#Strawberry mountain fair

[bea-lele-carmen]

[silverynight]

The heart of the barbarian King

<--Previous

Chapter 4

"Kacchan, I brought berries!" Izuku beams, holding a basket full of them, as he walks back inside the house.

As soon as the alpha sees him, he relaxes immediately and smiles at him fondly.

"I'm guessing you had fun in the market again."

"I did!" The omega nods as he starts washing the fruit so they can eat them as soon as possible. "Your friends are great!"

"They're not bad," Katsuki concedes somewhat, refusing to admit they're awesome, even though Izuku knows he's glad to have them. "Which are your favorites?"

"Huh?" Izuku tilts his head, a bit confused as the alpha hugs him from behind and starts nuzzling the back of his neck.

"The berries."

"Oh! Blueberries, obviously!"

He hears Katsuki chuckle behind himself.

"Obviously."

"They're the best berries, Kacchan," Izuku says, smiling too. For a moment, it's like none of the bad stuff happened and this was his choice: to live near the mountain with his childhood friend. "You seem tense. What happened?"

"I'm feeling much better now," Katsuki assures him, nuzzling against the omega's cheek as soon as he turns around. "It's just... some of them are a bunch of idiots and I have to deal with them almost every single day."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Kacchan," Izuku mumbles sincerely as he places a few berries on a plate and sits next to the alpha at the table. "Here. This will make you feel better!"

"You make me feel better," he assures him, but he takes a bite of the strawberry the omega is offering him.

For some reason, the custom of feeding him the first two bites of every single dish feels a lot intimate now.

It's a bit weird to feed one's friends like that. But Izuku doesn't want to be rude after everything Katsuki has done for him.

"Kacchan, if I ever eat with your friends do I have to feed them too?"

"NO!" Katsuki growls, and for a moment, Izuku thinks he can smell something sour in his scent, but it's just for a few seconds. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. What I was trying to say was that you shouldn't... It's just you and me because... we live together."

"Oh! I see!" Izuku nods. "Thanks for letting me know, Kacchan! I wouldn't want to make a mistake!"

Katsuki still looks tense though, so Izuku hands him a cranberry that the alpha eats from his hand before taking a few himself.

He feeds Izuku a couple of blueberries too.

"Wait, you have–" he interrupts himself when he notices the juice of the blueberries sliding from the omega's bottom lip.

Izuku can't see it, but he feels it; he blushes, getting embarrassed and trying to find something to clean himself with when the alpha grabs him by the chin and uses his thumb to remove some from his lower lip...

Katsuki abruptly stops as soon as he realizes what he's doing; he turns completely red and blinks a couple of times. He suddenly rises from the chair and tells Izuku he's done eating and that he wants to rest because he's tired.

"I need to go to my room."

The omega thinks it's a bit early to sleep, but Katsuki is a King; the responsibilities he has to deal with daily must be really exhausting.

He deserves to rest. Izuku cleans everything, washes his face, and eventually goes back to his room.

***

"It's going to be alright, Izuku," the alpha assures him, caressing his shoulder gently as they walk to the middle of the town and sit on the ground around a huge bonfire.

It's been a week since Izuku arrived there and, according to Katsuki, the heads of the clans have grown curious about him and want to meet him.

"You don't even have to talk to them," the barbarian says. "They just want you to be here to see you since you'll be living with me from now on."

Izuku supposes that's fair; they're protective of their people and wouldn't want anyone dangerous to live among them.

He relaxes a bit when he manages to see Jiro, Ashido, Kaminari and Kirishima arriving; they make sure to wave at Izuku and sit next to them.

"Let me scent you, nerd."

The omega nods immediately; Katsuki is the one he trusts the most, and being surrounded by his scent will help him feel a lot better.

The alpha pulls him into his arms before making sure to nuzzle against his scent glands throughly; this time, it feels different for some reason, even when Izuku shyly scents Katsuki back.

"Geez!" Jiro grimaces, looking in their direction before glaring at the barbarian King. "I think that's quite enough! We get it, he's yours!"

Katsuki smirks triumphantly as Izuku gets distracted by the group of barbarians who bring a couple of instruments with them.

He perks up when the sound of music starts filling the air.

"Come on, nerd. Let's dance!"

"But I don't know how to!"

"Just follow my steps and you'll be fine!"

He manages to copy Katsuki's steps and follow the rhythm of the music just fine, and he realizes he's having so much fun! At some point, Katsuki grabs him by the waist and lifts him as he turns them both around. Kaminari and Kirishima are dancing and laughing next to them.

"See?" Katsuki chuckles, putting the omega back on the ground before going back to their spot. The King had arranged his own cape so Izuku could sit on it. "It wasn't difficult at all."

The omega nods because he's a bit distracted by the plates a woman placed on their spot and notices that his has a few blueberries on the side.

As other people dance around the bonfire, Izuku and Katsuki start eating; the omega makes sure to feed him the first two bites of his plate and the barbarian does the same.

After a while, Izuku notices that a couple of people are watching them with curiosity.

"Pay them no mind, Izuku," the alpha mumbles before nuzzling against his cheek softly and placing a hand on his leg almost protectively.

After a while, the heads of the clans decide to leave, but they approach them first and bow in front of Katsuki and Izuku before walking away.

Except three of them. They pay their respects to their King, but ignore the omega completely.

Katsuki growls, looking like he's about to start a fight, but Izuku places a kind hand on his cheek to calm him down.

Kirishima is right next to them in a second.

"Don't make things worse, man," he tells him. "They're doing this to provoke you for what you did to Chisaki. But it's okay, the important thing here is that the majority of them approve of Izuku already."

"It's not like their approval matters to me–"

"I know, but it's an important part of being a King," Kirishima reminds him.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but grunts in agreement.

"Fucking politics," he grimaces before pulling the omega closer and burying his face in the curve of his neck.

As Izuku strokes his back to calm him down, he looks up at the alpha with red hair and smiles at him.

"Thank you," he says sincerely, prompting Kirishima to smile happily in return.

"You're welcome, Midoriya! Although you do a lot for him already too!"

Izuku is not so sure about that, but he's determined to try; Katsuki is his friend, and he'll be more than happy to help him now that he's stuck in the barbarian kingdom. It's the least he can do.

***

Katsuki starts teaching him hand to hand combat; he's good at it, he explains calmly to Izuku what the weak spots on an average person are, and which part of the body he should usually aim for.

"Although, if they're a trained warrior, that won't stop them," the alpha continues, moving around Izuku in a circle. "You should try to analyze your opponent while you're fighting them and find their weaknesses."

It's like All Might used to tell him; Izuku recalls, trying not to get distracted by the memory of him.

He wonders where he could be at the moment.

Of course, Izuku ends up on the ground after a few minutes; Katsuki has had a lot of training over the years, and a good one because the barbarians are very skilled when it comes to fighting techniques.

"Not bad, nerd," he smirks, offering the omega his hand to pull him up. "You learn really fast."

They keep doing that in Katsuki's spare time over the next couple of days. They also pay a lot of visits to Dynamight so Izuku can pet the cute dragon and tell him how amazing he is.

"He's not cute!"

Jiro and Kaminari spend a lot of time with him lately, and Izuku thinks he can safely think of them as his friends too.

They're getting ready for the trip to the city, although Jiro says that the trip has been postponed a couple of times and she's not entirely sure why.

"But..." Kaminari tilts his head in confusion. "Would you be able to go? I mean... the dark magic won't stop you from leaving this place?"

"It's not the place," Izuku explains. "It's you... I mean, all of you. As long as I don't leave your people, I should be fine. And since I'll be traveling as part of your group, nothing will happen."

Kaminari smiles at him, visibly relieved; Izuku can't help but grin back because he knows the beta was genuinely worried about him.

All of them are such good friends.

***

The more time he spends with Katsuki, the more he realizes being around him feels so natural, like they never stopped seeing each other. It's like they have known each other their whole lives.

Sure, they fight and argue, but they also know how to make things better and apologize when they have to.

"Kacchan, let's spar!"

Izuku doesn't have to tell him twice; he can see the smirk on the King's face immediately before his red eyes spark with joy.

The barbarian jumps at him, but the omega has learned enough to avoid the first hit. None of them are careful when they spar, but they don't try to actively hurt the other either; the main goal of their training sessions is to make the opponent fall to the ground.

It's difficult, especially having someone as Katsuki as his sparring partner because he's great at all types of combat.

But Izuku has learned a couple of things, and he spends his nights taking notes on a journal he bought at the market almost since he got here. He takes notes on everything; the weather, the fauna and flora of the place, Dynamight's habits, his fire and, most importantly, all the things Katsuki and Izuku's friends have been teaching him so far.

Although when it comes to fighting, it's way easier to read it on paper than actually do it.

The barbarian tries to catch him, but Izuku manages to avoid him again; he has realized that even though Katsuki is stronger, Izuku is faster than him.

And he has to use that to his advantage.

Finally, Izuku sees an opening; he jumps at Katsuki and while he manages to throw him, the omega ends up falling with him.

"Does this count as me winning, Kacchan?" It should, right? Because the alpha is on his back, vulnerable, while Izuku is basically sitting on his chest. He's the only one that can move at the moment.

"Huh?" The barbarian blinks a couple of times before looking up at the omega and placing a gentle hand on his thigh. He doesn't seem to be fully aware of what he's doing because once his eyes follow the movement of his hand, he moves it away. "You have freckles on your thighs."

"I have freckles all over my body, Kacchan," Izuku replies, wondering if the King hit his head too hard when he fell.

Katsuki's face turns a deep shade of red, which makes the omega worry even more.

"Y-You win this time," he stammers, carefully grabbing Izuku by the waist, getting him off him and placing him carefully to the side.

As soon as Katsuki is free, he rises from the ground with a single, very rushed jump.

"Are you alright, Kacchan?"

Katsuki doesn't answer, he just keeps walking until he finds the buckets of water they leave outside the house and dumps one all over himself.

"Kacchan!"

"It's alright, nerd!" He says, clothes now soaking wet. "I was feeling really hot... that's it."

"Oh... okay?" The omega is still a bit confused. Although he can tell that clearly worked because Katsuki's face is not red anymore. "Perhaps you should go inside and change so you don't catch a cold?"

"You know what? You're absolutely right, Izuku."

The alpha goes back inside after that, leaving the green haired man a bit confused still. He shakes off some of the dirt from his clothes as he rises and thinks about taking a bath when he sees Jiro and Ashido rushing towards him.

"The trip to the city has been approved! We're leaving tomorrow, isn't that great?" Jiro informs him.

"I can't wait!" He blurts out, beaming, already thinking about the witch. He hopes she has a solution to his problem.

"Where's your blond gremlin?" Ashido chuckles, looking at him with curiosity.

"Inside... changing. But he'll probably be back in a minute."

"It's alright. He can take his time. The things I have to tell him are going to make him mad."

"Why?"

"He won't be able to come with us to the city; he has a couple of meetings to attend to."

She's right, Katsuki won't like it at all.

***

Next--->

Patreon

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Hi Sunny! Happy Halloween! I rolled a 1d6 for your trick-or-treat options and rolled a 4 - Bagginshield trick, please? :D

I took this to mean a whump trick on top of that and chose "Panic Attack". Please enjoy and thank you for the ask! 😁

Bilbo honestly didn’t know what had set him off this time. He had been fine. He was down on the slopes of Erebor checking on the farming project he had set up last year. Most dwarves weren’t enthusiastic about wasting their time away in the dirt, but they had hired some of the men of Dale to farm for them. With fair wages and getting to keep a share of the crops seemed to be an amiable solution that worked for well everyone. 

Gustan was showing him around the fruit field, talking animatedly about how well the strawberries had come in this year. He had offered Bilbo a box of the red fruit, chilled from being washed in the river, and suddenly Bilbo had been transported back to that terrible moment during the battle. Where he had sat on the frozen land, holding Thorin together by a thread as blood dribbled out between his fingers. And Thorin had given him such a sad, defeated smile as he chose to sweeten their parting with words of friendship.

