#THE PERILS OF SHINY BREEDING

[dittolicous]

I have bred over 600 fucking Fidough AND I STILL HAVENT GOTTEN A SHINY ONE

I EVEN FOUND *FIVE* WILD SHINIES WHILE HATCHING THEM BUT SIX H U N D R E D EGGS LATER AND STILL NO FUCKING SHINY FIDOUGH

I'M ABOUT TO START SCRAMBLING THESE DAMN DOG EGGS

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. Work on this IF will only properly start once Such Happy Campers is complete. A demo is not imminent. The working title is Reggie on the Run, but will most likely be changed.*

Story: You, an individual only known as Reggie Reese, are a criminal in the late 1800s. You find yourself stuck in a jail in Yellowhill, Letitia, where you are to be tried for your transgressions. Fortunately for you, a member of a prolific and feared local gang is brought in the same day. When the outlaw’s associates swoop in to rescue them, you too are given another chance at freedom. Before you know it, you are inducted into the strange and unusual band, most of whom appear to possess supernatural abilities.

Only, you were never exactly normal either…

Play as Reggie Reese (based on your choice of gender, this can either be “Regina”, “Reginald”, or simply “Reggie”, if you’re not one for the binaries)

Choose from four possible backgrounds that also determine the cause for your arrest! Play as a violent drunk, a highwayman or thief. More backgrounds may be added later

You have telepathic powers! Yay! Now, how to use that to get money…

Pick and name a horse from a selection of various breeds and personalities, bond with and care for it!

Face horrors beyond comprehension, and possibly end up saving the world

redeem yourself or become worse

Inspirations: Blood Meridian, Butcher’s Crossing, Red Dead Redemption 2, Lonesome Dove, and of course the actual Old West.

The Cast:

“Doc” — The Leader: You don’t know his real name. You don’t know where he came from. There are whispers about him having escaped from an exploitative freak show, though he’s certainly not forthcoming with any information. The one thing you do know is that he saved your life.

Age: 42

Power: Healing

Personality: Polite and kind (at least at first glance). Well-read and highly intelligent, idealistic.

Romanceable: Yes, for MCs of all genders.

Horse: Silksong, a palomino Mustang.

Isaiah Wilder — The Berserker: A behemoth of a man who’s draw is as quick and deadly as his fists. You have never encountered anyone as bloodthirsty or as dogged as him. He ensures people fear the gang, and should intimidation prove insufficient, he’ll delight in mending that. 

Age: 37

Power: Superhuman strength and zombie-like constitution

Personality: Caring to the gang, absolutely heartless to everyone else. Brutal, cunning.

Romanceable: Yes, for female MCs (why you’d want to romance a literal monster is your deal)

Horse: Black Phillip, a black Missouri Foxtrotter.

Margaret Malloy — The Black Widow: Thrice married, thrice widowed. Her husbands have a tendency to throw themselves off of cliffs, it seems. What exactly she’s hiding behind her ready smile is for her to know and you to find out… at your own peril, that is. She often acts as a decoy for the gang.

Age: 33

Power: Persuasion

Personality: Harmoniously cheerful and sweet, with a love for all things shiny. 

Romanceable: Yes, for male and male-presenting MCs (you’ve been warned)

Horse: Freckle, a Leopard Appaloosa.

Hilda Heinrichs — The One Who Dances in the Creek: She’s a strange, strange woman. Perhaps the strangest you’ve ever met. A former prostitute, she fell in with Doc after he treated a gunshot wound she sustained after attempting to steal from a suitor. Oftentimes, she’s off in another world— literally.

Age: 30

Power: Spectral awareness

Personality: Hard to grasp. Her temper changes at the drop of a hat, like she’s a force of nature. But she’ll happily entertain the others by playing her banjo.

Romanceable: Yes, for MCs of all genders

Horse: Virginia, a white Shire.

Francisco “Fran” Perez — The Gambler: He doesn’t talk much, barely at all, really. Maybe he doesn’t like you… or maybe he simply prefers the quiet. He’s eerily good at gambling, and even better at cheating people out of their money. His abilities are invaluable to the gang; he sniffs out most of their jobs for them.

Age: 26, the youngest of the gang

Power: Precognition

Personality: Calm, quiet, wary of strangers. Funny guy, once you get to know him.

Romanceable: Yes, for MCs of all genders

Horse: Cielo, a brown and white Pinto with striking blue eyes.

The Strange Lady— ??: She hangs around a lot. You don’t know what to make of her.

Age: ??

Power: ??

Personality: Confusing.

Romanceable: No

*MC is gender-selectable, but has a locked-in name. The canon reason for this is that MC’s name, Reggie Reese, is an alias, and that MC keeps their true name a secret (at least from the public). The game is set in a largely fictionalized version of the Wild West. There are a great many parallels to actual historical events, but to avoid writing about still-existent locations and organizations (among other things), I have taken some liberties with worldbuilding. Also, it’s fun to pick fictional town and state names, for example Letitia and Yellowhill. 

TW: gore, discussions of trauma, ptsd, c-ptsd, mentions of SA and related trauma, mentions of period-typical prejudice and sexism, morally gray characters depending on how you play, downright homicidal characters, sex work. 

Dividers by @plum98

So. What y'all think?

[coeur-de-fruk]

May I introduce you all to some fantasy au :0

The hurricane might’ve altered my brain chemistry because yesterday I thought of forest nymph!france x naga!england, and immediately got to work on coming up with a basic concept of it!

I even included Mattie and Al, their supposed offsprings in which they are mixed breeds of nagas and nymphs who I dubbed “nymphagas”. I haven’t gotten this whole thing nailed down but I like to think they are reptilian creatures that spend their time in the trees and in the water.

Some info under the cut!

Francis is a forest nymph who took care of the nature in the enchanted forest. He’s homeless, but he doesn’t mind it as he sees the forest as his home no matter where he went. He takes care of the small animals that lurk around him, including other mythical beings such as fairies and pixies (although the pixies do give him a tough time for how malicious they can be sometimes.) Francis considers himself a pescatarian, meaning he consumes plants and fish only. While he sometimes does hunt for fish, he relies on the herbs, fruits and vegetables around him.

Arthur is a naga who resides in the heart of said forest and he lives in an underground den. He’s kind of a hoarder and his den is full of trinkets and treasures that he likely stole from the village. Though the most valuable of them all was a giant pearl he went on a perilous journey to find. He believed who ever accept his pearl will be his lover forever, which happened to be Francis; who had a lot of shiny things on his outfit. He was harmless for the post part, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t carnivorous. While Arthur consumes small animals such as birds and rodents, he doesn’t eat larger animals nor humans.

He and Francis met near the springs one day and eventually settled down once they got to know each other. Francis offered to cook for Arthur so he would help him get used to his change in diet. He even taught him how to properly eat as well as using some utensils he had brought with him. In return, Arthur taught Francis archery, which helped him improve his hunting skills. There was one thing they both had in common: their love for each other. Eventually, the underground den became Francis’ permanent home.

One day, the two of them had twins; Alfred and Matthew. They spend most of their time hunting in the forest as well as exploring places their parents haven’t been too. Alfred is known to be a trickster, while Matthew was more timid and tended to stay out of trouble.

[sapiavividus]

“A culture's ability to understand the world and itself is critical to its survival. But today, we are led into the arena of public debate by seers whose main gift is their ability to compel people to continue to watch them.” — George Saunders

The Dystopia of Distraction: A Philosophical Perspective on Cultural Survival in the Age of Spectacle

In a time when the complexities of our collective existence are meticulously interlaced with cultural dynamics, George Saunders articulates a profound truth that reverberates ominously: “a culture's ability to understand the world and itself is critical to its survival.” This astute insight pierces the veneer of human civilization, compelling us to scrutinize the fragile condition of our global society.

Our very survival is contingent not solely on the capacity to navigate tangible adversities, but on the intellectual and philosophical scaffolding that constructs our moral frameworks and shapes our identities. It is within this intricate lattice that our understanding—or misunderstanding—of self and society manifests, dictating the trajectory of our cultural evolution and, ultimately, our fate. Such a state demands a rigorous introspection, as we balance on the precipice of cultural coherence, where the interplay of knowledge and self-awareness becomes the fulcrum upon which our future hinges.

Amid the mind-bending intricacies of contemporary existence, we face a disconcerting truth. The soothsayers of our era—those who propagate ideologies and values—tend to be adept entertainers rather than authentic visionaries. In the arena of socio-political discourse, where substantive societal inquiries ought to dominate, we find ourselves ensnared in a spectacle crafted to enthrall rather than to illuminate.

This shift represents not merely a decline in rigorous intellectual scrutiny, but signals a treacherous withdrawal from sincere comprehension. We witness a society captivated by the allure of distraction, where superficial engagement supplants profound dialogue. Such an environment fosters a culture in which the pursuit of genuine understanding is overshadowed by the shiny façade of performance, leaving us perilously adrift in a sea of misinformation and vacuous rhetoric. The implications of this decline are profound; it threatens to undermine the very foundations of critical thought and sincere civic engagement, establishing a dangerous paradigm that prioritizes allure over authenticity and truth.

The Spectacle of Distraction: A Political Dystopia

In the shadows of our political landscape, a landscape marred by hyper-partisanship and ideological extremism, we find ourselves confronted with a grim introspection. This realm has transmuted into a theater where the essence of truth is sacrificed, not for enlightenment but at the altar of ratings and fleeting attention. Once a crucible for democratic engagement, public debate has now devolved into a gladiatorial arena, dominated by charismatic figures who thrive on spectacle while disregarding substance.

The psychological ramifications of this transformation are profound. The public, relegated to the role of passive consumers, absorbs a deluge of bite-sized opinions, a reflection of a broader societal malaise characterized by a fundamental disconnection from the intricacies of critical thought and moral reasoning. This dissociation breeds a populace susceptible to manipulation, entrapped in a cycle of superficiality that neglects the deeper inquiries essential for genuine understanding.

In this morally precarious environment, the complicity of institutions becomes glaringly apparent. Political bodies, media conglomerates, and social platforms, whether intentionally or unwittingly, collaborate to sustain this culture of distraction. The relentless barrage of sensationalist headlines diminishes the space needed for thoughtful engagement, leaving little room for grappling with the profound complexities that now beset our global society.

In light of this troubling reality, we must consider a psychological and moral imperative: a complete withdrawal from these corrosive systems. Disengaging from the superficiality that permeates our discourse is not merely an option but a necessary strategy for reclaiming our intellectual and moral autonomy. By consciously detaching ourselves from the allure of immediate gratification, we pave the way to reclaiming depth, confronting uncomfortable truths, and embarking on a quest for authentic understanding.

This withdrawal is not an act of retreat but an assertion of agency; it is a declaration that we shall no longer allow ourselves to be ensnared by the seductions of distraction. Only through this resolute disengagement can we hope to resurrect a culture that values depth over diversion and fosters a renewed commitment to the profound inquiries that define our humanity.

The Religious Undercurrents: Faith in the Age of Disillusionment

At the tumultuous crossroads of culture and religion, we find ourselves in a nightmarish landscape that evokes not just moral outrage but a profound sense of despair. Once noble vessels of wisdom and hope, spiritual institutions are increasingly ensnared by the venomous grasp of populism, a force that thrives on division, fear, and uncertainty. As faith dwindles and skepticism spreads like wildfire, these struggling entities, desperate to stay afloat, turn to sensationalism, sacrificing authenticity for the allure of fleeting relevance.

This tragic descent into moral chaos is not just a symptom of societal upheaval; it has far-reaching consequences that intertwine with the very fabric of our economic reality. In a world where clicks and views equate to currency, religious institutions scramble to attract attention, latching onto populist rhetoric that resonates with a weary and disenchanted audience. This reliance on shock value not only distorts sacred teachings but aligns them with the ruthless mechanics of a marketing-driven society, where the quest for spiritual meaning is drowned out by the noise of profit-seeking agendas.

As these institutions contort their narratives to draw in followers and secure financial support, they risk losing sight of the profound purpose that once underpinned their existence. This betrayal of sacred values transforms spirituality into a commodity, stripping away its essence and replacing it with a hollow spectacle designed to capture our fleeting attention. For those yearning for connection and meaning, this manipulation deepens their confusion and intensifies their sense of isolation.

The implications are dire. This moral degradation does more than erode spiritual integrity; it plunges us further into an economic quagmire that reflects our collective disillusionment. As we grapple with questions of identity and belonging, the intersection of faith and commerce creates a transactional reality that exacerbates feelings of alienation and desperation. In this heart-wrenching context, it becomes imperative to confront these overwhelming forces with unfettered courage, reclaiming the intrinsic value of spirituality and transcending the corrosive pull of populism.

We must rise against this tide of moral decay, not only for ourselves but for the sake of future generations. It is time to unearth the genuine truths that lie buried beneath the wreckage of sensationalism and reclaim a discourse that honors our shared humanity. This is a call to arms, a clarion call for those seeking clarity amid the chaos: we must strive to restore the sanctity and direction that spiritual guidance once provided, standing steadfast in the face of despair and confusion. Together, we can reshape the very narrative of our collective experience, transforming anguish into hope, and uncertainty into real purpose.

Global Institutions: The Complexity of Institutional Response

In the aftermath of the First World War, we witnessed the emergence of institutions that promised unity and progress, yet these ambitious ventures have often devolved into nests of corruption and dysfunction. The League of Nations, once envisioned as a herald of collective security, ultimately collapsed under the weight of its own failings. Today, the United Nations, born from similar aspirations, finds itself ensnared in the very same traps, with leaders resorting to empty rhetoric while prioritizing their own ambitions over the collective well-being of humanity.

What we are confronting is a harsh reality steeped in moral complexity. Climate change conferences and diplomatic dialogues may appear to be proactive steps, yet they frequently yield little beyond superficial gestures. Behind the scenes, a disconcerting pattern unfolds: powerful individuals exploit crises to sculpt advantageous narratives, all while the pressing realities of ecological collapse, social injustice, and global turmoil remain unaddressed.

The truth is stark: blind faith in these imperfect institutions leads us into complacency, exacerbating the decay of our shared principles. The allure of these structures often masks a more sinister reality, where the ambitions of the privileged few overshadow the needs of the many.

Now is the time to adopt a mindset of keen discernment and strategic prudence. We must acknowledge that genuine progress requires more than just optimism; it demands a meticulous examination of our institutions and a relentless pursuit of justice. The tendency to look away must be eradicated; we must expose the vulnerabilities of these systems and challenge the status quo with unwavering resolve.

