#Road Safety Market share

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The Business Research Company offers road safety market research report 2023 with industry size, share, segments and market growth

[explosionkatsu]

Fulfilling Desires

Human!Alastor x Killer!F!Reader

Warnings: Gores, mention of killing and blood 🩸

Early 1929 - 1930

You were one of the people who were entertained by the Black Tuesday, known as the Stock Market Crash in 1929. You were one of the pessimistic bearish investors who betted against the market making you instantly rich in no time. But after this occurrence, you were somewhat delighted that it didn't cause the ‘Great Depression’ is what they named it. You can still catch a glimpse of how everything went to an ordinary state as if nothing major happened, but the trash and debris around you say otherwise.

As the year 1930 came close, a sudden number of murder cases ascended. You were unbothered by this though.

As the sun began to set, an eerie silence fell over the city streets. The once-bustling roads now lay almost deserted, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, as if the very air was thick with a sense of fear. Shops and stores, usually open till late, are now closing their shutters and locking up their doors much earlier than usual, as people seek the safety of their homes. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city, almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting for the danger to pass.

You find this odd since you haven't slaughtered anyone for a few months, so it seems like there's another murderer in town. You couldn't help but grin inwardly as you observed the group of people scurry towards the shelter of their homes, seeking refuge from whatever threat or danger loomed in the distance. The sight of their hurried movements and anxious expressions was both amusing and intriguing, and you found yourself quietly contemplating the amount of emotions that must be coursing through their minds at that moment. But it made you question, who is the murderer and what is their purpose.

Well, you know why you slaughter, and you wouldn't even deny the sense of rapture whenever you listen to the cry of your prey who was pleading for mercy. Just thinking back to this made you chuckle.

‘Oh, those poor souls’ You pondered to yourself as you now gazed upon the deserted street of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been months since you slaughtered, and you took it upon yourself to take a break after seeing how people do the same measures when you were still active.

Feeling sufficient at glimpsing out of your window, you fixed yourself a hot coffee before resting on one of your cozy settees and shifting on the radio, tuning to your favorite radio host.

Alastor, with a wicked smile on his face, finds it amusing knowing the sudden transformation of a bustling street into a lifeless ghost town. The fear and terror that radiate from every corner of the abandoned street only fuel his twisted sense of pleasure, driving him to keep moving forward with confidence. Nothing and no one can stand in his way as he relishes the power he holds over the once-bustling town.

But it is not yet the time to strike.

"Good evening, wonderful people of New Orleans! As you settle into the comfort of your homes tonight, I do hope that you are all secure and cozy. I cannot wait to share the latest news with you, but before we proceed, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the hardworking authorities. These amazing individuals have been working overtime on some important cases these past few days, and their dedication to keeping us all safe is truly commendable! So, let's give them a big round of applause!" Cue the sound effect. "Now, let's dive into the evening news!" Alastor leaned in closely to the microphone as he spoke. He carefully flipped through the pages of his script, making sure to stay on track with the prepared content. As he read, his rich voice filled his home studio with a sense of confidence. Despite being live on air, Alastor remained calm and composed, delivering each line with precision and clarity.

"Another civilian was found in a gruesome situation in an alleyway near a club. The authorities recognized the body to be Daniel Thompson who's a worker in a men's boutique." Alastor smiled wickedly as he performed his unnatural serious yet saddened voice. "Authorities said they found him with a few of his organs missing, including his heart. Up until now, the perpetrator responsible for the incident is yet to be identified due to insufficient evidence."

Alastor's grin was so wickedly mischievous. As he scrutinized his script, he was transported back in time, reliving every moment with vivid clarity. The words on the page had the power to evoke memories and emotions he felt, almost as if he were living the scenes all over again. Oh, what a pleasure!

Alastor leaned into his microphone, his resonant. "It's truly astounding the thoughts that run through people's minds these days, isn't it?" he mused. "But let's not forget about the safety of those working the night shift. Take extra care on your way home tonight. We don't want any more victims to fall prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark. With that being said, please enjoy this music while I'm off-air! Have a lovely evening everyone."

As soon as Alastor finished his performance, he switched off his microphone and decided to treat his audience with some smooth jazz. After that, he stood up, leaving his script behind in the studio. He walked towards his basement to retrieve a few items that he needed for his later agenda. He carefully checked if everything was secured before speaking, "I'm pretty sure you must be feeling famished by now."

Suddenly, his shadow appeared beside him, grinning playfully. "You know me too well," his shadow replied.

Alastor chuckled at his shadow's response. "Don't worry, we'll be out in a while after I present my final script to the audience," he said confidently, feeling proud of himself.

With that being said after the final music played, Alastor went back to his studio for his final script before bidding goodbye.

Alastor's voice echoed through the microphone, "I'm afraid it is now time for me to leave. Let's give my colleague, the next host, a round of applause. Thank you for listening, and once again, this is your host, Alastor, signing off." With a click, he turned off his on-air light and proceeded to unplug all the devices he had used in his studio.

He then reached for his velvet trench coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and put it on. He tipped his black trilby hat and walked towards the door with a small bag on his back. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way out of the studio, leaving behind the dimly lit room, and proceeded to the front door for his next agenda.

It was now 10 pm as he left his home with all the lights switched off. Every step he takes is hushed as he makes his way to the deserted street. He knew that he'd find every drunkard going home at this hour, especially since almost every club was still active at this hour which he was grateful for.

"I'm craving for a woman.." Says his shadow in his head.

Alastor arrived at a well-known club, his heart pounding with excitement. He made his way to a dark corner, where he could observe the establishment without being noticed.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of friends who were leaving the club. Among them was an intoxicated blonde woman who caught his eye. Despite her friends' attempts to convince her to ride with them, she declined and instead began walking away, waving goodbye.

Alastor's heart raced in excitement as he saw his opportunity. He followed the woman from a distance, his footsteps silent as he moved closer. He could hear her soft laughter and the gentle sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

'What an idiot,' Alastor thought to himself as he kept an eye on her.

As he trails her in the shadow, he watches a fleet of police vehicles zoom past without offering any assistance to the vulnerable woman. The sound of their sirens fades away in the distance, leaving her alone and helpless. It's as if they deemed her unworthy of their time and resources. When he finally noticed the coast was clear, he watched her vomit in a nearby alley.

He then began his approach.

"My, my. A pretty woman like you shouldn't be alone at this hour!" Alastor approached the woman with a friendly ambiance. "May I offer you assistance, my dear?" He smiled offering her his hand to hold.

Too drunk, the woman looked at him, captivated by how handsome the man who was willing to help her. Without thinking, she nodded and grabbed his hand. "You look so handsome~"

Alastor chuckled at this, "So I've been told, darling." He responded, ushering her to walk. "May I ask, why a lovely woman like you alone at this hour? Didn't you hear about the murderer on the loose?"

"Nah! I know I'll be fine~" The woman giggled. "Now that you're here. I know you'll protect me~"

"Oh, don't worry darling. I will keep you safe." Alastor smiled.

Guiding her to the unlit alleyway was too easy, especially when the woman suddenly passed out on him. 'This is too easy.' Alastor thought as he smiled viciously.

"Keep an eye on the area. Make sure no one sees." Alastor commanded his shadow who immediately nodded and left.

Of course, without letting any more seconds go by, he put a gag on the woman, as well as blindfolded her eyes.

As he lifted the weight of the woman in his arms, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. A smile played on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away as he felt a small dread over him.

Alastor's smile twitched. 'Fuck' He thought to himself.

You noticed him staring at you with a tense expression. Without a word, you raised your index finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, indicating that he should remain silent. The suddenness of the gesture seemed to surprise him, and he watched as you walked away with a sense of bewilderment, wondering what had just happened.

He now knows who's his next target.

The morning sun shone brightly as you stepped out, breathing in the fresh air. The street was slowly coming to life, with stores opening up and people bustling about. You walked with purpose, your steps confident and elegant.

As you walked, people couldn't help but notice you. Women scanned your outfit as you passed by, admiring your choice of clothing and the way you carried yourself. You were a sight to behold, a true embodiment of grace and poise.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to see the same man from last night, Alastor, standing before you with a smile on his face.

"What a stunning elegant woman you are," he said, his voice smooth and confident. You giggled in response, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Why, I appreciate the compliment, Sir," you said, slightly bowing your head in acknowledgment.

Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes, admiring your beauty. "A polite one as well!" he beamed. "What do you say I treat you to breakfast? I couldn't help but admire you from afar as soon as I saw you."

"Aren't you a charmer," you giggled, your hand covering your lips in amusement. "I don't mind the offer."

"Shall we?" Alastor gestured towards the door of the nearby cafe, his eyes never leaving you.

"Why, thank you," you smiled as you entered the establishment with him following close behind.

The sound of smooth jazz filled the cozy and inviting cafe, creating a relaxed atmosphere that put everyone at ease. As you walked in, the patrons briefly looked up from their coffee and newspaper, taking in both you and Alastor's presence before returning to their affairs. The chimes hanging near the door suddenly made a delicate sound, adding to the already pleasant ambiance.

Alastor courteously escorted you to a cozy corner seat in the bustling cafe, carefully selecting a spot where there were fewer people having their breakfast. He pulled out a chair for you and patiently observed as you comfortably settled into it.

"Thank you." You smiled and watched him sit across from you.

As you settled into your seats, a courteous waiter appeared at your table, menus in hand. You both took your time reading the extensive selection of dishes, taking note of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. After a few minutes, you both decided on your meals and handed the menus back to the waiter, who gracefully took them and jotted down your order. He then returned to you with a small card bearing your table number, ensuring your meals would find their way to the right place.

Alastor's gaze fell upon the withdrawing waiter, his eyes half-lidded as he commented, "Hm. Such a nice young lady." His voice carried a sense of intrigue thinking what would her flesh would taste like before turning to face you. You could feel his presence looming over you as he continued, "I'm quite sure you know why I invited you." The tone in his voice made it clear that there was something important he wanted to discuss with you.

You smiled at him knowingly and replied, "Oh, believe me, I already know why." As you looked at him, you couldn't help but notice his striking eyes and his calm demeanor. "It is an absolute pleasure to have this unexpected encounter with you. My name is Y/n L/n." You extended your hand towards him, hoping that he would reciprocate the gesture and shake it.

Alastor's lips curved upwards into a charming smile as he reached out to take your hand. He didn't shake it, but instead, he pulled it towards his face and planted a delicate kiss on your skin. "I must say, the pleasure is all mine, Y/n. I am Alastor," he said, introducing himself with a suave tone. "Quite a pleasure."

Once Alastor let go of your hand, he spoke with a hint of closeness, "I'm quite positive you know me from my broadcast."

