#checkpoint tales

[wackart-and-whatnot]

So since business has been picking up and I'm taking more and more steps to launch a successful career in all of this creative work stuff, I wanted to let you all know that you can now follow my professional work on facebook and Instagram under the name Checkpoint Tales. Checkpoint Tales is a small multimedia firm that specializes in visual work and storytelling consultancy. That is; my work is to help people tell good stories, and potentially make them some exciting images to follow, that can enhance the experience for the audience. Be it for books, comics, films or games. I will be on active around Copenhagen with writing guilds and writing courses through the summer and hope to see some of you there. If you want to know more about my services ( I help both Danish and international clients ) you can also sign up for my monthly newsletter here: https://mailchi.mp/28779b312567/checkpoint-tales-newsletter

This newsletter also offers monthly tips and insights into creative writing, illustration and living a creative lifestyle. So if you like my work on Redlinestation and later Worldbuildguild, then you are going to want to check this out!

[ceasarslegion]

I have one day of work before i fly out tomorrow which is a bit awkward but at least im scheduled in TSA today so if they keep me there it'll be a quiet chill day. We dont have a ton of direct flights to the states and theyre all small and medium sized except for vegas, so everyone loves working our TSA checkpoint and i got all the american certifications specifically so i'd be scheduled there a lot. And like i said americans are way better as passengers than canadians are generally so im unlikely to encounter a karen today. But now that i said that im gonna get like 12 arent i

[sebdoesthings]

Sorry bby :(

[sayruq]

One by one, we are forced into a truck. Someone who is not moving lands on my lap. I fear that a soldier has thrown a corpse onto me, as a form of torture, but I am scared to speak. I whisper, “Are you alive?” “Yes, man,” the person says, and I sigh with relief. When the truck stops, we hear what sound like gunshots. I no longer feel my body. The soldiers give off a smell that reminds me of coffins. I find myself wishing that a heart attack would kill me. At our next stop, we kneel outside again. I start to wonder whether the Israeli military is showing us off. When a young man next to me cries, “No Hamas, no Hamas!,” I hear kicks until he falls silent. Another man, maybe talking to himself, says quietly, “I need to be with my daughter and pregnant wife. Please.” My eyes fill with tears. I imagine Maram and our kids on the other side of the checkpoint. They don’t have blankets or even enough clothes. I can hear female soldiers, chatting and laughing. Suddenly, someone kicks me in the stomach. I fly back and hit the ground, breathless. I cry out in Arabic for my mother. I am forced back onto my knees. There is no time to feel scared. A boot kicks me in the nose and mouth. I feel that I am almost finished, but the nightmare is not over. Back in the truck, my body hurts so much that I wish I had no hands or shoulders. After what feels like ninety minutes of driving, we are taken off the truck and shoved down some stairs. A soldier cuts my plastic handcuffs. “Both hands on the fence,” he says. This time, the soldier ties my hands in the front. A sigh of relief. I am escorted about fifteen metres. Finally, someone speaks to me in what sounds like native Palestinian Arabic. He seems to be my father’s age. At first, I hate this man. I think he is a collaborator. But later I hear him described as a shawish—a detainee like us, with little choice but to work for his jailers. “Let me help you,” he says. The shawish dresses me in new clothes and walks me inside the fence. When I raise my blindfolded head, I get blurry glimpses of a corrugated metal roof. We are in some kind of detention center; soldiers walk around, watching us. The shawish unrolls what looks like a yoga mat and covers me with a thin blanket. I place my bound hands behind my head, as a pillow. My arms sear with pain, but my body slowly warms. This is the end of day one.

Read the rest of Mosab's harrowing tale in here (if you don't have a New Yorker subscription)

[websterstylemag]

Blanc! Souls of Chronos! Wanted: Dead! Theatrhythm! Tales of Symphonia! THE NRW CHECKPOINT!

It's new game time as @briansapph & Webster Style take a look at #Blanc #SoulsofChronos #WantedDead #Theatrhythm #TalesofSymphoniaRemastered on the latest @THENRW CHECKPOINT! #thenrw #videogames #nintendo #gamers #action #remasters #art

*********************************************************************************************************** Ways To Support Become a Producer on Patreon for just $1 per month. https://www.patreon.com/websterstyle Pete and Pedro: Use code EHAWKES10 or (https://bit.ly/3rClqHK) to get 10% off your first purchase. Try Dubby energy drink. Get 10% off your first purchase with code…

[scirelistener]

POMEGRANATES

idia shroud x gn! reader

sypnosis : hades had persephone, idia has you.

It felt a tad bit ironic, if you were being honest. Staring at the carmine shine of the pomegranates given as a welcoming snack by the housewarden of Ignihyde, you couldn’t help but think of the tales of a certain King of the Underworld.

Though the sources varied on the reason why Persephone ended up in the Underworld (some daring to say Persephone was willing to go and was not abducted), it was ultimately this fruit, the pomegranate, that made her return to the dark and gloomy realm of Hades. While the Earth above froze with Demeter’s wrath, the king would reunit with his queen for a short period of 6 months.

Playing with the pomegranate seed, you wondered if Idia, himself, knew the irony of serving these. He who was leader to the very dormitory based on the King of the Underworld.

“.. The pomegranate isn’t laced with poison, y’know.” Your thoughts came to an abrupt halt as you turned to see Idia staring at you with what seemed to be puzzlement in his gaze. “Your HP is gonna be fine.”

You plopped the seed into your mouth before laying yourself down onto his bed, the softness of his blankets swallowing you whole. “I was just thinking how ironic it was that you’re serving me pomegranates.”

Idia stared at you for another moment, this time in bewilderment before realizing the myth that you were correlating the pomegranates with and turning away with a scoff. “That myth? The pomegranates in the tales are special. The ones I gave you are completely normal.” He said begrudgingly.

Noticing the tone, you flipped over to your stomach. Whilst silently admiring his fiery hair which glowed a serene blue with further help from his computer screen, you asked tentatively, “How do you feel about the tales?”

You internally winced as you watched as his fingers come to a halt as so did the clicking sounds of his keyboard and mouse. You were about to dismiss the question when the housewarden answered with a tone which you could not decipher.

“I wouldn’t go so far like he did. It’s similar to imprisonment, no? For the Queen, it must’ve felt like a player being tied to a checkpoint.” His tone resembled resentment. The glow of the computer screen gave notice to his face which scrunched up in a manner that screamed annoyance.

Then a sigh left from his lips before his fingers started clicking on his keyboard again. “But there’s no point of having my opinion on the tale. Doesn’t change the fact that the family’s still stuck with the damn curse.” Idia continued to game, this time with an expression that seemed more sullen than usual.

Sensing a change in his mood, you frowned at yourself for asking that question before your eyes trailed back to the pomegranate. As you reached for more, your mouth moved on its on,

“I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you.”

The words slipped out of your mouth too naturally for your own good. With a realization that slammed into your brain like a hammer of immense power, the pomegranate seeds slipped out of your fingers and your hand went loose; your eyes widened and your cheeks started to burn with embarrassment.

Dread plunged into your mind and painted your head white as you awaited for the housewarden’s reaction.

“…Huh?” Idia’s voice cracked in the middle of his outburst. You carefully turned your head towards him just to see the tip of his fiery hair burning a delicate shad of pink. The housewarden had a hand covering half his face while the other clutched onto his chest, his slender fingers wrinkling that iconic hoodie of his.