Let us support completely neutral and apolitical movements that are true to their appearance in the endeavor to wrest power from corrupt entities. Identify and elevate leaders whose aspirations align with the common good, rejecting those who merely seek to further their own interests. Advocate for frameworks that prioritize the collective over the individual, establishing a society where fairness and empathy outshine the desires of the elite.

In this pursuit, we must strive for a future characterized by astute governance, ensuring our institutions reflect our highest ideals rather than devolving into tools of corruption and oppression. By embracing this strategic ethos, we can reclaim the narrative and guide our collective destiny toward a reality where dignity, integrity, and communal welfare stand as the bedrock of our actions and policies.

Reclaiming the Narrative: The Path Forward

To the disoriented and fatigued reader, recognize this crucial truth: nestled deep within your psyche lies an immense potential, an intrinsic power yearning to be awakened. The struggle for cultural survival transcends the superficial; it demands a radical commitment to reclaiming our narrative and actively resisting the sinister forces that strive to impose a passive existence upon us. It is time to shatter the illusions of complacency and embrace your role as a deliberate architect of your own destiny.

We must refine our discernment into a razor-sharp instrument, one that penetrates the overwhelming din of contemporary discourse. Surface-level engagement is no longer sufficient; we must plunge into the depths of inquiry, confronting the provocative questions that both unsettle and define our existence. This intellectual expedition requires us to reject trivial distractions, opting instead for the profound connections that challenge and invigorate our understanding, igniting a collective fervor for truth.

The revitalization of our critical faculties must be regarded as an urgent communal endeavor. We must cultivate spaces that encourage profound debate and authentic exploration of our values, arenas where divergent perspectives clash, fostering a crucible for intellectual growth. It is within these spaces that we can dissect the intricate tapestries of our identities and societal structures, underlining the psychological layers that shape our collective consciousness.

As we navigate the illusions and spectacles that threaten to dull our perceptual acuity, we embark on a shared odyssey toward genuine enlightenment. This journey is not merely academic; it is an intensely emotional struggle, demanding both introspection and active engagement. By delving into our own motivations, fears, and cognitive biases, we can fortify our cultural foundations, crafting a society not only resilient to external pressures but also capable of transformative change in the face of the reality-bending complexities of the 21st century.

Accept this challenge: awaken the latent strength within you and rise as a defender of culture, reclaiming your narrative with urgency and ferocity. In the psychological battleground for clarity and intention, we must not only fight for individual empowerment but also for the collective soul of our society, architecting a future that mirrors our deepest values and revolutionary spirit. Together, we cultivate a consciousness that resists subjugation, allowing our shared aspirations to flourish amid the chaos of modern life.

Conclusion: The Future of Our Cultural Survival

In the contemporary arena, beset by the dissonance of distractions, we find ourselves poised at a critical juncture, a moment that demands not just our attention but our resolve. Saunders' astute observation transcends a mere critique of the shallow entertainments that pummel our senses; it emerges as a profound call to vigilance—a summons to grapple with the potent forces that ensnare us in an enduring labyrinth of delusion and disconnect.

This considerable challenge is not merely an intellectual pursuit; it is an imperative to wrest back control, to safeguard the integrity of not only our minds but also the sanctity of our families and those we hold dear. It is through ardent engagement with the world of knowledge, tempered with the sophistication of meaningful discourse, that we forge a pathway toward a future in which our culture not only endures but flourishes, steeped in a profound comprehension of itself and the multifaceted reality it inhabits.

To resist the pervasive allure of distraction is to reclaim our agency, to dismantle not just the visible barriers but also the insidious psychological chains that obscure our judgments. This pursuit is a noble endeavor, one that offers the promise of enlightenment—a promise that can protect and empower our loved ones, fortifying them against the mindless tide of information that seeks to overwhelm.

As we traverse this complex landscape, we must embrace the discomfort that the pursuit of truth often demands. Rather than retreating, we should meet this challenge with an unwavering spirit, cultivating a culture within our families that thrives on critical inquiry and shared wisdom. It is through this relentless quest for understanding that we illuminate the shadows of ignorance, rendering our collective consciousness expansive and resilient.

Let us not view this mission as a burden; rather, let it be seen as an immeasurable opportunity to craft a legacy imbued with wisdom and strength. By embracing this call to action, we are not merely protecting our own—we are sculpting an enlightened community capable of withstanding the tribulations of an increasingly chaotic world. In this endeavor, we redefine our relationships—not just with knowledge, but with one another—imbuing our lives with purpose, connectivity, and an invincible spirit of hope.

Thank you for reading!

[mamamittens]

Well, I got halfway through a comm, so there's that. Then I realized it was Whoops All Set Up and I hadn't considered how to write the interactions to lead up to that smut so I took a step back to think it over.

I was asked for fluffy romcom and I'll be damned if I don't deliver it!

But that's a later problem, here's me rambling about ideas for an alternative shine riolu design for Platinum, Fin's service pokemon.

So, I decided against keeping canon colors and mostly the same design cause damnit, I still don't like the yellow.

I'm sure game freak had lovely reasons for the yellow but I hate it.

Away it goes!

And anyway, while I was at it, I figured I'd further tweak the design to highlight how Platinum was specifically picked for Finley. Perhaps as a favor from someone who was really moved by her tragic backstory.

Silver, her original Abra, looked pretty normal aside from a spiky ring on his tail. But that's more because it was pretty early in the days of Designer Breeding more geared towards unique iterations of pokemon. Particularly driven by the growing market for coordinators trying to get a leg up. And as a standard ish support pokemon he didn't need to look outstanding, just more identifiable if something happened.

So I decided towards a slightly artistic inspiration.

A mostly silver/gray coat explains the name easily enough. And I do like the original color pallette so I kept the blue/black. They also look unexpectedly tall and that's partly because I suck at the proportions but idk, maybe Platinum is just unusually tall as well lol

The flourishes make Plat look more rugged and (according to my roommate) dirty lol. But it's meant to be like paint brushes and paint splatter. Had no interest in a rainbow baby or anything too crazy.

The goofy leg/pant bulge looks more like a deliberate attempt to imply shorts, which I appreciate more than trying to figure out wtf canon is doing with that drumstick butt (or frankly dick shaped torso, it's so damn close to being a dick, I can't unseen it and I'm sorry you won't be able to either).

This is without any support pokemon gear. A vest is the obvious choice but when he evolves it'll have to be adjusted cause of the chest spike Lucario has. Maybe I'll just stick to a bandana? Or a belt?

...ah, I forgot to try the button... Well, whatever. I like it as is regardless. It's a little fancy but not too busy? If anything I might get rid of the 'holes' in the dark sections so it's just paint splatter inspired.

Be easier to draw at least lol

Idk if I mentioned earlier but Fin's official job is illustration/painting. Mostly for books and other projects she can consult for and do at home rather than travel. Very much a home body until the start of the fic when she decides she's well enough to handle it. Likes watercolor specifically for painting personal projects such as her old team's books or for friends (when she finally has them). But does oils, acrylics, murals, and mixed mediums as well.

Perhaps Platinum was a 'thank you' gift for a personal mural from a breeder who put Platinum through official support pokemon courses.

Despite being a support pokemon, Platinum is just as happy in a battle as any other riolu. His first duty is just to Fin though. So he would be more likely than most to forfeit a match if his trainer showed too much distress or lash out unexpectedly in times of peril.

This both pairs well with the rest of her destined team and against one specifically who would rather be doing that themselves. But for now I'll leave it at that lol.

Platinum will be her only special/shiny Pokemon. Unlike Edna, she doesn't have any connections or unexpected 'gifts' netting her rare pokemon.

[higuchimon]

1st lines of 10 most recent fics

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics & tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway.

I got tagged by @pierrotguru, so here we go! Starting with the least recent and going up to the most!

Asuka’s head throbbed as she tried to figure out what to do. Altered Choice, Yu-Gi-Oh GX, Tenjoin Asuka

For all intents and purposes, Yamato hadn’t been in the hospital for about a week. Open His Eyes, Digimon Adventure 02, Yamato x Taichi

Gloves weren’t just a fashion statement. Under The Gloves, Digimon Adventure 02, Yamato x Taichi

His wings are gorgeous. Spilled Words, Digimon Adventure 02, Yamato x Taichi (wings!AU)

Yamato could feel every breath that Taichi took. Perils of Boredom Digimon Adventure 02, Yamato x Taichi (breeds!AU)

"Rin! Rin!" Shiny!: YGO Arc-V/Pokemon AU, Yuugo & Rin

“Please, shut the hell up,” Yuuto groaned, trying to cover his face with a pillow. Annoying or Adorable, YGO Arc-V, Yuuya x Yuuto (AU, Yuus as siblings, so incest)

Today would have been her birthday.No Celebrataion Here, YGO Arc-V, Akaba Leo

Ruri settled the tray of food on the floor in front of the cat, who remained curled up in a little ball, every line displaying how sad they were. Away!, YGO Arc-V, Ruri, Yuuto, Haya (cat) (Angels, Demons, & Deciding Factors AU)

Anyone else wants to do this, consider yourselves tagged!

[v-ividus]

13. The Abyss of Distraction: A Philosophical Reflection on Cultural Survival in the Age of Spectacle

“A culture's ability to understand the world and itself is critical to its survival. But today, we are led into the arena of public debate by seers whose main gift is their ability to compel people to continue to watch them.” — George Saunders

In a world where the threads of our collective existence are intricately woven into the fabric of cultural narratives, George Saunders delivers a sobering insight that reverberates with an unsettling clarity: “a culture's ability to understand the world and itself is critical to its survival.” This observation is not merely a statement; it is a clarion call, urging us to pierce the illusory facade of civilization and confront the frail state of our society with ruthless clarity.

Survival in this age demands more than mere resilience in the face of tangible threats. It hinges upon the intellectual and philosophical structures that underpin our moral compasses and articulate our identities. Within this intricate maze is where our self-awareness—or lack thereof—shapes the course of cultural evolution, dictating the very essence of our fate. Such a reality necessitates an unwavering introspection, as we find ourselves precariously perched on the edge of cultural coherence. Here, knowledge and self-awareness operate as the dual blades of our sword, determining our trajectory in uncertain times.

Yet, as we navigate the labyrinth of contemporary existence, we must face a disturbing revelation. The seers of our day—the purveyors of ideologies and values—often masquerade as skilled entertainers rather than true visionaries. Within the arena of socio-political discourse, where profound inquiries into the human condition should hold sway, we are ensnared in a carefully orchestrated spectacle designed to dazzle rather than enlighten. It is within this theater of distraction that we risk losing sight of the critical truths necessary for our survival, masking the fundamental realities we must confront to reclaim our agency and navigate the treacherous currents of our time.

This shift represents not merely a decline in rigorous intellectual scrutiny, but signals a treacherous withdrawal from sincere comprehension. We witness a society captivated by the allure of distraction, where superficial engagement supplants profound dialogue. Such an environment fosters a culture in which the pursuit of genuine understanding is overshadowed by the shiny façade of performance, leaving us perilously adrift in a sea of misinformation and vacuous rhetoric. The implications of this decline are profound; it threatens to undermine the very foundations of critical thought and sincere civic engagement, establishing a dangerous paradigm that prioritizes allure over authenticity and truth.

The Spectacle of Distraction: A Political Dystopia

In the festering kitchen of our political landscape, marred by hyper-partisanship and ideological extremism, we face an appalling reality. What was once a nourishing feast of democratic engagement has decayed into a putrid buffet where the essence of truth is discarded, not for enlightenment, but as a rancid offering to the gods of ratings and fleeting attention. Public debate is no longer a banquet of ideas; instead, it resembles a grotesque food fight, dominated by flashy figures who thrive on spectacle while serving up bland, triple-processed opinion.

The psychological aftermath of this nauseating transformation is staggering. The public, now mere passive consumers, is bombarded with a heaping platter of half-baked opinions, a grotesque reflection of a broader societal malaise—one that is fundamentally disconnected from the rich flavors of critical thought and moral reasoning. This repugnant detachment festers, breeding a populace susceptible to manipulation and trapped in a cycle of superficiality that neglects the nourishing depths vital for genuine understanding.

Amid this morally rancid environment, the complicity of institutions becomes repulsively clear. Political bodies, media conglomerates, and social platforms—whether through misguided intent or willful ignorance—team up to sustain this culture of distraction. The relentless onslaught of sensationalist headlines serves as stale breadcrumbs, diminishing the space needed for thoughtful engagement, leaving us with barely a crumb to grapple with the complex, vital issues now plaguing our global society.

In light of this repulsive reality, we must confront a psychological and moral imperative: an urgent withdrawal from these corrupting systems. Disengaging from the tasteless superficiality that permeates our discourse is not merely an option; it is a necessary strategy for reclaiming our intellectual and moral autonomy. By consciously distancing ourselves from the allure of immediate gratification, we not only reject the spoilage of our collective appetite but also set the stage for a true feast—one where critical inquiry, honest discourse, and profound understanding are on the menu. It’s time to cleanse our palates, confront the distasteful truths, and embark on a journey toward authentic nourishment for our minds and souls.

This withdrawal is not a mere retreat; it's a bold rejection of the festering banquet of distractions that surround us. Only by pushing away this repugnant spread, can we nourish our minds with the rich and meaningful discourse required to truly satisfy our hunger for depth and understanding of the global political world. Let us cleanse our plates and turn away from this grotesque smorgasbord, rekindling our appetite for the profound, humanistic inquiry that defines our very humanity.

The Poisoned Well: True Faith in the Age of Disillusionment

As we stand at the chaotic intersection of culture and spirituality, we are engulfed by a haunting landscape that stirs not just moral indignation but a deep, gnawing despair. Once revered sanctuaries of wisdom and hope, spiritual institutions have become ensnared in the corrosive grip of populism, a malignant force that feasts on division, fear, and uncertainty. In a time where faith is fast eroding and skepticism spreads like an uncontrollable wildfire, these beleaguered entities, in their frantic bid for survival, increasingly resort to sensationalism—trading genuine spiritual nourishment for the hollow allure of ephemeral attention.