‘I see.’ A realization dawned on you, and you couldn't help but smile, "I am a big fan of your evening stories, Mister Alastor. They're my absolute favorite. Although, I was quite baffled when you didn't share any tales last night." You pouted your lips playfully, trying to taunt him. "I was truly saddened," you added with a tinge of disappointment.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at you as you made that face. He knew that you were trying to pull his leg. "I truly apologize, Y/n. But something suddenly came up, and I just couldn't make it," he responded while taking your hand in his and gently caressing it to comfort you.

You flashed a smile, trying to mask the growing emotions that were brewing inside you. "Do not worry, Mister Alastor. I quite understand your reasoning." A glint in your eyes almost showed your true as your smile slowly morphed into a knowing grin. The corners of your natural pink lips curled up, revealing the hint of a sinister plan that was about to unfold.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the familiar smile. He knew right away that this person was not as naive as he had previously thought. "If it would interest you," he said with a smooth and charming tone, "I would be delighted to invite you to my humble abode where I perform my nightly broadcast." His smile was inviting. "You can watch me live tonight if you so choose."

You flashed a smile at Alastor, conveying you're accepting his offer. "That would be lovely, my dear sir," you said politely.

Alastor's eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! I will have you taste my mother's secret jambalaya recipe!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Alastor's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will be a delight," you replied, eagerly anticipating the dish.

For a brief moment, you both stared at each other, as if silently communicating through your eyes. However, the arrival of the waiter carrying your food broke the spell, causing both of you to avert your gaze.

Alastor hummed, his eyes glinting as he watched the waiter approach their table carrying their orders and placing them on the table. You thanked the waiter and gestured to Alastor to tuck into your much-awaited breakfast.

As you finished, Alastor pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his address on it. "Make sure you arrive before dusk," he said, his voice low and intense.

You took the paper from him, tucking it safely into your bosom. "Thank you for the delightful breakfast and your company, Mister Alastor," you said, bowing your head in respect.

"Please, call me Alastor," he insisted, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're not some peasant beneath me."

Your lips graced a smile reaching your eyes as you locked eyes with Alastor, feeling a sudden and intense connection with him. "I'll see you this evening," he added, his voice dropping even lower.

The smile never left your lips as he kissed your hand and turned to leave, his back straight and his head held high. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

'This evening will be unforgettable,' you thought to yourself, turning to walk the other way your smile dropping.

Arriving at his home, Alastor quietly entered. Not a small squeak was heard from any of his movements. His eyes are still half-lidded while he makes his way to his cellar.

The cellar is dark, the only source of light is coming from the small window located at the end of the room. But it wasn't enough to illuminate the entire place.

Alastor took a few steps into the dark room. The scent of rotting flesh was all around the room, the floor was stained with dried blood, and the walls were full of scrapes, claw marks, and even a few splatters of blood. There sat the now awake blonde woman who was gagged and blindfolded. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together. Next to her was a stainless bowl with a spoon and a water bottle which Alastor used to feed her before he left.

"It seems like you won't be alone any longer in here, hmm." A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he gazed down at the woman who was crying in the corner. "Don't cry now, darling. I don't want my meat to taste bad."

You had a fast-paced day and were now making your way towards Alastor's house. The house was located in the middle of the woods, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calmness as you approached it. However, you were ready for anything, with a rapier in its sheath strapped to your thighs. As you walked closer to the entrance, you noticed the house was much like a cabin in the woods, but much bigger and tidier, almost like a mansion.

Once you knocked on the door, it was instantly pulled open by Alastor "Ah! Y/n. Please, come in," He said, welcoming you inside and locked the door behind you, which you couldn't help but notice.

You could see a bunch of deer antlers hanging on his wall, and the seemingly decomposed head of a deer hanging in the middle of the room where his chimney was located caught your attention, "I see that you hunt. Mostly stag." You slightly smirk turning your head to look at him. You could see that Alastor was a skilled hunter, with his collection of deer antlers and other hunting trophies on display.

"Ah, yes. I hunt for fun. But I sometimes crave venison meat, my dear." He chuckled and admitted. "They are quite softer than any ordinary meat."

"How curious." You giggled. "Now you made me wonder what they taste like, Alastor," you said, expressing your curiosity about the taste.

"I don't mind giving you one, my dear." Alastor chuckled. "But it might take a while for me to get my hands on it."

"Is that so." You mumbled looking at him. "But I know one type of meat that was indeed soft and scrumptious."

"I'm not quite sure what you are talking about, my dear." Alastor smiled walking toward his studio with you following behind.

"Alastor, dear. I am not foolish." You chuckled. "I am fully aware of your intentions after what I saw last night." Once you mentioned this, Alastor halted and turned to look at you. You can see his smile thinned. "And I do know this is the reason why you invited me here." You giggled covering your lips with your hand. "I know your game." You said as you confidently walked into his studio without asking for his permission, ready to take on whatever was waiting for you.

"Then I believe I don't need to hide anything from you, Y/n," spoke Alastor, his voice like velvet. As he gradually made his way towards you, he wrapped his arm around your waist in a slow, almost dancing motion.

You didn't feel uncomfortable with his touch though. You simply let out a carefree laugh, which delighted Alastor. You took your time gazing into his half-lidded eyes, which were staring back at you, before slowly pulling away from him. You dusted off your skirt, a small action that didn't go unnoticed by Alastor. "It's for you to decide, Mister Alastor," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful mystery.

Alastor arched an eyebrow inquisitively, his piercing gaze fixed on the object of his affection. 'Is she teasing me?' he wondered out loud. Without missing a beat, he reached out and placed a strong, reassuring hand on her lower back. "Perhaps you'll find this a lovely present, my darling," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

As you both stepped out of his studio, you looked around and asked with curiosity, "Hm? Where are we headed now?" You couldn't help but feel intrigued by the unknown destination as you walked alongside him.

"You'll see."

You decided to go along with his plan, despite feeling uncertain. You wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen next. However, your suspicion began to grow when you realized that he was taking you down to the basement. This sudden change in direction made you feel slightly uneasy.

The scent of rotting flesh was the first thing you noticed once you both reached the cellar. Despite the utter darkness that engulfed the room, you cautiously trailed behind Alastor, trusting his lead. As you neared the threshold, a faint glimmer of light illuminated the scene just enough to reveal the silhouette of a blonde woman. She appeared to be the same person he had carried on the night you apprehended him.

Alastor anticipated that you would be frightened upon witnessing the sight of the weeping woman who was captured. But instead, you displayed a devious gaze and a vicious smile. He became more interested in you.

With measured steps, you closed the distance between yourself and the mysterious woman. The soft click of your heels beneath your feet echoed in the stillness. As you drew nearer, you could see the delicate features of her face and the strands of hair that had fallen across her sweaty forehead. Finally, you knelt beside her, feeling the coldness of the ground beneath your knees before taking the blindfold off of her. The woman looked at both of you, terrified. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she whined through the gag as if begging for freedom.

"You poor thing.." You mumbled looking at her eye to eye. "This is why you should never walk in the dark." As you uttered words, your hand stretched out, delicately brushing away a solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

Alastor stood there, his eyes fixed on you, as you went about your task. He couldn't help but wonder if the way you were doing things was your usual method.

"Such beautiful face, my dear." You whispered. "Too bad it will go to waste.." With utmost care, you slid the gleaming rapier out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light. You held it up for the woman to see, her fearful gaze fixed on the sharp edge that seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you are, my darling," Alastor spoke behind you, brushing your h/c locks to the side. He then sensually leaned down, placing an alluring kiss on your nape just as he wrapped his arm around your waist and leisurely held your hand where your rapier was.

Your eyes narrow as you watch the woman closely, who is frantically attempting to flee from the both of you using her abilities. You can see the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her movements. As she tries to escape, you notice the subtle quiver in her hands and the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Despite her efforts, she seems to be struggling to try and escape, making her attempts all the more frantic. "Oh, I would assure you. Nothing is as beautiful as her bathing in her own blood.." You spoke.

The woman's final screech was heard through the night followed by your rapier's blade slithering against her neck bringing her blood to splatter on the pair of you.

But as he witnesses the death of the woman by your hands, Alastor can't help himself but bring fingers to your face, clutching you by your jaw and wringing your face to him before he aggressively places his lips against yours. His actions caused you to drop the rapier and wrap your arms around his neck, returning the kiss almost too desperately.

Your lips danced against his as you felt him fighting for dominance. You felt his arm unbuttoning your blouse, drenched in blood. This causes you to do a similar action, unbuttoning his clothes and sliding both your arms in, feeling his bare skin brushing against your palm.

You felt him pushing you gently, bringing you to lie on the blood-soaked floor while he pulled your maxi skirt.

[ellestra]

Beyond the Wasteland of Vengeance

I just watched Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga and I loved it. It was hard at times as this is a harsh world and the rule of prequels tells us who has to die. But it was so worth it. We already know this is story of hope in the end. We know how Furiosa's Fury Road ends. It's starts with the same unrelenting determination (like the way she makes sure no one could tell of her home).

The cast is great (even if Chris Hemsworth fake face is somewhat distracting) but I think the most impressive was Alyla Browne who is Furiosa much longer than I expected for a film marketing Anya Taylor-Joy so heavily. She has some of the most badass parts (if you thought you hated Immortan Joe's sons before... well, thinking of their deaths is even more satisfying now). She is also made look so alike Anya that I initially missed the moment they switched.

But Immortan Joe and his band of monsters are just background creeps showing the decay of the world in general. The main villain is the one who took everything she loved from Furiosa. And didn't even remember half of it because he destroyed so many lives hers was nothing special. The one who set her on this path.

There is something sad about Dementus. You can almost feel, not compassion, but at least pity. You can see glimpses of a person he used to be before children died and you see how the end of the world destroyed him. It's like the voiceovers at the beginning describe what happened to his mind and soul when everything fell apart.

He's embodiment of that rot (and him going through white to red to black phases makes it even more clear). And he destroys everything he touches. At least the lords of Citadel, Bullet Farm and Gas Town built something. Something horrible and cruel but something. He can only destroy. He thinks finding Abundance will save him but he will only destroy that too. As I said, allegory.

Furiosa is his opposite because she doesn't let the cruelty of the world destroy her like this. She doesn't let the rot take hold of her and use her to spread. She never trusts the monsters surrounding her and she doesn't believe any of their promises. There is no safety in just letting them do that one thing. The cruelty will not end and will not be just that one thing.

I loved how she never stopped fighting. Not during her kidnapping. Not during her imprisonment. And then she found a way to escape one into another and then escape that one too. Using the very way those men wanted to poses her to plan her escape. Even when she loses her way home (figuratively and literally) to have her revenge it doesn't last. Even if she needed help in to follow her dream.