“I-, I meant-”

“You can’t just s-say something like that!” Idia stammered, his fingers crawling up to grip on his hair like his life depended on it. You internally winced at how tightly he was gripping it and was about to say something when he started blabbering, “What, you think you’re some sort of main character of an otome game!? Just because I feel the same, doesn’t mean you get to say those things out loud! You won’t gain any extra relationship levels with me just by saying that; all you’re giving me is a heart attack! I swear-”

As you were about to blubber out another apology in hopes of easing the poor guy’s ramble, you froze when you heard his words that indicated reciprocation.

"Wait. What do you mean you feel the same?"

“-Plus you wouldn’t even- huh?” Idia froze just like you did, eyes now back on you. Visible confusion spread over his face before his cheeks lit up a dark red. The pink that was only present near the tip of his hair now slowly unfurled into the never ending bluish fire.

Idia backed up against the chair, his body impossibly close to the backrest, as you stood up and slowly walked over to him with a giddy smile along with a blush that was a bit milder than is but still present.

Idia barely managed to muffle down his anxiety as you stopped right in front of him before leaning down.

“Idia, say that again? Please?”

How could he refuse you? You who looked down at him with eyes shining with expectation and joy of him mistakenly blabbering out his desires.

Though his hand ultimately crawled up his face once more to cover his red face, his words were head clearly.

“I-I wouldn’t mind being with you either.”

He hoped you didn’t notice how he took out a word in that sentence and how it might’ve possibly changed the meaning.

a/n : sorry for very shitty fic, i’ve been too idia-invested! also does anyone know epic the musical and has anyone listened to the vengeance saga cause sheeeeeesh the showdown between odysseus and poseidon had me shivering in my boots!!

and of course, please help those in needs by checking out the donation links on the master list post!

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 27

Alt 8: Written But Never Sent

Pairing: Steve Rogers x gn!Agent!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, ANGST (idk why I'm putting Steve through the ringer this week lol), mutual pining (this is apparently my bread and butter as well as my jam), mentions of death, crying/grieving, alcohol consumption/drunk (mentioned), confessions, first kisses, second chances, not beta'd I try to cover everything in my warnings but they are non-exhaustive - please read at your own risk! I will say that this fic is Angst heavy for the majority of it

Summary: You've been missing on a mission for longer than expected; all of your friends and teammates believe the worst to have happened. When packing up your apartment, Steve finds a series of letters addressed to the team in a box in your closet, and decides to read the one addressed to him. Word count: 2.6k

A/N: This one took me longer because I was really struggling with coming up with something for the afternoon stroll prompt. But hey! I think I kinda made this fluffy? We'll ignore the parts that are really sad though. I wanted a little mix of angst and fluff to switch it up. - Love, Grem x Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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You had went to Hungary over a month ago on a long mission; excited to be flying solo for the first time. Everyone was excited for you too. Natasha had given you a charm bracelet for good luck (that just so happened to be a mini taser), Bucky had shown you had to gut a man three ways, Sam had kindly offered you a lollipop since he had nothing as interesting to gift you last minute and Steve.... Well, Steve had offered some very leaderly advice and urged you to call if anything went wrong and you needed help. You'd assured him, and the others, that you'd be fine but promised to keep it in mind. You waved them goodbye from one of the quinjets and headed for your mission, already daydreaming about returning with grand tales of espionage and action to share with your friends.

But a week and a half ago you went radio silent.

All agents are given 72hours to reach a pre-determined checkpoint, usually a safe house 15 miles from your allocated location for the mission. Usually, when a cover is blown, an agent makes it to a safe house in an average time of 17hours, accounting for hiding out and ensuring they aren't followed.

No one was phased for the first seventeen hours. Not even for the first twenty-four. This was your first mission after all. But the hours dragged longer and longer, and by the 48th hour Steve and the team were desperate to make contact with you and head to Hungary themselves. However, as Nat had pointed out, any other agents in the field could be casualties and putting them at risk was not an option either. So, they had to wait.

Everyone knew what it meant when an agent hadn't checked in for a week.

There were two options; you were either dead or, by the grace of God, you were alive somewhere, somehow, and hadn't managed to make contact.

It was unlikely to be option two.

Although he didn't outwardly show it, Steve was the most affected by your assumed death. He'd planned a welcome home party for you before you left as a congratulations on your first mission, and had been fretting over what flowers to get you (or if he should get any at all). He'd been so proud you were flying solo - you'd been ready - even if he was a little anxious that he couldn't be beside you.

He'd held it together when Sam announced it to the team but barely. He was glad Sam had offered to speak instead of him - Steve wasn't sure he'd be able to make it through just speaking your name. Steve had made sure, as he usually did, to check in on everyone. He nodded along when Tony ranted about getting tracking software in everyone's suits to stop this from happening again and held Wanda when she cried about losing yet another person dear to her.

Hours and hours of endless grief and yet Steve stood tall being everyone else's rock. Being Captain.

Bucky had checked in on him once, and so had Sam, but Steve had only nodded with an "I'm okay. Don't worry about me." They clearly didn't believe him but knew better than to push it just yet. He was grateful for that.

It was when he was at home that night, in the dark of his apartment watching the lights of the city flicker from the window that he finally cried. He couldn't remember the last time he cried so hard but once he started he couldn't stop. Curled in a ball on the floor against the sofa, Steve sobbed until he somehow managed to drag himself to his bedroom in the early hours of the morning.

Steve had only managed to get a few hours sleep before he was up again. He was pouring himself a second coffee and rubbing his tired red eyes when his phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Steve." It was Fury. "I'm sorry to hear about Y/N."

Steve hums in vague acknowledgement, stirring creamer into his coffee. "What is it?"

Fury sighs into the phone and there's an audible creak as he slumps back into his chair. "There's no easy way to put this but we have to collect Y/N's things from their apartment."

Steve sucks in a breath. Army training makes him bite back vicious comments about how no one knew if you were dead and, even if that were the case, it hadn't even been a month since you'd disappeared. Angry bile burned in his throat and he breathed slowly through his nose, trying not to give away that he was furious. Fury was his friend too - and he was just doing his job.

"We're keeping the lease in their name, don't worry." Fury adds, seemingly noticing Steve's icy demeanour through the phone. "But the belongings and possible traces back to covert operations and the Avengers need to be held in secure storage until... a future time."

There's a heavy beat of silence before Fury continues. "I just thought you may want to be there when the agents pack things up is all."

"I'll be there." Steve says without a second thought. "Just tell me what time."

Steve walked to your apartment that afternoon. He knew it wouldn't be smart to take the motorcycle; the ability to speed and cause more harm to himself than necessary because of his grief was tempting but ultimately pointless.

It was a sunny day. A light breeze softly tousling his hair as he wandered the streets to your apartment. He'd been there a few times - in a totally leader/co-worker/friend manner of course - but the memories that flitted through his brain had him pausing more than once to stop himself from running back home.

One of the first times he'd been to your apartment was your housewarming. You'd finally moved from Natasha's couch into your own place and invited everyone around for drinks and food. You'd thanked him for the flowers he'd brought you when he'd arrived a lot earlier than everyone else and gave him a quick tour of the small apartment, showing off your paintings and trinkets with an infectious glee that had you both giggling and teasing one another. Unlike his apartment, yours had warmth. He'd never felt so at home in a new place before but then again, with you, he always felt like that. Safe.

