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[souls-foreclosed]

Chapter IX: De Civitate Dei

Second Verse: LOVE - “The Chosen Blade" (182)

(JUL 31 - 2024)

Once again I must thank MJ Holiday (@arthropodrespecter) for her outstanding work rendering this scene in color! As you can see, things are rapidly escalating into truly eldritch territory... you can check out the splash panel in all its horrifying glory without the inserted smaller panels here.

Archive No.: 762 (non-animated)

[niennandil-me-writes]

[Commission for @sev-arts. All proceeds go to the Queer Vienna Mutual Aid Fund. This story takes place between chapters 6 and 7 of her comic Souls Foreclosed.]

Content Notes: misgendering, deadnaming, lots of slurs, transphobia in general (canon-accurate), dismemberment, fascism, spoilers for Souls Foreclosed

Tabitha felt Reah shift in her saddle as they looked down on the small village that would be better described as a hamlet, or perhaps a collection of wooden planks that happened to form something vaguely resembling huts. She wasn’t sure whether it had been built up by the refugees that were huddling around the train tracks, or whether it had once housed people and had now been chosen for its proximity to said tracks as a meeting point.

Reah’s disquiet went over to the horse, which started whinnying and throwing its head around. Tabitha held on tighter to her butch. “Everything alright up there?” 

Reah had gotten more and more quiet on their journey here, which the Sorceress would have described as uncharacteristic, had she not been like this for a while now. Things had changed since their capture by Savounarola. For both of them.

“Yeah, it’s about alright, madam,” said Reah. “Though I don’t know if there ain’t better uses for our time. The Red Masque seems to have this under control, and I’ve heard talks of raids in parts close to these.” The last part was muttered more than uttered, and made Tabitha cling on more tightly, unsure if she was trying to give comfort to the Revenant or hold her in place like an attack dog about to pounce.

“We’re going to need you here,” said Astor. The sharpshoot was sitting on his own horse, smoking a cigarette from his seemingly endless supply. “Or rather, these people will. Traveling by train is a risky matter, even when the tracks are long in disuse, and nobody is expecting us. But it’s the safest way for these refugees. Most of them are no fighters, many of them disabled or old or families with children.”

“Well, it’s something different from all the supply runs we’re sent on,” said Reah, but her heart didn’t seem in it.

“Will the tracks be any problem?” asked Tabitha, watching the refugees load their belongings on the train, and the Red Masque militia check all the wagons one last time for stowaways and other unwelcome surprises. The train itself looked almost worse for wear than the tracks. Tabitha could imagine that it hadn’t even been stolen but rather taken over after nobody else wanted to have it anymore. “The last train ride Reah and I took… didn’t go so well.” Her brief smirk faltered on her face at the lack of reaction from her companion.

“According to Madam Spitfire they should lead us uninterrupted to our safe zone,” explained Astor. “Though they seem in such a bad condition that we’ll be reduced to a snail’s pace at times, and let’s hope it’s only a few times. That is precisely why we are needed. Too many chances of being spotted or waylaid. Though at least there should be no troops coming through.”

“Yes, I get it, it’s another escort mission.” There was that new bite in Reah’s voice, and Tabitha almost spoke up, but at that moment the Red Masque agents by the train gave the sign that all was clear, and they started on their voyage.

It was a rather calm, if very slow, journey, no signs of tyranny or evil ahead, and no holdups except when they had to halt for half an hour at a tree that had fallen across the tracks, which Reah picked up and threw wayside. Still, it was almost evening, the sun nearing the horizon, when Tabitha finally raised her voice: “It almost looks like we have an easy job for once.”

“Well, now you done jinxed it.” It was supposed to be a joke, but Reah’s voice didn’t really do jokes right now.

“Sorry about that, choir girl.” She nuzzled the well-worn nickname into the shoulder of Reah’s vest. “But then again, that’s not what you want, is it?”

“Wha -?” Now she sounded actually surprised, and she was cute when she sounded surprised, showing off that herbo side of hers.

“You’d rather be hunting her, right? Lourdes.” She needn’t have added the name because as soon as she spoke the first sentence, Reah gritted her teeth so hard it made Tabitha’s mouth ache.

“She got my hand, Tabitha. And she’s hurting people with it. Committing atrocities. Killing innocents.” She didn’t look back, but Tabitha could feel the darkness in her face. She wanted to hold it between her hands and kiss her choir girl’s sorrows away. If only it were that easy. If only Tabitha were young and naïve enough to give back some of that young naivete her butch had lost.

“We’re already doing all we can,” she said instead, trying reason instead of whimsy. “We’re helping people, kicking tyrants’ asses. But you need to rest to do that.” She held on tight and murmured these words into Reah’s pointed ears. “Truly rest. When’s the last time you slept a whole night? Or took a day off? Even Spitfire sleeps sometimes, or so I’ve heard.”

For a while, Reah said nothing, and Tabitha thought she’d shut down and wanted to drop the subject, when she heard her mutter something that sounded a bit like I can rest when I have my hand back.

“What’s that?” asked Tabitha. And even as she thought Reah would not answer again, the Revenant sat up straighter in the saddle.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, “to see your own hand raised against the innocent.”

And that stung in a way Tabitha didn’t understand or refused to understand. She shoved those feelings deep down and said: “That’s not your fault. Neither the losing the arm part, nor what’s done with it.”

“I can’t help it…” She trailed off and fell silent for a while longer. “She was there, you know? I remember now. She was among the inquisitors who…”

“You want revenge.”

To Tabitha’s surprise, Reah shook her head immediately. “Not that. I want… I don’t know… Absolution?”

“I don’t think that’s the word you’re looking for.” And hell, why did that word itch at the feelings she just got done burying?

“It don’t make sense, I know that,” said the Revenant. “But it feels unfair, y’know? That I was the only one survived. That I survived and couldn’t help the others. I ain’t better than they are, or were. Just got lucky with my vigorous blood.”

“Survivor’s guilt, choir girl? Really? That hardly suits you.” The words were out before she could stop herself.

For a few moments, nobody talked. And then:

“Can we just… can we ride in silence for a while?”

“Yes… I suppose we can do that.”

They rode on next to the stuttering train, dragging long shadows behind them, until those disappeared in darkness.

Stopping for the night would have been tempting an already fragile fate, and so the train kept rumbling along the tracks. They took turns keeping watch. Right now, Tabitha was sleeping in a private compartment that she had picked out for the two of them, while Reah was riding with the others alongside the train. 

Still much too quiet for Reah’s taste. Tabitha had been right, she was on edge, and she wished she could change that, but she couldn’t let go of that single-mindedness that had befallen her. She didn’t want to – couldn’t – let anyone get hurt. Not again.

Maybe Tabitha was right with what she had said of “survivor’s guilt”. Guilt was one thing the church dealt with in abundance, even those branches that were more open-minded. It wasn’t coincidence that it had been her Mother Confessor who had set Reah on her path.

She wished she could be more like the Sorceress: Freed from her past. Driven by revenge instead of weighed down by guilt. Maybe she could be that, now that she had motivation. Her arm stump ached under the prosthesis when she thought of that madwoman and what she might be doing to innocent people at this very moment, with nobody there to stop her. It hurt like hell.

It hurt more than usual, in fact, a searing cold echo of that soul-rending bite that had cost her the arm in the first place. Reah was torn out of her contemplation to realize: This was more than phantom pain. This was a sign.

Throwing her head around, she searched for attackers, but the night was as calm and still as before, the only sounds coming from the train and the hushed voices of the Red Masque guards. And still, Reah was absolutely sure.

“She’s here!”

“What did you see?” called Astor from a few feet away. “Who’s here?”

But Reah didn’t answer, was already guiding her horse towards the train. No time to stop train or horse, she jumped from the saddle, right arm outstretched towards the closest door. Her hand grasped the cool metal of the handle, the door flew open, and for a moment Reah was dragged behind the train, feet scrambling over the rocky ground. Then she found her bearings and managed to clamber inside the wagon.

“Everyone stay in your compartments, we’re under attack!” she yelled, though there was little need because the train was ringing with noises of fight and sorcery, coming from up ahead, and all the doors with intact locks were shut tight from within as Reah ran past them.

The door to the conductor’s compartment stood wide open, and this was where the action was taking place. At the moment, it was just Tabitha, her fingers tracing powerful sigils into the air, against three opponents: Two men who Reah didn’t recognize, and a woman whose face, twisted by madness and obsession, she knew all too well. Lourdes had Reah’s hand raised and was about to attack Tabitha. 

Though Reah had no doubt that the Sorceress could defend herself, she found herself overtaken by rage and stormed forward, head lowered, to tackle the madwoman away from Tabitha and ram her horns into her side. Her voice was a growl as she screamed: “Hands off my femme!”

For only a second, Tabitha shot a gentle grateful smile towards her, before she returned her focus to her sorcery to keep the other two attackers in check. “They must have put that tree on the tracks and hidden, using our forced stop to board unseen,” she explained quickly. “And then hidden on the train until they found an opportune moment to attack.”

Only now did Reah notice that all three adversaries wore clothes in grey and brown colors, which would have helped them hide in the dirt of the road, maybe even directly on the tracks in front of the tree. Stupid and reckless yet again, Reah, she berated herself.

"I see you have a new arm.” A smile tore itself over Lourdes’ features as she pointed her chin at the wooden contraption pinning her against the wall, begging to be punched out of her face, which Reah did gladly.

“Wanted to say the same thing, though this one’s hardly yours.” She didn’t dare turn from Lourdes, who was already wrestling herself out of her grip, as she yelled over to Tabitha: “Is that all of them?”

“All within the train, though I assume they have reinforcements coming, now that we’re hit where it hurts.”

And indeed, there were shots fired outside, and even from atop the train roof. Hopefully from their own people.

“It must be a case of déjà-vu for you,” spoke Lourdes. “Once again, you are present to witness the eradication of your fellow degenerates. Must sting, eh, Sa-“

Reah interrupted her with another punch, then got Lourdes’ – no, her own! – fist in the stomach. Then a bullet burrowed itself in her mechanical arm for good measure.

“Sorry, that one got past me!” called Tabitha, and to prevent it from happening again, trapped the shooter between two sigils and threw him out the window, which was not open at that moment, but did relent to the Sorceress’ magic with a loud shattering sound.