It's hard to trust in this world because a single act of kindness may cost you everything. But not everyone is evil. Even in Wasteland she finds someone who actually gives her help she needs. Someone she wishes to share her goal with. This films actually did "not all men" and it was great because it was earned but also because it helped explain why she would trust Max eventually. She already knew there are ones you can trust.

I tried to be pretty generic so far but behind this cut are SPOILERS for the very end (even though I don't say what it actually is - you can watch it yourself).

That ending was perfect both as foreshadowing who she will become but also as a callback to the beginning of the movie. Dementus tried to make her his daughter and use her to replace his children but she rejected him completely. Even if that was just swapping one monster for a bunch of even worse ones. And here at the ends he gloats about turning her into his daughter anyway. One in spirit anyway.

That like him she becomes creature of revenge and cruelty that nothing will ever satiate. Someone so obsessed with vengeance she will never stop even when the other side just want to leave (the mirroring of all the time he chased his prey and her chasing him was pretty nice). He thinks his death would just seal the deal because his suffering will never be great enough to soothe her pain.

You know, your standard - you will become like me spiel a villain does in moment like these. And lesser movies have heroes let villain go to prove them wrong (and then he tries to kill the hero anyway so the hero can have “my life was in danger” excuse to kill them anyway).

And she does lets him live but she doesn’t let him win. Once again she rejects him just like she did as a child. She remakes him into a symbol of her new purpose. She creates life out of a rotten man who did nothing but destroy lives of those around him. She makes him suffer for all the suffering he caused but that suffering is to build something new. And to create hope and future for those who have been abused by men like him.

And just like he asked she made it epic but as one last “fuck you” to him trying to control her story no one knows (well, almost no one). It’s epic and it’s a secret.

There is also something poetic that Furiosa eventually took over the Citadel - something he wanted so badly and never achieved. It retroactively made ending of Mad Max: Fury Road even better. And since it only took few days of them being gone he’s probably still there as she remakes it into the new Green Place.

[apas-95]

why do usamerican anarchists even want to cook bathtub insulin like regulations on drug manufacturing just arent exploitative relationships

the only reason anyone ever does anything incorrectly is the profit motive. if you took away all safety regulations and threw a bunch of random people into a machine shop and asked them to build medical equipment they'd do so perfectly safely and correctly, because why would they Want to do otherwise?

i joke, obviously, but that's the thought process - it's fundamentally an extension of idealism: for a politics that otherwise completely ignores the material necessities and restrictions placed on political organisation and the measures they require to apply to the real world, in favour of, essentially 'if everyone just agrees with us our ideas will win', it shouldn't be that surprising that that extends to production.

in reality, of course, there are factors outside direct human control, and the implementation of safety regulations and inspections are an incredibly obvious and necessary measure - *but*, once you accept that, the question is then 'what good are safety regulations without any form of enforcement?', which, for anyone concerned with simply the task of bettering life for the working class, would prompt a response of 'oh, you're right, we'll need some form of enforcement, then.' for a lot of people, that's the end of their relationship with anarchism.

however, the underlying motives that generate these politics - as, in general, idealist political philosophies disconnected from reality don't simply spring up by themselves - aren't about the task of bettering life for the working class. fundamentally, the interests of these worldviews are those of the small-producer, the middle class: they promote a utopia where everyone is a small business owner (whether in a commune or a 'free market'), and, providing no real method to achieve these utopias, function mainly to drive these middle classes away from their character as labourers, and towards their privileges. the question of 'authority', a nebulous concept, has always been specifically the existence of any authority *over the small-producer's enterprise*. it's for *that* reason that, when the idea of 'authority' comes into contradiction with the task of improving the lives of the working people, some *do* decide that 'authority' is more important.

there is no such thing as a definite 'left' and 'right wing' - there are left wings and right wings of individual classes, but they both share more in class interest than they often do with their counterparts of other classes. libertarianism, in all its forms, is a middle class ideology, and shares its flaws - any jab against libertarians works just as well, 'who'll build the roads', 'would you need a driver's license', 'how will you ensure medicine is produced safely', etc.

when faced with these problems, people not married to the need to avoid 'authority' will simply accept the ideology is flawed - there are people who are pre-emptively 'anti-state', but fundamentally, their opponents are not 'pro-state', just practical. the anarchists are the only people coming to the table with a pre-existing, overriding position about 'authority' and the role of the state, and they're willing to abandon all practicalities to support it. functional regulations on medicine production *have* to be considered authoritarian, because that's the point of the ideology.

[seastarblue]

Full Moon Festival: Part One

under the cut!

“Come on, Kaids, we’re gonna miss all the good stuff!” Felix huffed, fixing his raven mask over his face.

Kaiden answered with a grunt as she pulled on her left boot, wolf mask and light brown cloak already in place. “We have all night, Fel, please.” She stayed seated on her stool and crossed one leg over the other to get those pesky laces tied.

“No we don’t! People’re gonna run out of treats! And then we’ll be left with tricks.” Felix huffed, leaning on the doorway, his exasperation noticeable even through his mask. “You don’t want to get a fistful of Mots to the face, do you?”

‘Mots’—a powdery, relatively harmless substance in a motley of colors—were a staple of the Full Moon Festival, held during every night with a full moon during the Tenth month. It was a relatively normal celebration, involving many foods, drinks, fun, and music, but what set it apart from the many other festivals was the fact that all the Moon Market goers donned costumes of every shape, size, and color.

However, what caused the now bouncing half-fairy to be so impatient were the treats that people gave out during this event. It could be anything, really, from small candies to a few coins. But in spite of Felix’s excitement, the young knights weren’t there for the festival.

“We aren’t even using the main roads, remember?” Kaiden said, getting up and slipping two small knives into their sheaths at the small of her back. “We’ve got work to do, stupid. Now let’s get going.” Kaiden dragged the grumbling knight with her when she walked out of the room.

Oh yes, the pair were there to apprehend a serial killer who had eluded the Emerald Guard for weeks now. This murderer—nicknamed the Butcher for their violent way of chopping citizen after citizen up—only killed under the cover of night and the safety of crowds above, and later dragged their victims down into the Bay below the city. The festival was the perfect place for their next stop.

The people were unsettled—and when the people were unsettled, the Azari stepped in.

———

The festival was now in full swing, the crowds of costumed folk gathered around and moved like currents. Music floated over their heads, a sweet lilting breeze over the sea of people.

The two knights were on the opposite outskirts of the crowd—Kaiden on the upper levels of the city, Felix on the lower—needing to stay vigilant for any suspicious activity. A vibrantly decorated stall stood on Kaiden’s right, displaying decroative lunar knickknacks to be sold for the low, low price of three coppers.

The knight leaned against the side of the stall, making sure to stay out of sight from the stallkeep—she didn’t want to be haggled into buying a cheap rune. ‘I—we— need to be focused,’ she thought, ‘and that doesn’t involve partaking in festivities���wait a damn minute.’

Something had caught Kaiden’s eye. She skimmed the rest of the street from her spot, only to facepalm at the sight of her partner-in-justice merrily chatting away with a woman in front of another—somehow brighter—shop.

Kaiden nearly lost her mind right there. Keeping position, she tried to catch Felix’s eye and get him to get back to watching for the Butcher. Felix, being completely engrossed in his conversation, kept talking with the shopkeep.

A shiver ran through her then, and she looked up, causing her to jump at the specter now peering down at her.

‘Spirits in such a crowded place, huh… what’s it doing?’ she thought, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion.

It started to motion to…itself? Or its own …eye…spaces? Kaiden couldn’t tell, considering the spirit’s overall lack of a solid shape. It fizzled, then its shape became much clearer. It was covering its eyes! Kaiden inwardly chuckled at the ghost’s suspicions: there was no way Felix didn’t see her. Or at least sense her impatience, what with the literal soul bind they shared.

‘Well it seems like I’ll have to change that,’ she thought, picking up a stray flyer. Making her way down and across the crowded street—‘staying in position be damned at this point,’—she crumpled the flyer into a tight ball. Felix wouldn’t know what hit him.

———

Felix was immersed in a very engaging conversation with Darla, the owner of a little inn that was almost swallowed by shimmering Moon Festival decor. The elderly woman practically glowed with excitement as she explained all the decorations—and even gave him some Mots and a Combustion rune—in detail to the knight, who was listening while keeping an eye on his surroundings. He had a job to do, after all, despite the many distractions—and his partner’s glare nearly burning a hole in his head.

He had just noticed something—or someone—moving in his peripheral when a ball of paper nearly hit him in the eye.

Grumbling, and turning the flyer into ash with a quick spell, he snapped his gaze to the culprit—now wading across the crowded street. When she arrived, and was in earshot, he started, “The hells was that for?!” crossing his arms over his chest.

Kaiden was not amused, if the scowl that was on her face was anything to go by. “That was for not paying attention, Felix.” she barked, now standing right in front of him. “What would you do if the target passed right here?! Keep yammering with the actual partygoers?”

Felix glanced to where Darla once was, worried that Kaiden’s outburst would tell the woman why the two of them were there. The shopkeeper had left.

Kaiden took a breath, removed her mask and continued, “Really, Fel, we gotta stay alert, you know? This is our first solo mission, we need to get this right!” With the mask off, she still looked annoyed. Her eyes glowed gold, as they usually did when she was upset. A twinge of guilt passed through him—he was also strung up about this task. “…Sorry Kaids. It won’t happen again.” He gave her a sheepish, apologetic grin.

“…”

“Uh—Hey what’s that?” Felix pointed slightly past Kaiden’s head to another flyer, this one plain white, tucked into a crevice in the bricks. That must have been what he saw earlier, he realized.

Kaiden gave him a look. “You’re not gonna run away if I turn around, will you?”

“Whatttt? Nah.”

Kaiden raised an eyebrow but complied. On the wall was a piece of paper completely blank, save for an hastily-scribbled arrow pointing to their left. She made her way over and ripped it from the wall, flipping it to the other side.

Someone had drawn a simple map, directing them to the left and down into the lowest levels of Vespar—the Bay. At the bottom of the map was a X, right next to a…smiley face?

Felix��who had peeped over her shoulder—scoffed. “Is this guy mocking us?”

“I’d guess so,” she replied, tucking the scrap into her pocket. She then turned to the direction the arrow pointed. The dingy alleyway gaped ahead of them, dropping down into near pitch blackness.

“So, there might be a…let’s say a 90 percent chance we get butchered—“ he snickered at his own joke, ”—and tossed into the bay if we take the bait. Think we should go?” Felix asked, suddenly somber.

Kaiden nodded. Something told her this map was their ticket to successfully completing this mission, however dangerous it may be.

“If that’s the case, then,” he unsheathed one of his sais and gave it an artful flip, “let’s catch us a cutthroat, shall we?” He gave his partner a wild grin, nearly vibrating with excitement.

Kaiden responded with a smirk of her own, returning her wolf mask to its rightful place. “We shall.”