Another time, you had been drunk. He only remembered when he pushed through the door and saw that you still hadn't fixed the gouge in the doorframe where you'd shoved your key into trying to open your door. Steve chuckled wryly and closed the door behind him. You and the girls had gone out drinking and Steve had offered to be your chaperone home; insisting that as team leader, your safety was priority.

"I don't see you walking Nat home," You had slurred, walking into him multiple times until he took your arm. "Or Wanda."

"Wanda can control people with her powers and Natasha can break four bones in twelve seconds." Steve chuckled, looking down at you. "Come on, you need to get home."

You swayed outside your apartment door, keys poised in hand, eyes narrowing on the key hole. You jabbed viciously, missing the lock entirely, spearing the door frame.

"Whoopsie." You giggled, setting Steve off too.

Steve wandered past your kitchen counter, remembering how he had to unlock the door for you, help you out of your shoes and usher you to bed with a glass of water. You'd looked beautiful that night and he should have told you so.

Tears threatened to spill and Steve was thankful he made it early before any of the agents sent to pack your things. He glanced around your living room, wiping at his eyes. He didn't know where to start. Only that he had to.

A few hours later, Steve finally managed to set foot into your bedroom.

Everything smelled like you in there. It was overwhelming. Steve had to sit on the floor for a few moments to regain his composure. Clothes that you hadn't managed to pack were left strewn across your bed and floor, your jewellery at your dresser, nothing of note to be found. Except, from where Steve had sat in a hurry, he could see a brightly coloured box peeking from your closet.

His face flushed as he wondered what could be in there; something he shouldn't see? More trinkets? However, curiosity got the better of him and he inched closer, tugging the box towards him and ripping off the lid.

Envelopes.

It was full of envelopes.

The very top one had his name on it written in neat, block writing. Steve pulled his envelope from the top and set it aside and returned to the box. The next envelop read N a t a s h a. Steve flicked through the next few and sure enough, there were envelopes addressed to the whole team as well as some family members and other friends. Steve's blue eyes flickered to his envelope beside him. He touched it tentatively like it would burst into flames before him. There was something inside of it - a letter most likely - and it made Steve's stomach lurch.

You'd written him a letter?

Morbid curiosity had him opening the letter carefully and tugging out the contents. Steve smiled through tears seeing your handwriting and scrawled mistakes through the paper and unfolded it, reading it slowly and meticulously, trying to imagine you sat at your kitchen counter writing it.

Dear Steve,

Who starts a letter with "dear" anymore? "To" didn't seem right and "Hi" was just... bad. Anyway, if you're reading this I guess that means that I've taken a short walk off a long pier. Which sucks but I knew if I didn't write these letters, I'd probably come back as a ghost and be miserable for all eternity or something.

Steve snorts at the first paragraph, chuckling thickly through the stream of tears.

Firstly, I want to say thank you. For being a friend and my captain a great team leader. It was an honour and privilege fighting beside you. That being said, I know that you're going to be there for everyone but yourself - so I have taken it upon myself to request that the team help take care of you in my letters to them.

Now Steve fights back a choked sob, cursing quietly and wiping tears away furiously. How did you always manage to read him like a book? You knew when he lied in truth or dare, when he lied to Tony about stupid shit, when he lied about being fine. He loved and hated that you could do it. Loved and hated you could see Steve Rogers beneath Captain America.

Secondly, I have something I want to confess. Maybe I'm I was reading into things to much but I have had, what the kids call these days, a "crush" on you. My only two regrets about this are not telling you sooner and not asking you out for coffee - even if you'd complain it was over-priced and that "back in your day you only had one type of coffee."

And finally, I want to say thank you for everything and I wish you nothing but the best - it's no less than you deserve. Love, Y/N

All of the air in Steve's lungs has evaporated. His heart has halted and he stares at the piece of paper in his hand like it's some sort of cosmic horror mangled with a joke. You'd been "crushing" on him? Steve reads the final half of your letter another few times, his heart aching in his chest.

Getting coffee with you. He'd have liked that. He vaguely remembered Nat mentioning to him that he should ask you out for a coffee and his lip quivered. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry.

"You could always ask Y/N out for a coffee, Steve." Nat had smirked at him. "You know, if you want to get to know them a little more."

Steve had frowned at her, confused. "We have coffee here," He said, pointing at Tony's old percolator that he'd just refilled. "Why would I need to go out with them to get to know them?"

Nat shook her head and sighed at him. "Nevermind, Rogers."

Your bedroom was quiet as Steve sifted through all of his memories of you. How many opportunities had he missed? He hadn't realised you had felt the same way and he'd pushed his feelings aside because he was your leader. He didn't know how long he sat for, still clutching the letter in his lap, but when there was a commotion in the main area of your apartment he frowned and clambered to his feet.

Yelling echoed throughout the apartment but before Steve could open your bedroom door it was flung open. Steve inched back and stared wide-eyed, still holding the letter.

You stared back at him.

"Hi Steve," You say quietly. Your gaze searches his face, seeing the tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes of your Captain boring into you. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Your eyes trail down and see he's holding a bit of paper, chest tightening when you realise what the paper is. However, before you can even open your mouth again, Steve's lips are on yours and his arms are hugging you so tightly you think you might burst.

His lips are salty from his tears but you don't mind, considering you haven't had a proper shower in days and he clearly didn't seem to care. Your own arms wrap around his waist, leaning into the soft, tender kiss without so much as a second thought.

The moment you break for breath, Steve's face is buried in your neck. You can feel the wet of his tears staining your shirt and it makes your own eyes well too. You squeeze him back tighter than before.

"'M sorry it took me so long to get back," You murmur into his shoulder. Steve barely moves a muscle and his voice is so quiet, you have to strain you're ears to hear him.

"You're back, that's all that matters."

Your heart hammers in your chest and you bravely rest your head onto his shoulder, slumping in his arms wearily.

"It was a nightmare getting back," You confess. "But I'm glad to be back. Especially if that's my welcome home present from now on."

That earns you a chuckle from Steve, who briefly moves back to look down at you, his eyes glistening with happy tears of relief and something a little more. "It can be. How about you tell me everything over coffee?"

Your eyebrow quirks and for the first time in week, you both smile at each other. "You're not talking about coffee from the percolator, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

You snort and shake your head in disbelief. "I'm AWOL for two weeks and everyone's panicking that I'm dead." You tease, giving him a playful sideways glance. "Oh, ye of little faith. Found the letter, huh?"

Steve's arms squeeze your sides again, the smell of his aftershave engulfing you in the familiar scent that made you feel warm and fuzzy whenever you were around him. "Was it that obvious?"

You pretend to ponder for a moment before answering yes. Your eyes gleam playfully up at Steve, looking the same as you did that night he walked you home from the bar, making him want to kiss you all over again. And he does. The flushed, shy look you give him after he pulls away again makes his heart soar.

"Come on," He urges, not wanting to waste a moment longer now that you were back.

Alive.

With him.

"I owe you a coffee date. Or ten."

[soon-palestine]

Conversation with a Hamas leader: P: All this killing & destruction… for what?

H: In Vietnam, there's a General called Võ Giáp who got half a million of his men killed. Today his huge sacrifice is looked back at as essential for Vietnam's liberation…

P: We're not Vietnam, every liberation struggle is unique to its context.

H: Oppressed people always win against colonizers…

P: Not everywhere. Native Americans, Aboriginals, and Maoris never managed to drive the colonizers out!

H: We're not native Americans, every case is different…

P: But you weren't you just comparing us to Vietnam?