This disheartening plunge into moral chaos is not merely a symptom of societal disarray; it possesses profound implications that reverberate through the very fabric of our collective psyche and economic reality. In a landscape where clicks and views function as the new currency, religious institutions scramble for relevance, clinging desperately to populist language that resonates with the weary and disillusioned. This dependence on shock and superficiality grotesquely distorts sacred teachings, aligning them with the merciless machinery of a profit-driven society. The quest for authentic spiritual meaning is drowned out by a cacophony of mercenary agendas, as we are left to navigate the treacherous waters of dogma and doctrine, yearning for a return to fundamental truths that lie beyond the confines of the manipulative social, political, and religious structures designed to keep us compliant. In this quest to rediscover our connection to the very essence of existence, we must confront the profound psychological and sociological dynamics at play, rejecting these controlling narratives in favor of a deeper, more genuine understanding of our world.

As these institutions deftly twist their narratives to ensnare sincere believers and secure their financial lifeblood, they risk losing sight of the sacred purpose that once anchored their very existence. This egregious betrayal of foundational principles transmutes spirituality into a lifeless commodity—a mere figment designed solely to capture our fleeting attention, stripping it of its profound essence. For those who ache with a deep yearning for genuine spiritual connection and meaning, this manipulation exacerbates their confusion, amplifying the isolation that already gnaws at their souls.

The implications of such moral decay are nothing less than catastrophic. This erosion of spiritual integrity catapults us into an moral and economic abyss, mirroring our collective disillusionment and despair. As we grapple with the essential questions of identity and belonging, the convergence of faith and commerce constructs a transactional reality, heightening our feelings of alienation. In this heart-wrenching landscape, we stand on the precipice of a critical confrontation—one that demands unyielding courage to reclaim the intrinsic value of spirituality and transcend the toxic allure of superficial faith.

It is imperative that we rise against this tide of moral degradation—not solely for our own preservation but for the sake of future generations who will navigate this treacherous terrain. We must dig up the real truths deeply buried beneath the rubble of sensationalism, reigniting a discourse that genuinely honors our shared humanity. This call to arms transcends mere action; it serves as a desperate call for clarity amidst the tumult of spiritual confusion.

We must strive to restore the sanctity that authentic spiritual guidance once extolled, resolutely standing against the forces of despair and disorientation that threaten to engulf us. Together, we wield the indomitable power to reshape the religious narratives at work within of our collective experience—forging a new path that transforms anguish into real hope and uncertainty into profound spiritual vision.

Global Institutions: The Complexity of Institutional Response

In the disillusioned aftermath of the First World War, a facade of unity and progress materialized—ambitious institutions that promised salvation, yet swiftly devolved into breeding grounds for corruption and dysfunction. The League of Nations, once vaunted as the harbinger of collective security, ultimately crumbled under the weight of its own contradictions. Today, the United Nations, birthed from the ashes of similar lofty aspirations, finds itself ensnared in a treacherous web, where leaders cloak their self-serving ambitions in empty rhetoric, forsaking the common good of humanity.

We are confronted with a disquieting truth—one steeped in moral labyrinths. While climate change conferences and diplomatic dialogues masquerade as proactive endeavors, they frequently culminate in nothing but hollow gestures. A more sinister pattern unfolds behind these artifice: powerful elites exploit crises as opportunities, weaving narratives that empower their interests while reforming the pressing realities of ecological collapse, social injustice, and global turmoil into mere footnotes.

This truth is brutally clear: blind allegiance to these flawed institutions invites a dangerous complacency—an erosion of our foundational principles that emboldens the very decay we seek to eradicate. The seductive allure of these structures often conceals a darker truth, where the ambitions of the privileged few overshadow and overshadow the urgent needs of the many.

Now is the pivotal moment to cultivate a mindset steeped in keen discernment and strategic acumen. We must confront the reality that real progress transcends mere optimism; it necessitates a scrupulous investigation of our institutions and an unyielding quest for justice. The instinct to avert our gaze must be dismantled; we must unearth the frailties of these systems and challenge the status quo with unwavering resolve and fervor.

Let us rally behind politically neutral and apolitical movements that remain true to their visage, dedicated to wresting power away from corrupt entities. We must identify and elevate leaders whose ambitions resonate with the principles of the common good, casting aside those who are preoccupied with their own aggrandizement. Advocate for frameworks that elevate the collective over the individual, cultivating a society where fairness and empathy eclipse the selfish desires of the elite.

In this noble quest, we must envision a future marked by astute governance—one where our institutions embody our highest ideals rather than devolving into instruments of corruption and subjugation. By embracing this resolute strategy, we can seize the narrative and steer our collective destiny toward a reality where dignity, integrity, and communal welfare serve as the bedrock of our actions and policies. Together, we can dismantle the chains of control and emerge triumphant in forging a new paradigm that uplifts the many over the ambitions of the few.

Reclaiming the Narrative: The Path Forward

To the weary and disoriented reader, it's vital to recognize this profound truth: within you lies immense potential, an intrinsic power waiting to be awakened. The struggle for cultural survival extends beyond the surface; it necessitates a radical commitment to reclaiming our narrative and actively resisting the insidious forces that seek to impose a passive existence. It's time to dismantle the illusions of complacency and step into the role of a deliberate architect of your own destiny.

We need to hone our discernment into a razor-sharp tool, one that slices through the overwhelming noise of contemporary discourse. Mere surface-level engagement will no longer suffice; we must dive deeply into inquiry, tackling the challenging questions that both unsettle and illuminate our existence. This intellectual journey demands that we reject trivial distractions, choosing instead to forge profound connections that challenge and invigorate our understanding, sparking a collective passion for truth.

Revitalizing our critical faculties should be acknowledged as an urgent communal undertaking. We must create spaces that encourage meaningful debate and genuine exploration of our values, arenas where diverse perspectives collide, serving as a crucible for intellectual growth. It is within these nurturing environments that we can unravel the intricate tapestries of our identities and societal frameworks, highlighting the psychological layers that shape our collective consciousness.

Together, let us embark on this transformative journey, reclaiming our narrative with conviction and purpose. The future we desire is within our grasp, but it requires our active participation, resilience, and unwavering commitment to truth, empathy, and understanding. Let’s foster a community where ideas flourish, pushing back against apathy and igniting a movement that resonates profoundly across all facets of our existence.

As we traverse the illusions and spectacles that threaten to sap our perceptual acuity, we find ourselves on a shared odyssey toward what can only be described as genuine enlightenment. This journey is far from academic; it is an emotionally charged struggle that demands not just passive introspection but active engagement and confrontation. By probing into the murky depths of our own motivations, fears, and cognitive biases, we can begin to fortify the crumbling foundations of our culture, constructing a society that is not simply resilient to external pressures but one that embodies transformative change in the face of the mind-bending complexities of the 21st century.

I invite you to accept this challenge: awaken that latent strength within you and rise as an unflinching defender of what you know to be right. It’s time to reclaim your narrative—not with timid hesitance but with urgency and ferocity. In this psychological battleground, we must undoubtedly fight for individual empowerment, but let’s not kid ourselves: we are also wrestling for the very soul of our society. Together, we can architect a future that not only reflects our deepest values but also embodies our revolutionary spirit.

This is a call to arms—not just for yourself, but for the fabric of our collective identity. We have the capacity to cultivate a consciousness that defiantly resists subjugation. In doing so, we empower our shared aspirations to germinate and flourish, even amid the chaos of modern life. Let this invigorating challenge draw you in; it is time to confront the myriad forces that seek to dull our senses and stifle our voices. Stand up, reclaim your narrative, and transform this struggle into an unstoppable force for change. The future mankind needs demands nothing less.

Conclusion: The Future of Our Cultural Survival

As we stand on the precipice of a pivotal moment, besieged by an incessant dissonance of social, political and religious distraction, the future of our cultural survival hinges on the capacity to reclaim our focus and resolve. Saunders’ incisive commentary serves not merely as a critique of the superficial entertainments that overwhelm our senses; it is a sincere call to vigilance, a challenge to confront the formidable forces that entrap us in a labyrinth of delusion and disconnection.

This daunting task transcends intellectual engagement; it compels us to wrest control from the suffocating grasp of societal, political, and religious systems intent on controlling our thoughts. Our cultural preservation demands not just the protection of our individual minds but also the sanctity of our families and communities. By immersing ourselves in the pursuit of knowledge, enriched by meaningful discourse, we can navigate a future where our culture not only survives but thrives—anchored in a profound understanding of its complexities.

Resisting the intoxicating pull of distraction is synonymous with reclaiming our agency, dismantling the visible barriers that ensnare us, and recognizing the insidious psychological chains that distort our judgment. This noble journey promises enlightenment, serving as a safeguard for our loved ones against the inundating barrage of vacuous information that seeks to eclipse clarity.

As we prepare to embark on this critical journey, let us embrace the discomfort of honest reflection. In doing so, we will illuminate the intricate tapestry of our shared humanity, uncovering fundamental truths that lie beyond the reach of conventional frameworks. By confronting these underlying forces with steadfast determination, we equip ourselves to reclaim our narrative and secure the future of our cultural essence in an increasingly chaotic world. Let this become our rallying cry: to break free from the chains of control and cultivate the profound possibilities that await our cultural revival.

Let us not view this mission as a burden; rather, let it be seen as an immeasurable opportunity to craft a legacy imbued with wisdom and strength. By embracing this call to action, we are not merely protecting our own—we are sculpting an enlightened community capable of withstanding the tribulations of an increasingly chaotic world. In this endeavor, we redefine our relationships—not just with knowledge, but with one another—imbuing our lives with purpose, connectivity, and an invincible spirit of hope!

[sundove88]

Rio (Sundove88’s Version) Casting

Captured by smugglers when he was just a hatchling, a dragon and ground type named Flygon never learned to fly but has a happy domesticated life in Minnesota with Sana Hudson, who thinks he is the last of his breed. But when word comes that a lone female of his kind is in Rio de Janeiro, Sana and Flygon go to meet her. Animal smugglers kidnap Flygon and his mate Altaria, but the Pokemon soon escape and begin a perilous adventure back to freedom -- and Sana.

Hoennian Pokemon Flygon, Altaria and their three children are comfortably settled in the city -- perhaps too comfortably. Altaria fears that the children are becoming more like humans than Pokemon. After learning that she and Blu may not be the last of their kind after all, Jewel decides that their little family should visit the Amazon jungle. It's there that Flygon meets his formidable father-in-law and goes beak-to-beak with archnemesis Hydreigon.

Flygon as Blu (Pokemon)

Trapinch and Vibravia as Hatchling!Blu and Teen!Blu (Pokemon)

Altaria as Jewel (Pokemon)

Sana Hudson as Linda (Balan Wonderworld)

Hydreigon as Nigel (Pokemon)

Storm Eagle as Dr. Tulio Monteiro (Mega Man X)

Various Bird Characters as The Rainforest Birds

Toucannon as Rafael (Pokemon)

Arachnus as Pedro (Yo-Kai Watch)

Toadal Dude as Nico (Yo-Kai Watch)

Aang as Fernando (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Antonio as Himself/Fernando’s Best Friend (Encanto)

Duck Hunt Dog as Luiz (Duck Hunt)

Duck Hunt Duck as Himself/Luiz’s Partner In Crime (Duck Hunt)

Risotto Nero as Marcel (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Kars as Tipa (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Kira Yoshikage as Armando (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Giovanni as The Mysterious Trader (Pokemon)

Golden Cheese Cookie as Dr. Barbossa (Cookie Run)

Trumbeak as Eva (Pokemon)

Poison Mushroom Cookie as Mauro (Cookie Run)

Chess Choco Cookies as Alice and Chloe (Cookie Run)

Pomegranate Cookie as Gabi (Cookie Run)

Salamence as Roberto (Pokemon)

Goodra as Mimi (Pokemon)

Garchomp as Eduardo (Pokemon)

Swablu as Carla (Pokemon)

Shiny Swablu as Bia (Pokemon)

Shiny Trapinch as Tiago (Pokemon)

Cioccolata as Big Boss (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Clair as Dr. Monae (Flipline Studios)

Shulk as The News Anchor (Xenoblade Chronicles)

Churro Cookie as Felipe (Cookie Run)

Millennial Tree Cookie as Himself/The Spirit of The Forest (Cookie Run)

Here’s your Hinting to the Next Crossover Casting (It’s a remake and it’s Barbie):

🩰💃👑

[siremasterlawrence]

The Mist Part 1

Part 1

A small village on the skirts of major city in a picturesque island on the coast of a tiny gem called Hells Island.

The city is bustling as per usual with little to no indication of what the future is to spring on them.

The morning is slowly but steady as people are rising up and heading into a long work day.

Traffic is at a all time high a new reporter is yelling in a shiny helicopter above the city, and then as if magic it goes.

The radio dial begins to spin flipping in and off through stations and a low pitch howl can be heard.

In one fowl swoop all the electrical devices now cease to work the world is left in dark state of peril.

One man so angry reveling with road rage had enough rolling down his window to peek

He freaks out sliding out till his feet are on his car seat, and his upper body held on to the roof.

“What the fuck?” The man says in utter loss and disbelief at what he says it is quite the unimaginable site.

The sea of people flee their cars, a bus and all personal watching the gray cloud swoop into the city.

The darkness is a frightening sight to behold with the impairment of vision, screams and people piling on to each other.

The city vanishes off the face of the earth in a matter of minutes no one can recollect anything about it.

Part 2

Thomas Ford is enjoying the peace of mind at home no void of his family for a week or two.

He sprawling over his couch with beer to his side, deck in only his under pants he sighs in bliss.

The mist floats over him shutting off his and the towns entire electrical grid.

He stands up hearing a voice call out to him leaving his mind in a shamble of puddle.

He drops his drink mindless marching out of his home into the night of mist forever it’s now.

His shadow can be seen on the wall walking out of town into parts unknown to everyone but me.

His feet are naked dirty, bloody, bruised as he enters the forest of no return.

His eyes grow dull after making a few more steps on to the people bridge.

“Welcome! Welcome all to the night of the midnight madness” a young man shouts.

He smirks with wide grin lifting his magic staff in the air he slams onto the forest ground.

A flow of power crosses through as how are now in his domain blocking any others who

dare to intervene.

“Where was I? Oh yes! Tonight you will join me in becoming my little global family.” He shouts.

Part 3

The mayor Stephen Jack Collins had had it in his mind to be at my beck and call since the start.

The mist descending led him to do the the oddest thing, exit his office and walk aimlessly.