It wasn’t until he had quickly excused himself and managed to get back into the mountain that the worst of it hit. Bilbo’s chest started to shoot pains straight from his heart as if it were about to give out. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He fell back against a pillar, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched his tunic and waited for it to pass. He had no idea how long he remained like this when a deep voice broke through the screaming in his mind.

“Where is he?!”

Bilbo felt his lower lip tremble as his eyes watered, unable to bring himself to answer. Suddenly a warm hand cradled the back of his head as he was brought forward into a broad chest.

“Shh, amrâlimê. Just breath and listen to my heart. That’s it. You’re fine. I’m fine.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo gasped desperately between the pain.

His husband just shushed him again and continued his mantra until Bilbo could unfurl his hands and breathe without it feeling like daggers stabbing his lungs.

“I didn’t mean…” He whispered.

“Don’t apologize. Not for this.” He spoke gently and confidently.

Bilbo felt exhausted. Like he could fall asleep right there in Thorin’s arms. The dwarves had a term for this. They called it ajbâlazgh or the ‘war vision’. Where past battles and pains haunted you to the point of activating your need to fight once more. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Thorin urged.

“It’s not even noon.” Bilbo slurred.

“Then just a little nap. I’ll be right there with you.” 

Bilbo hummed in reluctant agreement as he allowed himself to be lifted in Thorin’s large arms. Never once pulling himself away from that steady heartbeat that reminded him that Thorin yet lived.

Trick or Treat My Inbox

[littlest-w01f]

Safe

Rhysand x Alora (See Alora here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 5: Survivor

Summary: Rhysand and Alora are both survivors, now Rhysand seeks comfort in the female he saved long ago

Cw: Rhysand's UtM trauma, Alora's SA trauma, hurt/comfort

The stars were shining brightly, and there was peace in the streets of Velaris, but inside the House of Winds, Rhysand sat, unfocused, staring off into the distance, he had returned from Under the Mountain just a few days ago, still ghostly pale.

He had asked to be alone from his Inner Circle not sure how he could face them after what he had been through, he had tried to sleep but he couldn't, he had thrown up everything he had eaten for the past days, at least he had been able to appreciate the taste of it when all he had eaten for fifty years was bland scraps.

He pulled on his pair of velvet sweats and made his way out to the balcony, looking up at the sky, free, he was free, he reminded himself.

As Rhysand stood on the balcony, the cool night air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat that was there Under the Mountain. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the city below lull him into a state of calm. The memory of Amarantha's touch, her cruel laughter, still lingered, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on the freedom that now belonged to him and his people.

The wind whispered in his ear, carrying the scent of flowers from the gardens within the house. Rhys breathed deeply, savouring the sweet aroma. Moments like these reminded him of the beauty that still existed in the world, despite the darkness that often threatened to consume it.

The pain, the humiliation, the feeling of being completely powerless against Amarantha's cruelty. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to suppress the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

He tried to calm himself and he then knew where he had to go, he put on the matching shirt to his sweats and made his way to the library, he knew everyone would be asleep as he was quiet with his movements, not wanting to spook any Priestesses. He winnowed into the room of one of the oldest that had been there.

A 300-year-old High Fae, asleep in her bed, her strawberry blond hair a mess as she slept peacefully. Rhysand couldn't help but smile, seeing her so as peace.

As Rhysand approached the sleeping form of his beloved Priestess, Alora, his heart pounded against his chest, his relation with Alora was a long one, but he just considered her daughter like. The sight of her peaceful slumber brought a sense of comfort to him, something that had been missing since his return. He studied her delicate features, her fair skin glowing softly under the moonlight that filtered through the window.

He moved closer, his hand hovering over her shoulder before gently laying it down. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing steady and rhythmic. Rhys felt a pang of guilt for disturbing her rest, yet he needed her presence more than ever.

He leaned down, whispering her name softly. "Alora…" His voice was barely audible, filled with affection.

Alora awoke with a start, looking at Rhysand through sleepy eyes, "Rhys?" She sat up, "Are... Are you alright?"

Rhysand smiled warmly at Alora, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm fine, my dear," he reassured her, his voice gentle. "Just needed someone to be with." He sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his own.

Alora's concern softened into understanding, and she nodded. "Of course, Rhys. Anything you need, I'm here for you." Her fingers intertwined with his, providing a comforting warmth.

Rhys looked into her eyes, searching for the right words to express the turmoil within him. "It's hard to believe it's over," he said finally. "After all those years, trapped in that hellhole…" He shuddered, remembering the darkness and cruelty of Amarantha's court. "Sometimes, I wonder if it was all just a dream."

"I used to think that too..." Alora frowned, as if reliving her own assault, her heterochromatic eyes filled with sorrow, "I... I used to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me... That I'd wake up and be right there in that cave... I'll always be here for you, however long you need." Alora held Rhysand's hands, looking deep into his pained eyes.

Rhysand squeezed Alora's hands, drawing strength from her unwavering support. "Thank you, my dear," he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. "Knowing that you're here, that we have each other, makes all the difference... I don't think anyone else would quite understand... And I'm not open to talking to just anyone."

He let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. "It's the little things that haunt me most," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The taste of rotting flesh, the stench of decay, the feeling of Amarantha's touch…" A shudder ran through him, and he closed his eyes, recalling the horrific memories.

Alora's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand, offering comfort without words. When Rhys opened his eyes again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I just want to forget, she touched me... And the way my body-" he paused, his voice breaking.

"Shh, Rhys," Alora whispered with a soft tone, holding onto his hand, "It wasn't pleasure... You were not feeling pleasure." She cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. The male in front of her had helped her through her own hurt, her own pain, and said the very words that she now said to him when she told him how disgusted she was at her own bodily reaction. "Your body was just protecting itself from more pain..." Because what those males had her believing, what Amarantha had him believing, simply wasn't true. "And this won't last, you will heal, in spite of everything that happened to you."

Hearing Alora's reassuring words, Rhys managed a small smile, though it was clear the pain was still etched deeply into his features. "You're right.... I know you are. I was right when I said it for you." he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, it feels like its going to swallow me whole."

He leaned in closer to Alora, resting his forehead against her shoulder. The tender gesture seemed to soothe both of their troubled souls. "Your presence means more to me than you'll ever know," he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Alora hugged Rhysand, both their faces pressed into each other's necks. "You're my anchor," she whispered, Rhysand's eyes closed as he savoured the warmth of her touch. "Without you, I don't know how I would've survived those years here."

He opened his eyes, gazing up at her with a mix of gratitude and adoration. "You're my home, Alora. My safe haven." His voice trembled with emotion, she was all that was left of his family, she was his oldest family at heart, revealing the depth of his feelings for her. "I love you," he said simply, the words spoken with a sincerity that left no room for doubt.

"I love you too." Alora than sat up straight, leaning onto the bed, moving slightly to make space for him, "Come now, you should try to get rest, I'll be right here."

At Alora's invitation, Rhysand slid into the bed beside her, his body tired but his mind still racing. Despite the turmoil within him, being near Alora brought him a measure of solace.

He turned towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. The familiar scent of her, the warmth of her body, it was enough to chase away some of the shadows haunting him.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was a simple act. Alora pulled him gently over her, rocking him to sleep, just as he had done for her. As Alora gently rocked Rhysand to sleep, her thoughts drifted back to the night he had saved her. The memory of his strong arms holding her, his soothing whispers, it had been a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

Now, as she cradled him in her embrace, she felt a deep sense of gratitude and love for this male who had become her rock, her protector, her everything. She stroked his hair, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing slowing until he slipped into slumber.

Alora remained awake for the night, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her own. In this moment, surrounded by the silence of the night and the warmth of Rhysand's body.

She stayed up when he woke up panicking, she stayed through him screaming, through the shadows covering them both in eerily stillness. Because she had gone through this, the memory of it faded but never fully gone, stuck with her forever.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

[josephquinnswhore]

•dead men don’t kiss•

chapter one ; an opportunist.

summary: Mrs. Simmons has exhausted all of her leads, and reluctantly agrees to the offer of two rugged cowboys with a mutual interest; killing Colm O’Driscoll.

content warning: mentions of violence, blood, suggested murder and brutality, interrogation, threats.

word count: 1.6k

How many O’Driscoll boys would you have to beat bloody until one of them finally cracked? Over the years, you’d developed a pretty effective interrogation system. One that had worked all through the mountains and valleys of almost every town you’d encountered.

But the O’Driscoll boys that had been sent to monitor the area of Strawberry were different, perhaps Colm was actually managing to recruit men that had half of a fucking brain. Decent with their aim and unfortunately for them and you, tight lipped.

Wiping off the remaining evidence of the last O’Driscoll boy you'd once again failed to get answers from onto your jeans, you pull a stool up to the bar. It sure did raise some eyebrows, but no one dared to ask. These folk in Strawberry, if good for nothing else, minded their own business.

Tossing a few dollars onto the sticky bar, you usher the bartender. “Whatever’s strongest on the shelf.”

The man obeys, pouring a small shot glass of whiskey. “Our finest, miss. Enjoy.”

The glass hadn’t been polished properly, the sight causes a grimace on your irritated features. But the whiskey slides down your throat with its coursing burn that, perhaps; loosens your tightly strung limbs.

“Mister.. what’s your name again?” Calling to the un - busy bartender, pointing to your empty glass as you slide it back to him. Although, as it seems, the glass was now stained with your smeared cherry red lipstick.

“Alden, miss. Alden Pensor.” He greets, re - filling your shot glass and sets it back down in front of you.

Shuffling in your seat the gaze you shoot the man from under your wide brimmed black hat is menacing. “Now, Alden. Would you say this is a fair town, a safe town?”

Alden is weary of how things had turned stiff so quickly, he doesn’t want any fuss, the sheriff was gettin’ mouthy about Alden’s complaints of patrons as of late. He was reminded that if he kicked everyone out of the bar, that he would have no customers and no money. Most of the time it saves all of the mishap of folk searching for illegal drink, like moonshine and causing the entire town havoc.

“I would like to think so, miss. I done lived here all my life and ain’t had much trouble. Save for a few youngins stealin’ from my wife’s garden.”

At that, you slide off your stool and lean against the bar. “That’s how this town should stay, wouldn’t you agree, safe?”

He merely nods. “Anyone would be a fool to deny it.”

The shot glass is shattered against the wooden bar as you slam it down in seething rage and lurch over the bar to grab onto his collar. “So god help me, Alden. Help me understand, friend. Why are there O’Driscoll boys camped at every damn corner ‘round here?”

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, the middle aged man raised his hands in surrender. “I ain’t sure, miss. This is the first I’m hearin’ about any of them boys ‘round here. I swear!”

You shove the man backward, and point your finger at him. “If I hear as much as a whisper that Colm O’Driscoll has been in here all friendly like with you, you’re done, you hear me Alden?”

“I’ll write to you if he shows his face here, I—I swear miss.”

Satisfied with his answer, you fix his collar that you’d just roughened up. “I’ll be in touch, friend.”

Goddamn saloon was full of cowards, entire building full of half drunk patrons that didn’t have the gall to stand up to you, or even give a shout of any word about Colm, surely one of his men were amongst the yellow faced crowd of drunks. They, with any hope, would send word to Colm. Perhaps if the man himself managed to grow a spine over the next week, you’d face off with him yourself.

All you wanted was to look that sack of sorry shit in the eye and make him pay, make things right—

“Miss?” A deep voice calls to you. He’s an odd looking feller. Tall, dark hair and a strangely styled moustache.

Pausing your steps on the creaky and ever splitting wooden steps to your hitched horse, taking a moment to inspect the man. Armed, of course, and it seemed he had a friend with him. Taller, broader, probably his first hand man.

“The hell you two fellers want?”

The older man raises his hands. “Just to talk, that is all. I couldn’t help but overhear you speaking of Colm O’Driscoll.”