Just a moment later, a familiar voice came through the same window: “Ladies, I think we got a problem up ahead.”

Neither Reah nor Tabitha asked how Astor had gotten onto the roof of the train, both just happy to have the sharpshoot in a tactical position.

“Just one?” asked Reah, now entangled in a fight with the Knight Inquisitor.

“We’re off track!”, called Astor, before his head disappeared again from the window, and more shots rang out from the roof.

“What the fuck do you mean off track?” yelled Tabitha. “We’re on a train, in case you haven’t noticed!"

Astor reappeared. “Yes. And right now, we happen to be on the wrong track. We’re back on the main line, heading North instead of South!”

Lourdes gave out a bellowing laugh. “And your next stop is right at a Norran checkpoint!” She ducked under Reah’s next punch and spit blood on the floor. “Which will be - how do you say? - the end of the line for you depraved sodomites and your heretical friends.”

“I’ll stop the train!” screamed Tabitha and reached for the brake.

“Don’t!” yelled Astor. “They got more reinforcements coming! If we stop, we lose what little advantage we have.”

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to – “ At that moment, the remaining male fighter’s fist cracked into her skull. She kicked him against the furnace with a “Don’t touch me, you pig!”

“There’s a turnout up ahead that should bring us back on track!” Astor called down. “But our folk are all engaged or wounded right now.”

“Is it visible from the window?” asked Tabitha.

“Yeah.”

“Then I can get at it!” She leaned out the broken window and searched the area until she found the turnout and the lever that controlled it. It was hard to see in the dark, and she didn’t have much time, so she’d need all her focus.

Meanwhile Reah had to use all her strength to keep Lourdes engaged and away from Tabitha. Reah was a beast in battle, but the other woman fought like a starved rabid dog on steroids. The blood in her mouth was not just her own. There was a madness behind her eyes that would have (and had) scared the bravest person.

“All those gifts bestowed upon you by the Lord,” she barked. “Squandered on a sodomite! You should have succumbed to the Brand and made yourself useful to the Church in that way at least.”

“Shut up and give me back my arm!” screamed Reah because she was all out of wit. Her mechanical arm was gripped around the stolen one like a vise, tearing and ripping. A kick in her stomach drove the breath from her for a moment, and forced her to let go.

“You know what I did to your perverted brothers,” spoke Lourdes. “But did you know that it was myself who conducted the confession of the heretical “nun” who set you on that path of sin? It took some convincing to make her see reason, but she ended up singing like a bird.”

Reah roared and threw herself at Lourdes.

“Don’t let her distract you!” screamed Tabitha.

And indeed, Reah had completely forgotten the other man who, despite the heavy burns on his back, was still in the compartment, and that he still had his gun, and posed a threat to the Sorceress and her focus. Tabitha managed to redirect a bullet, but couldn’t keep the man from gripping her hair and pulling her away from the window. 

The pain in her scalp and from the sheer indignity of it all was nothing compared to the ice-cold sting of his words, delivered in an unmistakable Tyvian accent: “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Karthosian. Almost didn’t recognise you in that faggy getup. Guess I don’t have to call you sir anymore.”

And yes, suddenly she did recognize the man, now that she imagined him in Tyvian uniform, and that image brought back memories she’d rather have buried, memories of a life she’d abandoned for good reason.

“I said don’t fucking touch me!” she screeched, composure forgotten, and backhanded him across the face.

He retreated and lifted his gun, which she kicked out of his hands. And he chuckled. Damn, why did he chuckle? She liked them scared much more.

“Hard to believe that you used to hunt down degenerates, just to become one yourself.” He spit at her. “How low one can sink.”

This coming from a man who was about to rise in the ranks in Tyvia, and now earns his money as a mercenary in Norra! Why wasn’t she saying that? Where was her bite?

“You won’t remember my first mission under you, but I do,” he continued for some reason. “Priscilla he called himself in the streets. Whore of a fag that ever was. And how he screamed.”

This time it didn’t sting. It snapped. Sorcery not meticulously constructed but scribbled down in angry letters forming hateful words connecting to sentences full of rage, all directed at that singular sorry excuse of a human being. A body rendered apart, ripped to shreds and covering floor and walls and ceiling in viscera.

“Tabitha, the turnout!” screamed a distant voice from just up ahead.

“Madam Sorceress!” called Reah. “Don’t worry, I got this. You do your thing!”

Tabitha couldn’t tell if that was the truth. She was trembling. Needed all her strength to regain a semblance of composure. The turnout. The window. Right. 

The lever was much closer now. Almost too close. She maybe had one minute left. Breathe. Focus, Tabitha. You’re the goddamn Sorceress!

Twenty seconds. Don’t think of Reah fighting Godfrey’s attack dog. Don’t think of the man. Don’t think of Priscilla. Don’t think. Don’t.

Ten seconds.

Do!

Her hands and mind and sorcery reached out. The lever moved and the turnout soon followed, redirecting the train at the last moment. To safety, hopefully.

The gunshots outside had decreased in quantity, which Tabitha took as a good sign, as she could still hear Astor on the roof, and knew he wouldn’t stop firing until all attackers were driven off.

“Well, this didn’t go quite according to plan,” said Lourdes, and seemed less upset than she should be. She threw Reah to the floor. “I must bid you adieu for now, gentlemen, but I assure you: We will meet again.” Before anyone could stop her, she had jumped out the window. Shots rang after her, but judging by Astor’s swears, none hit.

Exhausted, Reah and Tabitha fell into each other’s arms. For a moment, they were content just breathing.

“What the hell was that, Madam Witch?” Astor climbed inside through the window.

“I saved our lives.” Tabitha let go of Reah and crossed her arms. “You’re welcome.”

“You got distracted,” said Astor. “Which in turn got Reah distracted.”

“Wasn’t her fault.” Reah rubbed her neck and looked away in embarrassment. “Lourdes got the upper hand.”

“Would you spare us your Spitfire impression and get back to your job?” Tabitha said to Astor. “I doubt we’re out of danger yet.”

“They’re following their leader,” explained Astor. “Which means fleeing right now.” He furrowed his brow, as if he regretted his sharp words. “Maybe you should rest for a while. Leave the watch to us.”

Reah wanted to protest, but Tabitha put a hand on her arm. They exchanged glances. Reah nodded, and they retreated to the compartment Tabitha had selected.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Of course that would be the first thing Reah said. Tabitha suppressed a sigh. “But do I have to?”

“You don’t have to…”

“But?”

“But I think you should.”

“Wild coming from someone who’s closed herself off for the past weeks.” It came out more aggressive than intended. But that was just in her nature. She had learned to lash out rather than show vulnerability. She hated what it did to Reah. Seeing that hurt around her eyes. 

Tabitha let out the sigh from before. “Listen, it’s not like with you. You don’t deserve these feelings of guilt.”

“So it’s guilt?” Reah tilted her head.

Tabitha gritted her teeth. “You know what I did. What I did before Lucy happened.”

“Only some of it,” said Reah hesitantly. “But you did it to survive.”

It sounded so familiar, an echo of the things she kept telling herself. “Others didn’t because of me.”

Reah shifted in her seat. “If it’s not comfort you want, then how about a confession?”

Tabitha turned in surprise. “Can you do that, as a nun? No, scratch that. I don’t want to know. I’m not doing that. I’m not seeking absolution from a god who has forsaken you – your words, not mine! And I doubt Lucy would be happy if you did that in their name.”

“It don’t have to be formal or anything,” said Reah. “I often just talked to my Mother Confessor about things that troubled me at the time.”

Tabitha bit her lip as she remembered Lourdes’ words. Why did everything have to be so… awkward?

“Fine.” She faced the window, looked out into the night as she released words that had burned into her soul ages ago. “I’m not asking for forgiveness for the things I did. It’s nothing I can demand of the people I hurt. Sometimes those people looked up to me. I wasn’t the only one who had a day job like that. But I was the most… successful? Useful to the wrong people. I don’t know if I’d do it again. If I’d be stronger, even without a gift from Satan. I stabbed lots of people in the back, hunted people who just tried to make the world a better place. But most of them were already on a list. I didn’t track them down, I just helped capture them. If I didn’t, someone else would have.”

“And Priscilla?”

Tabitha hesitated. “Priscilla was…” Naïve. Careless. Stupid. A liability. Innocent.

“…different. In that regard. I met her in Chez Cabaret, and she immediately set off my alarm bells. She was a good girl, but she lived in the world as it ought to be, not as it is. And I knew she was gonna get many people killed. People who had been careful to protect themselves and each other, which she wasn’t. I kept telling myself she would have been caught a while later anyway, and that she would have taken others down with her. She was my sacrificial lamb.”

Tabitha’s nails burrowed in the wood beneath the train window, her eyes locked ahead, but not seeing. The train rumbled on.

“Gosh, Tabs… I’m so sorry.”

Tabitha didn’t know what she had expected. Anger? Hatred? Disgust? Maybe she did want to be hated, just a bit. Being hated was so much easier to ignore than hating yourself.

“I would do it again,” she said, like she wanted to provoke a response. 

But that was not Reah.

“You were trying to protect others.”

Why did understanding hurt more than contempt?

“I was trying to protect myself.”

Tabitha heard Reah rise from her seat behind her, and then she felt a strong arm around her, holding her so gently and protectively as only the Revenant could. How could she be so strong and yet so tender? How did she never lose that softness, no matter what she did or saw?

“You’re right that I can’t give you other people’s forgiveness.” Reah’s voice was a warm whisper at her neck. “But I’ll never judge you for it. You’re doing good now, and that’s what matters, as far as I am concerned, and I know enough people as would agree.” She hesitated. “It’s not our fault that the world is as it is. We can only try our best to change it. You should never have been forced to make those choices.” And then, maybe because she sensed that none of her words could change the way Tabitha felt, she pressed gentle kisses into the nape of her neck, trying distraction instead.

Tabitha freed herself from the embrace, firmly but gently, and turned to face Reah. “I think I need to be alone for a moment, love.” And fearing those words might break the Revenant’s heart, she took her hand and raised it up to her lips to kiss it, a promise of some kind. Then she left the compartment.

The train corridor was dark and quiet. Most of the passengers were sleeping. One or two doors had hushed voices coming from behind them.

When Tabitha leaned her head against the window, the glass did not show the face she had expected to see there.