[Long argument]

H: So what is your alternative? Nothing else works with Israel, not Mahmoud Abbas' diplomacy, not non-violence, not the international community, not the UN…

In domestic Palestinian politics, Hamas always wins every argument not by the appeal of its ideology, but by the long foiling & betrayal of every single alternative Palestinians ever tried.

Palestinians tried the biggest non-violent protest in Gaza's modern history, the 2018-19 Great March of Return, tens of thousands marching to the fence every Friday bare-chested raising the Palestinian flag (never Hamas')… The IDF took potshots at over 30,000 protesters for sport & bragged about the joy of hunting down people's kneecaps!

Palestinians tried international advocacy, only to be smeared, shut down, labelled "antisemties", detained, harassed, made into cautionary tales…

Palestinians tried negotiations, accepted 22% of their historic homeland & called for international law to be respected, only to be called rejectionists, maximalists, uncompromising & "never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity" (although Israel's Knesset officially rejects the two-state solution in absolute terms).

Palestinians tried to knock on the doors of every UN agency and international court, only to be called "diplomatic terrorists" & for whatever historic decision we got to remain mere ink on paper; never to be implemented…

Palestinians tried collaborating with Israel & providing it with ultimate security (the Palestinian authority), only to be weakened, humiliated, smeared, abandoned, defunded & called "terror supporters"…

Some Palestinians tried even converting to Judaism, only to be automatically rejected out of hand by Israel. One, who changed his name to Davidi ben Abraham & studied the Torah in depth, was literally shot at a checkpoint by an Israeli soldier who got mad at "Davidi" for daring to call himself "Jewish". How dare he?

These failures upon failures have only ever lent credence to Hamas & strengthened it.

As always: Palestinian nonviolence requires global non-silence!

[frostgears]

We Who Will Not Bow

It had been a difficult night.

"You're not an Academy mage. You're her," the injured guard said, defiant. "Bree the Bodiless. Bree the Banished. Bree the Bloody… go on, then. Kill me. Get it over with."

"And what purpose," she said, frustrated, "would that serve? Gods, they've been telling tales about me in my absence, I see. Hold still, I think I can fix this."

She opened a module drawer on her left arm, pulled out a silvery metal module marked with a quincunx of green jade inlay, snapped it into the socket on her left palm. Thin tentacles ventured out from an aperture, tasting the air, dripping with orange ooze. The guard shrank back against the side of the checkpoint tower.

"What are you going to do to me? What is that— aaaahh!"

Bree clasped her hand over the bolt wound on the injured guard's arm. Tentacles sank into flesh, writhing between her jointed porcelain fingers, probing under skin.

"Don't squirm, that's a burrowing bolt head, we don't want it burrowing any deeper. And these are preserved regeneration glands from a nesting bog kraken. They guard their eggs, did you know that? For up to two months. But the Great Bog is a miserable environment. There's parasites, and fungi, and necrotic plague, and so the damn things evolved these organs to channel mana into their eggs and young, almost like healing spells, to give them a fighting chance. Not against me, though. I killed this one and took its regeneration glands and doomed its clutch, just to get back one more thing I used to be able to do before that fucking archon took everything away from me… okay, wiggle your fingers…"

The guard's fingers moved. Bree took her hand away, satisfied. The tentacles retracted into her palm. She held an evil-looking bit of spiraled and fluted black metal between thumb and forefinger, rotated her wrist with a series of clicks, turning it around to inspect.

"Got it. All of it. Regrowth forced it out."

Her chest plate slid open. A lurid orange glow splashed across the burrowing bolt head, the hand holding it, and the face of the guard. She squeezed the bolt head, and it crumbled, not bending as mundane metal might, but falling to dust. The glow flared brighter.

"Gotta feed the furnace. Saved your arm, paid the cost; let's go, sweetheart, I need all the help I can get. Pick up your crossbow and follow me."

Her chest plate clacked shut.

"I'm not following you anywhere, traitor!"

Bree shrugged, then held out a hand. Her other one. No disembodied organs in the right hand, although anyone who'd actually seen what she could do with the thing built into its palm would no doubt prefer to hold the left.

"The bastards who killed your mates were Crimson Vanguard, the Crimson Pact's commandos. Real dickheads even by Pact standards. Drink to your squad's memory tomorrow that you all gave nearly as good as you got, because they don't normally leave any survivors. Plus, the Vanguard always sends a backup team. So, way I see it, either you come with me, and you might live, or you run and you probably don't, and really, which one of us is the traitor then, right?"

The guard glared at her through narrowed eyes, but took her hand. Bree hauled her to her feet. And then the guard ran for it.

"It's you! You're the traitor!" Bree yelled at the guard's rapidly receding back. "In case it wasn't clear from context!"

Her voice in this body was beautifully clear and melodic, but not particularly loud; it hadn't been built for yelling, and it didn't satisfy. Not that it would stop her from trying.

Something twanged behind her. A projectile of some kind bounced off her back.

"Nice try," she said, spinning around and folding her right hand down to reveal a hand-length metal spike nestled in a cavity in the mechanism of her arm, "my turn now." An internal spring released. The spike shot out, and did what it might be expected to do to a human skull.

She wiped fresh blood off her faceplate, afterward; tasted the crimson spatter with the tip of an intricately jointed porcelain tongue. It didn't taste like anything. It never did. Nothing did.

"You didn't have to come here," she said to the headless Vanguard commando at her feet. "Any other town. Or better yet, stay home, and don't murder anyone, and I could return the favor. But you came here armed, and it lives here, and I have this little compulsion to take care of it, yeah? 'HER TASK FOR THE TIME BEING SHALL BE TO SAFEGUARD AND PROTECT HER MOST RECENT VICTIM, UNTIL AND UNLESS SAID VICTIM MAY RELEASE HER FROM SERVICE, SATISFIED'," she said, in a low, mocking tone. "Lyric's horrified to even look at me, so I doubt satisfaction and release are on the table any time soon, right?"

No answer was forthcoming.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy. Time to go find your friends."

She sped along the main road, each step a leap, her torn and patched Academy cape flapping behind her. Everyone trying to get into the town had fled when the first Vanguard team set fire to the checkpoint, with their wagons if they could, on foot if they had to. She passed several wagons that stood abandoned, stopped briefly at another to shatter a yoke with her fist and free two terrified oxen.

Then she saw what she was looking for: you'd have to be an idiot to keep driving your wagon towards a burning guard tower, unless you were the rest of the second Vanguard team, with a wagon full of bad news.

Bree knelt in a ditch by the side of the road, screened from view by a thicket, and swapped out the regeneration gland module with another set of pickled arcane beast parts in a can, which did another thing she'd been able to do on her own before her body had been taken away.

The wagon was almost to her, close enough that her upgraded senses could clearly see the outline of a crossbow beneath the driver's plain black cloak. She tickled the stolen sun-serpent pyrosis organ with an internal actuator, and flame bloomed in the night again.

They came scrambling out, firing back, the snap of bows audible over the screaming of the horses. Disciplined, she had to give them that. Bolts hit her in the face and chest.

Not to much effect, of course. She'd once been Lyric's twin, an almost peerless servant automaton frame, built by her old business partner to last, but fundamentally also built to serve tea and look good in a maid outfit. It wasn't enough. It wasn't her. She'd made Coda upgrade her again and again, until Coda's own restorative compulsion had hit its limits, and the artificer told her there was nothing more she knew how to do. By then, she was strong. From there, she'd upgraded herself.