“Ladies first~” he gave an obnoxious bow and motioned to the direction the map pointed to.

Kaiden snorted and strided over to the nearest ladder. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Felix.” 

Before he could reply, she dropped down onto a shabby roof, and then descended onto the road in front of it. Felix followed, and as two knights moved forward, the ornate decor of the festival above faded away into the grime and disrepair of the Bay.

———

here’s part two!

and tagging: @xenascribbles @notyourlocalworm @bunnymermaidwrites

@thebookishkiwi @bardic-tales

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind Chapter Three

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Summary: What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Chapter Three: Feyre learns the unintended consequences of becoming Feyre fae-killer. The Archeron family receives an invitation.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta read, hand holding and advice!

I also have a beautiful commission art piece by June Page I’ve posted.

I’m really excited for the next few chapters as we get to delve into some more sister stuff along with exploring the human territory a bit more…

Chapter under the cut or Read on AO3.

The next morning, there were offerings at the door from the village.

It wasn’t until I had stepped outside in the morning to grab firewood that I saw our front stoop had been visited. There were…offerings. Lovely stacks of small gifts: an iron ring on a plain wooden dish, a pile of dried figs wrapped in a canvas bag, winter apples, a small carving of a wolf’s head, and a sprig of dried flowers.

No one from the village had ever given me anything before.

Coming here, my father, sisters and I had learned quickly that poverty hit this place too hard for begging to be of any use. The most well-off in our village still had lean times without bread and the refined folk down the road that deigned to come to market day would do nothing but sneer and kick at us. There was a line even for the burned and stale bread at the bakery. And tempting as it was, I refused to accept the occasional offers of ale at the tavern from the men whose eyes sparked after too many glasses themselves.

Richard Dannon had been good to his word, and had come to our ramshackle cabin just a few hours later with a purse of gold and breathless thanks. He eyed me the whole time as if I were some sort of dangerous beast that might turn and snap at him at any moment, just like the head I had brought him that morning. I didn’t ask what he planned to do with it.

The man in his fine suit and wan face had offered to keep some of the funds in the bank in Innisville - our old village, when we had been in society and not known the pains of hunger.

I said I’d consider it.

But I hadn’t thought about much at all, really, after scrubbing my skin raw and sleeping most of the day.

If my mind wandered anywhere it was to what Isaac and the gaggle of boys around our age would think; at how the other hunters in the village might greet me at the next market day. How I could walk past those who sometimes laughed at me or threatened me with a reason to hold my head high.

On the second day, the gifts were even more lavish.

Nesta and Elain’s eyes had gone wide as we all shuffled out in our blankets that morning. There was a bouquet of vibrant hothouse flowers that made Elain gasp. Dried meats and a small bag of flour and candies - a bag of peppermints.

For once, we hadn’t fought. Nesta’s eyes had glittered as she offered the bag to Elain, who deeply inhaled the sugary scent and selected one with delicate fingers, as if it were a sparkling diamond. Then she passed the bag to me, smiling wide, reveling in being able to share now instead of fighting over meager morsels.

I couldn’t remember, exactly, the last time I had tasted candy like this. But some recollection was buried deep within me, as the first taste of sugar flooded my memories, filling my mouth as I sucked.

A moment later we were all smiling at each other, laughing at the heady rush, at the crunch under our teeth and the tiny sweet memories of another life.

On the third day, the gifts were even more. Coins of all kinds. Bread rolls and pastries, and a small wheel of cheese. More flowers and dried up bits of the forest. And on the windowsill, a silver chain with a small stamped charm.

On the third day, as well, there were people waiting. Just a few - staring nervously as I cracked the door open and emerged, my sisters behind me.

A woman in fine black clothes approached me.

“I would ask your name, but everyone on the western shore knows it now.” Her voice was a hoarse croak, as if she had been screaming. Weary, bloodshot eyes seemed to confirm my suspicion.

“Um, I - sorry, I don’t know your name.” I remembered that once I had had lessons, etiquette, learning to curtsy and address all manner of people. My mother would be rolling over in her grave, now.

Gloved hands grasped my own tightly, and she shoved a folded letter into my hands, her eyes turning to shimmering pools. It had looked like she wanted to say more, but she had left a moment later - a weary trudge back towards the main road.

I made Elain read me the letter later that evening, when Nesta had gone to bed and father was snoring quietly by the fire.

Her son had fallen to the beast’s hunger. I didn’t let myself think as to whether I had seen his bones littered in front of the cave. She had written of her sorrow, and the hope that with his death avenged, her son would finally be at peace.

I didn’t know if I believed in that, if there was peace or anything at all to be had after we finally closed our eyes for good, if any old gods existed to guide us there. But I hoped for her sake it was true, or at least that the belief would let her sleep more soundly at night. Maybe we all would, knowing one such monster was gone from our lands.

I had hoped for the stability that came with gold, to avoid hunger and the cold, to maybe earn a little respect from the village.

I hadn’t expected anything like this.

An anxious part of me remembered the beast’s words, still so strong it was as if they rumbled through my chest. I am only what comes before.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was also on the third day that my father started acting strange, an unsettled gleam in his eyes as he stared into the fire.

His eyes had taken on a sharpness that had been absent for so long. And his attentions drifted back to me, to all of us. I would glance up from sharpening my knife at the table to find him looking at me, a crease in his brow, a small frown on his face.

As wary as I was, it almost felt good to see him like this - sharp, animated, and directing his attention towards me more than he ever had before. It reminded me of our life so long ago, when he had presided over a mighty wood-carved desk oiled to a shine and sat shoulder-deep amidst the richest treasures of the world.

When he had been…powerful.

That afternoon, we made our way to the marketplace for the first time since my hunt. We had walked together, even my father joining us with his cane, standing closer together than I could remember us ever doing. Nesta scowled, and Elain gripped my arm tight enough to pinch as we wandered through the square, meeting face after face filled with awe and wonder.

Some of them murmured my name, a strange, unsettling echo throughout the road. Feyre. Feyre Archeron. Fae-killer. A few even put their hands upon their hearts, and bowed in respect.

Bathed in blood, I heard someone whisper.

I didn’t know how to feel. My face was burning under all the attention, all the scrutiny. The village elders met us in the town square to shake my hand, the same ones that had turned us away again and again when we were at our most desperate.

Nesta had seethed beside me, only the smile of our father staying our words.

I didn’t have time for this. For any of it, least of all the nervous, unsettled feeling curdling in my gut.

I had things to do: I had to make change the best I could, for few in the village could exchange an entire gold piece. We had agreed upon some small initial purchases. Mostly I hoped that getting my sisters a few coveted items would douse those ravenous looks they gave every time the bag of coins sat upon the table. I needed to find a safer place to keep it than under the floorboards.

And I needed, desperately, to see the healer again. When I had first seen him a few days ago, he had done little more than give me a salve and poked around the bones in my hand as I tried not to scream. At least he had given me a tonic for the pain.

But I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, a burning numbness sometimes creeping past the pain of the shattered bone and torn ligaments. It was somehow worse. I had formed a new habit of pricking my fingertips with my nails, trying to coax some feeling back into them.

Fifty gold coins was fine. But it wouldn’t last my whole life. And I needed my hand to hunt.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The day after, father had mysteriously been gone in the morning by the time we all woke. He had returned hours later, his cheeks flush and three new dresses clutched in his arms.

He had hung them on the wall in display as I bit my tongue. They were simple, but made of fine fabric that draped well. Robin’s egg blue for me, slate grey for Nesta, and pale pink for Elain. We were to go to the market again, but as properly dressed ladies.

They had to cost at least a gold piece, perhaps even two.

I wondered how many gold pieces my hand was worth.

Still, something inside quieted me just for now. This was the first interest our father had taken in us in years. I felt it in the tension as Elain fingered the fabric reverently, as Nesta eyed hers with grudging approval.

So the next market day, I let him dress us as ladies. I didn’t say anything as we covered the new fine garments with our threadbare coats, paired them with our scuffed and worn shoes. He himself had brushed off one of his old suits as much as he could, shining a pair of impractical shoes from another time.

I had held out hope that things would return to normal over time, and we could slip through the market like any other unremarkable family with a few coin to spend. But no such luck.

The town square was full this morning, with more strangers in fine clothes than I had ever seen here.

All eyes looked to us as we shuffled through the stalls. Nesta kept her chin high and her jaw set, as I ducked into stores and stalls to escape.

Father was in fine form, smiling and shaking hands as we shopped. He made sure to seek out those in finer suits first.

“Feyre, come here!”

My father beckoned me with a warm, hopeful smile.

I sighed. I was negotiating hard for some dried beans, some rice. It had been a new irony to discover these market days: even with so many coins in my pocket, the merchants insisted on filling my arms with food and supplies, refusing to take even half of their worth. I had to fight: not to haggle, but to pay. I knew everyone here was as hungry as we had been, couldn’t afford such charity even as they insisted.

It was all right though, because it helped me ignore the shooting pains in my hand.

Father was entertaining in the square as we shopped: a rotund man about his age, in a fine dark wool suit and a tall hat, shining in the morning light.

“Feyre, this is Mr. Robinson, the Mayor of Innisville. You remember him?” he asked me.

I didn’t.

“His wife, Lady Sasha used to show horses with your mother. And he’s come to see you, dear daughter.” He spoke with a theatric flair, with a barely contained smile on his face. Unsettling and strange. “He has an invitation for us all.”

The man beamed at me, his chubby cheeks glowing red, looking warm and jovial even on this dour winter day.

“Just look at you. Who would have imagined you bringing down that monster!” I prickled at his tone. “I got a look at its head. You must have been very frightened, dear child.”

Something burned in my stomach. I remembered, strangely, the taunting, bored voice of the beast.

“I’ve hunted for my family for many years,” I told him. “Hunger drives us to do many things in spite of fear.”

My father made a sharp inhale. But the mayor simply smiled, moving closer at my tone, and grasped my good arm at the elbow. “Of course, dear. I just meant you must be very brave. Especially for one so young. And lovely.”

My father held me by my other arm. I had the distinct feeling of a pack gathering, penning me in.

“The Mayor came with an invitation, Feyre,” he said gently, like I was a wild animal needing coaxing. I could see the regret in his eyes, probably thinking about how he had taken so little care to teach his youngest proper manners. Or anything at all. “He’s extended an invitation to the whole family, to join them as honored guests next week for the town’s solstice celebration.”

“Everything is so bleak these days - with the wheat blight and the threat of the wall always looming over us. People need something inspiring, to show them the way. Or maybe someone.” He seemed to be a kind man, and his eyes sparkled as he smiled at me.

My heart skipped a beat at that. My birthday. I suspected my father had forgotten the significance.