“When I said I want to be alone, I certainly didn’t want you to join in,” she hissed.

“Really?” asked Lucifer, the God of Chances, known by many names across many cultures, who was currently replacing Tabitha’s reflection in the dirty train window. “Because we had the feeling that you had many questions burning on your soul that we would be fit to answer.”

Tabitha considered shooting back a biting remark but thought better of it. “Why did you choose me?”

“You had many talents and skills in the areas of sorcery,” said Lucifer matter-of-factly. “Which were useful to us and our cause.”

“You could have found someone else.”

“Don’t self-deprecate, Sorceress, it does not suit you.”

“After everything I did…” Tabitha faltered.

“We offered you absolution.”

“But was that a reason, or was it a lure?” Tabitha demanded to know. “Why me? Why Reah, for that matter? Because if this is punishment, then she doesn’t deserve it. And if it is a reward, I sure as hell don’t deserve it!”

Lucifer crossed their arms. “Sin, guilt, absolution… Those are all concepts the Church uses to keep its followers obedient and in line. The reason we chose you is that we saw potential and wanted to award it an opportunity. We don’t deal in punishment or reward. We deal in chances.”

And with those words, Lucifer vanished, replaced again by the face of Tabitha, which looked dangerously close to tears.

I don’t deserve her, right?

She didn’t voice the question that she would never raise to anyone. Not to her comrades, not to Lucy, and definitely not to Reah. Whatever the answer would be, and whether it would be honesty or gentle lies, she didn’t want to hear it. But she could see the question clearly in her face, and her own answer forever stuck on the tip of her lips.

Behind that face in the window, the night slowly faded into a pale day. The train rolled over hills and through forests, taking its passengers to that hopefully safe quasi no man’s land that Spitfire had chosen as their destination, and the agents of the Red Masque along with the Revenant and the Sorceress to their next mission.

“Up early?”

The Sorceress pushed herself away from the glass, standing up straight to meet the eyes of Astor, who she hadn’t noticed entering the corridor. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” was all she said in response. “How about you?”

“The roommates wouldn’t let me smoke in the compartment,” said Astor, fishing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

Tabitha pulled down the window, letting the smoke drift outside. In exchange, chill morning air blew in their faces, carrying memories of the night. A Red Masque rode by and threw them a lax salute as they spotted them.

“So about yesterday…” began Astor after many moments of silence.

Tabitha moaned in annoyance. “Really? Is it that impossible to catch some quiet on here? I’d rather not talk about this again… again.”

Astor threw his hands up in defeat. “Didn’t mean to pry. Just wanted to offer some understanding. I get it, you know. Past haunting you. People you could have saved. People you hurt.”

Tabitha jerked up, muscles tensing. “You listened in on us?!” Her hands were balled into fists, tail standing on edge, and she had a mind to deliver a fierce kick in his cunt and then leave.

“Easy there, Miss Sorceress,” said Astor. “I didn’t, as a matter of fact. Just happened to be there yesterday, and I’m capable of putting two and two together.” He blew smoke out the window. “You can’t be a soldier without leaving some dead bodies in your wake.”

“You’re a deserter, though.”

“Ain’t we both?”

“I like to think of myself as a saboteur who took her time.”

“So did I,” said Astor. “Already crossed the line twice before I decided to put a stop to it. I don’t feel bad ‘bout the soldiers I killed, even those who had doubts like me. I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for killing me, either. But there’s lots of innocent blood on my hands.” With these words, he flicked the cigarette butt out the window, like he could get rid of his guilt with the same gesture.

Tabitha pretended to study her own fingernails. She didn’t talk much with Astor, an emotional distance that was mutually agreed upon, but just for a moment she wished she could open up more to him. A shudder went down her spine at that thought. Hell, it had cost her all her willpower to start showing vulnerability with the Revenant.

“I actually wanted to introduce you to someone,” said Astor, seemingly out of nowhere.

Tabitha furrowed her brow. “Who? Some Red Masque rookie?”

“No, she actually asked me to talk to you for her.” Astor went down the corridor.

The Sorceress hesitated and then followed him to the wooden door of one of the compartments. Astor knocked, and when the door opened an inch, he asked: “Is Lizzie awake yet?”

Lizzie turned out to be a small child, probably around 12, in an orange knit-sweater and a pink skirt. The child seemed nervous, looking down at the floor, arms folded behind the back.

“That’s Lizzie,” said Astor. “She really wanted to see you.”

Tabitha was unsure what she should do now, what Astor or the child expected of her. She wasn’t good with kids, especially those she didn’t know.

Finally, Lizzie built up some courage and looked up at Tabitha out of big eyes. “You are the Sorceress, right? The one who protected us.”

Tabitha nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a safe travel from now on,” she said, and then wondered if it was okay to lie to children, even if it was just a half-lie, and meant to calm them down.

“You’re a lady, right!”

The Sorceress was about to force herself to calm down, it was just an ignorant child after all, when she realized it had not been a question at all, and she understood why Astor had brought her to this girl.

“Yes, I am.” Her voice was now more confident, she noticed, and warmer as well. “My name is Tabitha Wylde.”

The girl’s eyes seemed to shine with awe. “Your voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard from a woman, even deeper than my grandma’s. It’s a really pretty voice, though! I’ve never heard such a pretty voice.” The words tumbled out of Lizzie’s mouth almost faster than she could form them. “My Da says that my voice will break soon. I used to be scared of that. One of the reasons we’re on the way. That and because of my Da’s and Ma’s boyfriend! But now I’m not so scared anymore. Maybe I will sound like you?” Suddenly embarrassed, she looked down again.

Tabitha hunched down next to the girl, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Lizzie, if you want, I can put a seal on your arm that will prevent some of the effects of puberty.” Did kids that age know words like puberty? “Your voice won’t change, and some other changes will be stopped as well. You would be able to remove it whenever you wanted, or if you found someone who could help you change your body in ways you wanted.”

Lizzie bit her lip, now even more embarrassed and awestruck. “I- I’ll think about it, Tab- Miss Wylde, Madam Sorceress… Ma’am. But if I could have a voice like yours, I would be so happy!”

“Maybe you will.” With lots of dedication, voice training and singing lessons, she thought but didn’t say. “Just let me know if you decide to take up my offer before we arrive, alright?”

The girl nodded, turned around, then turned back to her to give a little courtesy, before disappearing back into her family’s compartment.

When she was gone, Tabitha addressed Astor: “Did this have any reason besides handing out puberty-blocking sorcery?”

“The Red Masque might see y’all as nothing but muscle and magic, and Lucy probably does as well,” said Astor and lit another cigarette. “Thought you’d appreciate seeing some counterexamples. You are fighters and protectors, but not just as war machines. You give people hope.” He took a long drag, then continued with a smirk: “Including me, by the by. One of the people on this train is a doctor who recently lost their license.” He drew his thumb in a cut-off motion over his chest to explain the reason for the lost license and the need of the doctor to relocate their office.

Tabitha realized that for the first time today, she was smiling. The unspilt tears were still there, somewhere in that face, but she was feeling a bit better now. She yawned theatrically. “I guess I’ll try to get some sleep before our shift begins,” she said, heading back to her compartment.

“You’re welcome,” Astor mumbled after her.

Reah was still half-asleep when Tabitha entered their compartment, but with just a few kisses pressed on her skin, she was all-awake.

“What are you doing?” she chuckled as Tabitha tore the clothes off her skin.

“Collecting my punishment,” said the Sorceress. “And giving you your reward.”

“Is, uhm, that some kink thing I don’t know?”

“Shut up and kiss me, choir girl!”

And she did without further argument.

Much later, when the light of the rising sun fell on their intertwined bodies relaxing against the scruffy cushions of the train seats, Reah said: “When we are done here… with this mission I mean… I think there’s something I need to do. For myself.” 

When she hesitated to continue, Tabitha leaned in closer, nuzzling against the Revenant’s hairy breast. Her fingers lazily caressed her skin, following the sigils she had inscribed on her what seemed like a lifetime ago. Marks that spelled protection, but also whispered words of a bilateral I am yours.

Encouraged by Tabitha’s soothing touches, Rhea continued: “D’you think we could make a detour to my convent?”

“I’d love to accompany you,” said Tabitha.

And then they sank into the comfort of each other again.

[bleachbleachbleach]

I feel like the world needs to know that I forgot I set that tiled Diamond Dust Rebellion rockhopping gif as my screensaver. I came into the room after being away and was like, 'What strange mayhem is happening on my screen' and

LOLLLLLLLLL. THIS SCREENSAVER. THIS GIF.

Amazing. Perfection. A delight among delights. 😩🤏

[daydreamerdrew]

Captain Marvel Adventures (1942) #27

[namira]

I really like the urban legend/ghost story focused episodes of Hey Arnold. They do a really good job at capturing that kid folklore sort of stuff.

[reasonsforhope]

People ask me sometimes how I'm so confident that we can beat climate change.

There are a lot of reasons, but here's a major one: it would take a really, really long time for Earth to genuinely become uninhabitable for humans.

Humans have, throughout history, carved out a living for themselves in some of the most harsh, uninhabitable corners of the world. The Arctic Circle. The Sahara. The peaks of the Himalayas. The densest, most tropical regions of the Amazon Rainforest. The Australian Outback. etc. etc.

Frankly, if there had been a land bridge to Antarctica, I'm pretty sure we would have been living there for thousands of years, too. And in fact, there are humans living in Antarctica now, albeit not permanently.

And now, we're not even facing down apocalypse, anymore. Here's a 2022 quote from the author of The Uninhabitable Earth, David Wallace-Wells, a leader on climate change and the furthest thing from a climate optimist:

"The most terrifying predictions [have been] made improbable by decarbonization and the most hopeful ones practically foreclosed by tragic delay. The window of possible climate futures is narrowing, and as a result, we are getting a clearer sense of what’s to come: a new world, full of disruption but also billions of people, well past climate normal and yet mercifully short of true climate apocalypse. Over the last several months, I’ve had dozens of conversations — with climate scientists and economists and policymakers, advocates and activists and novelists and philosophers — about that new world and the ways we might conceptualize it. Perhaps the most capacious and galvanizing account is one I heard from Kate Marvel of NASA, a lead chapter author on the fifth National Climate Assessment: “The world will be what we make it.”" -David Wallace-Wells for the New York Times, October 26, 2022

If we can adapt to some of the harshest climates on the planet - if we could adapt to them thousands of years ago, without any hint of modern technology - then I have every faith that we can adjust to the world that is coming.