Every limb in your body reacts, muscles tighten, every hamstring pulled taut. “If you are one of his boys, this ain’t gonna end well for you.”

The man laughs. “You are sorely mistaken, miss. That man and I.. have an extensive past, but I assure you, it is not favourable.”

He's gained your attention, and a few seconds to explain himself before you drop him with a bullet in the middle of town. “So who are you then, hm? Some rich prick he’s stolen from? I don’t work with no goddamn law neither.”

“Let me ease your mind, miss. My name is Dutch Van Der Linde. This is my associate, Arthur Morgan.” He gestures to his buddy, who finally steps out from behind Dutch.

Younger, burly, goddamn handsome bastard.

“I heard a bit about you lot. So what’s all this got to do with you, or me? This Colm business.”

Arthur piped up this time. His hands sliding into his Jean pockets as he leans against a wooden foundation pole to look down at you. “Maybe we could help each other out. We’ve even havin’ our own issues with Colm for years.”

A huff escapes you. “That so? Why ain’t you killed him yet then? Suppose you recruit buffoons from the doomed circus from Saint Denis?”

Dutch laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder as he steps down the saloon steps to attempt a more personal proposition.

“You sure seem like you know how to manage yourself, miss. I suggest joining forces to kill that bastard once and for all.”

Looking between the men, perhaps this was a stupid idea. But they clearly weren’t Colm’s men, in simple regard to intellect and presentation.

“Try anything,” you warn lowly, lowering your hand to rest on your holstered pistol.

Dutch pats your shoulder. “Come now, if nothin’ else we are men of our word, wouldn’t you agree Arthur?”

“Sure,” Arthur replied with a sigh.

Real reassuring, damned jackass.

“Lead the way.” Nodding your head at the men, you unhitch your horse and mount the sturdy beast. The men go ahead and you follow on behind, keeping a deadly eye on them, and your surroundings.

“It’s alright girl, I know.” Marbelle whinny’s as you kick your spurs into her side and accelerates to keep up with the men.

It’s a short journey on a main trail way until you reach their camp.

“Everyone listen up. We have found ourselves an ally, one that is going to help us succeed in killing Colm O’Driscoll. Once and for all!” The unfamiliar faces cheer at Dutch’s hollow promise, although you wish it were true.

Arthur puts a hand behind your back, hovering above the material of your shirt to assist you in dismounting, which you sent a steely glare. Like you hadn’t dismounted your own damn horse before. “Come with me. Spose I’ll get you settled in.”

Reluctantly, you follow the man. The camp was nice, Horseshoe Overlook, many times had you followed the trailway past but never through. These people had some sense, camping off the trail, onto a flat near water. A decent camp set up with a boiling pot of.. whatever the hell that sloppy brown substance is.. and a pot of coffee.

Naturally people stare, which you don’t reciprocate the smiles, you’re not here for a goddamn social calling.

“I’ll set you up next to me, got a fire nearby an’ all so you should be fine through the evenin’ with it cooling down and such.”

Eyeing the man, you huff. “Thank ya, don’t plan on stayin’ long though.”

“Course not, not like that’s what these folk said too,” he laughs in amusement.

A deep rooted sense of anger gnaws at you. “I ain’t like them.”

He studies you, helping string up the material to a pole with some rope creating a makeshift tent for you. “If you say so. What’s your name anyways.”

A lurch in your heart, the name you haven’t uttered in months, now surfacing with all of the rotten, supple and corrupt grief you’ve tried to suppress for years. “Mrs Simmons.”

Arthur seems to recognise some of the deep rooted resentment as you speak and hums in acknowledgment. “Well, Mrs Simmons. Best get some rest. I’m sure Dutch will be botherin’ you first thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mr Morgan.”

“Don’t mention it.” He doesn’t walk far off, his bedroll is on top of a small cot on the other side of a wagon that also supports the quick makeshift tent for you.

Being surrounded by people again was odd.. almost made you yearn for more company. Most of the evenin’ you lie awake, the breeze is cutting through the thin bedroll of yours and the fire had snuffed out long ago. The locket on your skin felt heavy, burdened with the image, the root of your suffering.

How could you sleep? When all that was on your mind was that coward Colm O’Driscoll. If Dutch was any use to you at all, perhaps you’d be seeing justice sooner than you anticipated.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

💙for kanej, let’s goooooooo 🫶

drunken/tipsy kiss

For the record, Kaz is blaming Jesper for this one.

To be fair, Kaz blames Jesper for a lot of things. Like teaching Inej's male cousins the words to that stupid Kaelish love song, "Black is the Color," or some such thing, or insisting on trying to introduce color to Kaz's wardrobe, or the mangy orange and white cat that's taken up residence in the Slat. Granted, the last thing is not really Jesper's fault, but given time, and the proper motivation, Kaz is confident he can pin the blame on Jesper somehow.

Not this time, though. No, this time, this whole stupid situation is entirely Jesper's fault.

Jesper's fault, and the homemade moonshine that Colm Fahey brews with peaches and strawberries and wild ginger. He sent Jesper a jar of the stuff for the winter Kerst celebration, and now it seems like the entire Slat is near falling down drunk.

"It was one jar," Kaz says now, his tongue oddly thick. He hadn't been able to escape getting a glass shoved into his hand, so he'd looked at the seemingly innocuous pinkish-gold liquid and knocked it back without even thinking. He's had paint thinner that's milder than whatever brew this is. "How does one jar do all this?"

Inej is listing besides him, her long braid nearly coming undone. She says wisely, "Jesper says his da brews it with the fermented honey water. To give it, it, you know. Extra strength."

"All the Saints and their ugly mothers," Kaz mumbles and Inej swats at him, and misses by a mile. Which is a sign of just how potent this stuff is.

Inej had accepted a glass of moonshine from Jesper, tempered with water, and she'd danced with nearly everyone in the Slat--all the young kids, Anika, Pim, Roeder, Jesper, even Wylan, who let Inej drag him away from the upright piano someone shoved into the corner. No one's played it until tonight, until Wylan has started playing. Then someone got out a tin pennywhistle and another person dragged in a fiddler player from one of musician troupes that walk the Barrel busking inside, and the moonshine had flowed like water.

Music, wild and raucous and only slightly out of tune, poured out of the Slat, and the Dregs had danced like madmen, like heathens, howling at the winter moon. Kaz sat by the wall and watched; no one would ask Dirtyhands to dance, even if they didn't account for his leg. But he didn't mind watching Inej dance, her hair whipping around her, as she used her hands and feet to tell a story of a Saint defeating a monster on a mountain. Her hair is curtain of black silk in the light, and he wants to bury his face in it.

He blinks at the unguarded thought, shifting as Inej lists further and further, leaning into him more fully. "Sorry, sorry," she says, her s's oddly, delightfully sharp. Like a piece of ginger candy. "The room's dancing."

"The room's not dancing, you are," he says nonsensically and then gives up on shifting altogether. Inej is pressed up against him now, their layers of clothing between them prevent any skin on skin touch, but his heart pounds at her proximity anyways. He suspects that no matter how long he's gotten used to touching her, it always will.

"Did you like it?" Inej asks, a little dizzily. "Seeing me dance," she clarifies when he doesn't answer right away. "I didn't have the bell anklets, or the finger cymbals, but I think I got all the steps right. From what I could remember. Mama would do it better, though. Or Cousin Kathani."

Kaz couldn't tell her what they could do any better than Inej, and says so. Inej beams up at him, that smile he'd crawl over hot coals for, and for one glorious moment, leans her head on his shoulder. "One day I'll take you," she says, as the room continues to waltz and weave around them. "And you'll see me dancing. Properly, with jasmine and everything."

Later, he can blame this on the moonshine. Or the dancing room. Or the wild laughter and music still going around them, sealing them away from the outside world, and whatever consequences face them out there. But he finds himself pressing his lips to the crown of her head, lingering on the silky smooth strands, the scent of moonshine and the gardenia oil she uses on her hair. It lasts no more than second, but Inej's hands curl in the fabric of his waistcoat. Her breath catches in her throat, not in pain or fear, just dazed wonder.

He holds the moment as long as he dares, like a magician dragging out the climax of a trick before he releases the tension and settles back against the wall. Inej is still in his arms, and the room dances on all around them. Just this once, he can give Jesper and the moonshine credit.

[writtenjewels]

Mirage part 3

Part One, Part Two

Salim's stomach woke him up with an insistent growl. When was the last time he ate? He knew he missed one meal at least, perhaps more. He tested turning his head and found the action didn't make him quite as dizzy. He still felt faint, but he was sure that was from hunger. It was quiet in the room, apart from the steady thump of the fan.

“Jason?” he called out. He waited, and a few moments later the American appeared in his line of sight. Salim smiled at him. “Hello again.”

“Hey.” Jason rested a hand on the cloth draped over Salim's forehead. “Had a good rest?”

“I did. I'd like to try sitting up again.”

“All right.” Jason positioned himself at the same spot. “Ready? One, two, three!”

This time when Salim was pushed into a sitting position, the dizzy feeling didn't hit him as hard. Salim stared at the opposite wall as he waited for it to pass. He spotted a landscape portrait hanging there; a glance around showed him the whole room was decorated with them. They were all different: a forest, a snowy mountain, a volcano, even the desert lit up with stars.

“I'm all right,” Salim said, turning his face toward Jason's. He found he didn't mind the American being so close. Jason gave him a gentle squeeze before scooting back. He was wearing a different shirt, Salim noticed. “How long was I asleep?”

“Few hours.” Jason took the cloths that had been on Salim's face and set them aside. “I counted every one of 'em. You snore like a fuckin' chainsaw.”

“What?” The comment took him completely by surprise. Salim shot the American an indignant look. “I do not snore!” The heated words froze in his mouth. Jason was pressing his lips tightly together, but they were still quirking up in a smile. “Oh.” Salim let out a surprised breath. “You were just messing with me.”

“I figured it was okay to fuck with you now that you're doin' better,” Jason answered with a gleam in his eyes.

“You have terrible bedside manner,” Salim scolded him, lifting his chin. He felt a surge of energy talking to this man. “I think I'll just--” Salim tried to push himself to his feet. He was caught by another dizzy spell and almost collapsed. Jason barely managed to catch him in time.

“Slow down, will ya? You got hardly anything in your stomach.”

“I'm fine,” Salim argued. “You've done more than enough.” He tried to shift but Jason held onto him, keeping him in place. Salim would have been impressed by the man's strength if he didn't feel so faint.

“Don't be a stubborn pain in the ass,” Jason scolded. “I'm getting you another sports drink and some food.”

Salim opened his mouth, but Jason was already on his feet and heading to a door. Salim wanted to get to his feet and follow, but he didn't want to risk feeling faint or dizzy. He let out a sigh and looked around the room again. Did Jason live here? Salim hadn't seen anyone else yet, but neither did he see any personalized photographs anywhere. The only furniture he found was a beanbag chair. Lying beside it was a canvas and some artist tools.

Salim's heart gave a surprised jump. He looked between the canvas and the landscapes on the walls. Jason painted these? The door swung open and Jason stepped through carrying a tray. There were two sports drinks on the tray, a plate of various cut fruits, and two forks. He set the tray down on Salim's lap, settling nearby and stabbing through a slice of strawberry with one of the forks.

“Funny,” Salim remarked, lip twitching in amusement. “I thought you said you were getting me food.”

“I thought it'd be weird if you were the only one eating.”

“Of course you did.” Salim smiled, taking a fork and helping himself to a watermelon slice. It was just what his empty belly needed. “You just cut up all these fruits for fun.” It was only fair to tease the man, after he did it to Salim earlier. He managed to get another smile out of Jason, which made the effort feel worthwhile.

“I see you're a smart-ass once you get talkin'.”

Salim chuckled and reached to sip his sports drink. The rest, food, and drink all did their part in making him feel better. But it was this teasing banter with Jason that was truly giving him energy.

“I like your paintings,” Salim mentioned. “Have you been to all those places?”

