small compared to Sir’s mansion but he is allowed to move around all of it, not just one hallway of rooms. 

This makes him nervous but he does, anyway, padding silent and still as a mouse around the hallways and down the stairs at night, searching for signs that this will be a life he understands. 

He finds none. 

There is no basement, or if there is, they don’t show him. He doesn’t know what happened, exactly - there was a night where Sir had a party, and then he was put in a car and then another car and then there was this new place, these new people.

No, at first it’s really just his thighs, an ache buried so deep under the skin that no amount of rubbing against it seems to work it out. After that, his arms start to hurt, and then down his calves, and finally it settles in at his hips like two hands are gripped on tight. The ache is familiar, a memory of a life he doesn’t have to live any longer.

They tell him he doesn’t, anyway.

They tell him he doesn’t have to do that, here, but there are two men and three women and he thinks maybe eventually he will have to be good. He’s not trained for women but it can’t be that different, can it? He tries not to think about it very much, and hopes if he just stays quiet, and still, and holds his hands in little stone fists at his sides that no one will notice him.

If they don’t notice him, they won’t ask, and he won’t have to, even though he kind of wants to, but also he doesn’t, and he can’t remember if he ever really did or if it was always a voice inside him that someone put there on purpose to make him like this.

He wants to be held but he is scared of what it means, because it’s never just holding. It always means having to be good. Maybe not right away, but always, sooner or later. 

Does he actually want to be held? Or did they do that to him, with all the time he spent alone, praying someone would open the door to the white room? 

He wants someone to hold him while he feels like this, but… his bones hurt too much for what happens after the holding, and he feels so cold, like being back in the white rooms that have all blurred together. 

Once all the other hurts are joined by a strange, pounding headache that won’t lift, a weight like his brain is solidifying inside his skull, the boy takes a big soft blanket right off the bed of the larger man who lives here and finds a place to hide. 

They're all downstairs, the other people here. 

There’s a storage room at the end of the hallway where all the bedrooms are, and the door isn’t locked - at Sir’s all the doors are locked except the rooms he’s allowed in, so that must mean he’s allowed in here.

He’s having trouble walking, there’s a dizzy lilt to his footsteps and he seems to keep bumping into the wall even though he thought he was walking straight. He trips on the blanket as it trails the floor, over and over again. Somehow it never occurs to him to pick the blanket up.

The door looks wrong, for reasons he can't explain. The boy gets briefly lost in the swirl of the woodgrain, staring at what looks like another set of wood-eyes, frozen in surprise, staring right back. 

He has to blink again and again and again to get the wood-eyes to fade away. 

They are laughing at something downstairs and the sound makes the boy nervous - Sir laughing usually meant things Sir thought were good, and the boy had to be good but he never thought they were good. He has to hide, or they'll see his wobbly legs and play games with him.

Sir likes games, when the boy is tired or sick from the pills or sad. The boy doesn't want to play games, here. They have said they won't hurt him but games don't always hurt the outside. 

He gets the doorknob to turn after three tries, slips into the little storage room, and sees the perfect hiding spot.

There’s a huge wooden desk shoved up against one wall, stacked high with what looks like photo albums, folders stuffed until they’re bursting, loose stacks of paper, brochures and flyers, plus old books and all kinds of things. 

On top of one stack of flyers, there an ancient stuffed puppydog, with floppy arms and legs and floppy ears and a strange bronze yellow no-color fur, threadbare in patches where someone loved it, once. The boy could almost see the way a child must have petted along the back, wearing it to nothing bit by bit, day by day. 

Something about the sight of it makes the boy's throat want to tighten and close. He doesn't know what or why - he's never had a stuffed animal, all he remembers is the white walls and the cold and then the warmth of Sir burning him alive.

He takes a sudden breath, shivering as cold snaps through his body, his muscles contracting like aftershocks from training, chills that roll through him, bounce around inside his skin.

The desk is like Sir's and not like that at all. He doesn't want the desk - he wants the hollow spot in the center under it. It feels safe and familiar, sliding to his knees under a wooden desk, Position Two, effortless as breathing. Tip his head up, chin at rest on Sir's knee, waiting. Making his thoughts stutter-skip to a stop until all his mind is a vast and empty place he never looks too far into. 

He is not empty, now.