What matters now is how fast we can change, because there is a wide, wide gap between "climate apocalypse" and "no harm done." We've already passed no harm done; the climate disasters are here, and they've been here. People have died from climate disasters already, especially in the Global South, and that will keep happening.

But as long as we stay alive - as long as we keep each other alive - we will have centuries to fix the effects of climate change, as much as we possibly can.

And looking at how far we've come in the past two decades alone - in the past five years alone - I genuinely think it is inevitable that we will overcome climate change.

So, we're going to survive climate change, as a species.

What matters now is making sure that every possible individual human survives climate change as well.

What matters now is cutting emissions and reinventing the world as quickly as we possibly can.

What matters now is saving every life and livelihood and way of life that we possibly can.

[warping-realities]

All For The Family - Part I

That was the only part of his job that Brian dislike, even though it was necessary. To justify what he had to do, he told himself those folks deserved it, that they should’ve been more careful with their own bills and the loans they took out, and paid their mortgage right. It wasn’t his fault. He was just there to deliver the truth they were probably expecting anyway. He tried to adopt a “don’t shoot the messenger” attitude while also showing he felt for their situation, even though he still had to do his job. That rarely worked in the two years he’d been doing that gig, and this time was no different. The blonde 24 years old man, rockin' a sharp suit that fit him like a glove on his skinny frame paired with his glasses, he was supposed to look classy and confident. Which clearly didn’t have the intended effect on the crowd he was facing. Standing in front of him with his arms crossed and a look on his face like he just sucked on a lemon was the biggest man Brian had ever seen in his life.

“You gotta understand, Mr. Abernathy, that the promissory note’s overdue again. If you don’t cough up the cash, the bank won’t have any choice but to foreclose and take your land to auction.”

“I get it, kid, but it seems like you’re the one refusing to understand. Tomorrow, I’m getting another hand to help with the harvest, and we’ll pay up all the back dues and even get ahead on a few!”

“Mr. Abernathy… Roy, can I call you Roy?” Brian asked with a smile he hoped was friendly and not showing the frustration he felt at that moment.

“My friends call me Roy, kid; you ain’t my friend.”

Brian let out a sigh at that response and decided to drop the pleasantries, taking a more hard-nosed approach.

“Well, Mr. Abernathy, I hate to break it to you, but if that promise of yours doesn’t pan out, I’m afraid that come the first of next month, you and your family are gonna have to vacate this property.”

“Save your worries for yourself, kid, while you hightail it off my land, ‘cause for now, I’m the one who decides who comes and goes around here.”

“If you weren’t planning on negotiating at all, why’d you make me drive all the way out here?”

“‘Cause there are some things that need to be said and done face-to-face, son.”

“Well, next time, just call me if you got something important to say!”

With a huff, Brian turned his back on the older, muscular man and headed toward the sports car parked behind the big barn that flanked the simple but well-kept farmhouse.

As he watched the kid walk away, unaware of the wave of golden sparks emanating from him, Roy murmured to himself, “Next time we talk, you’ll take whatever I say as important, boy!” He said, flashing a wide grin before turning to a figure that was approaching. “Is it done?” he asked, his smile widening at the answer.

That spat with the Abernathy family patriarch left Brian pissed off. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that it might be through his work that those folks would lose everything. At the same time, he knew that if it were his older brother knocking on that door, dressed in his cop uniform, the treatment would’ve been a whole lot different. Of course, he could never pull off Lucas's job. Lost in those gloomy thoughts, he took a while to realize that the gas tank he filled up that very morning was nearly empty, and it was only when a beeping alert rang out that he noticed.

“Damn, how is this possible?” he exclaimed to the empty car as he pulled over to the side of the road and weighed his options. Looking at his cell, he found he was out of signal. The nearest town was miles away. The only option left...

“Damn!” he yelled again, getting out of the car and shrugging off his suit jacket, heading toward the Abernathy’s place, wondering what kind of reception he was gonna get. No matter how much empathy he might have started to feel for those folks, it surely wouldn’t be mutual. Halfway to the farm, the already bad situation took a turn for the worse when rain started pouring down, soaking Brian's expensive clothes.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was being punished by some higher power for doing that job, and he was sure of it when he ran smack into the person he needed but didn’t want to see: Roy Abernathy in all his bulk! He was standing in front of an old Ford pickup, arms crossed again, but this time with a grin that Brian would’ve usually taken for some petty celebration, but at that moment it seemed to him to have more sincerity than he was used to seeing from “clients.” The man was with someone who could only be his son, given the huge resemblance between the two. Those behemoths made for a frightening sight for Brian, leaving him speechless. However, he didn’t even get a chance to speak, as Roy started the conversation for him.

“Looks like you need a little help, son. Where’s your fancy car?”

“I… the gas…”

“Oh, I get it; it’s real reckless to be out here with an empty tank.” The man said, still grinning, and Brian initially felt like he was just saying that to mess with him. But quickly, a small voice in the back of his mind disagreed; the Abernathys weren’t stingy like that. That new, dissenting voice made him hold his tongue and respond more calmly than expected.

“I don’t know what happened; I left town with a full tank. And… I… um… I’ll need some help, yeah.”

“Sorry, son, what was that?”

“I said I need help, if you could… please?!” He replied louder, though he was pretty sure the man heard him.

“Of course I can help, son. Out here, we all pitch in, no matter who you are.” Another jab, and once again something made Brian hold back; he deserved that treatment, the little voice said, and he would take it like a man, like the man he was. Roy smiled again, apparently noticing that the young man was holding back from snapping back.

“Thanks, sir. Now, if you could just follow me to the car and get me some gas…”

“No, son, you’re soaked through. Let RJ and me take care of that; you go to my house and talk to my wife; she’ll get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.”

“I’d rather go to my car…”

“No arguments, kid; do what I said!” Roy replied, his face turning serious.

“I… I… fine!” Brian said, biting back his anger and trudging down the road.

“That one’s a bit rough around the edges.” RJ commented to his dad as he watched Brian walk away.

“Oh, but he’s starting to behave, and there’s nothing wrong with him being a little rough, son, as long as he uses that attitude in the right way…”

“Dad, are you sure? This mumbo jumbo sounds crazy… and the risk we took, messing with that guy’s car. What if he noticed?”

“What are the odds a guy like that knows how to handle a car, Junior? At least for now.”

“Dad, what you’re talking about doing… it’s impossible…”

“Son, you’re gonna have to trust me on this; believe me, it’s already started. Tomorrow at this time, we’ll have the help we need and one heartless drone less in the world.”

“But how? How can you be sure? Have you done this before?” The young man asked.

“No, Junior, I haven’t.” Roy replied, looking quite uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with his son. “But since you apparently doubt your old man’s word, maybe you should trust your own eyes; take a quick look now, and you’ll see something unique.”

“What the hell? What is that, Dad?” The boy asked, seeing the golden sparks surrounding the man who walked, seemingly unaware of anything strange.

“That, my boy, is the solution to our problems; now hurry up.”

As father and son climbed into the old pickup, an oblivious Brian, unaware of their plans for him, arrived at the farmhouse door. The moment he raised a hand to knock, the door swung open suddenly, and he found himself facing a beautiful woman with bronzed skin and black hair streaked with gray, whose age he couldn’t quite pin down, though he knew she was Abernathy’s wife. The woman looked at him with a warm face that, for some unknown reason, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A lost kitten? How can I help you, sugar?”

“Um… I’m sorry, ma’am. I… Mr. Abernathy told me to come here and… hum… change clothes while he looks at my car.”

“You’re soaked, poor thing! Come on in, come on in. I’ll ask Debra to get you some of RJ’s clothes. Be a good boy and wait right here; I don’t want my carpet all wet!” The woman said in a whirlwind, pulling him inside the house and leaving him standing at the threshold. Brian, for his part, had to control himself not to run back out into the rain, as something urged him to get out of that place as fast as possible. Holding himself back, he waited until the woman returned with a young girl about his age, just as pretty as the mother, in a floral dress.

“Debra will take you to RJ’s room; you can dry off and wear some of his clothes until the boys bring your car back. Meanwhile, I’ll whip up some dinner; a big boy like you must eat as much as my husband and son!”

“I… actually…” Brian started, but he gave up announcing his intention to leave as fast as possible upon receiving a look from Mrs. Abernathy that simultaneously showed expectation and reprimand. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Great, now let’s go, let’s go! You’re soaking my carpet!”

Brian followed Debra up to one of the rooms on the second floor of the house. Upon entering, he was surprised to find it was a double room. Did the Abernathy kids, brother and sister, share the same room?

“I’ve set aside some of RJ’s clothes for you; they might be a bit big, but at least they’re dry.” The girl said, smiling between the two beds in the room. Brian couldn’t help but ask.

“You sleep here with your brother?”

“God, no, eww! That bed’s for my other brother!”

“I didn’t know that… wait… there’s no record of the Abernathys having another kid in the paperwork given to the bank!”

“Shhh… relax; there’s no need to stress about that, it’s not important. You city folks with your data, your records, your… contracts. Life is so much more than that, you know? So why don’t you chill for a bit, dry off, and head down? Dad’s gonna want to talk to you.” The girl replied and left the room, leaving a very confused Brian behind. He was still pondering the family’s strange behavior as he undressed and wondered what the hell Roy Abernathy would want to talk to him about. He wasn’t fooling himself thinking it could be something good for his job, not after the confrontation they had just had.

After drying off and getting ready to put on RJ's much larger clothes, the little intrusive voice invaded his mind again. Whatever Roy had to say was important, and he should listen and obey, just like he always had. Before his mind could fight back against that, a beam of golden sparks emanated from his body, and both the intrusive voice and the need to resist it vanished from Brian's mind. In fact, all thoughts disappeared. He couldn't tell how long he stood there, just breathing, with his mind blank of thoughts or worries.

He only returned to reality when someone caught his attention.