“Nope, not really. I got them off travel magazines.”

“I see.” Salim glanced at the one showing a desert at night. It managed to capture the vastness of the dunes, the elegant hills and valleys formed by the sand, the breathtaking wonder of the open sky. Salim had a view much like it while he was traveling. “They're still beautiful,” he concluded.

Jason's ears went light pink and his shoulders jerked in an awkward shrug, but he said nothing. Salim ate a few more slices of fruit. It was so nice to fill his belly again. Except his stomach had been empty for so long it roiled a little at this introduction of food. He sipped his drink hoping that would soothe it, but the churning just got worse.

“Uh, Jason, where's...?”

“Shit! Hold on, I got you.”

Jason wrapped an arm around him, lifting him up and all but carrying Salim through a door. Salim had enough time to register they were in a bathroom before he was doubling over and vomiting in the toilet. Jason hovered close by while Salim finished being sick. He flushed when he was done, resting his cheek on the cool porcelain.

“How embarrassing.”

“You almost died in the fuckin' desert,” Jason reminded him.

“Wonderful bedside manner again,” Salim teased.

“Well, you can't be feelin' too bad if you have the energy to be a smart-ass,” Jason shot back.

Salim laughed, tilting his head to smile at the other man. He felt unexpectedly warm and happy having this strange American man for company.

[talonabraxas]

"The Kiss" by Artus Scheiner Hymn to Pan by John Keats "O thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness; Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken; And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and hearken The dreary melody of bedded reeds-- In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth; Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx--do thou now, By thy love's milky brow! By all the trembling mazes that she ran, Hear us, great Pan! "O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles, What time thou wanderest at eventide Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side Of thine enmossed realms: O thou, to whom Broad leaved fig trees even now foredoom Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow girted bees Their golden honeycombs; our village leas Their fairest blossom'd beans and poppied corn; The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year All its completions--be quickly near, By every wind that nods the mountain pine, O forester divine! "Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies For willing service; whether to surprise The squatted hare while in half sleeping fit; Or upward ragged precipices flit To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw; Or by mysterious enticement draw Bewildered shepherd to their path again; Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, And gather up all fancifullest shells For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping; Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping, The while they pelt each other on the crown With silvery oak apples, and fir cones brown-- By all the echoes that about thee ring, Hear us, O satyr king! "O Hearkener to the loud clapping shears, While ever and anon to his shorn peers A ram goes bleating: Winder of the horn, When snouted wild-boars routing tender corn Anger our huntsmen: breather round our farms, To keep off mildews, and all weather harms. Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds, That come a swooning over hollow grounds, And wither drearily on barren moors: Dread opener of the mysterious doors Leading to universal knowledge--see, Great son of Dryope, The many that are come to pay their vows With leaves about their brows! "Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings; such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven, That spreading in this dull and clodded earth Gives it a touch ethereal--a new birth: Be still a symbol of immensity; A firmament reflected in a sea; An element filling the space between, An unknown--but no more: we humbly screen With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bending, And giving out a shout most heaven rending, Conjure thee to receive our humble Paean, Upon thy Mount Lycean!"

[athena-swords]

🌼🌼 PICK A CARD 🌼 🌼

Disclaimer : don't come to me if it doesn't resonate I am just chanelling ok and those who don't have autumn just take September and October month

🍂 The Upcoming Autumn for you 🍂

Here are your piles

Pile 1. Pile 2

Pile 3. Pile 4

Pile 1

Hii pile 1 hope so your 2023 is going good let's see what is happening for you this autumn.

if you are away from your people you gonna met them again and lemme tell you it's gonna be a bash

I am seeing a ending perhaps something you thought will end in a beautiful thing didn't ended like you were expecting

Lots of amusement park or fair or just new energy be ready for crazy companies

you will be making or planning to make a long time investment probably related to your career (think and think carefully before any decision)

Windfall money and unexpected coming projects or just your plate being full

Song chanelled: October,what makes you beautiful and O O Janne jana.

Pile 2

hii pile 2 let's hope you all love the fall season as much as I do now let's get into your reading.

Well you could get to know that someone you considered as close friend or fam has been going behind your back and saying not so nice stuff about you.

You could have been seeing many red flags in a group but we're not leaving so your guides showed you their real self in a harsh way

You could feel fatigue or just down this season(seems like your guys are not a fan of it haa).But don't worry there will be some good news for you

you guys should definitely go check pile 1 you will find some messages for you in there.

the advice for you is that go out and keep a balance don't expect situations to magically work for you gotta show some efforts honey

Songs chanelled:Allah maaf kare, strawberries and cigarettes, team by lorid

Pile 3

Hii pile 3 hope so you are looking up to yourself ,enjoying the days let's look what you have for yourself in autumn yaa

lol did you get your hands on a book you wanted to read for a long time I see you will make a very cosy space for you .

And procastinate in there and will end up doing all the work in deadline dates as please do little bit and don't pile them up

Could go for hiking or just mountains or you could even live there but for some reason I saw snowfall(do you wanna see it once)

Lots of planning and analysis about something all over you somehow will want to feel productive,you will introspect about all the stuff you have been doing and want to do

You could have a new crush or neighbours too....ok byyy hope you liked your reading

Songs chanelled:te amo ,tere hone laga hoon,cruel summer

Pile 4

Hii pile 4 whats happening my babies all of you are going through some shit anyways let's look into it yaa

You all may be going through some kind of rejection and you may have been feeling that now all of your plans are kind of no use??

Anyways the good news is there are other options which are better abd available to you so don't be so much into the grief that you ignore those ones

There might be some old friend or family trying to conntect you again

You could get some clarity on something you have been confused about for a long time

I see that you will work on more of your masculine energy and will take the room

Just a small advice to not over work yourself and trust people who you know wants your well-being

Songs chanelled:Aao Milo chalo,snap,Leyla.

Okay so take this as my comeback pack I would try to not just ghost every platform love you all alot please enjoy every day🕊️🕊️✨✨

Har Har Mahadev

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila IV

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila IV: The Open Wound

The band heads northward, into the Grizzlies, to find John. Braving the inhospitable weather, they find more than just him.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

Whoever they were in Strawberry talkin’ of a blizzard rolling through the Grizzlies were right. Very right. 

Hell, as soon as the ragtag crew of outlaws crossed the state line into Ambarino, the dusting of snow on the ground grew and grew as the horses hiked northward and upward in altitude. You’re thankful for the woolen coat and shawl Abigail insisted on wrapping your head in, and the gloves she gave you as well. The snow blanketed the ground once the shadow of Mount Hagen was reached.

“You gonna keep that old boy?” Dutch calls over to Arthur from his mount, buried under a large, dark woolen coat.

“Haven’t had a chance to find another one - once we rescue the fair princess, I’ll probably go on over to Valentine and get a new horse.”

Dutch chuckles, amused at Arthur's irritation at John. Beneath him, The Count steps high through the growing snowbanks, the trail barely visible under the blanket of white snow that has settled. Three horses climb northward, up, up into the mountains.

While the snow isn't actively falling, a cold, bitter wind sweeps across the white landscape, trying to force the group away from the accursed mountains, as if warning intruders to stay back and seek refuge in more hospitable lands.

Micah, bundled tight atop his horse Baylock, spits on the ground and blows out hot air through his nose. He snarls, rolling his shoulders, whilst looking at you as you ride behind Arthur in his saddle. "I hope you know where you're going, missy."

You glance over Arthur's shoulder from your seat behind him, and lean up to point over his shoulder with one hand, the other one around his ribcage to keep you on the horse. "There, that's Lake I-Isabella," Your teeth stutter as you raise your jaw from the scarf wrapped around your neck, "F-follow that c-creek to the right - C-Colter should be just a bit further n-north."

You huddle closer into Arthur’s back as the wind gusts more snow directly down the valley as it opens over the large partially frozen lake. He turns his head slightly, “Y’okay back there?”

“J-j-just peachy.” You stutter, shivering uncontrollably. You’ve turned your body into Arthur’s back, trying to use him as a shield against the biting wind. 

“Alright, enough of this.” He pulls on the Walker’s reins, and the horse whinnies, and comes to a stop. You back off him slightly, as he moves his leg over the saddle to get off the horse. 

Arthur points to the saddle. “C’mon, up you go. I’ll ride behind you.”

You nod, slowly. Pulling your skirts in front of you, you slide yourself into the saddle, throwing your leg across the horse’s back. The cold wind chafes your legs, only partially hidden by your skirts and the heavy woolen stockings Abigail also forced upon you.

Arthur swings back up on the horse, shaking snow off his boots, and settles in on his saddle behind you, flush to your back. You're glad for the scarf that was given you to bury your face into as a blush overtakes your cheeks, heightening even more when one of his arms wraps around your belly, pulling your frame tightly against his as he retakes the reins in his other hand and spurs the horse forward.

Though the rest of the ride was made in silence, by the time the men reached the old mining town, with its dilapidated buildings and lack of life, you will admit, you aren’t as cold anymore.

-

The valley in which the mining town lies loses the sun quickly to the peaks in the west, prompting Dutch to proclaim that the group would rest there for the night, and at dawn, the men would go out searching for John. 

You sit on the cold floor of the cabin, wrapped in the blanket stuffed between your bedroll, next to the old hearth, which mercifully, Arthur was able to clear out and get a fire started. 

Only one or two of the buildings in this old town was habitable - and that was stretching the truth. The large cabin the group had huddled in barely kept out the cold, but it would have to do. The horses were stabled and there was at least a semblance of a roof over your head.

Dutch wrings his hands within his gloves seated on an old chair in front of the hearth. Micah and Arthur have gone to smoke outside as the darkness of night sets in.

“What in God’s name brought you to this hell hole?” Dutch asks, blowing into his hands while staring into the fire.

You swallow the spoonful of beans you’ve been nursing from the can warmed over the fire. “We traveled through from the north and spent some time in Colorado. Wasn’t snowing when we came through though.”

“Mhm,” Dutch nods, placing his elbows on his knees as he leans closer to the hearth, “What was it that you said your husband did?”

Your eyes narrow as you stare into the flames, and you try not to flinch and keep a straight face. 

Here’s the thing, you didn’t say. And you certainly weren’t going to open yourself up to Dutch asking further probing questions that would lead to Limpany and Leviticus Cornwall. 

It's warm enough, at least next to the fire, for you to unwind the scarf from around your head, your blonde hair frizzing messily from the low bun you've pulled it back into. "He worked in Saint Denis for years... but then we left to pursue our fortune and lives in the west." 

Dutch nods, staring into the flames, the answer at least enough to satiate him for the moment. An awkward silence settled as you scrape the last bits of food from the can before setting it down next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a beaten-up tin bucket in the dark corner of the cabin - dirty, but looking like it's not broken, you shrug the blanket from your shoulders and crawl over your knees to grab it, shaking dust and dirt. You stand up, moving closer to the hearth to see clearer, inspecting the bucket for holes. Once you see none, you look back toward Dutch for a moment.

"I'm going to go gather some snow to boil for water."

Dutch nods, reaching his hands out toward the fire for warmth, "Stay warm."

You grit your teeth to the inevitable gust of freezing air once you push out the rickety door of the cabin and stomp through the shin-deep snow away from the road - to where the white powder was undisturbed - virginal. You swear under your breath as a breeze makes your ears sting - you left the scarf on the cabin floor and your hair was doing little to nothing to keep your head warm.

Stooping over, you place the bucket on the ground and start scooping snow into the bucket, filling it halfway before an arm grabs you around the waist and you're roughly hauled against a man's body, yelping in surprise.

“C’mon now sweetie, it’s gonna be a cold night, you should spend it in my bedroll.” Micah hums in your ear, arm tight around your waist.

“Get off of me.” You hiss back, trying to pull yourself away, knowing the precarious situation you find yourself in. If you scream, who are these men going to believe? Some woman that was just brought back to the gang, or one of the money-earning established guns? Arthur, maybe, but certainly not Dutch. Not Dutch who seems to leer at you at times with the same dark-eyed stare.