The boy does not feel empty at all. Instead he feels too much. He feels the strangely rough carpet under his knees, hard floor through the soft fabric of the pants they gave him to wear. He thinks of the stuffed puppy alone in the room - is he lonely in here? nobody to rub his fur all to gone any longer-

"'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse." The voice in his mind is soothing and soft. It is a woman's voice but he doesn't know who it belongs to. He knows there was a book, can almost feel the texture of the cover, slippery-smooth, the shine as it caught the dim, yellowed light. He can feel the warmth of a soft arm around him, a hand ruffling into his hair as chubby fingers tap on his own legs, feet swinging off the side of a tiny toddler bed. "'It's a thing that happens to you.'"

His headache gets worse all at once, a thunderclap of pain, and the boy whimpers and pushes himself until his back is against the other side of the desk, curling knees to his chest with the blanket wrapped around himself. 

The chills roll through, his fingers shaking too hard to do anything but hold onto himself and hope it will stop. Teeth chatter, clattering together like someone is playing dice inside his mouth, and his tongue feels like leaden weight in there, too large for the space. 

Under the desk it is dark, no light in the room but a clouded sense of sunlight finding its way through off-white blinds, covered in dust, cutting stripes of yellow over the opposite wall.

The boy sees tiny dust particles in the air, floating. Dancing. His eyes follow them, and he almost smiles. Sir used to leave him alone for hours and hours locked in the room or the basement with nothing, but there was no such thing as nothing when your brain could follow specks of dust…

He feels no warmer, even as he sits under the blanket. The cold is too deep in him, settling into his bones alongside the pain, which has sharpened, gone from dull sawing to a sharpened blade. He whimpers, curling up even tighter.

Even now, he has hurt worse than this, and for worse reasons. He knows how to stay still, has learned to keep his palms pressed flat against his stomach to stop himself from tapping, to let the lead weights roll around inside his head to keep himself from hitting it on anything to calm down. Silence is better than screaming.

He learned his lesson. Sir may have given him up, but the boy has not forgotten. 

Footsteps move in the hallway, and the boy does not look - does not try to peek out the door and see. Now that he has curled up so tightly, he's not sure he could uncurl. His legs feel locked tightly, every muscle tensed around his hurting bones. 

Where is he? The woman's voice, the older one. The one he thought must be the owner of this household and all its pets. He's not in his room.

He is not in the bathroom, a male voice says, the slightest, barest hint of an accent to it. 

I hope he didn't run away. A girl voice. The boy shivers. 

He's not Kauri, a second girl voice says. He won't just run without saying anything. He's scared, he probably found a crawlspace or something.

A crawlspace, the first girl repeats, a little plaintively. She repeats things a lot, the boy has noticed. 

We should keep looking. The man, the one he thinks must be the Sir. But he doesn't act like one. 

The boy tucks himself back into the corner of the spot under the desk, closing his eyes as they just don't want to be open any longer. 

He wants his Sir, suddenly, so badly it burns under all the chill, like holding a piece of ice to your skin so long that the cells forget they feel cold. Sir would hold him tightly, would wrap him up or give him lukewarm baths or just hold him, in his lap, whispering things into his ear. Reading aloud the news reports, the new poll numbers. Speaking with his friend Mr. Alexander who is like me, in a lot of ways that go beyond just our career aspirations, darlin'. 

Sir would make him feel better, even if it felt awful all the same. 

A different awful. He would trade that awful, now, if he could. At least Sir's did not live so far under his skin, was only in those first few layers he could scrub away if he stayed in the shower long enough. This kind wouldn’t come out, only burrowed deeper and deeper.

He falls asleep - or into something like sleep, anyway - there under the desk, like he has on many afternoons, lulled to boredom by long days where he isn’t allowed to move or feel or think. It’s not the same desk and there is no one to nudge him awake with a perfectly shining leather shoe. 

The boy dreams uneasy dreams of vast bedrooms swathed in navy silk and uncertain worn-out fabric creatures with threadbare patches are peeking from behind the drapes, beckoning to him to come closer and hear what they have to say. Only he can’t move, because the sheets are wrapped too tightly around his wrists. They hold him to the bed or the wall, he can’t think of where he is, lying down and standing up all at once. He has to hear what they want to tell him.

He’s too far away, and they are whispering.

Real isn’t how you are made, said the Skin Horse. It’s a thing that happens to you.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up-

“Hey.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and the boy jerks awake with a gasp, flinching back so hard his head smacks back into the back of the desk. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, you were talking and I thought maybe you were already up. Hey, are you okay?”

The boy stares, wide-eyed, at the man he thinks is the Sir of this house. He’s younger, but the others except for the older woman all do what he asks them to do. He has blond hair and blue eyes and he’s so tall the boy has to crane and crane his head to look up at him sometimes. He swallows, as he shivers all over again. “My… bones… hurt.” 