“What are you doing just standing there, brother?” A deep voice asked, startling him awake. Turning quickly, Brian found himself face to face with Abernathy’s son, RJ. He’d only seen him briefly on the road, but now he was just a few inches away. RJ lacked the bulk of his father, but that didn’t mean he was small. On the contrary, he was a strong guy, a year or two older than Brian, with a muscular, hairy chest on display. Looking at that figure, Brian felt a strange sensation wash over him, a kind of bond between him and this stranger; it wasn’t sexual, it was something… brotherly, maybe? He knew he’d felt that before, but couldn’t remember when or with whom. As absurd as it was, it was like this guy in front of him was someone very important.

“Earth to you, bro! Get some clothes on and let’s eat; Dad’s waiting.”

“I… uh… yeah.” Brian replied, hurrying to put on the clothes that were lying next to him.

“You coming?” He asked, wanting to stretch the time spent with the other man, even though he didn’t know why.

“Nah, I already ate; I’m gonna crash here. We’ll talk later and figure out how to fix your car!”

“Car?”

“Dude, you really are in another dimension, eat your food, talk to dad, I’ll be waiting!”

Brian headed downstairs and made his way to the kitchen, not even questioning how he knew which way to go, while trying to pin down that feeling of connection to someone he’d just met. As he reached the kitchen door, he found Roy Abernathy sitting alone at a large dining table piled high with food, looking serious and pensive. Brian instinctively stopped at the door, watching the older man. Strangely, all the animosity he’d felt toward the man had vanished, and revisiting his feelings, even the fear he refused to admit existed was different now; it wasn’t fear of violence, but a hefty dose of respect, with a healthy hint of dread. He didn’t even have time to try to figure out what had changed, as Abernathy spotted him and broke into a smile.

“Come on in and grab a bite, son, don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights!” The man said, and while part of Brian’s mind told him he should be anger by that comment, a now dominant part made him smile shyly and head over to the table.

“Excuse me, sir!” He said politely and respectfully.

“Sure thing, son, make yourself at home; things here are simple but done right.”

“Thanks, sir.” Brian replied, serving himself a bit of everything on the table, ending up with a plate piled high, which seemed to please his host.

“That’s a plate fit for a real man!”

“Sorry, Mr. Abernathy; it all looks so good and…”

“No need to apologize, son; that’s a compliment you’re giving my wife’s cooking. And you can call me Roy. That’s what my friends call me.”

Hearing that sparked something in Brian’s mind, some kind of half-forgotten memory, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall it… if he can’t remember it must not be important, right? So, he opted to eat all that delicious food, smiling, again oblivious to the shower of golden sparks surrounding him. But Roy Abernathy couldn’t help but notice, making his smile grow even wider.

Brian devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, time slipping by without him realizing it. He only stopped eating when his belly stretched the elastic of RJ’s shorts, which was no small feat since the man was much stronger than him. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp.

“Burrrpp… sorry, Mr. Abernathy.”

“Once again, that’s a compliment to my wife’s fine cooking, kid; and I already told you, my friends call me Roy.”

“Thanks, Roy… you… you all didn’t have to do this for me, not after… after…”

“After what, son?” Roy asked, with an apparently innocent look.

“After… after…” after what? What did I do to Abernathy? I can’t remember… something about work… my job. “… my job.” Brian mumbled.

“Kid, just ‘cause you’re gonna work for me doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop treating you like a guest.” Roy replied with a smile, sending a shock through Brian’s mind. That information couldn’t be true… or could it? He tried to remember his job, but nothing came to mind; he had gone to college and studied… what? He couldn’t recall. But he knew his job had given him the means to buy the clothes he liked and the car… yeah, his car! There was something about his car.

“And my car…?”

“Oh, right, tomorrow you and RJ can figure out how to fix it. But I gotta tell you, son, there’s only so much an old car can take!”

“Old…? no, no!”

“Oh, I know young folks prefer the term classic, but still… anyway… if I were you, I’d save up for a good reliable pickup, kid! Now head on up; I’m sure you and RJ will want to talk before bed, but tomorrow the day starts bright and early around here.”

“I… I… Roy… there’s something… something…” Brian started as he stood up and headed for the door, unable to finish. He wanted to say there was something weird, something wrong, but he couldn’t.

“Something you wanna tell me, son?”

“Yeah… Mr. Abernathy… Roy…” He struggled to find the right words to express how he felt. “… thanks again!” That was what he finally said, with a fresh wave of golden sparks surrounding him, and any doubt about what he was doing there vanished.

“Thank me with hard work, son; now go to your room.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Brian climbed the stairs and reached the room he shared with RJ. The other man was lying down, apparently asleep, which left Brian feeling a bit down.

He couldn't say why, but he felt the urge to talk to RJ; somehow, he felt like the other man was a special friend he hadn't spoken to in a long time, though that didn't make any sense. He hardly knew the guy; they had barely exchanged words since they met that day... or was it the day his father hired Brian? And when was that? Brian sat on the bed, trying to sort out his thoughts and calm the strange feeling that had taken over him since his car broke down on the road. And why was he on the road if he had gone to the Abernathys to work? He couldn't get very far with those thoughts, as apparently, his movements had woken RJ, who quickly sat up in bed.

“Hey, brother, why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?”

“I didn’t want to wake you; didn’t wanna bother you…”

“Man, it ain’t no bother! We gotta talk about your car, figure out what we’re gonna do!”

“Your dad thinks I should sell it and save up for a pickup!”

“Bro, no way! Dad’s a great guy, but for him, if something ain’t useful for work, it ain’t worth a damn. He’s forgotten what it’s like being a guy our age. And selling a 1969 Ford Mustang? The king of American muscle cars? Only if you’re crazy! I figured with a car like that, you’d know how to appreciate a classic!”

“I… uh… I just didn’t wanna offend your dad, with him being my boss and all…”

“Dude, just be straight with him, and he’ll get it… and forget about the boss stuff… you’re sleeping in his son’s room; you can bet he sees you as more than just an employee.”

“Thanks…” Brian replied awkwardly.

“Come on, enough of that; you’re gonna work with me, hell, you’re sharing a room with me, brother! No need for all that formal junk.” RJ said, grinning before giving Brian a scrutinizing look and asking, “Bro, do you lift?”

“Uh, no… I’ve never been much for working out…”

“So how you ended up working on a farm??”

“Uh… I… went to college… I think, and… I don’t remember…”

“Chill out, brother, I’m just teasing you!But seriously, if you wanna work around here, you gotta pack on some serious muscle.” RJ said, casually scratching his powerful pecs and biceps, making Brian, who had never cared about that kind of thing, feel mesmerized.

“You think… you think I can get as big as you or your dad?” Why was he asking that???

“Ha, dude, nobody’s as big as my dad, and getting to my size is a good journey, but the beauty of the thing is just that, brother; you never settle for the size you are, and I bet with the right training and all the farm work, soon you won’t even recognize yourself.” Hearing that reply filled Brian with a level of contentment he never thought possible.

But before he could try to understand why, RJ went back to talking about cars, and soon the two were discussing their favorite classic models and what they’d do with Brian’s old Mustang. Their conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years and was only interrupted when a very serious Roy Abernathy opened the bedroom door and told the two to hit the hay already, like a couple of mischievous kids being schooled by their dad. Somehow, that thought was comforting to Brian, who quickly fell asleep after Roy turned off the lights and left the room.

He was in a strange place; it looked like a gym. There was a young, skinny but strong guy, as blonde as he was, staring at him. After a few seconds, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror and smiled.

As he dreamed of that, Brian smiled in his sleep on the bed in Roy Junior’s room, his shirt pulled off during the night without him realizing, and golden sparks surrounding him as he moved around happily, unaware that someone was watching him.

“Sleep tight, little brother, ‘cause tomorrow’s when things are really gonna get interesting!”

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 2)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

The following day, however, brought a gloomy atmosphere into the room as, at around 6 o'clock, there was a knock on your bedroom door, causing you to startle.

Until that night, you had never shared a bed with Tommy , and the thought of being interrupted whilst still lying naked next to him made you shudder.

"Who is it?" Thomas barked, quickly wrapping a white sheet around his waist.

"It's Arthur," came the distorted voice of Tommy's older brother, resulting in Tommy jumping out of the bed, collecting his briefs from the floor and throwing them on. "What is it, Arthur?" Tommy asked as he hurriedly opened the door to reveal Arthur, standing there, waving at you while you simply blushed with embarrassment. 

"Something's happened," Arthur blurted out. "Down at the docks."

Tommy looked at you, hunched up on the bed, clutching a sheet to your bare breasts. "Go put some clothes on, Love. I'll be back soon," he signaled to you, and you nodded in silence.

As soon as Tommy left the room, you crawled off the bed to gather your scattered garments from the floors, wondering what the problem was on site.

Since you moved into Tommy's house, there had been a lot of trouble at the docks and in his factories and when you asked your now husband about it, he would usually brush it off. 

He often put it down to strikes or interruptions due to equipment breakdown and, as his partner in life, of course, you believed him. 

Tommy was a businessman, not a criminal, and whilst you thought that his brother and Gypsie acquaintances were rather rough around the edged, you knew that Tommy was a good man.

He was a man who would do anything for you and you appreciated his kindness and the love he gave you, especially after you had been abandoned by all the other men in your life before him.

Even your older brother left you to your own devices when you were just seventeen, moving away from Birmingham without a word, as a result of which the home your parents had partially owned was being foreclosed on.

You had no choice but to move out and find work to sustain yourself, to be able to maintain a roof over your head and pay for your rent. And even then, it didn’t always suffice.

You were fired from three jobs until you found work at the Garrison and now you knew that you never had to work again.

Tommy took care of you now, treated you well and, even though he was determined to have children with you, he respected your wishes to wait.

He bought you horse, a white stallion and you were assigned not one, but two maids, which was something you always considered to be odd. 

If you wanted to go to town and spend some time shopping, Tommy had a maid and a driver accompany you and today wasn't much different when you decided to head into the city of Birmingham for some groceries. 

"Mrs Shelby, there really is no need. I can send an errand boy to do the shopping," Frances told you as you waved the list of items you wanted to buy in her perfectly manicured face with excitement. 

"But I insist Frances. I want to do the shopping and then, tonight, I will cook a nice meal for my husband," you told her politely, seeing that you had always enjoyed to cook but had not done so ever since you moved to Arrow House. 

"Very well, Mrs Shelby. Whatever you wish," she answered in a silky voice that reeked of credulousness.