“Breakin’ my heart here, little Ruth.” Micah’s fetid, whiskey-addled breath pours over your ear and you whip your head in the other direction.

Fortunately, you gain some courage and dig the heel of your boot into his foot and he lets go enough for you to break his hold, stumbling forward as he curses, snarling at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a lantern at the next building over, the open awning where the horses are stabled, the blue of Arthur’s long coat moves in the orange light.

You hitch your skirt and run, gasping aloud as you pray that Micah doesn’t run after you - there’s no way you can outrun him, he’ll catch you in the twenty feet between you and the building. He’ll catch you and drag you and you don’t want to imagine further what he’ll do to you.

You can hear him curse behind you and your heart tries to claw out your throat as you struggle through the snow, the drifts halfway up your shin, soaking your stockings under your skirt and pouring into your boots.

If you can just reach…

“Whoa there!”

You collide with Arthur’s back, gasping and throwing your arms to wind around the trunk of his waist. He turns in surprise, and you bury yourself into his coat, praying for salvation. One of his arms settles loosely on your back as he turns fully, facing you as you clutch desperately at him.

“R-Ruth-?”

You’re gasping for air against him, your face buried in his coat, and it’s then that he looks up and sees Micah scowling halfway between the buildings.

“Don’t let him-” you mumble into his coat, and upon hearing your fearful tone, he winds the arm braced across your back firmer, drawing you against him.

Micah slinks away in a lizard-like fashion under the weight of Arthur’s glare. 

You open your eye slightly and see him head back into the main building, but for a moment, you do not move.

Selfishly, you try to hold on to this feeling of being protected, clutching at the fur lining of Arthur’s coat, extremely mindful of the small circles his thumb is making against your lower back.

-

The morning breaks and you’re huddled in the corner of the room, having not slept much at all overnight - the thought of Micah was enough to keep you awake. The sounds of the men getting up and getting a pot of coffee started pulls you into a sitting position at least, feigning a yawn as you move to stand up, rewrapping the blanket around your shoulders.

“Missus Shaw,” Dutch clears his throat - “The boys and I are gonna go scout around for John. You’ll be okay here by yourself?”

“S-sure,” You nod, shivering slightly. Dutch hands you a cup of coffee and you smile back at him, he nods in reply. He takes one of the polished, glinting revolvers from his belt and places it in your free hand, “You take this if there’s any trouble.”

You stare at the gun, engraved with swirling lines, for a long moment before looking back up to Dutch. In the man’s dark eyes, you can sense weariness - perhaps the first time you’ve seen it.

You nod, sheepishly, as if you were a child. He gently clasps your shoulder before turning back toward the door.

They leave, high on their horses, into the mountain passes, and once the sounds of them galloping away fade, you are left in the cold cabin, staring into the fire.

Hours go by. You scuttle around the cabin, trying to stay warm and keep the fire lit. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of horses outside make you hurry over to the door and whip it open. Clouds have rolled into the afternoon sky, darkening the valley as the wind grows even colder. 

Three horses return to Colter - and you see behind Dutch a fourth man leaning limply against him.

“Missus Shaw!” Dutch calls out as he brings The Count to a stop on the icy road, Arthur and Micah following him. They dismount and go to pull the bleeding body off the back of the horse.

“John’s in a bad way - ” Dutch states as he slides out of his saddle, Arthur and Micah wrap their arms under Marston’s and slowly drag him into the cabin. He groans in pain, his feet stumbling along the way.

You cannot hide the cringe on your face when you look at John - his face is nearly torn open, huge gashes across his cheek,

“Bring him here, lay him down by the fire.” You say as you follow them inside the old cabin. Dutch lumbers behind you.

“Had a bit of a run-in with some wolves,” Dutch says as John is laid out on the floor, and you hurry to the sparse supplies that were packed before grabbing the bucket of snowmelt and getting down on your knees next to the fire and where John lays.

John winces but blinks up at you with a groan as Arthur and Micah step away, ostensibly to smoke outside. Dutch follows, allowing you to work. 

“God, John - You almost got eaten there…” You say with an air of pity as you reach toward the gashes on his face.

John grimaces as you lightly brush over the broken skin of his cheek. “Jesus, woman.”

“I have to stitch these shut, it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry,” you apologize in a pleading tone, “can you lay your head on my lap here?”

He groans, using the last bit of his strength to scoot himself closer to you and lay his head on your lap, closing his eyes to ward off another wave of pain. You brush back the locks of his tangled hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Turn a little for me.”

John groans again, cursing under his breath as he turns on his shoulder, facing toward you. His marred cheek continues to ooze blood.

“Here we go,” you whisper gently, holding the ridges of the wound in place as you pierce the skin for the first suture. 

A hissed curse escapes John’s mouth, and as you pull the thread through his skin, his eyes squeeze shut in pain. He has the wherewithal to wait until your fingers start pulling the thread through his cheek and the needle is away from his face for his hand to swing forward and grab the meat of your thigh, digging in. You try not to jump, noting how white his knuckles are as you move to pierce his skin again.

“Goddamn.” He mutters, his fingers grasping your thigh painfully.  You haven’t the heart to take his hand from your leg and decide to simply allow the man some comfort, however small it may be. 

You work, as quickly as you can, but the stitching is still slow on the two long gashes on his face. As you tie off the last suture, John grimaces, trying not to move his cheek, his fingers pulsing on your thigh again. 

You put the needle down, grab your stained handkerchief again, and pour more whiskey on it. Glancing back down, your expression is pained as you brush his hair back again gently, not wishing to cause this man more pain. “Last thing, then we’re done,” you say softly.

Dabbing the alcohol-soaked fabric against his face, you pass gently against the black sutures crawling up his cheeks like spiders burrowing into his skin. John swears, loudly, as your other hand moves to his brow, dusting your fingers over his skin in an attempt to calm, "Shh, shh.”

“Why’d you come to find me? Dutch said it was your idea to come up here. I ain’t been nothin’ but short with you since you joined us.”

“Abigail begged us to come find you. I value her friendship. And she values you, despite the volume of your arguments.”

John stares up at you, for once, at a loss for words, a guilty look in the one eye that remains uncovered by bandages.

The injured man shudders and groans as another wave of pain radiates through him.

“Here, hold my hand. Takes your mind off it. Just make sure not to crush my fingers or the stitching on your shirts is gonna be a lot less straight.”

He snorts softly, taking your outstretched hand somewhat meekly. A grimace works over his face again and he squeezes your fingers. Your other hand brushes his hair back from his forehead, taming it somewhat as you gently stroke the crown of his head.

You begin to hum, trying everything possible to help to comfort this man. If there was one thing you couldn’t stand, it was seeing someone in agony.

The door opens and shuts behind you, but you give it little notice, continuing to run your fingers lightly through John’s messy hair.

There, sitting in front of the fireplace with John Marston’s head in your lap, humming a soft song and holding his hand, is where the gruff enforcer of the group finds you.

And for some uncontrollable reason, some flare of emotion long buried, Arthur Morgan takes in the scene and scowls.

-

The howl of the icy wind through the valley rattles against the rotting wood of the cabin. John has finally fallen asleep after several gulps of whiskey from a bottle that the men had brought, laid out on a blanket in front of the fire. 

“Ain’t got anything else to eat here,” Micah grumbles, “We need to leave in the morning.”

You look up from the linen bandages you’re washing in the lone bucket. Scowling, you pipe up, “John can’t ride like this. He needs at least a day or two before he could make it all the way back to the lake.”

Micah rolls his eyes, about to spit out something sarcastic when Dutch stands from his seat, rolling his shoulders. “She’s right. We need to hunker down here while John recovers for a few days.” 

“And eat what, boss? Ain’t anything left around here.” Micah spits on the floor, and you purse your lips in disgust.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe you and Arthur should go hunting...” Dutch trails off as he moves toward a broken window, night falling early in these damned mountains.

“What about that ranch John was looking for? I know there’s one to the northeast of here. May have been the same one.” You interrupt, fully cognizant of Micah’s glare under the rim of his white hat.

Dutch stares at you for a moment, until the hint of a smile appears under his mustache.

“Quite the industrious one, aren’t you, Missus Shaw?”

-

You suppose that’s how you wound up huddling under a small awning, next to a wagon with a dead man inside as gunshots ring out from inside the cabin. Opening your damn mouth, that’s why. The ranch you recall passing a year and a half ago on the way south was indeed here… but someone had found it before you did.

Specifically O’Driscolls.

The door to the cabin swings open, light pouring out into the night, as Arthur yells for you to come inside, you pull the scarf wound tightly around your head to hide your face as you trudge through the snow, trying to ignore the bleeding bodies of dispatched O’Driscolls that you need to step over to come inside. 

Dutch looks around the large cabin, nodding to Arthur and Micah to look for supplies. “Ruth, how about you check over by that cabinet and up in the loft?”

You nod, pulling the scarf down and laying it across your shoulders as you follow his instructions, passing empty bottles and cans that the O’Driscolls had left from their own ransacking of the cabin. Moving toward the opposite side of the cabin, you pause shortly in front of the roaring fireplace, warming your hands in your gloves for a moment.

You look at a photograph framed on the mantle. The man outside, dead in the wagon, in this photograph smiles, flanked by a blonde woman in a white dress, who also smiles.

God, a pain pangs at your heart, these poor people. This could have so easily been you. You wonder if that poor woman was forced to run as well - out into the blizzard, and cold wilderness. Was she dead also?

You grasp the frame of the photo and place it face down on the mantle before frowning and continuing your search for anything you can take - canned food, matches, alcohol. Not finding much that hadn’t already been plundered, you climb the ladder up to the loft, straightening your skirts as you reach the top, and start looking around for anything of value. You open a chest and start rooting through it.

“Now look what I’ve found!”

A screech from below jolts you. Notably feminine. There was a woman here?

You peer over the loft's edge to see Micah turn over the table onto its side, Dutch yells at him, shoving him backward and away from a half-feral woman, screaming and looking for items to throw at the outlaw. The poor woman was half-dressed, her dark blonde hair wild. Glass breaks from where the table was overturned, obscured from your view.

“You fool, Micah!

You pull back, stepping away from the loft’s edge, watching in horror as Micah snickers, lascivious, at the woman clad only in a chemise, she holds out a knife shakily to try and defend herself.

Defend herself against this man. Who would rape her or worse - you know he would. She’s not safe. You’re not safe. 

You keep stepping backward, heart racing, cold sweat dripping down your back, and catch your boot on the corner of the rug, falling to the floor and hitting your head on the open chest - and all goes black.

-

The cabin quickly goes up in flames as Dutch ushers the poor woman out, and Arthur has half a mind to throw Micah back in there and lock the door - the damned fool. He follows Dutch as they reach his stallion, and helps to lift the woman onto the horse.

“Where’s the other one?” Micah yells over the roar of the fire as he mounts up on his steed.

Arthur stops, staring at Micah, then looks around to find no sign of the other woman with the small party. He curses under his breath, handing the lantern back to Dutch as the new one is settled atop The Count’s rump.

“Go on - I’ll catch up!” He yells as he storms back toward the burning cabin.

He heaves his shoulder into the heavy door, nearly breaking it off of its hinges as he presses inside.

“Ruth!” Arthur yells, throwing his arm ahead of his face to shield himself from the fire. “Ruth!”

You’ve awoken from your fall to the heat of flames, coughing as your watering eyes try to focus. As you gain some semblance of bearing, you stumble back from the edge of the loft, against the wall as you scream in terror. You’ve backed your way into a corner to fall huddled on the floor, coughing violently as the flames lick closer. Blood trickles from your temple down your cheek.

A rafter crashes to the ground across the house and suddenly you’re back in your cabin, your little abode along the Dakota, watching your life burn to pieces around you.

You curl yourself tighter against the wall, shielding your face with your arms as uncontrollable tears burst forth from your eyes - paralyzed by the sight of the encroaching flames.