Three of them rushed her with swords. Close enough, Bree thought; she raised her right hand, opening the palm shutter, and whispered, "Nis zerat volut, ghran."

Her soulcatcher, the glowing point of twisted light in her right palm, was, in some sense, the reason she was here, stuck in this patchwork body with its almost nil astral presence. It was an instrument of more subtlety than power and it still worked for her when the rest of her magic had died. She'd upgraded it too. Now it didn't need a soul to be loosened from its mortal shell first.

Ghostly purple light streamed over them, and a moment later, they were down. She fed their torn-off souls to her furnace. Apparent time slowed to a crawl, the high ticking of her main escapement dropping to a steady thud, thud, thud. She snapped blades, broke bones, ripped through the remaining commandos with accelerated fury. The details were messy and irrelevant, forgotten as quickly as they came. The last two Vanguard were carrying a box. She took it from them and opened the lid.

The shock broke her concentration; her time sped up again. "Titan voidwasp larvae," she said, almost reverently. They'd been covered at the Academy, briefly, not something anyone was expected to encounter. The shiny purple-black grubs were from somewhere far, far away, and their eventual monstrous metamorphosis drank souls, just like she did now, but on a colossal scale. They were city killers.

"Here's the thing, little guys, even I don't trust myself with shit like you. Sorry. Protect and safeguard, you know how it is."

She fired her spike, retracted its cable, fired again, into each one in turn, until nothing was left but ichor and chitin splinters. Then she teased a last fractional burst out of her pyrosis module, playing a jet of flame across the mess, just in case.

That was it. There didn't seem to be much else to do. She checked for Vanguard survivors. One of them wasn't quite gone.

"Who… what… the fuck… are you?"

"Just somebody's discarded doll," Bree told him. "When the Pact interrogates your ghost, tell them Bree said not to come back." She dispatched him, as cleanly as she could.

For an indefinite time, there was no motion on the bloodied road, except for the dying flames, and the wind teasing her cape and her hair.

Silver radiance kindled beside her.

"Oh no, not you, don't you fucking start with me—"

"JUSTICE."

"—can piss up a rope!"

She ramped up her speed again and tried to strike the figure of a burning haloed skeleton with fire and the soulcatcher, both at once, but hit nothing but empty air. The archon was only as tangible as it wanted to be. She'd find a way to get at it someday, but it seemed today wasn't going to be that day.

"CEASE THIS."

"Get fucked."

"IT MAY INTEREST YOU TO KNOW THAT THE SUMMONING OF THE CHOSEN HERO HAS YET AGAIN FAILED."

"Not my fault the archmages can't get it up."

"THE HERO IS SUMMONED TO SAFEGUARD THE KINGDOM. THAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THE RITUAL. THE INVOCATIONS BESEECH THE DIVINE TO FILL A NEED AND PROVIDE A PROTECTOR IN THE TIME OF CRISIS."

"Okay, I don't care."

"IF A PROTECTOR IS ALREADY INCARNATE, THE DIVINE FEEL THEIR DUTY IS DONE. EVEN IF THE HERO IS UNAWARE OF THEIR ROLE."

"I jacked the Chosen Hero's soul and sold it to Coda and put it in a doll, right, I was there. So what, you're saying they can't do it again because Lyric's already here, even if it's a doll maid and not a hero? Tough shit, I guess. You met it, you know it isn't exactly hero material."

"YOUR ASSESSMENT IS CRUDE BUT CORRECT. IT IS NOT, AND IT WILL NOT BE. IT IS CONTENT TO SERVE AND TO ENJOY ITS NEW FORM. AND YET A HERO EXISTS. SOMEONE PROTECTS THE KINGDOM ALREADY, ALTHOUGH THEY DO NOT THINK OF IT IN SUCH TERMS. THEY DID SO AGAIN, THIS NIGHT."

"Wait."

"YOUR ACTIONS PRODUCED A HERO."

"Oh gods no."

"THE GODS WATCH. THE SKEIN OF DESTINY IS RE-COILED, A TANGLE REMOVED."

"I can't be—"

"JUSTICE MAY YET BE DONE. GOOD LUCK TO YOU."

Bree roundly cursed the archon in her annoyingly pleasant and musical voice, until it disappeared, and then another fifteen minutes for good measure, in case it felt like coming back. When it didn't, she started walking.

She looked back, once, to see the lights of the town. Somewhere back there, Coda and Lyric lived in their little shop. Lyric didn't sleep any more than Bree did. Maybe her once-twin was leaning out the window, one of its cute dresses ruffled by the night breeze. Maybe it was even looking this way.

"Well, let's face it, Bree," she said to herself, resigned. "You wouldn't have been a very good maid." □

---

prev: We Who Serve

next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 1: Bree 1

[lilacgaby]

01 | Mᴀʀʀʏ ᴍᴇ

~1.3k

chapter select!

the kingdom of todoroki ruled with an iron fist.

lands around were conquered easily, any resistance killed off instantly without regret. through their destructive forceful tendencies, they garnered a reputation across the many nations of the land for their brutality that rivaled even the nation of barbarians.

their harsh punishment to innocents came twice as hard if there was even a chance that the victims happened to be witches.

the tale as old as time went as followed: a witch had resisted the cruel king's orders face to face, which led to confrontation. what were these orders? that was lost to time, but the hatred for witches wasn't.

more specifically, the hatred that had arose from a fight that had left the king's face permanently scared across his eye.

since then, witches have been hunted down and executed in mere seconds, with the only witches allowed to live being ones who served the king himself. the todoroki who had set it into place, and enji who now ruled, all vowed for the same thing.

the murder of all witches who weren't 'serving' the kingdom.

this didn't stop born witch prodigy, [name], from embracing her powers.

even with the amount of books burned, the brooms and wands used as firewood, the king could not stop the generational knowledge that passed down through the witch bloodline. that very bloodline which coursed through her veins.

since childhood, she'd practice these powers. it had been awakened on a full moon when she suddenly found she had the power of ice, she froze over an entire lake just to go ice skating in the summer. feeling guilty, she felt she had to unfreeze the lake and save the now dormant fishes in it, which led to her discovering her fire.

each element of her magic was discovered through experimentation and coincidence, just like the first generations of witches.

because of her strength, personality, and kindness, she was well-known and protected throughout her town's very own taverns and cottages. the villagers would warn her of soldiers passing through, and would even give her space to practice in their yards. she would heal the townsfolk for cheap, start fires, and found other useful ways to apply her elemental magic through her assistance in the town.

in particular: shinsou, a worker at the tavern, toga, a knight, and midoriya, the town's intellect all worked to keep her safe.

everyday, after a hard days of work for them all, they'd sit in the tavern, drink, and chat. midoriya, who couldn't seem to keep his nose out of a book before too long. shinsou, who was eternally tired. and toga, always passionate. they were home to [name], and she was just as important to them as they were to her.

the town, which was abandoned from any form of assistance from the royals, had lost their main form of income which was magic long ago. but, the happiness and community that had been built from the tragedy of the loss was something that couldn't be robbed from them.

as such, this arrangement worked for years, where not a single incident where [name] was ever suspected as a witch had ever come to light. royal checkpoints, random searches, and even interrogations were never fruitful.

until a faithful day where [name] strayed out far too far for far too long.

it had been a necessary risk she neeeded to take. she ran out of frog mucus and birds tongue, which were huge parts of her healing brews.

colds and flus were abundant this time of year, the transition between summer and winter hitting harder for some more than most.

she had just gotten out of the swamp, when from behind she was approached by a man. he was dressed head to toe in expensive garments, hell even his horse was groomed head to toe.