"Fabulous. I know a really nice Italian Grocer by the Canal side. Do you think Isiah could drive me there?" you asked, knowing that Tommy was always rather worried about your safety and wouldn't have liked you driving yourself.  Frances hesitated for a moment. "Of course, Mrs. Shelby," she said bluntly, but not without a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I'll call Isiah right away."

You smiled appreciatively at Frances and headed off to the bathroom, quickly freshening up before heading to the car that would take you to the Italian grocer.

The car ride was comfortable and peaceful, and you couldn't help but marvel at how much your life had changed since you first met Thomas Shelby.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the car pulled up to the front of the grocery store.

The sun was shining brightly outside, illuminating the bustling streets of Birmingham and casting a warm glow on the picturesque canal that ran along the side of the store.

You stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted towards you from nearby cafes and pubs, mixing with the distant horns and clatter of the ships moving through the canal locks.

"My mother always took me here when I was little. It's a nice little shop run by a lovely Italian family. My older brother, Alfred, used to bring me here all the time too, just after payday, before-" You paused, your smile faltering slightly. "Before he left to god knows where," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper and Isiah simply nodded with sympathy while you stepped into the shop.

The smell of coffee and bread greeted you as the door jingled shut behind you. Despite the modern facade, the interior remained cozy with a wooden counter in the middle that displayed a variety of pasta and cured meats. On the shelves, colorful tins of tomatoes and olive oil lined the walls.

Remembering the list in your hand, you carefully navigating your way through the narrow aisles and stocked up on your ingredients. 

"I am sorry ma'am, but we don't serve Blinders here," one of the Italians said to you as you roamed through the shop and, since you had no idea what the man was talking about, you just laughed nervously.

"Excuse me?" you queried, confused while Isiah appeared behind you, flashing the gun hidden beneath his jacket, thinking that you wouldn't notice.

"We don't want any trouble miss," the stocky man corrected himself quickly, and you quickly blinked, trying to process what was happening.

"Why would I give you trouble?" you asked innocently, unable to make sense of what exactly was going and Isiah then politely urged you to finish up your shopping. 

Without another word, you filled up your basket, paid for your groceries and left the store, feeling a sudden chill in the air despite the brilliant sunshine.

Isiah escorted you back to the waiting car in silence but you had so many questions that needed answering, but you refrained yourself from asking, believing that your new husband would soon explain everything to you when you returned home.

The short car ride was again filled with a heavy silence and you couldn’t help but feel unsettled. 

As you walked through the front door, Frances took the groceries from your hands and you made your way upstairs to your bedroom to get changed.  After a quick shower, you slipped into a nice but comfortable dress that Thomas had given to you as a gift.

You stared at yourself in the mirror and felt a pang of happiness in your chest. Your life had changed so dramatically since being with him and you couldn’t deny that you were happy.

You then made your way downstairs to unpack the groceries and start cooking. It was still early but you knew that the dish you were making had to sit in the oven for almost eight hours on low heat, so you knew to better get cracking.  You were pleased with the simplicity and warmth of the task at hand, letting your mind relax as you chopped and sautéed the vegetables and meat.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange encounter you had at the grocer. The man’s peculiar reference to “Blinders” and the sudden appearance of Isiah’s gun were both alarming and confusing. But, you shook the thoughts away, telling yourself that there was likely a simple explanation.

Tommy had an explanation for everything and, just as you were thinking about him, he came walking through the door of the large and rarely used kitchen in wing one of Arrow House, far away from the staff quarters.  He greeted you with a gentle kiss on the cheek before pouring himself a glass of whiskey and looking at you contently.

"How did you go?" you asked your husband , referring to whatever business he had down at the docks.

Thomas took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing you carefully. "Fine," he told you. "There was some stock missing, but we dealt with it," Thomas explained, leaving out the gruesome details of the beating he ordered his men to give out. 

"You know I employed a chef to do the cooking, Love ," Thomas said, changing the subject as he watched you chopping the vegetables.

"I'm aware, but I love to cook for you. I am your wife and this is what wives do, isn't it?" you smirked  at Thomas, challenging him.

Thomas chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took another sip of his drink. "Yes, of course. I suppose it is," he conceded, a heartfelt smile playing on his lips as he drew closer from behind. 

Thomas encircled your waist with one arm and nuzzled your neck  softly, causing you to giggle and shiver at the same time.

"You look quite sexy in that dress and apron, Love ," Thomas murmured in your ear, giving it a slight nibble that triggered a heated blush infiltrating your cheeks.

You glanced at him with a playful smile before turning around, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his muscular chest, only to feel the outline of his gun sitting firmly in its halter.

"Why would you need to carry a gun?"  you whispered, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze. Thomas' eyes flickered down to the gun before meeting your gaze again.

"Just a precaution, Love. There are some dangerous people in this city," Thomas replied, his voice low and serious.

You nodded, understanding his concerns but still feeling uneasy about the situation. Thomas seemed to sense your disquiet and leaned down to kiss you softly.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his arms tightening around you briefly before releasing you.

"I love you too, Tommy," you replied softly, your hands still resting on his chest.

Your heart softened towards Thomas in that moment, feeling a deep affection for him. You loved him deeply and you trusted him implicitly. Knowing him as well as you did, it was hard to imagine that his business dealings could be anything but legitimate, even as you had heard rumors about his involvement in illegal activities.

Thomas had always dismissed these rumors as mere speculation, nothing more than idle gossip and slander from his rivals. And yet, as you stood there in the warm kitchen, with the smell of dinner filling the room, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over you since your visit to the Italian grocer.

"I should really get back to cooking, Tommy," you said eventually, stepping out of Thomas' embrace and starting to chop the vegetables again, but Tommy simply removed the knife from your hand.

"The cooking can wait," he said huskily. "I've been thinking about you all day. About how beautiful you looked this morning when you were sleeping," he murmured as he nibbled your earlobe. 

"I suppose we could eat a little later than usual,"  you replied, the tension from earlier melting away as Thomas' lips moved to your neck.

The room felt warm and intimate as the two of you stood there, wrapped up in each other's embrace.

"Fuck, I want you," Thomas whispered hoarsely as his hands traveled down your body, cupping your ass roughly.

You let out a soft cry as he lifted you up onto the kitchen counter, spreading your legs apart with a confident movement that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Tommy, what if a maid walks in?" you giggled nervously, your voice breathless as Thomas' fingers deftly slipped beneath your dress and apron.

"Then let them watch ," Thomas growled, his voice thick with desire.

He tugged your panties down, exposing your wet and eager pussy to his hungry gaze.

"You are unbelievable, Thomas!" you chuckled softly just before his fingertips traced the delicate folds of your sex, your body trembling beneath his touch.

Thomas wasted no time, plunging two fingers deep into your core.

"Oh god, Tommy," you cried out, gripping the edge of the countertop as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you.

"God, you're so fucking wet. So ready for me," Tommy groaned as his thumb teased your clit, and you writhed on the counter, grinding against his hand. You felt shameless and exposed, but also incredibly alive.

As Thomas unzipped his trousers, you watched through hooded eyes, your breath hitching as his hard cock sprang free.

He stroked it a couple of times, smearing pre-cum over the tip before using it to coat your slit.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

Thomas chuckled for a second. "Eager, aren't we?" he asked as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You bit your lip as you felt him push inside your tight warmth, stretching you mercilessly. You moaned at the sensation of him filling you up, the feeling of fullness almost overwhelming.

"Fuck, you're tight, Love," Thomas grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he pistoned back and forth.

"Tommy, oh god please," you whimpered, unable to form complete sentences as the pleasure built inside of you.

"I love feeling you inside me ," you confessed, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I've never felt anything like this before," you added, your voice barely above a whisper and, immediately, Thomas' eyes met yours for a brief moment, his gaze intense as he continued to fuck you.

"Neither have I, Love," Tommy told you and you cried out, biting your lip to try and contain the noise as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

You felt yourself climbing higher and higher, the tension building stronger and stronger until the waves of static pleasure crashed inside of you and, suddenly, you felt yourself falling, falling, falling and, as you kept screaming, the waves of pleasure crashed over and over again, never ending.

"Fuck, yes. That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, holding back his own release until you came down from your high. He then pulled out , springing free, and grabbed his cock, giving it a few quick thrusts as he sprayed hot streams of cum across your naked thighs.

Thomas leaned forward, moving your hair off your sweaty forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before stepping back, still catching his breath.

Reaching for his handkerchief  , he started to wipe the remnants of their earthly pleasures of desperation and passion from between your thighs and from his limp cock before zipping up his trousers again.

“Are you alright, Love?” he addressed you gentler than ever before and you simply nodded silently, before reaching for a glass of water and taking a deep sip, feeling a little thirsty after your vigorous desperation for passion and how ‘earthshattering’ your release became.

Thomas poured himself another glass of whiskey and watched you closely as you collected yourself.

"Now that was quite unexpected," you admitted, taking a deep breath before pushing yourself off the counter and swinging your legs down to the ground.

"Was it?" he chuckled before lightening himself a cigarette and offering one to you, which you accepted graciously. 

"You know, something really strange happened today when Isiah took me to the Italian Grocer by the Canal on East Street," you started, changing the topic, as you took a deep drag from your cigarette. Thomas arched an eyebrow, encouraging you to go on.

"While I was picking up some fresh produce for dinner, one of the Italians in store told me that they weren't serving 'Blinders' at their shop and, when I queried him about what he meant by that, he told me that he didn't want any trouble. I think he saw Isiah's gun, but I can't be sure. It all was very confusing," you recounted the incident, trying to piece together what happened.

At that moment, Thomas' body language changed entirely. He leaned his head to the side, squinting his left eye and pressing his lips firmly together, as he listening to your confession.

"Did the man say anything else?"  Thomas' voice was low and measured as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"No," you shook your head. "Well, not that I could understand," you told him, causing your husband to clear his throat. 

"And what did the Italian look like?"  Thomas questioned you with a furrowed brow, as he tried to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on the incomplete information you offered.

"Tall, skinny. He was about thirty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes," you said, almost absentmindedly, as you went on to describe more about the Italian's appearance. Then, suddenly, it struck you just how off-putting the interaction had become now, and some anxiety washed over you again. "Why are you asking?"  you questioned Thomas, wondering about the reasoning behind the sudden interest in the man you met earlier today.

Thomas, sensing your apprehension, gave you a reassuring smile as he stubbed out his cigarette, extinguishing the glowing embers.