Frederick wasn’t coming to save you this time.

“Ruth!”

Your eyes dart toward the ladder a few feet away, where a black hat bursts up from the floor, Arthur’s blue coat covered in soot emerging up the ladder. 

“Ar-Arthur-!” You cough, the smoke quickly overtaking the loft as the fire builds and builds below. Arthur scrambles up the ladder, covering the lower half of his face with his arm as he coughs. “C’mon, Ruth -"

Another rafter crashes down and you cry out in fear, curling into yourself again as Arthur moves closer. You see him look back over the loft quickly before starting back toward the wall, where a small window seems to be the best route of escape.

He throws his elbow against the glass windowpane and it shatters. Turning back to you, he holds his hand out for you to take, but you feel like you’re stuck in molasses, unable to move, stricken as orange and red light takes over your vision. Arthur steps closer when you don’t move and stoops down toward you.

“You gotta - you, Ruth-” Arthur grabs your shoulders and shakes you as you hyperventilate, “C’mon, honey - you gotta get it together. We gotta go.”

You shake, a coughing fit overtaking you as the vision of him blurs behind your tears. Arthur mumbles something before grabbing you by the waist and heaving you over his shoulder. He heaves himself up, dragging the both of you through the broken-out window, tumbling to the raised awning roof a few feet below the sill. Arthur hacks, spitting on the snow-covered roof, pulling you down from his shoulder and dragging you to the edge of the overhang, where you struggle to stand. 

He grabs your waist, moves your frame with complete ease, and slides you both over the edge, falling several feet to the ground, cushioned by the several inches of snow. You land a few feet away from him, sprawled on your back, groaning slightly before you devolve into another coughing fit from the smoke. Your hair has spilled out from the scarf you used to keep your head warm, lost somewhere in the fire - a mess of wavy curls spread out over the snow.

Arthur grunts, rolling to his knees as he rasps, grabbing his hat from where it fell from his head, shaking it off before replacing it as he struggles up.

“Arthur! You two alright?” Dutch calls out from several feet away, holding the lantern high.

“Yeah - heh -” Arthur coughs, stepping to where you’re still crumbled on the ground wheezing, “We’ll catch up.”

He pulls you up, and you’re still unable to find your feet, allowing him to nearly drag you further away from the burning house in a blur.

Before you know it, he’s somehow gotten you astride his horse, you grasp blindly at the saddle pommel as you continue to breathe heavily, the wet track of tears on your cheeks stinging in the freezing wind. Arthur swings himself up onto the horse behind you, drawing you up against him with an arm around your stomach. 

You close your eyes tightly, shivering, trying to calm your breathing, but in the blazing light of the fire claiming the building behind you, it’s near impossible for you to choke back a sob.

Instantly, Arthur’s other arm winds around your shoulders, as he curls himself around you. 

“You’re alright, you’re alrigh’…” he drawls in your ear, his breath hot on the side of your face.

Your hand, shaking, moves slowly from the pommel to grasp his forearm above your chest, warm even through the layers of fabric of coats and sleeves and gloves. You feel yourself recline into him, the fur trimming at his collar soft against your cheek.

“I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you, Ruth.”

He’s going to keep you safe.

The crashing of the roof of the burning ranch house jolts you, the horse stamps beneath the two of you, as Arthur’s hand snaps down from your shoulders to grab the reins. “Whoa there, c’mon now.”

His arm around your waist remains, his hand splaying across your stomach, holding you tightly against him. He circles the horse, glancing back at the fire. The house’s frame begins to collapse into itself. 

“Let’s get goin’, gotta get back to Colter,” Arthur mutters and clicks his tongue as he pulls on the reins, turning the horse back toward the path away from the ranch. He kicks his spurs gently into the horse’s side, and the animal moves forward through the snow, following the path already worn by Dutch and Micah’s horses.

Your gloved hands clench the pommel of the saddle, but slowly, one of them shakily moves up, up, up to cover his across your waist. Your fingers find his, feathered out against your coat, and you interlace them, squeezing his hand gently. He curls his fingers slightly in return, his leather gloves sticking against yours.

He leans over you again as the horse trudges on, the motion of its gait swaying you into each other. Arthur’s cheek presses into your temple as you feel his grip tighten at your waist.

“Y’alright?”

You feel it, rather than hear the question, the low rumble of his voice against your skin. You nod, a soft sound coming from your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve ridden away from a fiery death. A rush of familiarity comes over you, a dread settling in your chest like a shot to your heart.

“Yeah,” you cough slightly, your voice hoarse. “Y-Yeah, I’m okay.”

He’s going to keep you safe.

Arthur sits up straight again; but keeps that hand on your waist, keeps your fingers interlaced, as you trudge through the cold, blustery night away from the burning ranch, away from the blazing fire.

He’s going to keep you safe.

-

You sleep fitfully that night on the cold floor of the cabin, exhausted. The widow Adler sleeps as well - likely even more exhausted from her ordeal. The morning sun has risen in a cloudless sky before you awaken, the men had already made their coffee and making moves for the day. 

John sits up against the wall, bandages wound tightly across his head, covering one eye, which mercifully wasn’t torn out by the wolves.

The widow stares into the fire, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders.

Your gaze lingers on her - the poor woman, Sadie, she’s just as pitiful as you were - possibly more so, dark splotches of bruises on her skin that she tries to hide. Lord only knows what those men did to her.

Dutch decides to saddle the horses and head south, back to Owanjila. Two extra people mean that all three of the horses would have to ride double - Micah rolls his eyes as you and Dutch help John to stand from where he lay. Arthur resaddles the Walker under the awning of the building, the door open as the group gathers bedrolls together and prepares to leave this blasted down.

Baylock whinnies next to the Walker.

“Y’gonna take this one too?” Micah sneers, nodding inside over to where you stand next to Sadie, wrapping another blanket around her shoulders as they continue to ready the horses.

“The hell you talkin’ about?”

“I see the way you look at that little widow Ruth. The way she runs to you at the hint of trouble. Maybe that’s your type, I don’t judge. Sad little needy widows.” He shrugs, “But maybe you should leave some for the rest of us.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, glaring.

“Oh, cowpoke. I strike a nerve? So you ain't makin’ her squeal at night? If you ain’t, I would be more than happy to.”

“You best walk away, Micah. Before I make you.” Arthur growls, clenching his fist, the leather of his gloves whining as it stretches.

Micah throws a hand up in defense, snickering, “You ain’t different than any of us - rotten to the core. And all you want with her is her sweet little cunt.”

Arthur scowls, but Micah flicks his cigarette into the snow, walking past with a dismissive chuckle. He continues out from under the awning of the old house to where the horses are stabled.

He looks back and sees you watching, a concerned, frightful look in your eye, even as you lean next to the widow Adler, rubbing her back as she openly sobs into her hands.

Setting his jaw, Arthur glares daggers at Micah’s back as he finishes saddling up Baylock.

[neopianbiologyproject]

Trudy's Surprise

Now that we've verified all the base petpets, we can discuss Trudy's Surprise, its candidate specimens, and how their origins affect our determinations.

What is Trudy's Surprise?

To summarize this Jellyneo article, Trudy's Surprise is a daily activity. Essentially, it's a slot machine without the slot.

If played on consecutive days, prize values increase each day, up to 25 days in a row. That is, the player still rolls to match icons, but each icon is worth more depending on how many days in a row the player has spun Trudy's Surprise.

Excerpt of JN's chart on this:

If the player's streak is broken, or the player reaches day 26, the counter resets to Day 1. It's one of those daily log-in bonuses MMOs all have these days (tho, to be fair, you can fully ignore Trudy's Surprise and turn off notifications about it if you so choose, without missing out on much).

There are minor exceptions which you can read in the linked article, but these don't really matter for our purposes.

What's important to us is the items Trudy's Surprise gives out. For a streak of 7 days (so, Days 7, 14, and 21 in the 25-day cycle, if playing consecutively), the machine will also give out an item. Many of these are exclusive to Trudy's Surprise.

What Trudy's Surprise items are notable to us?

You can see the full list on Jellyneo, but here are some items I want to highlight. These are either species candidates, informative about a candidate, or informative about Trudy's Surprise itself.

Key: 🎰 Exclusive/unpaintable Petpet 🖌️ Non-exclusive/paintable Petpet

Pool 1 - Trudy's Surprise theme: Gold Frogarott🎰

Pool 2 - Terror Mountain theme: Cloud Snowbunny🎰, Rainbow Abominable Snowball🎰, How to Build a Snowman: A Petpets Guide

Pool 3 - Beach/summer theme: Elderly Darpinch🎰, Woodland Yoakie🖌️

Pool 4 - Neovia theme: Bloody Finger Hotdog, Floating Figures, Ghost Tyrowbee🎰, Glowing Melton🎰

Pool 5 - Kiko Lake theme: Corals in Kiko Lake, Water Smiley🎰

Pool 6 - Tyrannia theme: Tyrannian Blibble*, Tyrannian Gulper🎰

Pool 7 - Maraqua/Krawk Island theme: Barnacle Burrito, Island Yullie🎰, Pirate Altachuck🎰

Pool 8 - Cottagecore theme: Cloud Weewoo🎰, Strawberry Eizzil**

Pool 9 - Stargazing theme: Eventide Felly🎰, Starry Baby Space Fungus🎰, Book of UFO Mysteries and More, Space Rock Collection

Pool 10 - Disco theme: Disco Tasu🎰, Jelly Barlow🎰

Pool 11 - Skater theme: Checkered Cadro🎰, Fire Sharky🎰

Pool 12 - Arts & crafts theme: Clay Bika🎰, Sketch Tasu🎰

Pool 13 - Camping theme: Fire Dofrey🎰, Woodland Snicklebeast🎰

Pool 14 - Food theme: Chocolate Albat🎰, Strawberry Plumpy🎰

Pool 15 - Pizza theme: Fire Cofferling🖌️, Picnic Geb🎰

Pool 16 - Grey theme: Grey Mini Trudys Slot Machine

Pool 17 - The Void Within theme: Grey Bowla🎰, Grey Doglefox🎰, Nyx Action Figure, Tavi's Hair & Tail Shampoo

* The Tyrannian Blibble is unpaintable, but available to buy on Krawk Island. ** The Strawberry Eizzil cannot be created through painting (no other Eizzil can be painted Strawberry), but the Strawberry Eizzil can be painted to another color.

What do we know about how these items are generated?

The way that Trudy's Surprise "gets" these items to award them to Neopians is unknown, but we can tell the box is seemingly aware of current Neopian events (the above themes relate to on-site plots, holidays and announcements). For the items that are non-exclusive, it may stock itself with existing items, maybe by having Trudy gather items and stock the machine herself. But for items that are exclusive, and particularly the living ones, it's not possible for Trudy to be creating these specimens herself; the machine must be generating them or drawing them in from elsewhere, automatically and magically so.

Let's look into the history of Trudy's Surprise itself.

It's hard to find articles from when Trudy's Surprise first landed on the site; the Neopets fansites don't document its discovery, rather focusing on what it does for Neopians and how to interact with it.

Clicking the [?] button on Trudy's Surprise itself brings up the following story:

A strange feeling nagged Trudy, a curious Ixi, for days. A forewarning of doom perhaps, she thought. Soon after, on one of her long, solitary walks that spanned the length and breadth of Neopia, something strange happened. She heard an unusual rustle in the bushes. Curious, she took a peek. Hidden among the bushes was a slot machine! ‘Ka-ching, ka-ching,’ it seemed to whisper. Trudy hesitated only for a moment before she succumbed to its call. She pressed the button on the machine, unsure of what she may unleash. To her amazement, she was awarded Neopoints. Trudy fell to the ground and cried with joy. She could finally afford a fancy frock for the ball. From then on, Trudy took more walks, hoping luck would smile upon her again. And it did. She discovered she could play the machine once every day to win prizes. With each consecutive day, the number of Neopoints awarded increased. Occasionally, the machine was extra generous and gave her a Gift Box. On the 25th day of playing, she won a phenomenal number of Neopoints! After 25 days, things changed, leaving Trudy puzzled. This FAQ, helped her make sense of everything, though.