He kept walking till he found the same weird young man sitting in the midst of earth,

“Who are you? If May ask” the mayor Steve as he now prefers to be called ask.

“I am your future, enter the forest.” The man points with his finger to the glowing light,

A warm sensation overcomes him like he is begin dragged into the space he goes forth

“Beautiful, simply beautiful” the mayor adds his vocabulary limits him.

“Oh! You thought I am here to help you.” The young man stares back.

“Who are you?” He regains a modicum of good breeding to have his common sense retain control.

“You were a lousy Mayor”

“Even worse a pathetic excuse of a man “

“The lowest of the low”

Before he could even entertain the idea of a spicy retort the lights blind him and he sees a whole bow life.

The end

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Dog Day Afternoon

Title: Dog Day Afternoon Author: anoceaninthesun Rating: K+ Words: 3,020 Summary: Reluctant dog-walker Gaara doesn’t think much of it when he sees a slightly familiar girl while on his way to the park. But when she ends up in peril not long after, he finds himself unable to avoid coming to her aid, ending up with an unexpected reward for his efforts. Various Tags/Warnings: Gaara POV, Kankuro’s dog, BAMF Sakura, meet cute, minor threat of violence, some swearing

A/N: I do apologize for the late submission and the fact that most of the GaaSaku interaction is concentrated toward the end but I do hope readers like it

Trope: Hurt/Comfort or Fluff

For the record, it wasn’t even his dog. Gaara had never wanted a dog. His tidy apartment flat might be what some called utilitarian—‘depressing is more like it’ his siblings teased—but he had his plants. His house shrubs and his beloved cacti. Naruto popped by semi-regularly. His siblings certainly never ran out of excuses to turn up and meddle. What more did he really need?

Certainly not a dog. No… a big, slobbery, clingy mutt was Kankuro’s idea to hopefully land a date. Something about a recent dry spell. Plus, his brother kept telling him, they were man’s best friend. Grunting, the redhead wound the leash tighter around his knuckles, jerking back as the excitable rescue tried to tow him down the street after the newest smell to catch his interest. Kage wasn’t well trained yet, his brother procrastinating for some unfathomable reason on putting him through obedience class, and as a result wherever the dog’s interest drew him was where he went.

Slamming his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, Gaara barely managed to navigate Kage around two chatting young women walking by them on the sidewalk. One of them had a scone and the treat instantly had the dog’s tongue hanging out of his mouth, bushy tail wagging.

They didn’t stop, but one turned and made eye contact with him, giggling and then saying something to her friend. There was the attention from the opposite sex Kankuro was searching for that he personally couldn’t care less about. His studies kept him plenty occupied. And despite what his family and possibly his few close friends thought, he was not lonely, and he was not looking to get matched up anytime soon.

Even Naruto had said something about a close childhood friend he wanted Gaara to meet, though one pointed glare was enough to stop that attempt in its early stages. While he loved the blonde dearly, as closely as another brother, he wasn’t known for being the sharpest at times. If notoriously oblivious Naruto could get a clue, why couldn’t Temari and Kankuro?

Gaara huffed to himself, figuring there was no point asking himself the same question he hadn’t been able to answer for some time. And if Kankuro loved the company of dogs and the attention they brought him so much, why couldn’t he walk his mutt himself? Why’d he foist last minute pet sitting off on his kid brother, knowing full well he had an upcoming term final to study for?

Well…maybe Kankuro wasn’t that clued into what he was doing in school. He wasn’t known for volunteering much about his field of study. It wasn’t that there was anything secretive about majoring in political science, it was just… Did a twenty-year old man really need to tell his family in depth how his day at school went?

The end of the lead suddenly went slack, and Gaara’s teal eyes peered down to see they had reached a crosswalk at a busy intersection on a main street and Kage was sitting obediently as cars rolled by. Huh. At least the damn dog had a sense of self-preservation.

Others joined them in waiting for the flashing light to indicate that it was safe to walk, a teenager talking on the phone, a few men in gray suits holding briefcases appearing to have just left a meeting, a mother juggling a cup of coffee and a fussy toddler, and some school children who looked entirely too interested in trying to pet Kage.

Gaara kept his eyes forward, ignoring the children especially. They couldn’t ask to pet him if he didn’t acknowledge them. The dog would bask in the attention, undoubtedly, but he’d really prefer to just be on his way. Finish the walk and return home to check on his plants, maybe try a recipe he’d stumbled across online. Yes. He was aware his routine wasn’t peak excitement for a twenty-something. No. He was not open to suggestions on changing it.

The light continued to stay flash with the warning not to cross, taunting him, as the children inched closer and closer in lieu of successfully making eye contact with him. Still, Gaara’s eyes were firmly forward. Subtly people-watching the crowd of strangers on the other side of the street.

That was why she was hard to miss. Dressed plainly in comfortable sweats and a green sweater that hung off one shoulder, a young woman walked with her head down, scrolling through something on her phone. That in itself was nothing remarkable.

Plenty of young people his age walked with earbuds in, eyes on a phone or tablet, lost in their own world. She somehow stood out in the crowd, though. It was probably the pink hair, shiny and shoulder-length in a soft pastel hue with a red headband in it. Eye-catching hair drew attention, so he could hardly be blamed for glancing twice.

But as he watched her maneuver back into the crowd waiting to cross as she turned the street corner, her focus on her phone yet still managing to avoid bumping anyone, Gaara had the vaguest notion he had seen her somewhere before.

The signal finally changed, the vehicles forced to stop as pedestrians crossed, and the girl disappeared, banishing any mild interest he had conjured. Gaara was back to keeping Kage in line, deciding it hardly mattered if and where he’d seen her before. He probably wouldn’t be seeing her again.

The redhead crossed the street with his brother’s dog, realizing too late their walk had somehow ended up taking them a different way than they normally came, closer to a park about a block away. When had he ever been so absent-minded? It was unlike him. Stopping in front of a posh little café, the kind where a finger sandwich probably costed more than a whole meal, Gaara tried to get his bearings back. He wasn’t lost exactly, but he hadn’t planned on the detour.

Not that his canine companion seemed to mind, his sooty black nose whipping back and forth as he followed the erratic flying of a dragonfly. If anything he still had energy to spare. That made the young man cringe, thinking of how eager Kage had been to sniff and try to get into his precious plants the evening before. There was no way he would allow the dog back into the apartment until he was sufficiently tired. So maybe some time at the park was in order. If he recalled, there was a place designated for dogs to roam anyway.

Kage trotted forward with confidence like he already knew their destination, his russet fur nearly red in the sunlight. They walked the perimeter of the fence that separated the shady path of the sidewalk from the lush grass of the park.

Gaara discreetly looked around until he saw people leading their own eager dogs into a side fence in the opposite direction of where the dog-less humans went. When he got through the gate and unhooked Kage with a stern expression, he barely got a parting lick before the fluffy mixed-breed was frolicking off. Gaara sat on a bench, arms folded, and watched. No leash to tether him, and the dog was having the time of his life, leaping through the grass, hiking his leg on any tree that caught his attention, and barking merrily. A golden retriever wearing a bright bandana bumped noses with his brother’s dog, and it wasn’t long before the two were rocketing off, tussling and sprinting the length of the yard. Suddenly, he was very glad that Kankuro was nowhere around. He didn’t need to be told that even a dog had better social skills than he did. Of course, dogs were more indiscriminate with their friendships.

One eye on Kage and his new friend and one eye on the people passing on the outside of the dog yard, Gaara let his mind drift about. The afternoon in the park was relaxed, sunlight dappling through the branches of large old oaks, a trickling fountain able to be heard even over the sounds of dogs at play, and people having light conversation as they lapped the fence.

Beyond the park, the city waited, unresting with its window displays and business luncheons and endless foot and bicycle and car traffic. Here, here was nice. In hindsight it wasn’t such a terrible thing to take a detour every now and then.

Idly, he thought of the girl he had seen, her face making a sudden reappearance in his mind unbidden. Instead of banishing her, curiosity had him remembering the furrowed knot of her brows, the color of her hair and finally the sense that he had seen her prior to today.

‘Naruto knows many more people than I do. Is she a friend of his, perhaps?’ Glancing at his watch, he mentally jotted himself a note to ask the next time Naruto came over for a movie. As his eyes flitted up from the watch’s face his heart skipped dully, the girl he’d just been envisioning right there in front of him.

Gaara blinked. But no, she didn’t disappear. She was closer than ever in fact, passing feet away, only separated by the neat little picket fence. She still had her earbuds in, and her lips were moving as she mouthed quietly, nodding along alternatingly.

Her jade eyes took in the towering tree branches above with a faint smile. While they didn’t make eye contact, Gaara noticed when her head turned that her eyes were jade, the smattering of freckles he could see on her bare shoulder. She was…she was…

‘Cute,’ His thoughts supplied unceremoniously. That he thought so should probably concern him, because even in passing he wasn’t one to notice the attractiveness of those around him. His brother and sister had plenty of crushes for all three of them.

But the girl was cute, nothing more or less to him. It didn’t have to mean anything, and watching her make pass after pass around the fence, mumbling to herself the entire time, became rhythmic and soothing. His shoulders didn’t hunch so tightly, his eyes at half-mast. Sleeping, even drifting into a total state of relaxation in public was impossible for him, but he felt at ease.

Time went on, people filtered in and out, Kage’s playmate eventually getting called back to her owners. Tongue hanging out and wearing a face of satisfaction that creased his dark eyes, the dog padded over, barking up at him and spinning tight circles. “Ready at last, eh?” He clipped the lead and stood.

They walked toward the exit, sun casting the sky in hues of blue, orange and gold. Kage stopped, and Gaara foolishly thought for a minute even the rambunctious pup was taken in by the peace of he moment. Then his floppy ears perked and the fur along his back stood on end. He sniffed the air and tugged at the leash in earnest, each step assertive.

Normally he would reprimand, refuse to let the dog lead the way so easily. Something had Kage on edge, though, the normally friendly hound transformed into a dog on a mission. If there was one thing he did know about dogs, it was that their instincts would always be sharper than a human’s. Though at the moment, he was starting to feel like something was amiss too.

Bounding around the corner and through an area of trees slightly more off the main trail, Kage came up short at a small slope. The pink-haired woman was at the bottom, hemmed in between three men whose body language suggested they weren’t simply asking for directions. The dog growled low when one of them flicked out a butterfly knife. “Sorry. You’re cute, but you still gotta give us your wallet.” he was saying.

She didn’t respond, instead putting up her fists and squaring her shoulders after slipping her phone into a pocket. Gaara narrowed his eyes. She was insane if she thought she could just swing her fists and get out unscathed. For once, he didn’t try to fight Kage straining at the lead, taking deliberate steps toward them, not sure what he was planning to do except give her backup.

His foot crunched over a twig, and it drew their attention, four heads flying in his direction. But she recovered the quickest, slamming her shoe down on the instep of the man who had her at knifepoint and then kneeing him hard in the stomach. He dropped his weapon and she threw a solid right hook that hit him in the eye. If Gaara had eyebrows, he was sure they would be in his hairline.

“Who else?” she huffed, wiping her knuckles on the back of her pants like she’d touched something foul.

“You little bi—” Gaara let the leash go, and Kage barreled in, a blur of fur and a snarl of sharp teeth. And then he was attacking another assailant. The one who’d had the knife tried to get up, but the pink-haired woman didn’t let him, kicking him in the chest to keep him down. Something rattled that probably shouldn’t have as he flopped back with a groan.

By that time Gaara found himself in the fray, immediately seizing the opportunity to deal with the last lowlife, dodging his swings and getting in punishing blows to his face and torso. He’d always been strong for his size, strong enough to be feared when he was younger and in a darker place, but now that worked to his advantage, all the vicious skills he’d honed coming back in a flash.

Mugging anyone was probably the last thing on anyone’s mind as the trio tried to run, the woman calmly pulling out her phone again and dialing the police to make a report. He vaguely heard her giving them a detailed description and telling them she was safe and would wait for them.

Gaara closed his eyes and let the adrenaline ease back down. Kage, having gotten his chance to play hero, saddled over to the stranger and nudged her free hands for his reward pets. Typical. She smiled, happy to oblige.

“That was dangerous,” he said.

She looked up, a bit sheepish now. “I have a bad habit of zoning out when I listen to my lecture recordings. It’s just…the first time that’s happened.”

His eyes flickered down to her phone, then back up to her face. “Lectures?”

A blink, then a slow nod. “I’m a pre-med student. Um, my name’s Sakura.”

Gaara was…perplexed. This was not how he envisioned introductions going. Not that he envisioned one at all! “Gaara.” On an afterthought, he said, “The dog’s Kage.”

Some of the tension evaporated, Sakura smiling wider as she rubbed at the back of her neck and looked down at the dog now calmly at her feet. “Thank you. Both of you really helped me a l-lot…” Her hands were shaking. She was shaking. So she was rattled after all.

“It isn’t safe, even if the authorities are on their way. We’ll stay.”

Sakura’s eyes widened, and she looked ready to protest. He glared, cutting her off. “Alright…” she sighed, appearing defeated. “It’s getting dark anyway, and I’d be lying if I said it’d make me feel better if I didn’t have to wait alone.”

Satisfied, the redhead gave a quiet grunt, crossing his arms. “You’re familiar.”

“Now that you mention it…you are to—oh! Do you go to school around here?” She came closer, nodding to herself as she spoke. “You! My friend accidentally smacked you with a door a week ago and knocked you down.”

The painful memory came rushing back, and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. If the higher being he didn’t put much faith in had any mercy, it would be too dark for her to notice. That wasn’t one of his finer moments, but now he definitely remembered the way Sakura had scolded the dark-haired man who’d hit him with the door before rushing over to check on him. Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, he’d gotten to his feet as quickly as possible, shrugging her off and leaving without as much as a word of gratitude. Thinking back, that was harsh. She wasn’t the one who’d hit him.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat. “I apologize for the impression I gave back then, but I appreciate your attempt to help.”

Sakura didn’t laugh. “Sure,” She wrapped arms around herself in spite of the sweater. “I think at this point I owe you though.” A street light nearby chose that time to flicker on, and Gaara watched a blush creep up her face. He suddenly didn’t feel so bad about his own earlier. “You know, if we’re going to be seeing more of each other anyway…maybe we could meet up at the café on campus sometime? B-Buying you some lunch is the least I can do. Oh, I could buy your meals for a week.”