"No reason. Just mere curiosity, Love," Tommy told you before giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Now, why don't you finish cooking while attend some more business in town, eh?" he told you, his voice gentle and loving, but you noticed a hint of something else in his eyes, something that you couldn't quite identify.

"Alright Tommy," you agreed nonetheless and Thomas kissed you deeply one last time, before grabbing his hat and coat and disappearing off to town.

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[cometcrystal]

GAME THEORY: the Johnsons are an Evil Family

during my rewatch of pnf, i have recently concocted the headcanon that the johnson family has a legacy of evil. you know, not like Evil-evil, but the dwampyverse brand of evil that exists more as a career path than a morality system. here's my reasoning for each member

suzy - self-explanatory. she's an evil prodigy and will have a lucrative career climbing up the lovemuffin corporate ladder when she gets older. she's even getting in some good nemesis experience with candace

hildegard - has an affinity for cheating in roller derby. has the personality for it. i also think she 100% views betty jo as her nemesis but betty jo doesn't know what that is.

hawkeye - okay her name is literally hawkeye which is a perfect evil name. she's also very proficient with munitions.

jack - besides jeremy, he seems the most unassuming, but maybe his job at the space lab grants him access to tech he couldn't otherwise use...

annabelle - when doof's (evil) building was being foreclosed, she showed a LOT of interest in it (new evil hq). she also loved the gargoyles (evil decor). AND she had a job in an anvil-hanging factory. who hangs anvils besides like bugs bunny or some shit? cartoon villains. extremely evil-coded activity

nicolette - yeah her stories about swimming with piranhas and other such activities are from a video game. but i think it would be really funny if that was just her cover story. she's actually doing all that shit and telling people its from tomb raider or something and shes stealing jewels as a hobby

jeremy - he's actually the black sheep of the family. he doesn't have an evil bone in his body. his mom and dad tried to get him interested in laser guns, scheming, and spike pits when he was little and it never stuck. but even though he'll never work in the family business, they love him anyway.

is this theory 100% serious? not really...OR IS IT. do i like it and think it's fun? YES!!!

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | Prologue

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> a/n I hope you're ready for a long series. This will cover the life of Eddie Munson, growing up in a trailer park and perhaps falling in love with you. Of course, there's a few complications on the way (perhaps his friend steals his girl - or maybe he becomes a rockstar and moves away) and the series includes so many tropes that I've chosen to keep them hidden away, so you don't get spoiled for later chapters. Muahaha! This will include smut, so PLEASE for the love of God, if you're under 18 - go away! Longer chapters await my friends. xo

-> <-

August 1970

This chair is uncomfortable.

Well, it’s for sure plastic. The static is making Eddie’s shirt sit uncomfortably on his body like a magnet that tethers him by an invisible line of Velcro. It’s not even his shirt. It’s his father’s old beaten shirt from a few years ago when he went to a car show.

It’s been forever. Eddie cranes his neck to stare at the big clock on the wall that he cannot read. The big hand is on the two and the little one is at the top on the twelve. It’s terribly late for him to be up, but that’s also what he thought when his father shook him awake and shoved him in the backseat of their car.

Letting his feet swing below him, Eddie wrestles in the plastic seat. Not a lot is going on around him.

It isn’t like how he sees on the televisions through the video store windows where the bad guy gets taken down by the cop. Although, his dad sure did put up a fight trying to get away from the cop. That doesn’t mean his dad is a bad guy though, right?

There’s only one cop sitting at his desk with papers stacked around him. He’s darker in skin tone with a fair amount of hair missing on top of his head. Wrinkles press the crown of his head. Scribbling something on the official looking sheet of paper, the cop mutters under his breath when the phone blares out an obnoxious ringing.

“Hello?” His southern draw laces into the phone call. “Yeah, send him in.”

The telephone is set back down onto the base, and the officer tilts his head at the young child occupying the seat next to his desk.

Edward Munson is the unforgettable boy. The wild child has a father made of criminal infamy in Hawkins, Indiana. It would appear that this time the old bastard has really gotten himself stuck for the long haul. Prison time. Long sheets of paperwork include one particular document that lists Wayne Munson, the uncle, as the child’s dependent as of right now.

Wayne bursts through the door with the secretary from the front desk. Eyes scorching from an exhausting drive after a terribly unrewarding shift at the factory, Wayne lays his gaze upon his disheveled nephew. Eddie doesn’t even have a proper shirt draped over his body. There’s not a doubt in Wayne’s mind that Al, his brother and the boy’s father, refused to pay a dime for clothes to cover his child.

It’s been a terrible struggle to encourage Al Munson to step up and become a father to his son. After his wife, Elizabeth, died, Al latched onto slots to fill the hole inside of his chest. Slowly, sleepovers at Uncle Wayne’s became a lot more routine and a lot longer stay for little Eddie.

That’s not to suggest that Eddie minds. Uncle Wayne has some pretty cool toys at his trailer. And, Wayne has a bed for him - unlike his dad, who lets him have the backseat of the car.

Al Munson gambled away all of his savings, and the house was foreclosed by the bank. He’s been avoiding his debts by living in his car with five-year old Eddie. That only worked for so long. Eventually, the police caught up to him.

Tonight Al was arrested for possession of illegal substances and a warrant from some time ago, and he is awaiting a trial that will most likely keep him locked away for a while.

“Hey, Eddie,” uncle Wayne approaches the small boy by dropping into a squat that’s closer to Eddie’s height. “Are you alright?”

Eddie bobs his head up and down.

“Sir,” the officer calls his attention. “I just need you to sign a few things and then we can release him to you.”

The secretary does the same as his uncle had done, and squats to his height. She’s very pretty. Pinned hair sits atop her head in a bun that’s shaped like an egg. Eddie giggles at this, his baby cheeks turning pink.

“Hi, Eddie,” she says sweetly. “Would you like a candy bar? You’ve been doing such an amazing job waiting for your Uncle.”

Her teeth are as white as diamonds. Dimples press her fleshy cheeks up, as she holds out a small chocolate bar in her hand. Well, Eddie has been spoiled tonight. Not only is he up past his bedtime, the officer that brought him here stopped to get him a hamburger first. And, now?

Eddie does take the chocolate bar kicking his feet with glee. The secretary helps open up the bar of chocolate for him, and he gobbles it down fast before his Uncle Wayne could see. Wayne thinks sugar keeps Eddie up at night.

Eddie keeps Eddie up all night.

It’s mere moments when his uncle returns to him, and the secretary waltzes back to her duties at her desk. Uncle Wayne gives his nephew the tightest hug, while hiding his tears in Eddie's shirt. It’s never ideal to have a brother, who refuses to take care of his child. The least Wayne could do is keep Eddie safe and out of harms way.

Holding a copy of the terminated parental rights of Alan Munson with one hand, Wayne scoops the boy up with his other and keeps him holstered onto his hip.

“Hold on,” Wayne directs.

Eddie clings to the plaid fabric of his uncle’s shirt collar. Too soon, will Eddie be grown up to where Wayne can’t coddle him anymore.

The walk out of the precinct is short. Eddie waves goodbye to the officers and the secretary, who took care of him for the hour that Wayne prepared his home and drove out here to get his nephew.

Wayne drives extra slow that evening, even though the roads are clear. Feeling heavy for the loss of a father, Eddie must learn life skills from his uncle. Not being a father himself, Wayne is apprehensive at best. There’s not a thing he wouldn’t do for this boy. When Eddie came into the world, Wayne became the third person to ever hold him. That comes after his mother, and his father.

There is so much hope in a newborn baby. No one has broken them yet. There’s still so many firsts to explore the big wide world.

Slowing at a stop, Wayne cranes his head into his overhead mirror. Eddie is lopped over the seat bucket with a pile of drool coming from between his lips. His eyes flash underneath his eyelids.

What Wayne doesn’t know, is that Eddie hasn’t had a real sleep in days. Ever since they lost the house, Eddie has kept one eye open in the backseat of his father’s car. Sleeping outside isn’t exactly peaceful. Horns honking. Babies crying. Someone’s always yelling. Not to mention his dad snores. Loud.

Wayne decides not to wake the sleeping boy when he does eventually pull in to his humble trailer. Killing the engine, Wayne quiets for a moment. The soft snore from his lips eventually turns into a groan, and the young boy kicks his legs out. Sitting upright and sleeping cannot possibly be comfortable.

The thought of raising a child has never crossed Wayne's mind. After Eddie had been born, Wayne swore children were too much for him to handle. They cry all the time, then you have to feed them and you have to make sure they're clean and not to mention that when they keep crying for no reason - you can't kill 'em. 'Suppose in a way Wayne has gotten the parenting thing down because of Eddie anyway. Being an uncle to Eddie is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Eddie took his first steps right on that front porch in front of his house. Elizabeth, Eddie's mom, was leaving Eddie for a couple of hours for work, and Eddie grabbed onto one of the couches before wobbling after her.

Oh, how Wayne misses her. She was a saint of a woman. When she got sick, Wayne saw a different person in Al. He's not too harsh on his brother. It can't be easy missing the love of your life like that. But, the boy - Eddie stretches out when Wayne opens the back passenger door - Eddie should have been enough of a reason for Al to keep going.

Wayne unbuckles the boy, who slumps forward. Catching his head, Wayne slides his other hand underneath the young boy's knees. Eddie stirs. Wayne holds in his breath and he freezes. Eddie tilts his head, eyes batting sleepily, then leans forward into his uncle's heavily beating chest.

"Alright," Wayne whispers into his curls, "Come on."

Carrying him up the steps, Wayne tries a few times to open the front door. Getting the key in the lock is one trick, but now to actually open the door? It would probably have worked best if he had done this before carrying a hefty sleeping five year old. Noted.

Eventually, he twists the knob and pulls. He pulls enough, so that he can wedge his foot in the door. Grunting, Wayne twists around and scoots into the home.

Eddie begins to slide from his grasp, and Wayne juggles him a bit before he can fall. Eddie’s quite long for a five year old. Or, so he assumes. His limbs splay out like a praying mantis.

There’s an extra bedroom in the back of the trailer. Little robots and figurines take up most of the space where Wayne’s collection of books once were. A rickety wood desk that’s peeling apart is home to a number of old train car toys that Eddie really liked out of Wayne’s collection.