From this we gather... Trudy doesn't know what the Slot Machine is, either. Also the FAQ for Trudy's Surprise wasn't crafted by Trudy, but another artifact (artiFAQt) that she seems to have found somehow? The link is broken, now, and according to this reddit post it always has been.

No one knows where the Slot Machine came from, or where Trudy was when she found it -- just that it generates coins and items and dispenses them in a predictable pattern over the course of cycles of 25 days.

So, in summary:

Trudy's Surprise is a slot machine

The Slot Machine dispenses neopoints and sometimes items

No one knows where the Slot Machine came from; just that it was found by Trudy

The items dispensed by the Slot Machine can be living creatures

Each item dispensed by the Slot Machine corresponds to a set of items belonging to a single theme

The set themes sometimes correspond to site events

What we need to determine, specifically, is whether the Slot Machine is generating these items, or bringing them in from elsewhere through something like teleportation of items, or being stocked by ghosts.

If all of the Trudy's Surprise petpets were exclusive to Trudy's Surprise, I would say the Slot Machine is creating them, somehow, and all items from the Slot Machine should be considered Constructa with a local habitat of wherever the Slot Machine is located. However, we know some species, like the unpaintable Tyrannian Blibble and the paintable Fire Cofferling, are available elsewhere in Neopia, so the Slot Machine isn't making up items, just relocating or fabricating copies of them to be dispensed. The Slot Machine also seems to do this with a particular interest in items that are so rare they exist but are extremely difficult to find elsewhere. In the case of living specimens, these species are so rare in the wild, they had yet to be discovered, but did already exist. We know the machine is "interested" in generating wealth and valuable items, so is it possible that it's selecting these petpets because of their rarity in particular?

We don't know where Trudy found the Slot Machine, but as long as we aren't considering the Machine to be the sole origin of these items, that fact strikes me as irrelevant to this question. The items can be associated with any region and the ones available elsewhere don't have any correlation in location.

Another theory is that the Slot Machine is of alien make, and somehow crash-landed in Neopia, later to be found by Trudy. In this case, the petpets it dispenses could be rare because they don't exist in Neopia. But I find this conflicts with the petpets being named for existing petpets, even if they constitute different species by way of being unpaintable. I suppose that hinges on whether we trust the naming force to be accurate in its assessment of similarity.

I think our best bet is to call these petpets Neopian rather than alien, as we have evidence that at least some of them do exist naturally. On top of that, the creatures' habitat of origin should be considered based on the pool of reward items the creatures were added with. E.g., the Water Smiley would be from Kiko Lake, as it was added with the Kiko Lake-themed items.

So, without addressing exceptions yet, we can determine the following habitats:

Set 1 - Wealth: Unknown, could be anywhere in Neopia.

Set 2 - Terror Mountain

Set 3 - Beach: The plants Bludberry and Krakuberry (ingredients in the Bludberry Urgoni Cupcake and the Krakuberry Shake) are from Mystery Island. The petpets Darpinch and Yoakie would come from Maraqua if they weren't painted. I think we call this one Mystery Island, which already has a strong beach association.

Set 4 - Neovia: Haunted Woods

Set 5 : Kiko Lake

Set 6: Tyrannia

Set 7 - Beach 2: The items Sinking Pirate Ship Background and The Endless Tales of Pirate Adventures have a Krawk Island association. The Maraquan Frisbee, Summerfun Flotsam Beach Ball and Jetsam Mini Fan are associated with Maraqua. The Barnacle Burrito is from Kiko Lake. I think the pirate associations here are so specific, and the rest of the items have a beach/island/stranded theme, we place this set in Krawk Island overall.

Set 8 - Cottagecore: None of these items have a particular location association, but the vibes are very Meridell/Brightvale or Neopia Central. Without a strong "medieval" or even farming lean in the theming, I think we'll call this Neopia Central.

Set 9 - Stargazing: Space. These items are either from space, about space, or made to look at space.

Set 10 - Disco: Unknown. Possibly Neopia Central. Slim chance it's Tyrannia, which has a large disco scene.

Set 11 - Skating: Neopia Central. Only in that it's absolutely nowhere else.

Set 12 - Arts & crafts: Unknown. Possibly Neopia Central. Crossbow gives medieval vibes, though.

Set 13 - Camping: Unknown, likely Terror Mountain.

Set 14 - Cooking/food: Neopia Central, based on the "Egg-onomics: Best Ways to Cook an Egg" and "Inside Neopian Fresh Foods Shop Background" items.

Set 15 - Pizza: Neopia Central, based on the Pizzaroo Playset and Inside Pizzaroo Background items.

Set 16 - The Void Within: Space, probably. Need the Void Within plot to conclude to be sure of its origins. Because we decided the Slot Machine isn't generating any new items, Grey items are converted from their existing variants, and don't count as new species.

There are some exceptions, but this post is WELL long enough and I'll address them in their individual posts. For the rest of the items, I'll classify them as indicated here and with respect to their original variants.

Please let me know if you have any thoughts on my logic here! I'm curious about possible alternatives or anything I might've missed about Trudy's Surprise. Thank you!

[bea-lele-carmen]

[kozykricket]

every time someone mentions celeste or i watch someone play celeste or i play celeste i am just reminded of how much of a masterpiece the game is. like... i just. every little bit of it is perfect, from the major stuff like yknow, music, character writing, and wonderful pixel art, the great level design (!!! really great !!!) to the smaller things like sound effects/jingles... visual effects like squishysquishy madeline.. and like, the whole "mountain as a metaphor for stresses and anxiety" i dont think can ever be captured in as perfect of a way as celeste does it (long post, i figured this needs a Keep Reading?)

like, i feel like not only does the music set the tone and mood alongside the writing, but the level design works in tandem with it so well too. the absolute atmosphere of reflections always catches me off guard, like... confession: i still can't really relate to the identity aspects of it, though i can very clearly see them in celeste. but as someone who has experienced a lot of anxiety in life, i can relate so heavily to it all, and... just, the way the music sets the tone, especially in places like chapter 2, 3, 5, 6, and 7. (and of COURSE 9 but i could make a separate post on ch9) why not ch4? well, i think 4 is just a nice solid break after the intensity of chapter 3, which is refreshing. it stands out, but in a nice way. i really, really find that the game can just. bring out FEELINGS in me more than any other game can. i mean okay, games can make me sad, or put a smile on my face, but theres more... complex feelings, that i can barely put words to, that i feel from the music, like after you've just fallen in reflections. the ... hopelessness, almost despair, with a touch of ominousness, and... questioning, almost, of if anything was worth it. the hopefulness of the summit climb music, the uncomfortable feeling of the mirror temple music when you're in the mirror that feels like the musical equivalent of bugs crawling all over you, slowly turning into just. lost, quiet, helplessness and like. god. im not a masterful musical-analysis-person but. i FEEL like its fair to say that the entirety of the farewell ost really feels like its telling a story, one of... so many different emotions, which is so fitting, considering how complex the feeling of saying farewell can be. i. genuinely cant put to words the way that tracks like reflections and most of farewell make me feel, because singular emotions dont seem to be fitting descriptions. and i feel like no gimmick in levels ever stays for too long without introducing a new one or new combination of gimmicks. its a game where i CAN indeed be proud of my death count, knowing that it means im learning, because. death isnt frustrating and.... playing mods, ive realized even more about how unique the level design can be... some levels are more about understanding rooms and doing things in the correct order, some are about precision, and yet... it feels like the best levels... are somehow designed in a way that even the most complex rooms can just. guide you through them, like you're doing a duet with the level itself, as objects fall into place for later, etc. (midnight monsoon from strawberry jam is a good example) theres just so much greatness in celeste i know i spent like half the post on the music, but i could also spend that much time talking about how perfect the level design and difficulty curve is. the game feels like it naturally teaches you how to get better at it, without ever getting too frustrating. im not saying there isnt spikes in the difficulty the first time through, but ill say those spikes feel like they make sense, and they... well, the game does good at training you and then putting you to the test. it does well at teaching you without saying much. at most, a crow will say "press x to dash here!"

and honestly? i still feel like im hitting post too early here. i... love the game so much, and i cant put it into super coherent words. i feel like i. can never truly capture how much i love it. some games just do that to you. maybe i can capture how much i love it, but not... how much of a masterpiece it is. like yes, okay, i love it, but. its also... so much more than just a Good Game. I... think I'll hit post. maybe one day, ill write my thoughts on the game in a more coherent fashion, but. i think i get my message across here :P (it makes me almost kinda. frustrated. when i cant fully get whats on my mind down in words. like i KNOW theres more... that i cant quite pull outta my brain rn)

[inposterumcumgaudio]

The Magic Yam Cult/Father McCartney's Group, or the Weird Sisters?

I told @monstroso I got this ask and they were like, "The Witches, obviously," so there you have it. The various cults of the Garden District is a tale for another day.

The witches represent the only prominent female presence in Sally's life that she does not feel threatened by. They've known her since she was a child and have tried to impart their wisdom to her, to mixed success. They helped her give birth (out on their crag presumably), showed her how to substitute locally sourced ingredients in the formula for Joy, and now again for Blackberry.

The reason Sally does not feel threatened by the Witches is because they have little (apparent) interest in men. They are old - well, older than Sally anyway - so they are not competition for resources in Sally's world. (Incidentally, this is also why she gets along all right with Dr. Faraday, who is similarly disinterested in men.) I think Sally'd find that's not actually the case that the Witches couldn't pull their own, but luckily for her, they have apparently sworn off Village society and have elected to live a monastic life on a mountain.

But it's a delicious sort of irony that Sally's only genuinely benign support in Wellington Wells also reinforces her world view that all things have a transactional cost. The very first time we are shown the Witches, the very first line of the memory, regards the offering Sally's brought to exchange for their service.

Morgause: "Sally Boyle. What a lovely bunch of nonsuches. From your mum's garden?"

She's brought them these flowers in the hope that they will accept it in trade for a potion to make her "silly".

The thing is, as far as witchcrafty things go, everything has a cost because all things in the world are connected. And it's not out of greed or power struggle that the Witches require an offering so much as that it's a symbolic acknowledgement of the cost of their labor to both themselves and the world they live in. They'll take those flowers (that had their own lives that were cut short for greater purpose), make something useful out of them for someone else, and that person will go on to contribute to the world in their own way (hopefully for the better). Nants' Ingonyama.

This is not the way Sally sees the world though. For her, the offering is a trade; her giving something to get something. Which, fair enough, she's a child here. She probably only knows that Witches expect you bring something when asking for their help.

However, Sally is now in the situation that she is in because she has worked to make the city reliant on her, but she never actually thinks much about her place in Wellington Wells or what happens to the city when she removes herself from it. She sees herself as apart from the community, only interacting to trade resources. She doesn't see herself in the bigger picture; the picture is only ever of her. (Sounds familiar).

Since she never comes to understand the nature of cost the way the Witches do, she's a bit annoyed with them when they require she complete their "several" tasks before they will help her make substitutions in her Blackberry formula. It makes one wonder what they asked of her for the substitutions for her Strawberry formula. Suffice to say, Sally might have foolishly thought she'd get in and out of there for another handful of nonsuches.

What I think she also fails to realize is that the tasks the Witches assign her are meant both to serve their community, but also to teach Sally concern and care for that community. If she gave of herself more freely in this way, she would have a support system at the ready who was happy to assist her rather than a bunch of resentful debtors to call begrudging favors in from and having to ingratiate herself to the most powerful man she can find. Even doing something for which you will never see a direct reward or even be able to claim an unspecified favor for in the future still counts on the overall accounting of one's place in the world.

Maybe it woulda took if she was allowed to think she felt a presence at the Wedding Party stones. You know, give her the idea that someone else was keeping score.