It was hard not to overthink it. Most of his life he hadn’t been the one people invited to hang out, and sometimes he still wondered over how he’d managed to attract a brighter personality like Naruto’s. But in the moment, his brother’s voice, of all people’s was yelling frantically in his head for him to just accept.

“That sounds nice, thank you.” But a week of campus café food was unnecessary. And expensive for a college student. “I’m use to cooking my own meals. If you insist on talking over food, I wouldn’t mind making something for the both of us.”

Was that too much? Did it sound too forward? Like he had ulterior motives? Like he was taking advantage?

Sirens wailed as a police car drew closer, and Kage perked up. Gaara hardly noticed, too focused on how Sakura’s face beamed back at him.

Kankuro would never get over this. He’d insist he was responsible, since it all happened because Gaara had been walking his dog. And well, it could be that for once in his life, his brother would be right.

[wingedarrows]

Small Text of Wanderer’s Journal Is Hard to Read: Let’s Transcribe! (Pt 2)

Let’s just jump straight into it this time (you can pre-order the journal on the fangamer website). And again, if you have any suggestions on words I wasn’t able to figure out, please tell me!

Fiends of Crystal Peak

SHARDMITE                  GLIMBACK

The beasts of burden used in Crystal Peak’s mining operations have begun to wander aimlessly with no one left to command them; the crystal protrusions growing from their bodies now make navigating around them a perilous endeavor.

HUSK MINER

When the infection claimed their minds, many of the miners simply continued digging away as if by instinct. Now finding themselves armed with pickaxes, they can prove quite the hazard for travellers, especially if encountered in groups.

CRYSTALLIZED HUSK

Some of the miners in the upper levels of the mines have begun to grow crystals within their bodies; their ability to create carefully-aimed light beams through these crystals makes them a significant threat.

CRYSTAL CRAWLER                 CRYSTAL HUNTER

Many of the creatures in the mines have adapted the mountain’s crystals into weapons; some are able to launch crystalline growths at intruders, while others use crystal [____] to focus beams of searing light at their targets.

CRYSTAL GUARDIAN

A miner overtaken by the infection, its face completely encased in the mountain’s crystals. Driven mad by the light of these crystals, it savagely attacks any who disturb it by unleashing concentrated beams of energy from its body, as well as from other crystal formations in its territory.

Be mindful of the beams that shine down from above as the guardian jumps about, but be sure not to stay in one spot for too long!

Residents of Dirtmouth

Driven into hiding or enticed by the promise of riches in the depths, many of the village’s residents have disappeared, leaving an eerie stillness in the air.

ELDERBUG

Even in the village’s current run-down state, the Elderbug is always there to welcome visitors and to warn them of the dangers of Hallownest below.

The first friendly face I encountered in my journey.

ISELDA

The proprietress of the map shop in Dirtmouth, Iselda has said she was a warrior of some sort before she settled here with her husband, Cornifer. The various accessories she provides are most helpful for navigating Hallownest’s terrain.

CONFESSOR JIJI

This mysterious conjurer kept herself locked away in a deep slumber for ages. She speaks of regrets as though they have physical form, and seems to have the power to summon them. She can grant anyone the chance to confront their regrets in exchange for her favorite food.

STEEL SOUL JIN

An odd . . . creature? It speaks with such an unusual rhythm. One can only wonder what lies beneath that shiny steel shell.

SLY

This peculiar little merchant deals in all sorts of wares, many of which he has simply found lying around while exploring.

He carries quite a few handy items, though his prices are a bit steep.

Fiends of Greenpath

MOSSKIN         MOSSCREEP        VOLATILE MOSSKIN

The ancient denizens of Greenpath have developed natural mossy camouflage, allowing them to blend perfectly with their surroundings. Some use this camouflage to hide from dangers, while others take advantage of their abilities to ambush invaders.

GULKA

A strange plant-like being that emerges briefly from the canopy to spit venom-filled balls of thorns at intruders.

Its spit balls can be [____] back at it!

SQUIT              OBBLE

The flying creatures have their own way of dealing with dangers and prey, including razor-sharp stingers and acidic venom.

FOOL EATER

A large trapping plant that clamps tightly shut when it detects prey passing by.

Keep an eye out for its little “teeth”

Cloth

A timid warrior who wanders the deepest, darkest corners of Hallownest in search of powerful opponents in her quest to become braver and stronger. She wields her club, carved from the tooth of an ancient husk, with cautious strength . . . when she isn’t hiding from danger, that is.

Mister Mushroom

One of the few mushrooms to have so far escaped the infection’s grasp, this peculiar traveller has been spotted in many different locations, mumbling to himself in some forgotten language.

I’d like to hear stories of his travels, but I can’t understand him.

Bretta

A damsel in distress in one of the lower chambers of the wastes. She somehow wandered into danger and found herself trapped amongst the twisted, thorny passages above; now she awaits a saviour to come to her rescue.

Later in my journey, I found her back in Dirtmouth, sitting nervously[?] on a bench.

Was she waiting for someone yet again?

Leg Eater

This skittish[?] bug has made himself a home among the husks of the dead in the upper reaches of the Fungal Wastes. He may be unable to see, but his powerful sense of smell more than makes up for it. For a price, he offers a number of useful charms, though they’re quite delicate and easily broken, and he [____] also provides a repair service.

Colosseum of Fools

Seated atop the [____] cliffs of Kingdom’s Edge and carved out of the shell of a massive, ancient bug, the Colosseum of Fools draws warriors from across Hallownest and beyond with the promise of riches and glory.

I [____] [____] [____] in fighting (or dying) [____]

Those who fail face the cruelest of fates as they’re ridiculed by the crowd, only to have their lifeless shells unceremoniously cast into the chasm below. But for the would-be champions who frequent this place, the colosseum offers a chance to become something more than just another foolish bug, if only for a short time.

BATTLE OBBLE                OBLOBBLE

Much like their wild relatives in Greenpath, these bulbous creatures float around hurling their acidic spit in all directions. But their combat training, not to mention their armor, makes them a much greater threat.

SHARP BALDUR

Like their cousins, these critters can curl themselves into tight balls and roll at their foes, but their plated shells can withstand quite a bit more damage.

ARMOURED SQUIT

A larger, faster, and stronger variety of Squit bred exclusively in the colosseum.

FOOLS

Powerful combatants gather for even the earliest of the Colosseum’s trials; some fight with traditional nails and shields, while others toss bladed weapons from a distance. All of them are strong, and all of them are determined, so overcoming them all to take the title of champion is no small feat.

Only the most skilled contenders survive to discover what awaits them in further trials.

Fiends of the Ancient Basin

SHADOW CREEPER

Possibly a more primal relative of the Crawlid with a stronger shell, these shuffling things can be found pacing about on walls and ceilings as well as floors.

LESSER MAWLEK

A fast-moving beast with sharp claws and an overabundance of teeth; it can also hurl [____] acid spit at distant targets.

MAWLURK

An overgrown mawlek that has lost the ability to move; it now waits for prey to wander near, and attempts to use its highly acidic spit to dissolve that prey. How it then digests its quarry is unclear.

The mawleks seem to be native to this region, but the brooding mawlek I encountered in the crossroads was surrounded by the remains of others of its kind . . .

Do these creatures migrate closer to the surface in order to breed?

LIGHTSEED

A tiny, scurrying creature that has swollen greatly in size due to infection; it typically hides in small groups out of sight, but will try to run to safety if it senses danger.

INFECTED BALLOON

A globule of pus and light gases, capable of floating through the air by its own power. It gently wafts about until other creatures draw near, then gives chase in an attempt to further spread its infection.

BROKEN VESSEL

The hollowed-out shell of a fallen warrior, reanimated and driven mad by the spreading plague. In life, this creature was likely a very talented nail wielder, and many of its skills persist even in its current unfortunate state. And the infection has only made it stronger, giving it enhanced agility and strength.

It seems to use infectious globs as weapons as well. Stay sharp!

Benches

Scattered throughout the caverns and byways of Hallownest, benches serve as relics of a more peaceful time. The residents of the kingdom’s regions constructed these benches in a number of different designs to reflect the aesthetics of their territories; a few makeshift seats can be found here and there as well, formed from hollowed-out shells and the like.

Though their simple stone and iron frames may not provide the most comfort, they do offer time to rest, reflect, and prepare for the next leg of one’s journey.

Word[?] of this [____] was [____] [____] sitting in these benches, in fact.

[____] [____] [____]

This dangerous-looking fellow seems unwilling to share his seat. How rude!

Hot Springs

The earth beneath Hallownest is dotted with natural geothermal vents, and the kingdom has clearly taken advantage of the phenomenon by building each into a relaxing hot spring. These springs, found all over the kingdom, are the perfect place to unwind after a harrowing journey through hostile bug-infected lands.

The strange waters help restore body and soul!

Hot springs can be a good spot to meet other weary travelers.

[g3rmb0y]

Day 9/? Kobolds

This is day 9 of a worldbuilding exercise I’m doing, where every day I write up a piece on some race/aspect for general D&D worldbuilding. This one actually comes from a request for me to cover Kobolds, so here we go. (Feel free to request any other ones. I want to talk about magic and the gods next, but I’ve been tinkering with the planes, zombies/undeath, wizards and academies, etc.)

In the days where dragons ruled the skies, there were all manner of dragons. The great dragons possessed great intellect and were capable of speech, culture, and their own political games- these are the dragons that are spoken of when they refer to the age of dragons, or the dragon wars- these dragons tended to be massive in size, the smaller adults being the size of a small house, and the larger ones being over 100 meters long. However, there were many other subsets of the draconic family, ranging from dragons the size of small houses that were feral in nature, to smaller dog sized dragons that lingered about in badlands, hunting in packs, and terrorizing livestock. Too small to develop fuel bladders, they relied on their sharp teeth and claws to tear apart their prey, and their sheer numbers to be able to catch much larger animals. Over time, dragons began to notice the relative intellect amongst these creatures, and the way they would often follow them, hoping for some morsels. Thus, following a similar path to the domestication of dogs, Kobolds became a dragon’s best friend. Over generations, with slight magical alterations, the bestial mind of these microdragons was expanded, and they were gifted with limited intelligence, including the ability to speak, albeit poorly. They began walking on two legs, and creating tools, serving as the peons for their dragon lords. Thus Kobolds were created- centuries of breeding added preferred traits- a docile nature, a spiked crest, deep green eyes, etc. While most Kobolds were regarded as servant class, certain branches of Kobolds were refined into quite beautiful reproductions of their draconic masters, often serving as high level servants, jesters, or messengers.

After the dragons were decimated by the elven technology gifted to the other races, nearly all Kobolds were left without home or purpose, and returned to the hills. With no culture to speak of, they attempted to reproduce the culture they had seen at the hands of their dragon overlords, to generally laughable quality. In turn, without any knowledge of agriculture or civilized life, they quickly reverted to a primitive hunter-gatherer stage of life, although exposure to other races quickly propelled them to learn the basics of agriculture. They still remember the dragon’s fondness for wealth and extravagance, and will often set out to claim great treasure, or secure a great hall, which is often a decrepit tower, crypt, or fort.

In their attempts to secure wealth and fame, Kobolds are often less than successful, and end up as slaves, or flat out dead, although they make for difficult slaves as their pride tends to turn into homicidal tendencies. When faced with anyone they perceive as a potential threat, violence is the first and best solution, although many seasoned adventurers know that it’s quite easy to talk your way out of a fight with Kobolds, as their short attention span can be distracted by something shiny, or a promise of food. Once the threat of violence has been dispelled, Kobolds are often friendly, although it’s always wise to watch your valuables, as their small hands make them deft pickpockets.

Kobolds form small tribes, ruled by an elder, who is often not so much elected as declared their leader, because nobody else wants to deal with the hassle of ruling, save for younger kobolds, whose raw ambition usually gets them a beating for any attempts to overthrow the leader. Since their discovery of agriculture, they tend to form small villages, although they often prefer to also supplement their diet with meat and loot from banditry. Kobolds tend to be notorious for stealing livestock, although the grand irony is that quite often, the remaining herd will wander back to their fields, as after slaughtering several cattle or pigs, the kobolds will eat until they fall asleep, which is quite often bad news if the farmer comes looking for revenge.

Kobold life tends to be fairly short, and often ends badly, but they compensate for that by having many young. An average Kobold delivers 4-5 eggs, and has a gestation of three months. Kobolds rarely form organized families, although monogamous relationships are more common than not, often as a result of shared adventure. Kobold children grow fairly quickly, and are generally raised by the entire tribe, having the knowledge of who their parents are, but understanding that they are to learn all the ways of the tribe from all members. This helps build a cohesive tribal unit, and also lessens the blow when a parent is killed.

Kobolds have great appreciation for art, although their tastes are wildly varied. Braver art merchants will often bring trashy pieces of art to sell to Kobolds, who will hang it next to various spoils of adventure, or in some cases, even exchanging a fine, if faded tapestry for a boorish painting, simply because the painting has brighter colors. They have a similar love for music, although the musical attempts by Kobolds can only be described as a cacophony, and Kobold cuisine can best be described as a gastrointestional nightmare, and their attempts at brewing are even worse.

Kobolds who leave their tribes often do so to make a name for themselves as an adventurer or great lord, and will quickly fall in with anyone who promises them that. Often times this results in them being taken advantage of, although a Kobold wronged takes no qualm in climbing onto the chest of the person who wronged them and stabbing them in the eye, so it’s generally seen as bad luck to betray a kobold. For those who help a Kobold, even a small favor, find they have a new friend. It’s not uncommon to hear stories of travelers who paused to give food or instructions to a Kobold, and now it’s been following them since. While they will initially be a bit wary of their new friends, Kobolds who have decided they approve of a person will often decide that this person is now part of their tribe, and would die for them. (Of course, this implies that the Kobold is the tribe leader, and this person they have taken to is their subject.) Thus, it is not uncommon to see a Kobold traveling with a group of pilgrims, a merchant caravan, or an adventuring group, and often pull their weight wonderfully, taking on the duties of bodyguard, laborer, or mascot, depending on what’s needed.