"hello." the strange man said, a fancy air about him. his halfed red-white hair stood out from the rest of his outfit, which was all a royal blue. his heterochromic eyes watching her as she finished stuffing her small basket full of items.

"oh, hello. may i help you with something?" she tried not to show it, but she felt tense. not at the man himself, but because of the red-haired knightsguard member who was staring bullets into her, threateningly.

"yes, actually. i was hoping if you'd know of any healing remedies for my mother. the medics in my home are unable to help her, and you look like you know what you're doing."

she seemed shocked at his request. if royal medics couldn't help how could she? but she decided to indulge him anyways. "oh, of course. i'm not sure if what i can give you would be any stronger or different but, if you follow me to my town i can give you a remedy."

"that sounds perfect, i planned to head into town regardless. thank you..?"

"[name]."

he stuck out his hand, as he introduced himself back. "shoto todoroki."

she almost drops her basket at the revelation, but snaps out of it quickly enough to take his hand. this guy was the heir to the todoroki empire? and even the royal medics couldn't heal his mother? what was going on? why wasn't this headlines everywhere?

"oh, well, todoroki, you can follow me back to the village. it isn't far now."

"alright then, lead the way."

as she led him, his horse, and that red-haired knight to the village, she was deciding whether or not it was safe for him to head into town. he was a prince for godsake! or more accurately, whether it'd be safe for her to enter with him into town.

"todoroki.. if you don't mind me asking, why did you come all this way yourself? isn't it dangerous?"

"well, i suppose. but i have my knight with me here as insurance, and i can handle myself just fine."

"oh, okay. well, we're here. i'll just be a second." she ran inside a shop, and moments later came out with two vials of a pink liquid.

"these should help at least relieve some of the pain felt. while they're not a full solution since i don't know what exactly she's facing, they're a pain suppressive that will help her feel better."

todoroki looked them over, seemingly impressed.

"you have pretty potent remedies for a civilian. thank you for your assistance [name]."

"ah! well, you know, practice gets me pretty good at them!"

"don't mind my asking but, are you a witch?"

she nervously started laughing and denying the allegations. "what? a witch? you're crazy, what would ever give you that idea?"

"i went into another town before this on accident. a woman who claimed to be a witch gave me a remedy, yet called it a potion. and even so, it didn't feel half as powerful as yours [name]. just from touching yours, i feel a strong aura."

"well.. maybe she was just a liar?"

"no, [name]. i think i'm smart enough to know a witch when i see one, especially since my castle medics are witches."

[name] sighed, knowing she had been caught. "okay, fine, i'm a witch."

instead of slicing her head off right there, he just took on a thoughtful expression as he looked up at the sky.

he suddenly brought his eyes back down to her. "[name], i'm going to ask you something quite forward. i hope you can forgive me."

"forward?"

"i know this is sudden but,

would you marry me?"

she now dropped her basket to the ground, her jaw dropping along with it. was this man insane? he certainly didn't look it, he was actually quite handsome so.

why was he so crazy?

"i- i just met you? where did that come from?!"

"well you see, i really..

want my father off the throne."

next!

[hopesallwegotleft]

Snowman

For 12 Days of Jalim. Prompt #1: Snowman Words: 279

Going through Jason's different life stages. As a kid growing up, as a young adult getting addicted, as an adult in the military (around the checkpoint incident), and finally when meeting Salim.

-----

There's ice in his body. Always has been. Smoky-blue blood vessels streaking beneath hoarfrost skin growing up. Everyone can see it. Coming home to the arctic, his breath condensing in the cold. Mom working herself to the bone, still the heating goes out. Dad out of the picture, nowhere to be seen—wouldn't even recognize him if he was. A common tale he's too young to know. A bedtime story he falls asleep to every night. He shivers beneath the covers, frigid air freezing his cheeks.

There's ice in his veins. But not enough. His heartbeat slows, his body grows corpse cold. He is older now. Short on money, short on work, short on future. Too aware of the frostbite setting in. They say too much cold can feel like a burn. So he adapts, lapsing into rigor mortis; snow-white powder sticks to the tips of his fingers, the tip of his nose.

There's ice in his skull. There should be. When he remembers it being different, he shouts. Summons an avalanche to bury him under layers of snow. To suffocate his voice. To shelter him too deep to dig out, too far down to discover, too distant to hear his teeth chattering. He harbors hypothermia, rime replacing the marrow of his bones. Ice fills his eye sockets, so he can't see anything wrong. It numbs him. He's not cold. He's not. He says he's fine; this conversation is over.

There's ice inside him. He wants it gone. It's thawing, disappearing in drops down his spine under stubborn eyes. They're unwavering, the kindest he has ever seen—warm brown that doesn't look away. A tender look, searching. What will they find?

[sydsaint]

Just got a thought! How do you think Nick Aldis and Adam Pearce would react to assistant! reader wearing something a little more risque to work and maybe a superstar insults the both of them and she becomes bold and puts the star back in their place

My fav pair of old men in charge of things <3

Summary: Reader shows up to WrestleMania weekend with a special surprise for her favorite bosses. And a determination to not let anything ruin their Mania weekend.

It's Wrestlemania weekend, aka the busiest weekend of the year for WWE. And you're about to be late for work.

You zoom past the security checkpoint and imediatly make a b-line for the GM office that Pearce and Aldis are sharing for the weekend.

"I'm here!" You burst through the door just in time. "I'm here. Whew, I can't believe that I made it." You calm yourself when you see that you're just barely made it to your post before the top of the hour.

Nick looks up from his phone when you come busting through the door. "Ah, YN. I was just about to text and make sue that you were alright." He informs you and puts his phone away. "Oh, and don't you look lovely tonight." He takes notice of the enticing lowcut top and pants that mind as well be painted on that you're wearing.

"Thanks." You grin and blush slightly. "I wanted to make sure I looked good for the show since it's Mania." You explain. "And I'm so sorry that I was almost late." You add. "I had an appointment that I couldn't miss or reschedule earlier today."

"It's alright." Nick shrugs. "You made it just in time, which is all that I care about, frankly." He admits. "What kind of appointment did you need to keep on a Saturda? If you don't mind me asking." He asks you with a raised brow.

You smile to yourself, excited to show off your new look to Nick, and eventually Adam when you see him.

"It's sort of a surprise." You breifly explain. "Last weekend while I was back home? I hung out with a girlfriend to celebrate her birthday. She went out and got her boobs pierced to celebrate, and I went with her." You crack a small michevious smile.

You watch Nick's eyes imediatly flit down to your chest and you can't help but laugh. "It's not what you think." You giggle.

"Oh." Nick coughs. "Forgive me then. That was rude of me to stare like that." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Stare all you'd like, sweetie." You wink with another giggle. "It's nothing that you haven't seen before, right?" You tease him.

Nick chuckles at your playfullness and Adam finally pops into the room, back from wherever he was at. He shuts the door behind him firmly with a stressed frown, but relaxes when he notices you standing with Nick.

"YN! You're here finally." Adam walks over to you. "And all dressed up, I see." He oggles your outfit intently.

"Yes, she does look stunning, doesn't she?" Nick agree's. "And apparently she's also got something to show, right, YN?" He turns his gaze back on you.