His voice is slow, evenly paced, a little hoarse. He sounds like he’s been screaming, but he hasn’t. When he swallows, his throat hurts, like swallowing glass. He winces and puts a had up to feel at the outside. His throat feels odd on either side, just under his jaw. Sort of lumpy.

“Your bones hurt? What the fuck-... hey, come out so I can see you a little better, okay? Come on, man.” The man grips onto his hands, and the man’s fingers are big and warm and the boy moves almost helplessly towards the solidity and warmth that those hands represent. 

His mind is a woozy swirl of trains, careening back and forth, his eyes drifting over dancing bits of dust and the piles of papers everywhere and old broken computer chairs, that one’s padded, should have slept there, he hears a robin call outside and fights the urge to purse his lips and whistle back. 

When he is out into the dim light in the room, the man’s eyes trail over his face. The boy feels the weight of the look, and thinks he might blush, but his face felt hot before, too, even though the rest of his body feels like it’s carved from blocks of very pretty ice.

He’s much nicer-looking than Sir is, the man. Younger, too, and something about him doesn’t seem uncomfortable and strange, but instead open and genuine. The boy can almost read him, and he never knew what Sir was thinking. But in the look on the man’s face, he thinks he can read a simple concern.

“You look like shit,” The man says - he said his name was Jake, right? - and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. “Oooh, you feel like shit, too. Clammy as hell.”

Is he clammy? The boy hasn’t noticed. He feels too cold for sweat, everywhere but his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. 

The man’s fingers prod just under his jaw, and the boy winces and whimpers when he hits the swollen little circles that seem to have stuck up from his skin there.

“Yep. Your lymph nodes are all fucked up. One more thing, okay? Just here. Right here, and nowhere else.” The man slowly lays a cool hand to his forehead. The boy’s eyes flutter closed at the simple, comforting, soothing touch.

I could be good for him. The thought is brief, there and then gone, carried further down the track with other thoughts he tries not to linger on. 

“Well, I have a diagnosis,” Jake says, sitting back on his heels. “You’re sick as fuck. Come on, we need to get you into an actual bed. And I need to tell Nat you didn’t wander off, she’s losing her shit downstairs about it. Were you scared?” His voice dips down into something soft. It’s a voice the boy wants to fall into. It’s kind of like the voice that belonged to the warm arm around him, in his dreams.

The boy shakes his head. You’re not supposed to admit you’re scared unless they want you to, and he doesn’t think this man wants him to.

He lets the man pull him to his feet. Jake notices the boy’s hands pressed still against his stomach and asks if he needs to throw up, but he shakes his head - he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to get in trouble. When he can’t keep his hands still, he is punished. 

“Then why were you in here?”

The boy doesn’t speak. He can feel his tongue in his mouth, every one of his teeth. He might speak too quickly, stumble over himself. Silence is better than stammering. He only shrugs, a movement of thin shoulders under the heavy, soft blanket he wears. 

“Okay, fair enough. Come on, let’s get you laid down and get some Tylenol in you.”

He doesn’t remember what Tylenol is, and lets himself be led, shivering and chattering teeth, laid down in the little bed in the room where the other Box Boy sleeps. There is a framed drawing of a bird above the bed he sleeps in, and he looks up at it, feeling dazed by all the colors that want to bleed right out and down the wall and maybe he could get some color in his skin if he catches the paint…

The man is gone, for a few minutes. There are talking-sounds downstairs but the boy can’t understand them. Too muffled or too loud or too something. He gets lost in the bird.

“Here we go.” Jake reappears and gives him a cup of water as he pushes himself up to his elbow and he drinks it obediently, sipping. It’s cool and clean-tasting on his tongue. Then Jake holds out a little cup with a purple liquid in it and the boy stares down, then back up at him. “It’s… not Tylenol. Nat said her contact told her you were drugged, so I figured… maybe no pills?”

The boy shakes, all at once, a full-body shudder that wracks his tensed-up muscles and makes them burn around his bones. He bends himself nearly in half, shaking his head, again and again. “No… no pill, please,” He whispers, barely able to form the words. “Please, please, please-please no, no, no no no no-”

“It’s okay,” Jake says quickly. “No pill. So this is, um, this is like a liquid fever reducer. We keep it for the rescues who can’t… can’t swallow pills. Okay? Just drink it down and you’ll feel better, I promise.”