Kobold religion is minimalist, often fixating on the dragons that they had served generations ago, passed down by stories and songs. Interestingly enough, Kobolds have a sense for dragons being near- Something about a dragon being in close proximity sets them off, and they will attempt to seek it out, as if in a trance- they become fixated, and will continue pursuing the dragon, even if it puts them in mortal peril. As such, during the dragon wars, dragon hunters would keep teams of Kobolds as sniffers, although they would often need to be muzzled and bound, as once they realized that they meant to harm the dragon, they would often turn violent. Kobolds who find a dragon or dragonborn will usually join them quite willingly, hoping to join a superior tribe, and while this often works out well for dragonborn, who take them in as servants, dragons often see Kobolds as a sign of the period of their decadence and stupidity, and will burn them to ash on sight.

In adventuring parties, Kobolds are generally always welcome, as they live to please their friends, and are fierce fighters, although some find their lack of any attention span, questionable hygiene, and propensity towards stabbing as the first and best option to be a bit of a draw back. Still, enough Kobolds have adventured with very successful heroes to establish a long list of Kobold heroes, whose tales of haphazard bravery and stupendous luck have resulted in many a ballad, sung both by Kobolds (poorly) and non Kobolds alike, inspiring new generations of Kobolds to take to the road in hope for adventure.

[allyklapak]

We must take the right path

With each day, the stability of the Earth under current environmental pressures becomes increasingly perilous. As we approach the breaking points that scientists have cautioned world leaders about for years, it is increasingly clear that the near future will follow one of three paths. We may collapse, adapt, or reinvent. [^1] There is a great deal of uncertainty about the future, especially when considering the current coronavirus crisis and the immense impact that it has had on daily life and every facet of society in such a short amount of time. The looming climate crisis poses a similar threat to the normalcy we are hoping to get back to. If major changes are not consciously made to solve these adverse environmental issues, we remain vulnerable to a possible collapse or remain stuck in an unsustainable system.

The model that most of the world currently functions under is known as the consumer capitalist mode. [^1] It is driven by systematic positive feedback loops that invest money into innovation which capitalist societies depend on. [^1] Innovation is typically connected to a positive connotation. However, by funding a system that deals with energy waste and unsustainable practice by just investing more money into potentially worse band-aid technologies we are just “running to stay ahead” rather than addressing the original inherent issues. [^1] These checks are meant to facilitate adaptation to environmental obstacles and protect the capitalist system. Human resilience and ability to modernize can clearly be seen throughout history. [^1] Over the past five centuries, humanity has undergone change in an exponential fashion. [^1] The progression of man from the invention of fire to the invention of the internet has demonstrated the capacity to make increasingly larger leaps as time marches forward. [^1] Though, such rapid development should be assessed to uncover the environmental repercussions and role in a growing socioeconomic disparity across the world. By reinforcing the capitalist system, an emphasis is placed on turning human life into human capital. [^1] Advancements may allow for improved living conditions and yielded higher life expectancy, the lives of these people have become focused on conforming to a system where time is money and productivity has monetary value. [^1] Humans have been degraded to capital and buy into a system that considers them and this planet to be disposable. In order to persist in this mode, society must find a way to stabilize the unsustainable practice and persistent exponential trends. [^1] According to Lewis and Maslin, “the simultaneous rapid increases in the number of people, level of energy provision, and quantity of information being generated… suggest that our current mode of living is least possible.” [^1] Trying to maintain the system we have will not work. Thus far it has been the very reason there exists so many threats. It is imperative that the public is not blindsided by the dishonest corporations desperately clinging the consumer capitalist mode out of self-interest and greed. We are fed lies that this is the key to a successful and shiny future but there have always been cracks beneath the surface that technology won’t be able to fix forever.

A more probable, but bleak, fate that our world may succumb to is collapse. [^2] The model that we currently cannot continue on forever. The ramifications of our practices will catch up to us and if society finally has this epiphany too late then collapse will be inevitable. Expert estimate a degree and a half to two-degree Celsius increase in atmospheric temperature will prove to be catastrophic.[^2] Many nations of the world are aware of the immanency of this issue and have already started employing changes to decrease their contributions to this global warming. Although it is difficult to project the exact time frame for this climate tipping point and the likelihood of humans adequately responding, many nations have set a goal to try to stay below 1.5 degrees C by reducing emissions to near zero by 2050. [^2] Due to the dense geopolitical tensions surrounding fossil fuels it is difficult to seriously change course away from collapse as nationalized resources and interests may not bend for the greater good. [^2] Agriculture is an industry that has already faced the detriments of a failing climate. Historically farmers have utilized genetic engineering and breeding and technology to adapt to increasing temperatures and growing resistance to pesticides, but it will reach a point where this can go on no longer and the collapse of the food industry will lead to the perishing of many. [^2] We already face inequity in food distribution around the world as millions die of malnutrition each year. These issues of competition for food and clean water and work leads to unrest that brews the perfect storm for mass destruction. Even the pentagon considers this issue to be an “urgent and growing threat” due to the potential violence that may transpire. [^2] Humans are egotistical and uniformed creatures of habit. The lack of willingness to seriously heed the warnings of scientists and satisfaction of living in blissful ignorance will likely lead to the vain pursual of the first option. This course of action can only end in collapse.

The only way for humanity to prevail is the drastic yet necessary measure of adopting a new system. The authors refer define the Anthropocene to be an “epoch where the human component of Earth system is large enough to affect how it functions.” [^2] Humanity’s effects have proven to be detrimental and jeopardize the many interconnected ecosystems and social structures of the world. However, humans have always had the capability to change this doomed fate but are too reluctant and misled to upend the order established by manipulative capitalists. A new system would require a complete switch to alternative and renewable solar and wind energy. [^3] It is difficult to convince the public of the cost effectiveness of this transition due to integral discount rating which makes a larger return further in the future seem less appealing than instantly gratifying short-term profit. [^3] New system would also limit the dependency humanity has on unsustainable practice and increase agency in careers and finances. [^3] A key practice to accomplish this more liberated existence is ensuring a Universal Basic Income. [^3] Ideally, by ensuring this monetary equity across society, the structure of education, work and consumption can me reimagined. [^3] If people all have the necessary means to pursue and education, it is easier for those with a real passion and skill to take these positions and therefore refine the craft that may have been inhibited by the socioeconomic disparity in education. [^3] People can consider their futures without being restricted by worrying about making ends meet. Essentially, this would put an end to the rat race and would allow humans to escape their ties to unsustainable practice or jobs that are not environmentally ethical yet are reluctantly filled by those who need the paycheck to survive. [^3] Additionally, practicing a half earth model would protect invaluable ecosystems by designating an equal amount of space for natural species to flourish. [^3] Reducing humanity’s real estate dominance on earth would force us to reform unsustainable agriculture and actually deal with our problems directly. Abiding by a half earth practice would prevent the degradation of vital ecosystems that science can not recreate. [^3] The best option for the course of humanity is to reinvent our system rather than unsuccessfully trying to hold together the one that is not working.

The web of systems that run our world are delicate and driven by capitalistic interest and concession of the public. If we continue on the path we are on, the temperatures of the earth will rise far about the two-degree cap and in the very near future the fate of collapse will be sealed. The world is experiencing a crisis right now. With lives at a standstill and a sense of normal being completely obliterated, it may be just the opportunity to make these drastic changes necessary for the survival of humanity. The limits are being tested and it has once again been proven that humans can adapt well when given no other option. It is no longer an option, for posterity’s sake we must defy the consumer capitalist model and welcome this new change.

Word Count: 1380

Discussion Question: Although it seems that establishing a new system is the best solution, could undergoing such drastic change have its own set of ramifications?

Lewis, Simon L., and Mark A. Maslin. Human Planet: How We Created the Anthropocene. Yale University Press, 2018. Chapter 11, pgs. 369-377

Lewis and Maslin. Ch. 11 pgs. 378-399.

Lewis and Maslin. Ch.11 pgs. 400-415.

[feyre-archerons-scrapbook]

The Declaration of a Crochan Queen

Following on from my Dorian Havilliard ficlet from a couple of days ago - The Confession of a Reluctant King - here is Manon Blackbeak’s confessional, looking back on her life from her point of view. This is a companion piece, so it works quite nicely read after his.

Once again, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Find me on AO3

When you’ve lived as long as I have, the world starts to look very grey. Except when I go hunting, then it’s bathed in red.

Every man, woman, and child becomes nothing more than a shadow, a spectre for whom I feel nothing but pity. They live short, feeble lives; tending fields or baking bread day in, day out for a few coins, only to grow old and wither away. Countless cemeteries have welcomed human after human to their final resting place in the 116 years I have been alive. Whether I have a heart or not, it’s difficult to care when you think of it like that.

And I suppose that’s the real question; do I have a heart? I was raised by a cold, unfeeling grandmother - leader of the Blackbeak witch clan - who took me from my dead mother’s arms and raised me to believe that we Ironteeth have neither need nor use for a beating heart. We are beyond death and we are above the living. What’s the use in having a heart when you feel nothing for anyone? Muscle and bone and blood, that is all they are…all they ever were.

A vessel for feasting and for fun.

And what fun I have had. Human men who were always so bold, so…aggressive in their attitude towards me when they saw just an ordinary young woman, would become obedient and oh so eager to please when they had iron teeth pressed against their throats, iron nails brushing against their thighs. Some might be shocked at how many men were willing to do anything for the thrill of being with a witch.  

So, without the Wastes to call home, the Thirteen and I found ourselves wandering the lands of Erilea in search of Crochan blood, and entertainment. That was life, that was normalcy for me. My fellow witches were company, but I could’ve managed alone. I was used to that.

Perhaps not in a literal sense, as I hadn’t spent all that much time by myself since I was a witchling, but I certainly felt like I didn’t need anyone’s help or companionship. And besides, if I was ever bored, all I’d have to do was bat my lashes at any man frequenting the nearest tavern and we’d both have a night of fun. Maybe it wouldn’t end so well for them, but let’s not nit-pick.

In the end, though, it all comes back to that question of heart. From the moment I was born I was told that we witches do not feel; whether that be happiness, sadness, guilt, remorse…love. Nothing. We are creatures designed for the sole purpose of killing. And it never dawned on me that this might not be true, even as I derived pleasure from the deaths of my enemies, from the feel of a man between my legs. I simply continued on my well-worn path, thinking nothing of it.

But my grandmother lied. She lied about everything. She said we didn’t feel love, but Asterin was proof that we could feel it, that we could feel hope and happiness and despair and grief. She fell in love with a man, and fell pregnant. And our grandmother cut the stillborn baby out of her and burned it. Then, she carved the word ‘unclean’ across my cousin’s belly. Cold, cruel, vicious bitch!

Unclean? The only one who was unclean was Mother Blackbeak; unclean in her husk of a heart, filthy with the blood and tears of witches who were told nothing but lies, lies, lies for centuries. Witches who believed every word that fell from that bitch’s lips, and if they didn’t believe, they were punished.

And mother, were they punished.

That was always one of my tasks, as heir to the Blackbeak clan; doling out punishments for the smallest of things. A broken nose or a few lashings were common sentences. A scratch of my iron nails across the throat, to remind them how perilously close they were to death at any time. And I followed, unquestioning, for years. So many years. And whenever Asterin would challenge me, call me out, I would punish her. Whenever she dared to speak out against our grandmother – the one who mutilated her, destroyed her – I would punish her again.

On and on and on. You see, I’ve lived a life of circles. Of never-ending torment and hardness of heart, and I never even noticed. Not until I found Perrington standing on the edge of one of those circles, not until they started using witches for their breeding, not until I handed them the witches. Not until Elide Lochan went down to that basement and saw the horrors they were creating.

My grandmother was complicit, of course, willing to let our fellow witches – our sisters – be used as incubators of evil and then tossed aside. She had so much selfishness and so much hatred within her that she didn’t care who or what she destroyed along the way.

But there comes a time in a life like mine when something strong, resistant and unwilling to move finally gives way. Like a dam holding back a ferocious river, eventually it’s going to collapse under the sheer weight of pressure building up behind it.  

That moment came when Asterin was sentenced to death, when I exercised my right to perform the execution. Bring my body back to the cabin. I’ll never forget those words she said to me, as I stood over her with Wind-cleaver grasped in my hand. She was ready to die, and in a strange way I envied her. She could go to her grave knowing that she had experienced love, a life outside of our order and our code, away from Mother Blackbeak and her cruelty. She had known love, in mind, body, and spirit, and she wouldn’t regret a damn thing.

Then a memory flashed across my vision. A memory of a man staring at me in a forest clearing, possessed by the darkest magic, but fighting, pushing, screaming against it. Dorian Havilliard, crown prince of Adarlan, son of the conqueror of these lands.

You looked at me with such intensity in those sapphire eyes, the dark strands of your hair obscuring your face. I’ll never forget it. No one had ever looked at me like that before, like they saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. ‘Hello, witchling’, you said, and the ice around my heart melted just a little. See, after all those years of believing what that bitch had told me, I realised that perhaps I did have a heart, because I immediately felt it tether itself to yours. When you spoke to me, when you told me how you’d never been with a witch before, I felt my body quake. But we witches do not feel, we do not care.

So I let you go. Even as I felt repulsed by that ring of shiny black around your neck squeezing the life out of you. Even as I wanted to run to you and prise it off with my iron nails, I turned and walked away. The events that followed left me in debt to Aelin Galathynius, but my body and soul knew what I needed to do, to help her, to help you. Even as I pretended not to know how completely your magic had coated my skin, had sunk beneath it, I was falling for you, Dorian.

When Erawan gave us the order to take Rifthold, to capture you - the new King of Adarlan - I couldn’t let it happen. I didn’t care what became of everyone else, every other citizen of that damned place, but I needed you to be safe. And so, when I saw that Yellowlegs witch about to kill you, I made a choice. The choice that put Asterin on the executioner’s block. A choice I would gladly make again.

And Asterin…I loved her so much, and it took me a century to realise this. I loved her as my cousin, my sister, my friend. And I couldn’t let her die. So as Mother Blackbeak screamed at me to end her, to do the thing she had been desperate to do since branding her, I brought Wind-cleaver up over my head, I told Asterin to run, and I brought the blade down on my grandmother.

At that moment I didn’t particularly care if I lived or died. I had had enough. You were alive, and Asterin was alive. I had done all I needed to do. We fought, and that’s when she told me I was a Crochan…a queen. My father had loved me, had come looking for me. My grandmother had slaughtered him. Despair. Anger. Hatred. I felt everything. I was bombarded with emotions, relentless, all-consuming emotions. I wanted her dead. But her ages, her experience…I couldn’t withstand it, and I thought I would end my days there, wrapped in my cloak drenched in Crochan blood.