I knew my sisters would want to go desperately, would beg and plead. And that spark in father, even if I resented where it came from…it was like he was back again, like when I was a child in his office, his youngest girl to entertain with treasures from across the world.

Except now, I was feeling more and more like the prize on display.

My hand began to hammer in time with my thundering heart.

“I suppose I can take a one day break from hunting.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That night, the three of us lay in bed, not sleeping.

Nesta was the one who spoke first, her voice barely a whisper.

“Father means to use this to marry us all off,” she said, a simple statement of fact.

“Do you think we’ll get many more invitations, maybe to a ball?” Elain asked.

I snorted.

“This all depends on you, you know,” Nesta said, fixing her eyes on me in the dark. They glowed unnervingly in the silver moonlight. “You can’t behave like a feral beast anymore. If you can summon manners and keep your temper in check for once, you might actually be rid of us soon. Isn’t that what you want?”

I frowned. “Is that what you want, then Nesta? Who knew butchering a monster in the woods would lead to husbands all around. I didn’t think you would be so eager to partner with father in his schemes.”

“Last month I was considering marrying Tomas Mandray,” she said, almost bored, ignoring my words because she knew how much it angered me. Her eyes were locked on the ceiling as she lay next to me. “Now, if we can get a few more decent dresses and invitations to the town, we might be able to marry someone with money. An actual home to keep, with servants and filled pantries.” Nesta’s voice wasn’t hopeful. It was cold and practical, evaluating the lifeline set before us.

“I talked to the other girls at the dress shop,” Elain ventured, trying to smooth over whatever it was between us, her eyes wandering to me in the dark. “They said people think you’re…blessed, Feyre.” She sounded a bit nervous. “That you defeated a fae unscathed, and bathed in its blood to take its power.”

I laughed bitterly. “Unscathed? I can hardly move my fingers. And the cut on my cheek won’t heal at all. It still bleeds half the day.”

Indeed, the slice from the creature’s claws had remained a sharp red mark on my cheek, sometimes burning in the cold, despite the cleanings and bandages Elain had attempted on it.

I hadn’t told them yet what the healer had said to me about my hand.

He had cleaned my cuts and scrapes, clucking his tongue at the deep purple bruises that were turning a sickly green, and finally gave it a closer examination. He bent my fingers and rubbed my bones with his thumb, drawing muffled cries and fiery bolts of pain that shot all the way up my arm into my shoulder.

He had made a decisive noise and set it down again, finally. “There’s no way to set all these tiny bones without cutting into your skin. And I won’t know what I’ll find in there. It's too risky to cut through the muscle and make permanent damage. I’ll wrap it the best I can and I recommend keeping it still for a few weeks to see how it heals.”

“A few weeks?” I had asked, horrified.

“Five weeks is best. Afterwards we can see how it sets, and start practicing movement again.”

I had sat in stunned silence.

Five weeks. I had never been idle even half that long since we came here. We had money now, yes, but how long would it last if I couldn’t hunt? I knew I was the only one who could keep us afloat, and I couldn’t afford to lose that time.

Even setting the snares one-handed this morning had been a challenge. And this far into winter, the rabbits weren’t as plentiful on the forest outskirts. I had to go deeper, and I had to be prepared.

“After five weeks, I’ll be able to hunt again? To use it?”

His lips pursed. “We won’t know until then. It’s likely you’ll always miss some movement. It’s all up to your body now, and if it can put you back together. The more you move it, the more it will keep re-breaking and interrupt the healing process.”

Laying in bed, my hand wrapped tightly, it pulsed with the memory.

Maybe I would have to marry. If I could never use my hand again, never hunt, never fire a bow…snares and traps and a pocket of quickly dwindling gold could only get us so far.

My stomach turned at the thought. I had wanted marriage for my sisters, mostly to get them out of my care. Of course I always hoped they could move forward, leave this sad place, start their own lives away from our poverty and bitterness. I hoped they found someone hardworking – someone gentle for Elain, someone strong for Nesta – to eke out a life away from the sad pallor of our cabin.

I had never thought of it for myself.

All I saw in my mind was freedom. Father dozing on a warm bed, while I rested, and painted, well-fed and warm.

What man could possibly match that freedom?

Read on AO3

[fountainpenguin]

"You're on your own- So what? Have you gone blind? Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?" (x)

---

For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Complete! - 7/7 chapters - 37k words

💚 More Neighborhood Watch AU

I just finished a chill, T-rated found family 'fic from my "Life Series but it's a single timeline" AU project. Check it out!

---

Synopsis: When Grian Ties’g was 16, the last Totem of Undying in the known world swapped his soul with the Grian one universe to the left… sparing him a perma-death, but at what cost?

An overwhelmed Grian Xelqua - who did not sign up for this, thank you very much - jolts awake in a world where Red Names are no joke and stealing someone’s life is fair play.

And a very Red Tango now has a sword at his throat. ❤️

(First 1,300 words under the cut)

---

For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)

Those Who Came Before

🖤  🖤  ❤️

The first Totem of Undying in the Four Lands passed through the wrinkled hands of many wealthy folks in Crimson City before falling into possession of a princess who went Red young and fled her home. She kept it all her life, but when the time came to breathe her last, she unwound it from its place at her bosom and clasped it around the neck of her only son.

"I've lived enough," she simply said. "I've led so long and you've been faithful. Go now and do as you see fit with your given lives."

Steve Wandering watched his mother die as he had watched his father, burying the memories of both with shovel and silence. He'd always been a silent man. He took up his sword and from then on traveled decade after decade, sharing food with the needy and braving the hissing creatures of the night. He invented many things, discovered many treasures, and died glorious in a fight against the Dragon That Ends All.

And lived.

And lost those memories like the wind.

The second Totem of Undying in the Four Lands belonged to Alex Wolftamer in the east, who claimed to care not for the treasure passed down through her ancestral line of Wolf Kings and Queens. They had no palace, but called themselves such titles in their stand against Kingdom Crimson. Rather than flaunt that totem around her own neck, she wrapped it like a collar at the throat of her dog. Across the years, far too many people of sinister desire fought sword and pick to win her hand or win the hunting hound. It's with a shout and diamond axe that she lunged at the cloaked stranger who ventured through the valley forest. With cheery, bellyaching laugh, Herobrine caught her hand and spun her dangerously near the mountain drop.

"Why should I take from your beloved she-wolf?" he asked, and dangled a totem from his own wrist where she could see. "I've already got one. I did not come to take what loved ones gave unto you, but to inquire of your wisdom… for I have no one I love as much as you care for your dear wolf. I am but a cowardly man who's worn the totem for himself for security and peace. I cannot imagine surrendering it. Tell me, warrior… How did you find such inner peace?"

"Who says I have?"

"What ails you, then?"

"I fear the encroach of the Red Army. Their farms extend ever nearer to our forests. Their high-ranking officers, bearing the Hand mark upon their chests, come demanding tribute and insist we raise their banner. So many from our village have sought the safety of their walls. I wish for nothing but food for my dogs, repairs for my roof, and safe passage through the land."

"Ah… What have you done to incite their displeasure?"

"I haven't raised hand against them unless they've come directly in conflict with me."

"How frequent are their conflicts?"

"They've claimed our cows. They flood the roads to market with lava and have taken two lives- nearly three. They harass the trades I make with my own neighbors of my own free will."

"Let us go secretly, then, and burn the walls that have reached your valley's edge."

They married two years later, and it was four after that that Alex fell from a great height, one arm wrapped around her canine companion and the other reaching for a husband who lunged and missed her hand vanishing from the cliff. Alex hit the ground a block away from the rushing river that saved her dog.

And lived.

And lost those memories like rain. Not even the dog recognized her then, growling and nipping when Alex rose to her feet, and Snowflake followed Herobrine when they parted ways. They say he never took Snowflake's totem from her collar, but that Snowflake wriggled out of it the day after Alex died, took the chain in her teeth, and presented it to him with grief in her dark eyes. It may be just a story - a personification of a ragged beast - but it's a prettier tale than the alternative way this tale could end.

That third Totem of Undying, the one that Herobrine Mapcrafter wore on his wrist for much of his life, originated from the North. It tumbled through the hands of wizards and they say Herobrine was gifted it for his proven mastery in breaching the Nether dimension- the secrets of which had only been held by the Westlands until now.

Prior his apprenticeship beneath the wizards' eyes, he'd been raised a cartographer. Following the death of Alex, he took up mapmaking again with Snowflake by his side. He entered the Nether dimension for what he knew would be his final time. They never came out again and no record survives depicting full details. People speak often that he perhaps saved a community of Netherborn folks from a hissing, snarling Wither Boss that clawed its way out of the ground. Others whisper he released that Wither himself out of grief and wished for death. Witnesses claim he leapt before the beast, taking the hit on Snowflake's behalf.

And lived.

And lost those memories like they'd been scorched alive. They say he went mad, never the same again. Some claim they've seen Snowflake's white fur dashing through the Nether even now, her howl weeping for her masters and the moon and the feel of grass beneath her paws.

The last Totem of Undying in the Four Lands (rumor claimed) lay hidden in the Southlands. For three decades since the rise of the Dragon That Ends All, the unremarkable little thing drifted and tumbled and snagged or… something of the sort. Details unknown. It passed into the sewers at some undefinable point, where it floated until it didn't. It caught and clung to the sewer's edge year after year after year.

There it stayed until a ragtag tangle of friends - a trio - sought shelter in the tunnels after their brotherhood of Bad Boys split and turned against each other. They trekked without hesitation into the grime, for they were Red of name and disgust could graze them not. The youngest, with his gray and yellow wings, sat down near the entrance to clean an open wound. The eldest began to organize their meager food supply. The middle child, aged only 16, waded deeper through the passageway, wandering with little purpose but to scout for things to have; things to take. Red Lives, as a rule, are very, very greedy.

The totem lasted exactly 4 minutes and 36 seconds in Grian Ties'g's possession. He found it tangled among the filth and wasted no time taking it for himself. To prevent his fellow Bad Boys from sniping it away, he scrambled up a dirty shaft to the surface like an eel gifted flight. His wings were soaked from sewage water, so he did not fly. He bolted across the open field, laughing like a madman.

"Yes! YESSSS!"

His foot crossed a boundary line he never could have seen. Grian charged straight into a shrieker trap laced with TNT. Set them all off. He died to the gasping cheers of a Red who'd only just finished all the set-up. The last thing he ever heard was the "OH-hoh-hoh-ohhh!" of a shrieking onlooker. He blew up instantly, scarlet feathers and blobs of purple soul energy scattered in all directions. The central core melted free from flesh and dribbled to the ground in a gooey heap.

In a word? Perma-killed. The totem vaporized before anyone ever confirmed he had it, so people seek it in the Southlands even now (It might be right here; it's been hiding right here).