It could be just like the pills. The boy hesitates, looking up into the man’s eyes. Something in them seems like he can be trusted to tell the truth, and after a long hesitation, the boy takes the tiny plastic cup from his hands and drinks the sticky fake-grape taste down, wrinkling his nose. It clings to his teeth and his tongue, and he washes it away with more water from the glass. 

“Perfect. I had to guess on dosage, but that should be okay… Will you stay in the room, if I go?” The question is there, underneath the words - the boy can read them just fine. Are you going to hide under the desk again?

“I don’t… want to… be alone.” He has to carefully space words. He has to be good, that way. He didn’t understand yet what everyone here wanted. 

“Is that how you really feel, or what you’re saying because you think it’s what I want?” The man asks, his voice still soft, and gentle. “You won’t be in trouble no matter what you say.”

The boy doesn’t know how to answer this - no one ever asks him his wants. What he wants isn’t important, it’s not relevant. He grips the blanket in his fingers and twists the fabric, quilted and so soft it feels like it will float away from him. He stares down into his lap and says nothing, only shaking his head, not quite a yes and not quite a no.

“I’m… very cold,” He offers, finally, in a small voice, when the man doesn’t say anything right away. “And my… bones hurt.”

“Right, you said, your bones-... must be something to do with the fever, maybe? Something… look, lay down and I’ll get you all covered up, there are some more blankets in that storage room you were hiding in. I’m surprised you didn’t just make a nest.”

The boy hadn’t noticed the other blankets then. If he had… he might have. He lets himself be laid on his back, looking up, watching the dust spin and move and dance, as the man leaves the room once more. He hears footsteps in the hall, lighter ones, and looks to catch a glimpse of a swinging ponytail and a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. The girl doesn’t look at him. She goes into her own room and shuts the door.

Jake comes back with a heap of folded blankets. “You’ll shove these off once your fever breaks, but they might make you feel a little better while we wait. Oh, and I saw this in there!”

He holds up the stuffed puppy, with beady black eyes barely hanging on from old thread, the little bare patches on the rump part, where somebody petted off all its fur.

His throat closes again. He doesn’t know why looking at the dog makes him feel that way.

“Thank… you,” He says, and holds out his hands like a child, and the man drops the puppy into his arms. The boy makes a sound and rolls onto his side, letting the man cover him in blankets, tuck them in around him, with the puppy’s head tucked securely under his chin.

He feels… better.

“There you go,” Jake says, running a hand across his forehead, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “There you go. That’s better. I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Pretty sure you haven’t slept since you got here, huh? You should think about what name you want, while you sleep.”

“Sir chooses my, my, my name,” The boy says, already starting to drift, forgetting to space out his words, his thoughts. They start to run again on their natural tracks, splitting into a thousand different focuses at once. He thinks about the birds outside and the ones in his wall and the feel of the stuffed animal in his arms, surprisingly solid for its age, heavier than he thought it’d be. He thinks about his dream and how to keep waking up.

“Not here, he doesn’t,” The man says, voice firm, almost commanding. “Your name’s all you, man. Just tell us when you decide, okay?”

“Okay,” The boy whispers, and thinks about a warm arm around him, a woman’s low voice reading him a story with a deliberate, spaced-out rhythm. 

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon

Maybe they read him a story in training. He can’t remember. But he thinks he was too small for that. Someone else, maybe, once.

He winces as his head starts to ache and chases the thought away, sends it rolling down its track to where all the other thoughts stay that make him hurt. 

“I’ll come back to check on you in a few. Just… stay in the bed and get some rest.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his eyes have gone too heavy to open, his grip iron-tight on the stuffed puppy in his arms. He’s too old for stuffed animals - I’m eighteen, all pets are of legal consenting age - but he feels good holding it, anyway.

“Once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Do you know what that means, T-

“Chris,” He says, without opening his eyes. He hears Jake stop in the doorway, turn to look at him. “I like Chris.”

“Chris it is, then,” Jake replies, sounding pleased. “That’s a good one. I’ll tell Nat. Get some sleep and feel better, Chris. That’s a solid name. I like that name on you.”

Chris waits until he hears the door close, and the sound of the man’s footsteps on the stairs, before he smiles.

I like that name on you.

He likes it, too.

Chris feels like a person. Chris feels real.

The boy falls asleep in the bed in a new place and with new people and for the first time since he got here, he falls asleep without feeling scared of what he’ll see behind his closed eyes. Baldur is scared, and the number boy was scared, but Chris, he decides, is going to live in a totally different way. 

Chris is going to be real, and not be scared of anything. 

Just as soon as he isn’t sick.