But somehow I survived, and I escaped…barely.

Eventually, with most of my blood spilled across the continent, with my wyvern as my saviour and my guide, I found myself drifting to the bottom of the ocean. I don’t know if I imagined the sound of your voice calling my name, ordering those around you not to kill me, but it echoed in my head as I hit the water, my last breath surely not too far away…

And then you saved my life.

Oh, Dorian.

I am unsure of how this is supposed to work.

I had never felt true desire for a person before, a desperate need to touch and be touched. When you came to my cabin, my hands bound in chains to protect your friends from the iron-toothed witch in their midst, my heart didn’t know what to do. Frozen over for so long, denied its own existence, suddenly it was pounding, alive. A heart thawed by the sapphire-eyed king with ice dripping from his fingers.

You teased me, and you knew just what you were doing to me. I acted as if you were a plaything I was allowing to be in charge for a change, but I meant every word I said. Every damned word. I wanted to surrender to you, completely and utterly. I wanted to give you every last drop of me; mind, body, and spirit.

And it was glorious. I had never felt so treasured, so worshipped. I immediately understood why Asterin had fought against the bleakness for so long. I craved your touch, I needed to hear your whispered words against my neck. I was hooked.

I have spent nearly a century making human men beg for everything…for me, for my bare flesh… or for their lives. But I would never make you beg for anything.

Never will I make you feel trapped, or scared, or like you want to run away. I would never make you beg for me, because I am yours in every imaginable way, Dorian Havilliard.

Until you came into my life all I saw in this world was grey and red; existence and blood. When I laid eyes on you, I suddenly saw sapphire and gold; beauty and mystery...longing. So, my beloved princeling, as we stand side-by-side on that cliff, looking out over the world terrified and longing for peace, I will take your hand, and I will kiss your lips, because my heart yearns for you…because I love you.

[saralaurensmagalona]

The Embassy A Thorki fanfiction by Magalona

Summary:

After centuries of conflict, Asgard and Jotünheim are about to make an alliance during a royal delegation. At first, Crown Heir Thor is set against it and then he meets the third royal Jotünn prince...

Part One

Thor tried to stifle a yawn. For the umpteenth time.

It was getting harder and harder to do so without his mother, All-Mother Queen Frigga, noticing it. He was up for a good verbal hiding once this boring reception of legacies is over. He couldn't help it if it was so tedious and pointless. Being the Crown Prince was a thrill. Everyone did everything you wanted of them. You were top of the top, the best, the elite. Everyone adored you and wanted to please you... He was the Mighty Thor, bearer of the hammer Mjölnir, heir to the Asgardian throne, soon-to-be All-father. What more could he wish for ? One last thing actually. For all of it not to come with such a heavy price...

Responsibilities, duties, attending to meetings, ceremonies and such... Fastidious, tiresome chores he didn't know if he was really useful at, that prevented him from roaming around with his childhood friends, the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. Unfortunately, it couldn't be avoided and Thor was on a tight rope right now. He had been told by Odin Borson All-Father that he was not yet ready to take his place, that he had to grow up and act more like a man and a future king if that was what he really wanted. Part of Thor was vexed for he felt he was treated like a child. Another deep, secret part was relieved. He was having too much fun. He couldn't bear the idea of limiting himself on his duties alone. He was being loved and loved the whole world. Moreover, he knew that becoming All-Father would also entail to find a suitable consort, to be the faithful husband and to breed a little bunch of princes and princesses to ensure the royal lineage.

Boring, boring, boring.

He liked kids but they were noisy. He liked women but he wasn't sure he would be satisfied with only one for the rest of his life. No one needed to know that he actually liked being with a man from time to time... This could still cause a little scandal in Asgard, despite the tolerant policy. Of course, being married would put a stop to this whole sexual freedom. Something that he was not ready to give up. Of course, he had been witness to his parents' great love story. The union of Queen Frigga and King Odin was legendary. But there was only one Queen Frigga and Thor needed someone at least similar to her to make him change his way of life... And such a woman to appear was near to impossible...

After the envoys from Vanaheim, Queen Frigga's homeland, an expected (but unwanted) group of other ambassadors was about to be introduced by the herald. Thor could feel the tension in the whole crowd and his father straightening his back to make himself younger, stronger, taller... Or to brace himself against bad memories. Who knew about what was going on in the All-father's head right before the Frost Giants arrived, and, for the first time in Asgard, supposedly in peace ?

For this was the most important legacy of all, the Jotünn envoys. After centuries of bloody war, a hope for an honorable treaty and a definite closure on a burning hatred on both sides. Needless to say, it was going to be a highly perilous exercise with an imprecise result. Both countries could explode again at the slight show of the least appearance of disrespect... Even Thor, in his carelessness, knew perfectly well what was at stake. He dreamed of war exploits. He dreamed of seeing his Mjölnir once again dripping blue frost giant blood. But it could not be. He was not that blind to the greater good. The Asgardian were tired of paying the blood price. King Odin was too old for such hassle. As much as Thor could understand the first matter, and even the second, it wasn't enough to satisfy his thirst... His thirst for glory, for victory, for revenge... He wouldn't do anything to ruin this audience but, as he caressed the handle of his hammer, at the slightest mistake those brutes would make... Well, Norns help them but nothing would protect them from the Thunderer.

****

Thor hoped their entrance wouldn't be too much of a hassle. King Farbauti's three sons were to be the main ambassadors. It was a proof of goodwill, sending all his heirs at once. A challenge but King Farbauti and his consort Laufey were known as risk takers. Thor already knew, confronted (and defeated) the eldest. Helblindi. Tall, scary, covered in scars that weren't from religious rituals and a breath that literally froze everything around. In battle, Thor used to taunt him about his "bad breath." He hated that brute even if he had some respect for the warrior he was in action. Býleistr, the second one, smaller but wirier with blood-red eyes that pierced you to the core, had a reputation for being sharper than his elder brother and an accomplished tactician. He was supposed to do all the speech during the diplomatic exchanges as Helblindi was not known for being subtle. Thor never actually met him on the battleground for he was the one behind all the military moves which made him more dangerous. Helblindi was the muscle, Býleistr, the brain. They were not to be underestimated because they made quite an unpredictable pair. Thor feared none of them. All in all, Jötunns were the same. Ugly, stupid animals that didn't deserve even to exist. If it was up to him he would burn them all, destroy their cold and sinister city and salt the frozen ground afterward. No mercy, no trace of this despicable race left... Thor realized his fists were clenched so tight he had scratched himself. He had to calm down or there will be huge troubles. There was nothing to be nervous about. Really. He was at home, in charge. THEY were the ones to put themselves at risk in a foreign, hostile land. They didn't seem so all and mighty now that they were not in their beloved icy moors, with theirs norns-be-damned ice hounds to chase innocent Asgardian civilians with...

There was still an unknown factor in all of this. And Thor had a huge dislike of unknown factors. It was well known that Laufey gave Farbauti three sons. Yet, only two were widely infamous in the Nine Realms. When speaking of the Jötunn princes, one always had Býleistr and Heblindi in mind. They were more than enough, surely. Thor never minded the third one until now, assuming it was only a child, not yet ready to follow his brothers in war. It was said that Laufey and Farbauti's third was a late-in-life, unplanned baby. And that baby was to make its first public appearance next to his brothers. It might be a good thing. Or not. It might something totally unexpected. Something the Frost Giant King had kept under his sleeve to provoke chaos. Unknown was bad. Partial data was not to be taken lightly... And Thor had been aware of it since the moment he realized no one even knew the third prince's name.

Keeping all of this in mind, Thor guessed this was going to be complicated. Indeed, he intended to remain in control and astute. To be careful but also to be ready. Just in case. Mjölnir was waiting…

****

Stumping feet were heard in the great hall. A heavy and stressful rhythm. The whole assembly was holding back their breath. The silence, only interrupted by the regular beating of the floor was totally unnatural and creepy. When the herald announced the guests, many jumped as if a bomb had been dropped in the middle of the hall. Even Thor felt the hair on his arm stand.

“Their Royal Highness, Prince Helblindi, Prince Býleistr and Prince Loki Farbautison of Jötunnheim !”

As the eldest and crown heir, Helblindi came first. It was a change to see him in regular, ceremonial clothes on him and not bloody pieces of bashed armor. Yet, he had an unpleasant angry face that was barely under control. Thor knew he had quite a temper. This was going to be a rocky interview... Býleistr came second and was obviously keeping a close eye on his difficult eldest, following his steps, maintaining him under control. Thor wouldn't want to be in his shoes. He was stuck in-between, being the one in charge in the shadow of the one meant to be the real power. He looked confident but on his guards. Thor guessed he really wanted this treaty settled down and smoothly done... They went their way up the hall, all regalia and dignity. It was almost hard to believe that Thor had a clear memory of Helblindi, yelling in rage and battle lust, surrounded by Einherjar corpses and covered in blood... Not a good memory. Not at all.

As Thor wondered if he really had to cross eyes with the one whose skull he had almost broken with his hammer once, he perceived a tiny figure amongst the dreadful giants. At first, he thought it was a child, then a woman but it had larger shoulders. Then he noticed the figure had blue skin like a Frost Giant but dark, shiny hair like a normal Asgardian (although Asgardian were mostly blond or ginger…). That was a male Frost... Giant ? Except that he was Aesir-sized and almost as tall as Thor. Did Jötunn males mate with normal women ? Gross... The very idea made Thor want to vomit. Yet the creature was exquisite. The most beautiful Thor had ever seen... Muscled but lithe, graceful with a jumpy walk, eyes cast down, curiously. So Thor couldn't see if they were red or anything. The rest of the face, however, was extraordinary. Instead of a bark-like skin, full of scratches and crevices, it was a perfectly smooth complexion with refined features, a perfect nose and a mouth as thin as a wound with discreet round lips.

As Thor surprised himself wondering how those lips would taste, he noticed the creature wore the same furs and the same red cape and jewels as the two gigantic princes.

So, that was why they were hiding him. His own parents. Thor felt a twinge of compassion for this lonely beauty. For though he was as royally dressed as the others, he was clearly staying behind, humbled, and almost ignored by the rest of the retinue. As if he was lesser than the two other monsters, though of the same rank and lineage… Because of his unusual size. And maybe his dark, silky mane... Again, Thor wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked. A runt prince. Farbauti and Laufey must have been sick with shame seeing the poor tot. They must have tried to keep his existence a secret until it was not longer possible. As they needed to keep up a good image in front of the All-Father, they send all their children in a semblance of unity and good will. What a farce. Their whole attitude told everything.

Or maybe Thor was wrong, maybe they actually tried to protect him until he was grown and able to care for himself... Maybe. Why not ? Yet, as they stepped forward to pay their respects to Odin All-Father (and wishing they could stab him to death in the same time, Thor was sure of it), the two older brothers clearly acted as if the third was not even there. The boy didn't even try to be bold. He remained eyes down while the respective parties gave the usual greeting speech. A speech Thor didn't even hear for all he could see and pay attention to was how the blue wonder modestly held his hands, avoiding anyone's gaze. He must have felt Thor's actually, for he eventually raised his head and met Thor's eyes. Red, shiny like two bloody suns, of course. Or more like the amazing rubies Odin had taken from the dark elves and offered his wife for their last anniversary. Except that suns or stones never show any emotion and Thor guessed that those red orbs had multiple contradictory feelings storming a rage inside. Loki held Thor's gaze for a minute and then quickly turned around. His face harbored a deeper shade of blue. This was going to be delightful. Thor couldn't wait.

****

During supper, the royal family of Asgard and Jötunheim were to sit at the same table. Thor was more than happy to see that he had been placed at Loki's left. Frigga was seated at his right. Odin came next, at the master seat and then Helblindi and Býleistr. Protocol was respected and everyone was giving his due. Thor had never been happier to be at the end of the table. He could have Loki to himself without being bothered. And his mother would be gracious and polite but wouldn't prevent her son to be the gallant host. Even if he had an hidden agenda, everything to make the Frost Giants feel valued would be handy.

Thor loved the thrill of a good hunt and flirting to him was like chasing the most elusive deer. Love, war, hunt... All the same thing but with different goals and different preys. The more difficult, the best. Contrary to what all would think, Thor didn't like the easy way, things handed on a silver platter for him to plunder. He liked the challenge. And his current target actually looked like one. Queen Frigga was trying to make the runt prince comfortable while Odin was chattering with the others. Loki was bowing his head to her and shyly answering her questions. Yes, he found Asgard beautiful. Yes, he missed Jotünheim and his parents a bit but he was still excited to be here. No, it wasn't like he had imagined it... His voice was soft and low. It gave Thor goosebumps. He couldn't help but imagine lewd things this voice could purr to his ear. There was so many questions he also wanted to ask Loki but there was no time for it right now. He most of all wanted to know if Loki was free or engaged. If someone was waiting for him at home... But Frigga was monopolizing Loki and the latter seemed relieved for it and turned only his eyes to her. Thor was irritated and jealous and wanted his mother to stop. But you don't give Frigga All-Mother orders. No, sir. Not if you valued your life.

Thor was determined to make a move. He was not a patient man. That and his overbearing self-confidence were his biggest default. He discreetly examined Loki. Indeed, at a closer look, he was even more attractive. But he looked tense, his hands clenched into fists that he hid under the table. From the movement of his lips and eyes, Thor could guess he was extremely nervous. Well, Thor had to admit he had every reason to be. Far away from home, amongst former enemies, seated between a woman Laufey had once threatened to kill and drag her corpse by the hair around the Jotünn capital (for she had destroyed a whole battalion of Jotünn all by herself), and a man that was legendary for having crushed countless of Frost Giants' heads... Loki handled it rather smoothly, even if he was as tense as the cords on a harp. Yet, he didn't seem to even acknowledge Thor's presence. It annoyed the Thunderer. He didn't like being ignored by someone he valued.

“I guess you haven't traveled much, Prince Loki ?” Loki jumped and then composed himself seeing that Thor was talking to him. All white teeth, blue eyes and smiles. “No... My Lord... I haven't.” There was an hesitation in Loki's voice, as if he didn't know how to address Thor. Or maybe he was reluctant to talk to the one that destroyed so much of his own country. Thor surprised himself by wishing he wasn't that good on the battleground. It was going to be a hindrance in his relationship with Loki. “Because...” Thor resumed giving his most dashing smile. “If you had, Prince Loki's beauty and reputation would have reached the gates of Asgard in no time and I would have rushed to Jotünheim just for the honor of seeing you !” Loki pinched his lips, turned bluer, and looked the other way. Clearly embarrassed. “Your Highness is very kind...” He mumbled. So, he was playing the shrinking violet. Fine by Thor. Or was he ?