All this said, wisdom is more or less free and the Witches have always tried to give her theirs while leaving her agency to choose for herself. If Sally's is a story about feminism, this is where it happens.

In "Rue", Nimue "presumptuously" offers Sally rue.

Nimue: "You're here for rue, I imagine."

Sally doesn't even realize she's pregnant at this point and I rather suspect Nimue knows that. But that she offers it as a statement, not a question, is implying what she feels is the correct choice. Her wording persists in treating the pregnancy as an option, but nudging Sally away from it. Morgause is more reassuring that both choices would be equally available, but they both impress upon Sally that keeping it will have a much higher cost.

Nimue: "You have a lot to think about. If you keep it..."

Morgause: "Then we'll help you as much as we can. But you'll need to be very brave, dear."

Nimue: "Much braver than if you don't."

Vivienne comes off as a bit dim compared to Nimue and Morgause due to her high-pitched voice and apparent slowness on the draw, but even she tried to give Sally a hint when she asked to be made silly and to like dresses.

Sally: "But you ladies don't care about dresses, do you?"

Vivienne: "But I love dresses!"

It's a subtle clue that even the Weird Sisters are Like Other Girls. They like dresses! Fashion and chemistry are not mutually exclusive interests, Sally. Like, you don't have to care about dresses and dances instead of rockets and chemicals, but you'd have a better time if you cared about them in addition.

It's hard to say whether Sally clued into this in later life. She seems more sociable than she was as a child and at the very least has managed to get along with the tabloids, but whether she's enjoys that aspect of her persona or if she's still just pretending isn't something she speaks on.

Vivienne (the center Witch) is markedly different to the other two, for the reasons I just mentioned. Nimue (left) and Morgause (right) can be told apart by subtle differences in their personality. Nimue is more subdued and tends to focus on practicalities, whereas Morgause is a little more good-humored and given to motherly reassurance. Very maiden, mother, crone. Or crone, maiden, mother, as it were.

Aside from Vivienne's love of dresses, we are only given one other piece of information about the Witches as people.

It is one of my favorite bits of info in the game.

Sally: You know your chemistry.

Nimue: I was on Harry Haworth's team when we invented Joy. One day I hope the Goddess will forgive me for that.

It's fascinating! Like, it means she had a whole regular professional Wellie life before fucking off to the Aggro-Crag. That kinda begs the question of if she gave herself a new Witch name upon retreating back to the wilds. On the other hand, this is a world where Sally named her baby Guinevere so I could see a precedent for Arthurian names, especially among the "herbalism" set. That the Witches have no last names makes their names sound assumed, but on the other hand, you hardly need your father's surname on Ladies' Only Mountain.

Anyway, the reason why this tidbit of info is interesting is because in Haworth Labs, there is a statue of Harry Haworth. Only, he's not alone on that statue.

She says she was just on his team, not particularly anyone prominent in it. But she's also named for the Lady of the Lake who gave Arthur Excalibur. And look, the statue has a water feature!

Nimue is the one of the Witches who actually does the work of determining the substitutions for Sally's Blackberry formula. It stands to reason the substitutions that comprise Sally's Strawberry formula were her frameworked ideas as well. Haworth (though written as a chemist) seems more like his discipline is psychology, so he'd have needed the help of someone like Nimue to arrive at the original formula for Joy. In any event, some lady chemist was instrumental enough in the creation of Joy that she was honored on the statue with Haworth, and Nimue is the only woman the game gives us who could fit the bill.

With regard to the cost of things, there's probably something to be said about what making the original formula out of materials brought by the country's enemies does to the books. Like, it's free, but now the people are hooked on some shit you can't make into perpetuity. Assisting Sally in making Strawberry helps them regain home field advantage, but the by product of production has its cost too. Helping Sally with her Blackberry is just kicking the can down the road with a higher cost when it comes time to settle up.

In view of Nimue's work at Haworth labs, there is one change that I would make to the writing if I could.

Sally: You can't prove it's magic, though. What if it's psychosomatic?

Morgause: So what if it is? You're still feeling stronger.

I would give this Morgause line to Nimue. And rewrite it to fit her character a bit better. "A psychosomatic response is still a response." Psychology is as much a type of "magic" as herbalism is. Giving Nimue a more subtle line that alludes to her history working with Harry Haworth without directly stating it would be some real good shit.

I do wish we'd seen a little more of them in other stories, if only because I want to hear their metaphoric chants for when different characters ascend the crag.

[izzytown]

okay so i had a request to redo my “the fellowship reacts to starbucks” post but with the company (and since this is my niche now, i’m here to provide!)

the premise is mostly the same as the other post, just my silly little headcanons on what the characters would drink at starbucks. i now present to you “the company reacts to starbucks coffee” (part 1/2)

i adore the hobbit, but even though I’ve read the book (and watched the films) a fair number of times, i’m much more well-versed with LOTR characters than i am with those from the hobbit, so bear with me.

note: will not be including gandalf as i’ve already included him in the fellowship’s post - pop over there if you’re curious!

thorin: the grumpy-ass prince himself need not trifle with complicated orders when going to the bux. in fact, i propose he only goes if he’s DRAGGED by his arms and legs by fili and kili during babysitting duty—he gets a dark roast pourover, regardless of what roast is brewed, just because he “respects coffee craft.” you will find him rolling his eyes whenever a frap is ordered, silently mumbling about how his local coffee shop under the lonely mountain is WAY better.

fili: the quieter, more thoughtful sibling, fili is hit or miss on caffeine. if he’s looking for something pretty caffeinated with flavor, i think he goes for an iced brown sugar, toffee nut latte. not too sweet, but very flavorful (just like his personality). if he ain’t feeling a lot of caffeine, he probably gets an iced black tea to have something to sip on while supervising kili's shenanigans. also, he gets a cheese danish as a little snack, it’s canon-

kili: this man is on crack. he’s a kid in a candy store when he walks into starbucks- first off, he gets a birthday cake pop EVERY time without fail (much to thorin’s bank account’s dismay). he’s okay with caffeine, but the taste of coffee is a little much for him, so he cycles through a strawberry açaí lemonade, a vanilla bean frap, a chocolate cookie crumble frap, or an iced chai with cold foam and caramel drizzle. just gallons of pure sugar in a 16oz “coffee” for this guy!

oin: now i know very little about oin, but what I do know is that he seems like he doesn’t give two shits about anyone (respectfully). to me, that sounds like someone who drinks an insane amount of espresso and could care less how long it takes to pull 8 shots. therefore, I propose he drinks a 6-8 shot espresso over ice in a venti cup, with a light splash of cream. the pedro pascal special!

gloin: dark roast is the only acceptable roast of coffee in gloin’s household, how else would gimli acquire his profound appreciation for coffee? gloin tends to go for heavier, powerful drinks, contrasting gimli’s love of a good 'ol cappuccino. gloin’s go-to if there’s no dark roast available is probably a hot black americano with a couple packets of raw sugar, keeping it classic while wanting a drink that packs a punch.

ori: this is the sweetest dwarf you ever did see, and i think his drinks reflect that. not only does he give the vibe of someone who doesn’t drink anything too caffeinated, but he also seems like he has drinks for every season. he’s happy to have a nice chai latte in the autumn, a decaf peppermint white mocha for winter, a peach tranquility tea with two honey packets during the spring, and probably a passion tea lemonade (sweetened with liquid cane) during the summer.

dori: he so slays. dori seems like a mom friend to me, rolling his eyes and being a responsible part of the company, so i’m gonna make the executive decision and say he probably gets a typical “mom” drink, which to me is an iced mocha (or black and white mocha) w/ no whip. or maybe a honey citrus mint tea if he’s feeling sick, trying to cut back on sugar (as if it’s any better for you Lmao)

part 2 is available here

[disneyparksattractionstournament]

Round 1 of Extinct Disney Parks attractions and experiences matchups

Group A:

A1:

Horizons vs Space Mountain - Ghost Galaxy

Innoventions vs Magic of Disney Animation

Rocket Rods vs Backlot tour

Disneyland's Peoplemover vs Adventure Thru Inner Space

River country vs Discovery island

Wonders of Life Sensory Fun house vs Honey I Shrunk the Kids playset

Stitch's Great Escape! vs The Enchanted Tiki Room:Under New Management

Shark reef (Typhoon Lagoon) vs Kim Possible: World Showcase Adventure

A2:

Cinderella Castle Mystery Tour vs ExtraTerrorestrial Alien Encounter

The Great Movie Ride vs World of Motion

California Screamin vs Maelstrom

Test Track 1.0 vs Ellen's Universe of Energy

Cranium Command vs El Rio del Tiempo

Journey Into Imagination vs 20k leagues under the sea

Season of the Vine vs Mission Tortilla Factory

Superstar Limo vs Orange Stinger

Group B:

B1:

25th Cake Castle vs Stitch TP castle

Epcot Spaceship Earth Wand/2000 vs Earffel Tower

Pre-Frozen Norway Epcot vs Wonders of Life pavilion

The Land fountain/pre 2004 The Land vs Epcot future world floor fibre optic lights

Downtown disney vs Millennium village

Aunt Polly’s vs Soundstage restaurant

Mouse Gear vs Old World of Disney

Old entrance plaza/section of DCA vs A Bugs Land

B2:

Pizza planet vs Electric umbrella

Big coke bottle mist sprays at MGM vs Space Mountain bouncy walkway after ride

Cinderella Castle Christmas lights vs Old Cinderella Castle colors

Toontown fair vs Streets of America

MGM Sorcerer's hat vs DCA letters

Fountain of Nations vs Old Polynesian Lobby

Ice Station Cool vs Old MK hub/plaza

Pleasure Island vs Disney Quest

Group C:

C1:

Mickey and the Magical Map vs Main Street Electrical Parade

Spirit of Aloha dinner show vs Legend of the Lion King

Remember the Magic/Magical Moments parade vs Dream Along With Mickey show

Magic Journeys vs Honey, I Shrunk the Audience

Illuminations vs Star Wars Fireworks

Red Cad Trolley News Boys vs Club Buzz / Calling All Space Scouts… a Buzz Lightyear Adventure

Character dining at the Liberty Tree Tavern vs Push the Talking Trash Can

Food Rocks/Kitchen Kabaret vs The Muppets Present...Great Moments in American History

C2:

Golden Dreams vs Eureka! The California Adventure Parade

Tapetry of Nations parade vs Wishes

Citizens of Hollywood/Main street vs Lucky the Dinosaur

Mickey climbing the Matterhorn vs Disneyland mermaids

Paint the Night Parade vs Mad T Party

Stars and Motorcars parade vs Mickey's Jammin Jungle Parade

Animagique vs Kitetails

Spectromagic parade vs Mickey Mania parade

Group D:

D1:

Old Kilimanjaro Safaris with plotline/Little Red VS. Fountains in Small World/old colors

Osborne Family Spectacle of Dancing Lights vs Jedi Training Academy

Disney dollars vs Hard tickets at Disney World

Old look of chocolate coins in parks(with Dumbo, Jiminy Cricket, and Scrooge) vs Wake Tinker Bell at Tinker Bell’s Treasures

Wading in lakes/beaches vs Riding in the front of the monorail

Tom Sawyer paint brushes vs Magical express

Pal Mickey vs Epcot Living statues

Strawberry Minnie Fruit bars vs Simba Paw ice cream bar

D2:

Extra magic hours(Like, the ones where they stayed open til 12am or even 3am) vs Star Wars Weekends

Yellow ponchos vs Hotel mickey soap

Unique Bedspreads vs Resort Bedtime stories TV

Fun road signs vs Epcot Innoventions and old Entrance loop

Epcot kidcot masks/duffy vs Penny press with cranks

Free roaming characters in Disney World vs Paper fastpasses

Mickey straws vs Pirates of the Caribbean barker parrot

Old attic scene in Haunted Mansion with pop up yelling jump scare ghosts VS. Pre 2007 Spaceship Earth ending