You nod and move so that you're standing between the GM's and repeat your tale about going with your friend to get her nipples pierced with her. The story earns the same curious look from Adam that it did Nick, and you laugh again.

"It's not that." You assure Pearce. "Not this time, anyway." You tease with a playfull smile. "However, I did get this done." You finally reveal your special surprise by sticking your tongue out of your mouth to show off the stud now embeded into it.

"You got your tongue pierced?" Adam is the first one to respond.

You nod and return your tongue to your mouth. "Yep! I also got some work done on that tattoo on my thigh, but it's covered by a bandage and my pants right now." You add.

You glance between Nick and Adam to gauge their reactions. Nick seems to be pleasently intrigued by your new piercing. And Adam seems to be a bit flabberghasted by it.

"Well, I think that it suits you." Nick finally speaks up. "I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of being with a woman with a tongue stud." He admits. "But, the implications do intrigue me." He grins at you playfully.

You giggle and turn back to Pearce. "What about you, Adam?" You ask him. "What do you think?"

"I think that you love to push the agenda, don't you sweetheart? Keep me on my toes?" Adam replies with a small chuckle.

"It's my favorite thing." You joke with a laugh. "Now! Don't we have a stellar WrestleMania weekend to kick off?" You ask the pair. "I believe that NXT's Stand and Deliver show should be coming to an end."

Adam and Nick nod in agreement, and everyone parts ways to get some work done before Mania night 1 starts. You head down to the production truck to check up on things while Nick and Adam both check on their respective shows.

On your way back from the production truck, you run into Nick's troublemaker United States champion, Logan Paul. And Logan's not alone. This time around he's brought along his new entourage in Grayson Waller and Austin Theory.

"YN! Woah, look at you!" Logan's gaze rakes over your body, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Who are you all dressed up for, babe?" He asks you.

"Certainly not you." You quip back. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for your triple threat with Randy and Kevin?' You ask him, a hand on your hip.

Logan scoffs, that smug expression never faltering from his face. "I stay ready, sweetheart." He grins and flashes the title belt hanging off his shoulder proudly.

"I'm sure." You snark back. "Can I help you with something?" You ask. "Because if you haven't noticed, since I know that you think the world revolves around you, it's Mania weekend. And everyone is busy." You remind him.

"Whatever." Logan scoffs again. "There's plenty of better looking girls around here that are way less work than you." He sneers at you.

You roll your eyes. "Well I pray for any poor girl that happens to catch your attention tonight." You snark back at him. "Have a nice night, Logan. Good luck in your triple threat. You're going to need it." You add with a grin before walking off.

You hear Grayson and Austin consoling Logan as you walk off and it puts a smile on your face. You return to the office where Nick and Adam are chatting about something or other.

"YN. I trust you had a productive trip?" Nick asks you while you shut the door behind you.

"Everything's good in the production truck." You report. "And I am happy to let you know that our United States champion is feeling his usual self-entitled and confident self."

Nick and Adam share a small knowing look regarding your tone of voice. They smile at each other knowingly before returning to the task at hand while they wait for Logan to show up to complain about you later.

[the-wasteland-tales]

What is The Wasteland Tales?

This is an Ghoulcy project that inspired by the famous Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.

It is a tale of pilgrims making their way to a shrine together, and along the way they pass the time by telling stories.

The basis of Wasteland Tales is a bunch of settlers are traveling together to re-supply across various checkpoints.

Each unique settler/wastelander has their own tale about The Legendary Vaultie and The Ghoul. They spew some romantic, adventurous, or simply the raunchiest tales of the duo.

In the end, it is revealed that Lucy & Coop were part of their traveling caravan and they’re amused and shocked by some of the stories these folks spewed. 

Story & Art Guidelines

Writer must ensure that a settler/wastelander telling their own Ghoulcy tale. Feel free to take one of the Settlers the project has created, or create your own! 

Stories can be short or long.

Artists can draw any scenario as long as it fits the Fallout Tv Series world. Illustrate Lucy and Cooper in various shenanigans or situations. ( Heist scenario, wanted posters, newspaper clipping, act or good deed to a fellow settler etc )

Do you have to imitate the Medieval Art style? No it’s just the event’s inspiration.

Submit random Prompts: Can’t draw or write? Feel free to participate by sending us Tumblr prompts of what you would love to see! You never know, an artist or writer might get inspired!

Can you create more than one piece? Yes! Just make sure if you choose a settler/wastelander that you provide them a name, since there might be someone else who might want to use another merchant for example.

Each Submission must have:

Creator’s Name:

Title of the piece

Blog, AO3, Twitter or Tumblr Account Links they preferred to be credited to.

Name of their character so we can update the Settler roaster

Deadline: All submissions must be in by December 1st 2024

Please send a message that you want to participate to us, we will update our Masterlist for easy viewing experience.

All creation must be submitted to @the-wasteland-tales by submission, by chat or by email to : taleswasteland@gmail.com

The Project Blog will publish the Art or a link to the AO3 Story to keep everything curated and easy to find.

Thank you for your participation!

Wasteland Tales

[lakemojave]

This afternoon at 2:30 pm pacific: Tales From the Rambler Episode 14!!!

DM'd by Bill @gabajoofs, starring Dot @dorothylarouge as Janica Halcyon, Sebastian @lakemojave as Bhuri'Hssyngig, Jordan @brucebocchi as Ced Saverem, Heather @chansaw as Val Griv'ir, and Julia @thottacelli as Caitvuna Conu!

Art by @bijillion, recap under the cut! See y'all then!

THE STORY SO FAR: It has been years since the end of the Galactic Civil War. The New Republic struggles to rebuild the galaxy after decades of Imperial rule, locked in a cold war with the remnant Pentastar Alignment. All the while, in the dark corners of the galaxy, organized crime groups compete with each other to gain power in the galactic underworld after the collapse of the Hutt Cartel. Now, the crew of the transport ship the Rambler have been thrust into this gritty, cutthroat world...

LAST TIME: The crew of the Rambler ended their escapades in Doaba Guerfel by capturing the former Imperials who had secretly been installed at the highest levels of the city government and turning them in to the Corellian peoples' security forces. They were also met by Republic Intelligence, who gave tempered congratulations on their mission and instructed them to deal with the bounties placed on their heads by Black Sun.

In order to do this, Janica made contact with her associate Reginald Sparke, an information broker aligned with Black Sun. Unexpectedly, he set up a meeting with Durga the Hutt himself, Black Sun's leader, on the lava planet Mustafar. With the upgrades to the Rambler still needing a few days to complete, the crew took some time to rest and recharge after the stress of the mission, especially Bhuri, who went on a solo hunt in the woods to decompress from the racism she had experienced during their time in Doaba Guerfel. After a few days, the party reunited, and made for Mustafar.

The crew landed at Durga's headquarters, a mining facility run on slave labor. Incensed, Cait nearly made an effort to free the slaves, before Bhuri was able to convince her that there was nothing they could do for them right now. The situation defused, the crew arrived at Durga's throne room for their audience with him. Durga the Hutt offered to wipe their bounties in exchange for a job - springing several associates of his from a high security prison on the moon of Yaga Minor, in Pentastar Alignment space. He wanted them all alive but one - Sherlera the Hutt, whom he ordered to be executed for crossing him and trying to work with the Rebellion.