The rest of the evening, Thor followed Loki around, monopolizing his attention and doing most of the talking. Queen Frigga did nothing to prevent that, neither did Odin nor the brothers. Actually, Thor being attentive to the youngest prince was a sign of respect to their former foes. It was for the best. Except that Loki wasn't very cooperative. Answering “Yes, my Lord. No, your Highness...” to Thor's question. Remaining silent when Thor was going into one of his famous soliloquy about Asgard, the life on Asgard, the palace and such trivia. But he couldn't break the ice between him and Loki. The Jotünn prince seemed locked like Frigga's jewelery box. As discreet and silent as possible. Contrary to his brothers who were in a chatty mood after a cup of wine or two. Wine, Thor thought. That might loosen things up.

During the evening dance and reception, Thor managed to make Loki sit in another part of the room and asked the servants to fetch in his private collection. Loki sat down and kept fidgeting, casting worried glances towards his brothers were laughing, making a fuss, drinking and totally forgetting about their youngest sibling. “Here, Prince Loki, do you have such good summer wine in Jotünheim ?” Loki reluctantly took the golden cup Thor was giving him. “No... My Lord... But we have what we call the “Ice-wine.” It is made of special frozen berries... It is sugary but very strong if you are not careful...” Wow, the longest phrase the prince had uttered in the whole evening. Better make the most of it. “Speaking of ice, I noticed you are not affected by our climate like your brothers are. They are all sweaty already and you are still as fresh as a morning flower... and quite as beautiful.” Loki made an embarrassed, tiny chuckle. Thor was handing him a huge perch but he was not taking it. “I actually am able to control my body temperature, my Lord...” They were making small talk but nothing concrete. It didn't matter to Thor. He kept refilling Loki's cup and Loki seemed not to mind or not realizing it. He appeared to loosen up a little bit with each cup. Thor wasn't proud of such a low technique but Loki was by far the most difficult conquest he had to make... Which was not really surprising, considering, but still a little weird... “How so ?” Thor laughed while slowly getting closer on the couch. “I have... a secret, your Highness.” Loki chuckled again, a little louder. “Tell me...” Thor smiled. Then Loki seemed to wake up and remember who he was talking to. “I... I can't...” He uttered, looking a little scared. “Come on !” Thor encouraged the runt prince, now his leg almost touching his thigh. “Let me tell you a very embarrassing secret and you'll tell me yours !” “All right...” Loki murmured with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “The day of my first public appearance, when I was very young...” Thor lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner. “I was so scared I peed in my pants ! No one noticed it, not even my own mother ! I had to walk all day with wet underpants ! My biggest humiliation !” Loki made a tiny laugh that looked sincere this time. “And no one know but you, now. So it shows you I completely trust you. Now...” Thor lingered so close he could have touched Loki's face with his nose. “Tell me yours...” Loki breathed faster. His eyes went to one side to another, as if looking for an exit. It only enticed Thor even more. He never really had to fight for any of his paramours. Loki must have exhausted all of his ways out for he forcibly sighed and answered. “I practice magic.” “You're a sorcerer ?” Thor almost shrieked. Sorcerers were not good news. They were tricky, unreliable and whimsical. They never fought directly face-to-face with the enemy but could ruin a good, honorable battle from afar. “An apprentice, my Lord...” Loki must have noticed Thor's reluctance. “Not yet a sorcerer. But you seemed to dislike us. Yet, even the All-Father uses us as backups and many other things.” And Thor had vowed himself never to use such tricksters again. Even if his life depended on it. Magic was heresy to him. A low and cowardly way to fight and live. Curiously, knowing this didn't change his views on Loki. On contrary, hearing that, Thor was adamant that the beautiful runt prince will end up in the Thunderer's bed tonight. For some reason, carnally possessing a future sorcerer gave him a certain thrill... “No, Little One.” Thor's smile was the one of a wolf. “But it makes me wonder what kind of things you could do... What kind of marvels you could create.” Loki looked both pleased and annoyed. Thor realized he was doing all of this by ear, that he was not accustomed to flirting. Thor had a hope. Maybe no one was expecting him back in Jotünheim. Maybe Thor had a chance... He didn't know if he was the recent revelation or the wine but Loki was making him crazy with his dallying and his shyness. He was the least straightforward creature he had met. The most secretive. It had an unknown flavor to the Thunderer... Completely engrossed with his wooing hunt, Thor had not given any thought about the political significance of a sorcerer in Jotünheim. With all his fighting spirit, he had yet to realize that his country's mortal enemies had magic on their side in the person of his love interest...

The ice had finally broken. They were drinking and chatting. Thor managed to make Loki laugh that discreet, restrained laugh several times. It was as if the Jotünn prince was constantly holding back. He was obviously watching his own moves and words and only the alcohol had managed to lower down his guard. It was an uncommon behavior to Thor, used to easiness and frankness... But now, Loki seemed at ease. Even if he was still holding back, the light in his eyes displayed that he was enjoying himself, finally. Thor wanted now to take the next step. As he was still pouring the wine and still talking joyfully, his arm was now around Loki's shoulder who didn't seem to mind a bit. They were as close as they could get. The party was at its height and they managed to stifle their giggling at the sight of Helblindi trying to dance with the ambassador from Álfheim, Princess Wÿnmo. Quite a sight actually. You would have thought the former enemies were now goofing around as members of the same family. Thor took advantage of the funny scene to give Loki's nape a light caress. That made Loki stop in his tracks and gave Thor a look he couldn't interpret. Something between surprise, shyness and anger. “You don't like being touched, Little One ?” Thor murmured. Loki shrugged. “I don't mind... My Lord...” He lowly said. Back to square one with the shyness and the meekness. Thor was seriously asking himself if Loki was not playing some sort of game. “You are not used to touching, aren't you, Little One ?” “N-no, my Lord.” Thor waved his hand in annoyance. “Enough with the civilities. You can call me Thor. After all, I told you the most humiliating thing in my whole life.” Loki smiled but it was a contrite smile. “All right, my... Thor.” He blushed, meaning that his skin went in a darker shade of blue. It made him look amazing. Thor came closer. Loki stiffened but didn't move. Thor noticed that he kept throwing little glances at something on the left side. Thor was irritated to see that Loki was not looking at him in the eyes again. He gently took Loki's chin in his hands and made him raise his eyes. They also turned dark red. Maybe Loki was drunker than it seemed. “Then, tell me, Little One. A little secret between you and me. Are you untouched ?” Loki uttered a choked gasp and looked at Thor as if he had turned into a dragon. “Why is your highness...” “Thor.” Loki heavily breathed. “Why are you interested in it, Thor ?” “Well ? Are you ?” Thor insisted, his hand on Loki's back again. Loki bit his mouth. Clearly embarrassed. Thor thought that the wine might have gotten too much to his head. In normal time, he wouldn't be this rude. But Loki was playing hard to get and it got on Thor's nerves. “There is no one in Jotünheim I can mate with...” Loki sadly said. Thor felt a little shameful. He had noticed that it seemed to affect Loki. It also seemed he wanted to add something but prevented himself from saying it. “Does it make you sad ? Bitter ?” Thor gently asked, a bit ashamed at his intrusiveness. “No... It's just... I don't know.” Loki shrugged, clearly at a loss for words. Thor decided that now was the time for his move. He gently caressed Loki's face. “We could fix that... Together.” Thor felt Loki's skin tremble under his fingers. “W-what do you mean ?” Thor smiled, a soft, seductive smile. “Be my lover tonight.”

Loki was mute, his skin now turned a light gray-blue. The Jotünn way of getting pale, probably. “My Lord ! How...” He stopped. Loki was not a great talker but Thor was really a pushover. A dangerous combination. “Be my lover, Little One...” Thor used the velvet in his voice. Some of his former paramours had told him it was like he wrapped them in silk with it... “Join me tonight in my chambers. I'll wait the whole night if necessary. The choice is up to you.” He kissed Loki's hand, without waiting for his answer. He hoped he had made enough effect on the Jotünn to show him he was serious. Loki might not come to his room right away, maybe not even tonight. But the embassy was meant to go on for several months. So, Thor had time on his side. He left Loki's side, satisfied with the way he had directed everything. Going to the exit, getting ready for this night, just in case, he saw his mother Frigga, tired and out of breath from dancing. “You look flushed, mother.” Thor smiled. “Can you believe I could dance all night with your father or anyone, without getting any sweating when I was your age ?” She laughed. “I saw you were with Prince Loki. It was a good thing, my son, to attend all of Laufey's children.” Coming from Frigga it could be either a compliment about Thor's new-found diplomatic skills or a reprimand for he hadn't talked that much to the two other princes. Though, Thor had found it clever to remain distant but respectful to the other two. He still had a huge history with them... And a fatal mistake could easily be made... “Why, mother. I am simply taking care of our guests.” In more ways than one, he thought deep inside.

****

Thor was laying on his bed. He forbid himself from paying attention to his beating heart. He was counting the minutes, a thing that he never cared at all before. Even when in love and waiting for his then-lover. Time was not a thing you paid much mind to when being the crown prince of Asgard. Curiously, while waiting for the third Jotünn prince, it was.

Thor couldn't help but be excited, wondering if Loki would dare... He had seemed a bit scared, unsure of himself. Deep inside, Thor felt as if the prince had not appreciated any of Thor's attentions, as if he was forcing himself a bit to please the heir of Asgard. But Thor discarded the troublesome thought. Everyone loved the Mighty Thor, the Thunderer... Who wouldn't be honored to share his bed ? To experience his lovemaking ? Had not each and every one of his former partners acknowledged that he was an excellent lover ? That they were all madly in love with him ? So, why was he feeling like he was missing something concerning the runt prince ?

Thor jumped out of bed the minute he heard the knocking. He told himself not to get his hopes too high. But the one who had knocked was indeed Loki. In a night gown and trousers, without any jewel or velvet and his skin turning almost light gray, Loki looked almost childish, much younger than his real age. Frail, trembling, but utterly desirable. Without a word, Thor grabbed him and closed the door. He endeavored to kiss hard and strong, getting a little huff of surprise from his willing prey. “You are here, Little One.” Thor said, breaking the kiss. He couldn't quite believe it. Loki simply nodded. Thor noticed that he was really stiff. “Calm down, my darling. You are safe with me.” Thor murmured against Loki's neck. He perceived a strong shiver that set Thor on edge. He couldn't help grabbing and groping the firm, soft flesh. It was like a weird dance. Thor caressing and Loki half encouraging, half pushing away... He was squirming like a little fish, both trying to touch Thor and trying to escape. Loki had not uttered a word yet. That was odd. Thor got tired with the dallying and grabbed Loki by the waist. Loki seemed to consent and cling to his shoulders. Thor turned to the bed and they were about to topple on it when Loki transformed himself from a wooden doll to a raging panther, biting, scratching, fighting against a startled Thor and screaming in utter desperation. “NO ! No ! No ! No ! PLEASE !!! Please, don't ! I DON'T WANT TO !!”

[philipchanbroadwayreview]

A Deeper Knowledge Of Dogs Comes From Reading This

Solid Advice For Taking Good Care Of Your Dog

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Don’t let your dog to depart your premises without being on the leash although you may think your puppy is well behaved. Anything can happen, causing your puppy to run away or get in a fight with many other dogs as well as people. Ultimately, you’re the main dogs one who’s accountable for your dog’s safety, along with its actions.

Before selecting what sort of dog to obtain for your personal family, consider space. Even if you may love the bigger dogs that one could really wrap your arms around, you possibly will not have adequate space for any large breed. Take your house and yard size into mind before bringing home a fresh pooch.

Few are efficient at training dogs, so quit trying if you find everything is not going as well as planned. Rather than beating yourself up about this, speak to a trainer in your neighborhood. Since they convey more experience with dogs, it may be much simpler to enable them to train yours.

Your pet deserves to get quality dog food. Cheap pet food usually includes fillers (like corn or soybeans) that are not suitable for dogs. It may also contain bad quality ingredients which may hurt your dog’s health with time. Find a summary of recommended dog foods in the vet or perhaps advocate for animals. Your puppy will receive good advantages of the right kind of food.

The daily brushing of your dog’s coat is effective, in techniques that just stopping constant shedding. Daily brushing will help them get a beautiful, shiny coat. If you brush the coat, oils in the skin are distributed throughout, and this is helps to make the coat soft and silky.

Help make your own dog biscuits to deliver your beloved canine together with the healthiest treats. Most commercial merchandise is over-full of chemicals that aren’t beneficial to dogs, despite adding flavor and aroma. Use quality ingredients and tell your dog what you’re doing with the cooking! Get him all excited and allow him to taste-test as soon as they’re cool.

You should figure out how to introduce your dog to many other dogs. Keep him on his leash during introductions therefore you have better control. Begin with a walk by and keep his attention upon you. Then, in the next walk by, let the dogs to sniff the other person somewhat. This can permit them to get acquainted with one another without the perils of attacks.

Does your dog chew a lot? This can be an indication that your particular dog is bored or anxious. You must provide your puppy with a few toys that could be chewed as well as perhaps leave a shirt along with your smell near your dog to protect yourself from separation anxiety, particularly when your pet dog is quite young.

Before choosing which kind of dog to have for your family, consider space. Even if you may  texas family puts up home ‘for sale’ sign with vulgar language after neighbor dispute love the greater dogs you could really wrap your arms around, you may not have adequate space for any large breed. Take your house and yard size under consideration before bringing home a brand new pooch.

Make an appointment with an excellent vet right after getting a new dog. Do that once your dog arrives in your doorstep. The vet is going to check over your pet dog to ascertain if all things are okay, along with set it up as much as get vaccinations it could need. You must also have your pet neutered or spayed to cut down on pet overpopulation.

Try and provide your dog with lots of opportunities to socialize. Take him on walks on the park or beach where he will be around people as well as other dogs. Encourage his interactions with other people and praise him forever manners. He’ll be much more at ease in virtually any setting and customarily happier too.

Because man has a record of friendship with dogs, many think they can tell what their dog needs by simply the design on the face. You ought to be with a better understanding with the dog after you read through this. This is certainly something which your furry friend will appreciate.

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