This story is not about that Grian. Not anymore. It's about the one who lived… whose memories do not match this world at all.

[ Full 'fic up on AO3 ]

[artzzyb00-27]

Car Safety; Worried Parents

You already know, let's just hop in.

Harry getting his license was nerve-wracking. Not for him, for Athena. She'd seen many reckless teenagers lose control while driving. So when Harry got his permit, she had the excuse of still being the one driving, or at least being able to make sure he was safe. With the license, he would be alone.

Bobby was nervous too. Mainly because he didn't want to go on a call and see his kid(yes he saw Harry as his own) in the wrecked car. He and Michael were both trying to look for a car that wasn't over the top for Harry's first. May wasn't worried, she trusted Harry. She just made him promise she wouldn't receive a call while she was working about him.

"I know that will be me when Chris gets his license," Eddie said in the loft of the firehouse. Bobby had shared the news that Harry had gotten his license and decided to wait to get a car. Smart choice with how the market was right now.

"I'm worried that Denny will use it as an excuse to leave whenever we're in arguments. Driving while you are angry is the most dangerous." Hen said. Chimney was contemplating how old he would even let Jee-Yun get close to the driver's seat.

"Harry's a smart kid. He's Athena's. He'll be fine on the road when he gets his car."

"You better not give him your Jeep Buck," Bobby warned his surrogate son.

"Don't worry, saving that for Jee-Yun."

"Don't you dare Buckley. Besides why not give it to Chris?" Eddie raised an eyebrow and gave Buck an, 'Oh yeah?', look despite the comment being Chimney's.

"Cause then I'd end up sleeping in the car. Besides Chris already called dibs on the truck."

"Which he'll get when we get another one. So don't even think about it." Raising his hands in defense, he walked behind the counter to help Bobby with lunch. After eating peacefully, the alarm went off and they ran to the truck.

"Alright, we gotta car crash. A Jeep Wrangler and a Lambo." Ravi winced at imaging the ways it could've happened. No matter what, both people in the cars were probably okay. It was a rainy day so either of the cars could have lost control from the wet cement.

When they arrived at the scene, they saw Athena who looked scared. She walked up to the team and debriefed them.

"Teenager in the jeep. Seventeen, turning eighteen tomorrow. The father was in the copilot seat. Lambo was an older man. Had to handcuff him." She explained pointing at the 40-year-old-looking man. Who was cursing the kid across from him. The poor kid looked terrified.

"Already questioned him, I need you guys to get the parent out, he's knocked unconscious." Looking behind her, they were able to see the jeep tipped on its right side. Through the windshield, they could see the father's face. With blood dripping down slightly. Rushing into action they were able to pull him out and make sure he was alive.

When he felt that someone was holding him, he stirred a bit.

"Sir, we're gonna help you out. Can you tell me your name?"

"Mm, Patrick Mendieta. My son, where is he?" He slurred out trying to break free weakly while looking for his kid.

"He's safe sir don't worry."

"You don't understand, he had top surgery a few months ago. Stitches are closed completely but-,"

"In that case, we'll double-check. Right now we need to get you to the hospital to fix up that head of yours." Hen told him while Buck went to go check on the kid.

"Hey there, what's your name?"

"Oliver. I swear it wasn't my fault. We were just driving like normal and he came out of nowhere."

"Yeah right! You were going too fucking slow! Idiot children, don't have no respect-"

"Sir, calm down before I make you," Buck said, effectively making him shut up. Looking back at the kid, he saw the tears streaming down his face. Anger in his eyes.

"He wasn't watching the speed limit. And somehow it's my fault to be careful in the rain."

"I know kid, trust me he'll get reprimanded. Right now I need to make sure you're okay. Your door took the hit it seems." Oliver looked back to his car to realize that Buck was right.

The driver's side was dented, which made the fault immediately go to the other driver. With that he let Buck examine him. Few bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. Nothing serious but would have to go to the doctor to check his back.

After sending the kid away, they dealt with any more issues the rain had caused before heading back to the firehouse. Athena had gotten there early and was sitting at the dinner table eating the food she made for dinner.

"Athena?"

"Couldn't go back immediately. Not after that. Can't stop thinking about Harry." Massaging her shoulders, Bobby made sure she was relaxed before driving back out on patrol.

When the shift ended Eddie and Buck gave Chris an extra long hug. Hen gave Denny another pop quiz on how to handle driving in the rain, and Athena did not let Harry drive any car for a month after that. Not without initial protest. However, it turned to guilt after hearing about the accident from his classmate Oliver.

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

If mc had A only fans?

Haha oh boy, that's certainly an interesting can of worms that you've opened there~ Garret simply wouldn't allow it. The only person who should be allowed to look upon your beauty is him, and he isn't willing to share you with strangers online. He'd force you to take it down and if you complained about the lack of revenue, he'd simply double whatever you were making at the time and give it to you as a sweet little allowance. You won't ever need to work when you're with him, he'll make sure of it.

Marcelo would probably be pretty uncomfortable with it. However he wouldn't be as ardently opposed to it as some of the others. He'd ask questions and probably mention how the thought of internet strangers objectifying your made him feel him feel uncomfortable, but he would ultimately respect your decision. Depending on what you said/ did, he might even be convinced to help out with some "content" that required a second person. Though he would be upset if you were intimate with other people after you got together, whether or not you could get away with it depending on how far you'd be willing to manipulate this devoted lovestruck fool. Camilla would be completely onboard with it! (Spoiler: She might already have one herself.) She'd help you come up with content ideas, and even insist on collaborating to create content you both could use. Hell, realistically she'd probably end up taking the role of your manager and coach you on the best ways to market yourself and create content, all completely free of charge of course. Rita would be pretty hesitant at first. She'd ask a lot of questions about it and really try to gauge the safety of it all. She's not particularly well versed when it comes those kinds of sites so she would do a lot of additional research to make sure she really understood what you were getting yourself into and any potential consequences you might deal with later down the road. Once she discussed everyhting with you, and you still wanted to go through with it, she would support you. She'd also be willing to star in some of your videos, however she would refuse to show her face and make sure her face was cropped out at all times as she toyed with you on screen. Depending on how it's brought up and presented to Teagan, it could go one of two ways. Either they're completely against it and will personally delete your account, your feelings be damned. OR they would insist on overseeing everything and taking part of all of your videos/ content. There's really no in between, either no one sees you, or if they do they'll be forced to see Teagan constantly claiming you as theirs. Essentially making sure that everyone knew who you belonged to.

[mariacallous]

EARLY VOTING in Mariupol began on March 10th, courtesy of armed election brigades who criss-crossed the city in search of participants. Sometimes, mobile ballot boxes were unveiled to the sounds of rousing hits such as Sergei Voitenko’s “My Russia” (Russia! Russia! My Russia! / Great country! Motherland!). Other times, guns did the talking. Those preferring to wait until the official start had a harder job. The locations of polling booths were not advertised ahead of the vote—a provision, officials explained, designed to ensure the safety of organisers. By the time polls closed on the evening of March 15th, the first of the three official ballot days, a stratospheric 69% of the region had already voted. This was all the more remarkable given the absence of accurate voting lists to calculate the number from.

The vote in Mariupol could be written off as a farce, were it not for everything that went before it. The second day of voting came exactly two years after Russian planes dropped bombs on the city’s main theatre while a large number of children were taking shelter inside, killing hundreds of them. Local authorities estimate that at least 22,000 civilians were killed in the city during weeks of bombardment. It may be considerably more. Only 120,000 of a pre-war population of 450,000 remain in Mariupol, plus a similar number of new migrants from Russia and central Asia.

Local sources, whose identities we are withholding for their protection, report that Mariupol has been unusually deserted over the days of the vote. The city still bears obvious war scars, they say. Central streets alternate between ruins and, where houses have been cleared, empty pits. Only collaborators who have proven their worth to the occupying Russian forces have been given homes in the few new-builds, hastily constructed for the cameras on the edge of the city. Access to the city is still tightly controlled, with checkpoints on the roads in and out. Anyone wanting to enter has to get permission at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport, 1,000 km away.

The Kremlin has been nonetheless keen for Mariupol to display loyalty. One of the very first acts of the occupying forces—even before the theatre was filled in with concrete in an attempt to contain the stench of rotting corpses—was to wheel in massive video screens showing Vladimir Putin. “They hadn’t even opened the shops or the market, or the hospitals, but they had the big propaganda screens,” one local said. In the run-up to the presidential elections, there was a campaign to encourage locals to take up Russian passports. Its lack of success was perhaps most clearly shown in the decision in December 2023 to allow people to vote using their Ukrainian IDs, a rare example of a state allowing nationals of another one to take part in a presidential election. It is one of many avenues for voting fraud, suggests Mariupol’s elected mayor Vadym Boychenko, now based in Ukrainian-controlled Dnipro.

Solomiia Bobrovska, a member of Ukraine’s parliamentary intelligence committee closely connected to resistance movements, says that Mariupol remains a partisan hotbed. “That’s why they are so strict about the city. They don’t trust locals with anything important.”

The resistance effort can broadly be split between military and civilian wings. Partisan and diversionary activity in the former category is overseen by agencies like the SSO, Ukraine’s special forces, and HUR, its military intelligence agency. The SBU, the domestic intelligence outift, leads on civilian resistance.

Alongside this are other more independent activist groups, like Yellow Ribbon, which says it has 15,000 activists across Ukraine’s occupied territories. The resistance is mostly low-level: printing anti-Putin posters and organising underground Ukrainian flag production. Its social-media channel offers suggestions about how to avoid voting and share information about election organisers with prosecutors. “It’s about giving people support, to show they are not alone,” says “Alex”, a co-founder of the movement. “Our aim is to irritate the hell out of the Kremlin.”

Civil and military representatives are hesitant to discuss the extent of their networks, but it’s clear that their work has become much more difficult since the early days of the war. Many agents have been compromised, hauled off to prison in the best case scenarios. Russia has dispatched tens of thousands of security officers to the occupied territories. Petro Andryushchenko, an adviser to the mayor of Mariupol, also in exile, admits the resistance was “losing too many people,” and suggests Ukraine should become more careful. He suggests encouraging locals to vote unless it was safe not to do so; a boycott was unlikely to change anything and could attract dangerous attention, he says. “The Mariupol resistance is different to everywhere else given our history and the level of control. At this stage we need to think about keeping people alive. They are our stake.”

The Ukrainian government, perhaps surprisingly, has not produced a unified position on what its citizens should do: take part in the electoral farce to avoid reprisals, or ignore it. That is partly down to disagreement inside the corridors of power. But it is really because officials find it hard to admit that the liberation of Mariupol now looks remote. For Mr Boychenko, the exiled mayor, who has been criticised for his decision to leave his city in the early days of the war, the focus should be on helping the 200,000 or so survivors now scattered across Ukraine. “We are an evacuated city, a people in exile. But we haven’t disappeared.”