With the aid of a shuttle supplied by Republic Intelligence, the Rambler penetrated the Imperial remnant, making a series of risky hypserspace jumps before arriving at Yaga Minor, where they slipped by a checkpoint with forged credentials. Claiming they were there on a prisoner transfer, the crew were able to get inside the prison just as civil war erupted between factions of the Alignment led by Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon and Legate Ardus Kaine. In the chaos, the party was able to secure their quarry, and opened up all the other prison cells on the way out.

The party defied Durga's orders by faking Sherlera's death and turning her over to Republic Intelligence, then gave the others to Durga. As she was lying to the Hutt about Sherlera's fate, Janica felt a wellspring of charisma rise within her, allowing her to pull one over on the leader of Black Sun - and awakening something else within her, something which had been stirring for a long time...

[saddayfordemocracy]

10 films on Palestine that everyone should watch

Explore the tales of Palestinians who have suffered atrocities at the hands of Israeli occupation forces for 75 long years.

ith the Gaza invasion dominating headlines around the world and Israel carpet bombing the Gaza strip, killing scores of civilians, we have complied a list of films that highlight the plight of Palestinians so that people remember the human stories behind the statistics.

United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, in a Security Council meeting held on October 24 to discuss the Middle East situation, asserted, “It is important to also recognise the attacks by Hamas did not happen in a vacuum. The Palestinian people have been subjected to 56 years of suffocating occupation. They have seen their land steadily devoured by settlements and plagued by violence; their economy stifled; their people displaced and their homes demolished.”

His powerful statement rings true as Palestinians have been suffering under the apartheid rule of Israel for far too long. Palestinian people have tried various ways to raise their voices and tell the world about Israel’s atrocities, which have been ongoing since the Nakba in 1948. One of the most successful methods has been telling real stories through films, dramas, and documentaries.

Here are 10 films that depict how the people of Palestine have suffered for the past 75 years.

Farha (2021)

The film depicts the true story of a Palestinian girl who survived the Nakba of 1948, when thousands of Palestinians were expelled from their homeland. The hopeful young girl who wanted to study in the city watched silently from the pantry of her house while Israeli forces ethnically cleansed her neighbours and other fellow countrymen slaughtered by them.

The movie, directed by Hassiba Freiha and Kenton Oxley, is available on Netflix.

Tale of the Three Jewels (1995)

Set in contemporary Gaza, the movie is the story of a Palestinian boy, Yusef, who becomes entranced with a beautiful Gypsy girl. The children explore nature, mysticism, and their future while learning to live amid the surrounding brutality. To escape, Yusef sets off on a journey to the North American dreamworld with his blind neighbour.

Directed by Michel Khleifi, the movie is available to watch online on various sites.

Children of Shatalia (1998)

Farah, age 11, and Issa, age 12, are two streetwise children living in Beirut’s Palestinian Shatila refugee camp, located in the city’s “belt of misery.” The centre is home to 15,000 Palestinians and Lebanese who share a common experience of displacement, unemployment, and poverty. The two children are given video cameras; they use their imaginations and creativity to come to terms with the realities of growing up in a refugee camp that has survived massacre, siege, and starvation.

Directed by Mai Masri, the movie is available on Netflix.

Omar (2013)

Omar is a young Palestinian man living in Israeli-occupied West Bank where he must navigate a steep separation wall and checkpoints to visit his friends. Omar sees his horizons diminish after he carries out a sniper attack with his two childhood buddies. He’s captured, imprisoned, tortured, and coerced into becoming an informer for the Israelis but finds he’s not the only traitor.

Directed by Hany Abu-Assad, the second film from the Palestinian territories to be nominated for an Academy Award is available on Netflix.

Pomegranates and Myrrh (2009)

The film tells the story of a Palestinian woman who uses Dabke (a traditional folk dance) to cope with the loss of her husband, who is taken away by Israeli authorities. The story talks about the political climate of Palestine and the internal and external sufferings of Palestinians.

Directed by Najwa Najjar, the movie is available on Netflix.

Eyes of a Thief (2014)

The film’s central plot-line is a father’s search for his daughter. As he searches, he not only has to fight against the lack of freedom under occupation but also against social boundaries. Having served a 10-year prison sentence for an attack on Israeli border soldiers, Tarek sets out to find his daughter Malak. When he eventually finds her in Nablus, however, he discovers that she has been adopted. He can’t reveal himself publicly as her father, so he takes a job nearby working as an engineer for the official in charge of water at the Palestinian National Authority to be able to approach her in secret.

Directed by Najwa Najjar, the film is available on Netflix.

The Time That Remains (2009)

This semi-autobiographical film tells the story of a father who fought in the 1948 war and chose to stay back when Israelis took over. It depicts the life of Palestinians living as a minority on their own land. The film is divided into four parts.

Directed by Elia Suleiman, The Time That Remains is available for streaming on Apple TV.

3000 Nights (2015)

The film illustrates the plight of political prisoners in Israel. Set in 1980, Nablus, 3000 Nights follows a newly-married school teacher, Layal, whose crime is giving a ride to a teenage boy who is accused of executing a lethal attack on a military checkpoint. Layal is sentenced to eight years in prison, where she spends her pregnancy and gives birth to a boy.

Directed by Mai Masri, the film is available on Netflix.

The Present (2020)

A father-daughter duo living along the Palestine border sets out to buy a fridge. The pair has to cross the checkpoint, segregated road, and armed soldiers, which involves a stringent checking process to cross the border. The movie depicts the life of Palestinians who can’t do basic daily routine things without facing harassment by IDF soldiers.

Co-written and directed by Farah Nabulsi, the BAFTA Award-winning film is available on Netflix.

When I Saw You (2012)

This story focuses on the heartache of a young boy, Tarek, who wants his father and his state back. He is displaced in a grim camp, with no one to turn to, and proceeds on a journey to turn his life around.

Directed by Annemarie Jacir, the movie is available on Netflix.

If you are interested in the historical context of the Israel-Palestine conflict, take a look at this list compiled by Al-Jazeera.

As Israeli forces bomb Gaza relentlessly to ‘punish’ Hamas, killing thousands of innocent Palestinians, it is important to remember their stories.

Words courtesy of images.dawn.com

[philamotrising]

lore checkpoint

a series of loosely connected groups of dragons in and around dragonhome

tenebris grove - an unnatural grove of gloomy pine trees north of the border with the tangled wood. filled with crumbling ruins and overgrown underbrush, a new town has sprung up in response to greater trade throughout dragonhome (tag)

the hallowbluffs - at the top of a high pillar off the eastern coast of dragonhome sits refuge. not all clans reacted well to sornieth's recent elemental upheaval, and some drakes have needed a place to escape and rest (tag)

the faded canyon - a ravine at the eastern edge of dragonhome, where the elemental magics of the labyrinth clash with the earth. the result is the forgotten woods - a magically potent location that plays host to all manner of folk, both strange and mundane (tag)

wanderers - the rhythms of dragonhome lend themselves to meandering, and many find themselves drawn to a path, rather than a place. of course, not all are respectable travellers, and others still are outright criminals. nevertheless, they wander the cracks and crevices of the earthshaker’s realm, and as such are his children.

the cliffhang outpost - tucked in the walls of a crack in the shattered plain, the remnants of a mercenary company live amongst the ancient canyonhomes. their numbers aren’t great, so they’ve turned from more traditional mercenary practices to training other drakes instead. perhaps it doesn’t lend itself to the glory and tales of the old times, but the stories they tell now are less gory, and their coffers are fuller. (aka my lored fodder trainers)

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this is a side blog - my main blog is @humofnight