[indecentpause]

Happy STS! How are the chores divided among your cast? Is there a person who prefers to do the dishes or someone who will do anything to get out of doing dishes?

oooh this is an excellent question! here's the people who live with partners or roommates:

Danny and Meara share a small one bedroom, and they treat it kind of like a dorm with a built in kitchen and bathroom. they take turns doing dishes but Meara HATES it because his parents always made him clean up after everyone in the house when he was growing up, so sometimes when he's having a bad brain day Danny will hop in and take care of it. (they don't have a dishwasher, they have to do them in the sink by hand). they both love cooking! Danny is REALLY GOOD at Iranian and other Middle Eastern cuisine (he learned from his parents growing up and it is his comfort food), and Meara is really good at American style vegan food. so depending on what they want to eat they take turns! Danny is learning how to bake and he's teaching Meara how to make the best possible cup of coffee.

they each do their own laundry. sometimes Meara will take Danny's to the laundromat too, because Danny works so early the times line up better for Meara to get there more easily.

they each are responsible for their own things and messes around the apartment. there's not a lot of space so they have to make sure things stay organized and clean.

Josselin and Frankie do their best to split chores, but it's not always even. Josselin tries REALLY HARD to help with dishes, but he can't stand the feeling of sponges or scrubbies and hates having rubber cleaning gloves. he'll do it but his skin will crawl for an hour afterward. so Frankie mostly does that. they do laundry together; they pack it up in bags and go down to the laundromat and take those few hours to play card games and talk about things going on in their lives.

Josselin handles all the cat stuff: food and water, litterbox, clipping her nails, etc. Familiar is super friendly and sweet but when it comes to brushes and nail clippings she only wants Josselin to do it. she'll wriggle and yell when Frankie tries, lol, and while they both adore Familiar, she came with Josselin when they moved in together, so Josselin considers it his responsibility to do all the cleaning and care for her. he simply said upon them moving in together, 'she's my cat, I'll take care of her.' and that was that!

Frankie does grocery shopping, because Josselin has food safety issues due to growing up on the road and often having to eat food that had gone past its prime, not enough to cause anything serious but there have definitely been some stomachaches in the past. since his budget allows it he only gets food from a few specific restaurants/bakeries/etc that he trusts, where he knows at least one of the people in the kitchen, so he always has takeout or a walk in walk out order. he doesn't often actually eat in the restaurant because a lot of the time it's too loud, but during slower times (like between lunch and dinner) he likes to go on dates to restaurants with Meara or Frankie. :)

Morgan and Josephine love to cook together! their mealtimes are sacred, from the moment they turn on the stove to until the last dish is clean, it's time just for them. they can't do this every night due to schedule misalignment, but they do it whenever they can. they go grocery shopping together, especially at import markets. they love Indian and soul food! Josephine learned it from her dad growing up (her dad is Black and grew up in Georgia before he moved to Illinois with his parents as a teenager, and her mom was Indian, but she had some really bad mental health problems and would often disappear for days at a time and one day just didn't come back. but her mom's family was still really involved with Josephine because she was so little and she and her dad needed the support). and Morgan will eat anything once; he's very adventurous. Josephine bakes and decorates as a hobby, so there's always treats around.

Morgan and Josephine go to the laundromat together but Morgan does all the cleaning stuff, and Josephine folds. Morgan thinks the way Josephine sets up laundry is too messy, but she worked in a department store in high school so she knows how to fold stuff really nicely. Morgan does sweeping and mopping because he's much more efficient, and Josephine keeps the bathroom clean.

thank you so much for the question!! it was really fun :D

[quixotin]

Publishing a novel!

Hey guys! So. I'm on the road to publishing my debut novel, titled The Gifted, which takes place in post-apocalyptic Mexico and follows three bisexual slave soldiers who get caught in the middle of a conflict between the army they serve and a militia whose objective is to emancipate them. They stumble upon a terrible weapon while fleeing to safety which, if unleashed, could mean the end of what survived of humanity. Now, chased by absolutely everyone, they must make up their minds about whether they want to serve justice, revenge, or neither. I've been querying for an agent for half a year, but with the state of the entertainment industry as it is in this, the sag-afra strike era, I am keeping my options open by looking into self-publishing because let's be honest the publishing industry ain't that far off. I'm currently doing some market research and it would mean the world to me if you could help me out by answering this poll and/or sharing it with other likeminded readers. Also. I am holding a focus group with about 10 volunteer readers in December so I would be super excited to hear from you (in the poll or via DM) if you'd like to take part. I sadly cannot pay the readers because I am hella broke haha but I'll try my best to get some sort of gift card or something, as a symbolic thank you.

Tropes are:

found family

a real love triangle is when everybody holds hands and kisses on the mouth

dystopia but not told by white people

climate change core

the future may be dire but at least it's gay af

enemies to rivals to allies to friends to lovers

can we stop colonizing Latin America for like 3 seconds?

bastard meow meow meets sadboy babygirl meets angry dumbass

The Hunger Games, Iron Widow, and Mad Max had a lovechild.

so yea 😬😬 also, here is Them™

[n2qfd]

I came from companies that previously had intense safety programs where we did a lot of training. One of the things that stuck was this idea that I think originated with OSHA. You had levels of safety being more effective. A safety culture that is a mindset a group mindset that everybody participating bought into was the best, and you had engineering controls like hardware covering dangerous parts of a machine, detailed instructions on how to do a task, at the bottom, you had personal protective equipment. That bottom tier should be thought of his gloves and hardhat and goggles.

As I was driving yesterday, I wondered if this translates to other avenues of our lives and specifically industrial hygiene.

I wondered are there people who are driving cars now relying on the PPE? That is their seatbelts and airbags over the engineering controls such as the speed limit signs or the striping on the road? Over a culture that would suggest we are using a shared interface with very dangerous machines, and that we should be thinking about our fellows on the road?

And I wondered as a country where are we at as citizens? Are we assuming the PPE will save us instead of buying into a group culture that agrees we all have rights and want to mutually succeed? It seems like we’re losing the engineering control, which I think would’ve been Law and those involved in the enforcement of law.

It seems like the populists have managed to sell a lot of people on the idea that some fantastically imbued PPE will protect them better than adherence to engineering controls or acceptance of cultural outlooks of mutuality.

There has to be more ground between what I would suggest as a Japanese style monoculturalism, and an American style in individualism that we can agree on. 

Thinking back to an old experiment done with children to suggest the downsides to hyper marketing products. Children were offered a choice at what was typically a time of day when they would be eating between a banana and a rock with a Shrek sticker. Many children went for the rock.

We’ve reached in moment where adults would choose a hardhat with MAGA iconography or some equally childish left wing sticker on it over making better decisions involving their skulls, or their neighbors, or their country.

[reliaabledevelopers]

Four Reasons Why You Should Invest in Gated Community Plots by Reliaable developers

In the changing world of real estate, gated community plots from Reliaable developers have become a hit among investors. These special residential areas, with their secure borders and extra perks, are more than just places to live - they're a great option for a cozy home and a good investment. In this blog, we will discuss four reasons why you might want to think about investing in one of these gated communities, using examples of some standout developments.

Security and Privacy:

One of the primary attractions of gated communities is the heightened level of security they provide. For instance, Reliaable Dollars Colony, lauded in Reliaable Developers reviews offers not only round-the-clock security personnel but also surveillance cameras, creating a secure environment for residents. This enhanced security not only ensures the safety of your investment but also provides a tranquil and private living space. For investors, this translates into a property that is not only in demand but also likely to appreciate over time due to the perceived value of safety and privacy.

Amenities and Infrastructure:

Gated community plots often include e­xcellent amenitie­s and carefully planned infrastructure. Take Reliaable Residenza, a project by Reliaable developers, for example, which offers an abundance of amenitie­s like a clubhouse, swimming pool, tennis court, landscape­d gardens, and recreational are­as. These communities are designed to cater to the modern lifestyle, with well-maintained roads, water supply, and sewage systems adding to the overall appeal. As an investor, this translates into higher property value and increased demand, making it an attractive option for potential buyers. Community Living Experience:Gated communitie­s can nurture a feeling of toge­therness among neighbors, crafting an attractive­ environment for both families and people­. By offering shared facilities, events, and public are­as, projects like Reliaable Elegance, which has received positive Reliaable Developers reviews encourage social interaction, creating a unique living experience that is increasingly sought after in today's fast-paced world. This sense of community not only adds value to the property but also ensures a higher retention rate of residents, making it an ideal investment for those looking for long-term returns.

Potential for Higher Returns:

Gated community plots often witness a faster appreciation in value compared to non-gated counterparts. Reliaable Lifestyle, a 20-year-old project by Reliaable Developers, stands as a testament to this by providing substantial returns over the years. The combination of security, amenities, and community living experience contributes to the overall desirability of the location, attracting more potential buyers or tenants. Additionally, the limited availability of land within gated communities can drive up the demand and subsequently property prices. Investing in such plots, therefore, holds the potential for higher returns on investment, making it an attractive proposition for those looking to build wealth through real estate. Conclusion 

In conclusion, gated community plots present an engaging investment potential, offering a unique blend of security, amenities, community living, and the potential for substantial returns. As the real estate market continues to evolve, these gated communities stand out as a smart choice for investors seeking both financial gains and a high-quality living experience. Consider unlocking the value of gated community plots and embark on a journey toward a secure and rewarding investment. About Reliaable Developers:Established in 1999 by Dr. Rama Reddy and Mr. H.P. Rama Reddy, Reliaable Developers is a leading name in Bangalore's real estate. Led by Dr. Rama Reddy and Dr. Mahendra Reddy, the company blends tradition and innovation. With a focus on BDA-approved plots, they've delivered over 15,000 plots across prime Bangalore locations. Customers often praise the company’s dedication to excellence and its prime locations of BDA-approved plots in Reliaable Developers reviews, further solidifying its positive reputation in the real estate sector. Notable projects include Reliaable Lifestyle and Dollar Colony, reflecting their commitment to quality and timely delivery. They envision a future driven by innovation and sustainability.

[beth--b]

Sacrifice

Jaskier, Ciri and Geralt had been travelling for weeks with minimal interactions with people or towns.

Although it was necessary for all their safety, Jaskier was dying for the chance to visit a marketplace and buy some of the many things they were low on, or out of completely. They were low on coin as well and while Geralt was quite noticeable with his white hair, Jaskier the bard was also a well known name.

After days of arguments on the topic they finally decided that Geralt would take the next contract he could find, while Jaskier and Ciri bought supplies.

It would be easier for Geralt to approach the alderman alone, and would draw less attention than a performance from a renowned bard.

The two days it took to reach a town after they finally made their decision were two of the longest Jaskier had ever experienced, or at least that's how it felt.

Finally the day came that they reached the town. It wasn't a big city by any means but it was large enough that there was a market square bustling with life.

They parted ways before they came too close to town, Geralt approaching before them and heading for the notice board while Jaskier and Ciri, hoods up, followed at a more leisurely pace.

The Witcher made eye contact with the bard across the square and gave an almost imperceptible nod, then after partially tearing a piece of parchment from the board he strode off.

Read it here on ao3

Jaskier was sure to wait a few minutes before making a pass by the notice board himself. He briefly glanced at the torn parchment noting the contract Geralt had taken was for drowners. A quick simple job usually, not the greatest for coin but it would be done in an afternoon and would get them through as long as Jaskier spent what they currently had wisely.

"Will he be long?" Ciri asked, breaking Jaskier out of his musings.

"Hmm? Oh, no I'd say not. Simple contract shouldn't take long at all really. While he's gone we need to replenish our supplies," he looped their arms together and began to lead Ciri around the small market, explaining what they needed as they walked so she could help keep an eye out for the items they were after.

They spent the afternoon browsing the market, picking up a few essentials, some fruits and vegetables, some bread, a few herbs and some ink among other things. Ciri looked longingly at the sweets on offer and Jaskier figured with the coin Geralt would be adding to their shared purse later in the day he could splurge a little and let Ciri pick out something sweet from the baker.

The girl had just finished licking her sticky fingers clean when a group of soldiers came wandering out of the nearby tavern.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed as he pulled Ciri’s hood more firmly over her pale hair. He couldn’t be sure from this distance but he was fairly confident that the insignia they wore was that of Nilfgaard.

Ciri gave a questioning look, following his gaze before her own eyes widened in surprise.

“Jaskier, what do we do?” she asked quietly, looking around the market like Geralt would magically reappear just because she wished it.

“We lay low and make our way out of town. Geralt will come find us once the contract is done if he sees that we’ve left. Don’t worry dear we have contingency plans for this very thing.”

Plan in place the pair slowly resumed walking around the market, this time keeping their heads down a little more, while they were slowly making their way towards the road back out of town.

Jaskier kept an eye on the soldiers, while also looking out for Geralt. He hoped the Witcher would show up, but at the same time he knew Geralt would be easily spotted with his well known white hair.

After enough time had passed so as to not seem suspicious, he was almost certain they were home free as they began to walk out of the market and back towards the main road.

They would make their way down the road to where they parted earlier and head into the woods a little.

Everything was going fine until a young child, maybe ten years old or so, came barrelling down a side street and crashed into the pair, sending both Jaskier and Ciri sprawling.

The commotion drew the attention of a number of locals, as well as the very much unwanted attention of the soldiers, who by that stage had been making their own way across the marketplace, likely gathering their own supplies for the road.

Ciri’s hood came off as she fell and the flash of ash blonde hair was enough to draw the interest of the soldiers.

The small band of men began to stride purposefully towards them, their voices growing louder and one of them beginning to point.

“Shit. Ciri, you need to run. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Just run fast as you can and find Geralt. He’ll keep you safe,” Jaskier whispered hurriedly, eyeing the men who were drawing ever nearer.

Ciri looked ready to protest, but after only a moment she looked away and nodded, taking off at a run down the street.

As Ciri ran the soldiers began to run as well, shouting now and calling for her to halt and to declare herself.

Jaskier put himself between Ciri and the soldiers. He knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it out but he would buy her whatever time he could. He pulled his dagger from boot, knowing it would be no good against a sword, and faced the Nilfaardians who would threaten a child.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” Jaskier called, dagger held low but ready.

“State your name and get that girl back here,” the first to arrive stated, he was shorter than Jaskier but a little older and had a scar across his cheek. He had a hand on the hilt of a sword sheathed at his waist.

“Ah good sir, my name is Julian. That was my daughter, you merely startled her-” Jaskier was cut off by the sword aimed for his throat by another of the soldiers, this one a younger man, dark hair obscuring part of his face. What Jaskier could see looked cold and cruel and he gulped, staring at the sword.

“Don’t fucking lie to us you piece of shit, where’s the girl gone to? Tell us and we’ll make your death a quick one.”

Jaskier plastered a fake smile on his face, and got ready to move out of the way if the soldier tried to take his head off.

“Now, now good sir, there’s no need to threaten violence. If you’ll wait right here I’ll go retrieve her for you,” he said, backing away a step, trying to get some distance between himself and the blade.

“I don’t think so,” the first soldier sneered, drawing his own weapon and closing the distance between them.

Jaskier knew he couldn’t fight a sword with a dagger. However, he also knew how to fight dirty. One doesn’t survive long as a travelling bard without picking up a few tricks.

As the soldier began to thrust his blade towards Jaskier, the bard ducked and rolled beneath the blade, using the momentum to get back up again and twisted so he was behind the man, using his dagger to cut deeply into the man’s sword arm. The soldier yelled at the unexpected pain and dropped his sword.

Dropping to the ground once more Jaskier grabbed the fallen weapon. He hated swords, but Geralt had taught him the basics and he intended to use anything at his disposal to keep these bastards away from Ciri as long as possible.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how long he held out before one of them got a good hit in. He had suffered deep laceration to his left arm, the injury causing him to falter and allowing another of the men to get close enough to hit him in the head with the pommel of their sword.

Disoriented, he dropped to the ground and rough hands grabbed him before dragging him away from the road and back to the inn.

Jaskier was vaguely aware of the soldiers shouting at the patrons to get out or suffer the same fate as him.

Suffice to say that the inn was empty within a matter of moments, the barmaid throwing him a pained look as though she wished she could help him on her way out the door.

“Now you can be a good lad and tell us what we want to know and we can end this nice and quick, or you can spend the next few days here with us and we will get it out of you anyway. This’ll be my last offer,” the man speaking to him seemed to be the leader. The others waited to the side while this one grabbed Jaskier by the hair and held his face up to look him in the eye.

Jaskier’s head was throbbing and he felt like he would pass out if not for the insistent pain of his hair being pulled and the man practically spitting his face.

“I told you, my daughter was just startled. She’s probably already come back looking for me-” a fist crunched into his cheek bone and Jaskier stifled a sob. He really wasn’t cut out for this whole torture thing.

It went on in this manner until it was dark. The soldiers kept asking him questions, Jaskier dancing around the truth and refusing to tell them anything of real substance.

He was fairly sure that he passed out at one stage.

Even Nilfgaardian soldiers were only human though, and after what felt like days, but was probably only hours, all but one of the small group headed off to sleep.

The one on guard duty simply tied him to the chair he was sat upon and went to keep a look out.

Jaskier hoped that Ciri had found Geralt. He hoped that they were far away. He hoped they would rescue him. Some of these things were rather contradictory but he was a bard, not a hardened soldier or mercenary. He didn’t want to die here being tortured, though he would if it would only save Ciri.

The night passed slowly, the men swapping out guard duty every two hours so they all got sleep.

Jaskier drifted in and out of consciousness and waited for the dawn to come, mentally preparing himself for another day of being beaten and tortured.

An hour or so before dawn one of his wishes came true when Geralt silently climbed through a back window of the inn when the guard was nodding off.

The soldier startled awake when he saw the intruder but was quickly silenced when Geralt ran him through with his steel sword.

Geralt made quick work of cutting the ropes keeping Jaskier bound, and slung the bard’s less injured arm around his own broad shoulders.

“Geralt, you need to get Ciri out of here. Just leave me, I’ll slow you down,” Jaskier insisted as Geralt half carried him out of the inn and into the darkness of the sleeping town beyond.

“Shut up Jask, Ciri is fine. I'm not leaving you behind," Geralt said firmly, as he continued to lead the bard through the town.

Realising how serious Geralt was Jaskier opted to keep his mouth shut and focus on trying to walk.

By the time they were out of the town and in the forest to the side of the road Jaskier's injuries and exhaustion were catching up to him. More than once Geralt had to catch him as he stumbled.

After the third instance Geralt just closed the space between them and pulled Jaskier to a halt.

"Come on, let me help you," he motioned Jaskier closer before bending as he wrapped one arm around the bard's lower back, the other beneath his knees as he deftly lifted the younger man into his arms.

Too tired to fight it, Jaskier just let himself be carried back to wherever Geralt had left Ciri squirrelled away in wait for their return.

“I’d never leave you behind Jask. You know that. Rest now and we’ll be back at camp soon,” Geralt murmured.

Feeling warm at Geralt’s words despite the situation he did just that. Letting himself drift and trying to focus on anything other than the pain he was in while Geralt carried him back to the most important thing in either of their lives.

[expvrgction]

Continued from here! @moonlightsdew

---

Even if this was an act, the Reploid before X and Zero appeared genuinely, visibly shaken by the sudden Mechaniloid attack to the market district in this port. But as he had heard of berserk machinery cases, he was better armed with knowledge and preparation for such events-- After all, his delivery service job wasn't always a walk in the park. There had been Mavericks who tried to target him before, and it was a good thing he was built for heavy duty tasks, as well as basic defense in emergencies. A technical self-first aid shouldn't hurt.

For the other red Reploid to look skeptical though earned a teensy bit, barely noticeable gaze of judgment by this Reploid-- In fact, he wondered if Zero had ever seen heavy-duty Reploids for civilian services before (albeit such a case likely being rare), though the currently disguised Dark Lord of Hell wouldn't fault that much alert. He does, to extent, inspire fear, after all.

The blue-armored robot, however... He could tell that he was the most sensitive of all these robots. Perhaps he would be the kind to easily be able to defuse conflicts, if those involved would cooperate.

"That Mechaniloid came from the direction of this road." The Reploid whom had yet to share his name to the two Maverick Hunters pointed at the damaged road ahead, with some debris from destroyed market equipment. Some unlucky merchants and workers here suffered losses, and would require every aid possible to restore their premises-- Not to mention insurance coverage. "I was parking my delivery truck here when the attack took place, and many here scrambled to safety in buildings nearest to them, like I did. I led other civilians nearby for cover before I called to report the incident to Hunter HQ."

The Reploid, then, showed the aforementioned delivery truck that was flipped. It would have been devastating if the parts of this truck containing fuel was instead destroyed, which would cause explosions and fire to the nearest vicinity. "And there went the supplies... My boss would be scratching his head at this."

"Hey, Rhagon!" One of the shop staff working where this Reploid was making his delivery rounds called to him. "Can you come here and help with clearing up rubble?"

"Hold on, I'm answering some questions from the Hunters! I'll be there when I'm done." Rhagon responded before looking back to X with a smile. "Those are some of my clients. I deliver supplies to their premises often, be it food products or shop equipment."

"Is there anything you require of me before I go help the others? I would have made more delivery rounds if this hot mess didn't happen."