Tucking Eddie in to the old twin bed he bought at the thrift store with nearly half his paycheck, the young child is surrounded by a plush layer of blankets and pillows. But, Eddie still clung to his uncle. Finally, someone who cares about him enough. Doubt scrambles Eddie’s mind and he wonders sleeplessly if his uncle would be there when he woke up.

It doesn’t take Wayne much convincing to slip into the tiny twin bed along side his nephew. Tiny mewls escape Eddie’s tired lips. Since he’s so scrawny and lengthy, Wayne has no trouble taking up the empty space in bed with him.

“You’re safe,” Wayne whispers into that wild mane of hair. “I’ve got you, now.”

-> <-

[June 1972]

[realtyhubph-blog]

3 BR House Timog Park Homes Angeles

📍 Timog Park Homes Subdivision Brgy Pampang, Angeles City Property Features TYPE: 3 BR House📐 Lot: 96 square meters🛌 3 Bedrooms🛀 1 Bathroom🅿️ 2 Carports✅ Pocket Garden • Dirty Kitchen • Front Yard Garden • New Vinyl Flooring✅ Appliances Included: 1x built-in gas range (brand new) • 2x split type AC • 1x window type AC • 1x washing machine • 1x refrigerator • 1x TV • 1 sofa set • 1 dining set…

[nevadancitizen]

-> PROLOGUE: THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA

synopsis: you meet with a mysterious woman on an old californian dock.

word count: ~850

ships: Arthur Morgan/modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw !! go read their modern reader fic i really like it. also we'll be getting into the actual time travel stuff after this teaser lololol :3

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s a bracing, misty evening – supposed to be spring, but doesn’t feel like it. The waves are choppy and the gulls are huddled on the pylons with their beaks tucked under their wings, their feathers ruffling in the cold wind. 

Three hulking great ships, all freighters, are tied up on the beat-up dock. This isn’t one of those fashionable wharfs with dockworker unions or passenger liners – no pretty girls on their balconies, clinking champagne flutes to celebrate the start of the cruise. Just a couple of red-faced salts in pea jackets tramping by, trailing cigarette smoke, boots crunching on dried-up gull shit.

They spare you glances as they pass by, surely wondering what you were doing here in the early hours of the morning. Were you waiting for someone to get off work? Were you waiting for a drug deal? Or were you just admiring the way the waves spray water onto the dock?

(In reality, it was none of those. You’re waiting on something much worse.)

A woman, sleek and modern in style and rugged and worn in looks, approaches you. She has a quiet intensity about her — something about the way she squints against the ocean spray mixed with the permanent-looking scowl on her face. 

She tilts her head toward you, and you nod. You walk towards her and meet her halfway, leaning in close on her insistence. 

“You’re the one in need?” She asks softly. You just barely hear her over the waves crashing against the dock.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, just as soft. “It’s my sister’s daughter. My eleven-year-old niece. She’s… she’s in a really bad way.”

“What does she need?” The woman asks. 

“A pancreas,” you say. “She’s got acute recurrent pancreatitis. There aren’t a lot of affordable child-sized organs lying around. God knows I’ve turned not just California, but the entire Mojave upside-down trying to find one. I’ve called hospitals in Arizona, Nevada, even New Mexico. I – I’m not asking you to kill a child! I just… I need the money for the operation. It’ll put her on the waiting list, and… once we show the hospital we have the money, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Somehow.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just take out a loan? Or take on debt?”

“I can’t,” you say. “None of us can. I foreclosed on my last house. My sister has thousands of dollars in credit card debt, counting all the interest. Please, just trust me when I say I need this money. I don’t think anyone has nearly half a million dollars in their junk drawer. If I did, why would I be here, asking you for it?”

The woman looks you over and tucks her jacket closer around her. The outline of a gun at her hip becomes glaringly obvious – she wants you to notice it.

“Ma’am, I’m begging you.” You clasp your hands together as tight as you can. “I come from a family of deadbeats and addicts. I was an addict myself, and I quit just to save money for her operation, but it’s just not enough. I need this money. I won’t misappropriate these funds – won’t use them to pay off other debts, won’t use them for drugs. Just… please, miss.”

The woman holds up her hand. “Stop groveling.”

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?! You shout in your head. I need money, and you’ve got the money! My niece is going to fucking die if I don’t get it!

Instead, you just nod politely and put your hands behind your back. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies. I’m sure you can understand my desperation.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman hums. “I can get you the money. Just give me your banking details and I can wire it to you.” 

You pull out a pre-prepared index card with your bank information written down. The woman checks that it has your full name, address, account number, and routing number before speaking again.

“Do you have life insurance?” She asks, as if offhandedly.

“Uh, yes?” You say, unsure. “It won’t come out to a lot, so I couldn’t have an “accident” at work. Maybe just under 200,000 dollars? Nowhere near enough to cover her operation.”

The woman hums and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Thank you so, so much,” you say. “You have no idea what this means to me – no idea what you’ve done for me and my family.”

“I have some idea.” The woman’s hand lingers at her waist. It takes you a few seconds too long to notice that –

A loud sound. A raging pain. The bullet hit something vital, but doesn’t grant you the mercy of dying in that instant. 

You stagger back, holding yourself. “What…”

“You’re dumber than you look,” the woman says, her voice fading in and out. “I’m just helping your family.”

You inhale shakily and take a step back. There’s a sense of falling, and something cold surrounds you, but you can’t make out much of anything in this condition. 

The last thing you think before the black takes you? It’s May. Who the fuck gets shot in May?

[botanyshitposts]

Opinion on the US's Cogs damn obsession with corn?

don't know what you're talking about specifically but my understanding of US agricultural policy in general is that being a farmer in capitalism sucks and has since colonization and for a long time the US government tried to make it suck less with subsidies which sometimes work (because people get paid predictably regardless of demand and its less like gambling with crops) but sometimes go over really badly (because then too many people grow it and the price per bushel goes down and then government has too much corn) and then a couple times they got rid of all the subsides and related regulations and that REALLY didnt work (because then the price just crashed hard and with nothing to compensate them a bunch of farmers, many of whom were in debt for other farming-related reasons, couldnt get paid and actually had to foreclose their farms, which accelerated the long-standing trend of farms getting foreclosed on and then being bought out by bigger farms that then ended up running INSANE multi million dollar operations, sometimes even on farms in other states where the owners do not live, in communities they do not contribute to) and they had to backpedal on it and then eventually they just started on the current system where you simply pass a farm bill every 10-12 years instead of yearly or biyearly and that way you simply dont have to think about it, and then when it is election time you go stand by a cornfield for a while for tv. it does not fix the huge enormous farms buying out smaller farms problem or any of the complicated related problems but it DOES put it off for longer which is more important.

sometimes also you (USAID for instance) can give the too-much-corn you have from farm subsidies to a foreign country as a 'gift' and say youre just being a helpful little guy, but in the process of doing so undercut the local farmers in that country because they cant compete with free stuff but that's cool because then the foreign country can't really survive as well without US agricultural aid and you can manipulate them to do imperialism better AND you have more demand for the corn which might raise the price per bushel in the US. also sometimes the corn is fed to livestock en masse because the meat is worth more and sometimes its made into gas or high fructose corn syrup, and sometimes the price is so low per bushel that the insurance on the field is worth more than the actual corn.

but. i CANNOT stress enough that the most important thing about corn is that you can stand next to it on tv and if you cant do that, maybe you can stand next to a guy who is around it a lot and say you are helping him.

in my relatively uneducated opinion the most epic way to solve this complex multi-century interdisciplinary push and pull of supply and demand would be to just pay farmers a salary through the state since youre already paying out massive state subsidies for crops you dont need anyway and the farmers are performing a vital service and that way you can guarantee people a consistent salary AND control how much of each thing gets planted so you dont have a massive stockpile at all times AND you reward individual people instead of paying out large amounts of money to whatever massive operation sells the most corn by virtue of being big, but if you dont want to do that then the second best thing is to just pass another mediocre farm bill whos inflexible 10-ish year lifespan makes it impossible for it to respond well to changes in market demand and that way you can just put off making tough decisions and instead stand next to a guy and a cornfield on tv again. which as we have covered is the most important part of american agriculture

[inlandempir]

post on one of the dev forums for disco elysium, titled "THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD". text version beneath the cut

There's been a lot of art and tech talk so far, it's all kinda dry or saccharine. I think it's time to juice it up by throwing in a proper essay.

THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD

The world of No Truce! (we do have a proper name for it, but we’re shy) is not what you’d call “a generic genre world”. It is not pseudo-medieval stasis, as Forgotten Realms was, nor is it Fallout’s campy barbarism with guns. It is also not a Harry Potter/Batman/vampire fantasy world, which is basically “our world with a secret/special world within it”. Neither is it the tech-obsessed ‘punks’ of steam and cyber. It’s a modern fantasy world, a fantasy world in its modernity, which roughly corresponds to the middle part of our XXth century. Now that kind of thing opens up an array of new possibilities. It is a world with a promise of non-staticness, meaning, things appear undecided — they could go one way or the other. It is close enough to our own world for things to have meaning in it, it is a proper frame in which to explore themes relevant to our own society such as bigotry, power relations, politics, bureaucratic apparati, geopolitical relations, philosophy, ideology, religion et cetera. A pseudo-medieval world is not a proper frame for truly exploring themes of, for example, sexuality, for it lacks 1) a proper concept of sexuality, 2) an actual idea of societal progress and 3) a clear ideological dominant, which would be the place where values come from. All you can do in a static, societally unstructured world is give out-of-place shoutouts to present day communities for cheap popularity (“this is exactly my sexual orientation, how did they know?!”).

We find the ideological dominant missing because the western world is traditionally culturally critical of ideological dominants – critical of both state and religion. Anyhow, a classic fantasy world would feature two main ideologies – the “good” and the “evil”, of which the former is selfless and compassionate, but the other one is selfish and cruel. The attempts to overcome that have given us the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is an asshole and pessimism rules the day. Unsurprisingly, Grittywelt is also static as hell and meaningful change is foreclosed from it. It is a “protection from false hopes”. As such, it is heavily unrealistic. Much more realistic would be people living in super gritty conditions, but not looking the part, that is, not really noticing the abnormal harshness of their conditions, because they don’t have much to compare them to, and being hopeful towards the next day, because surprise! This is how you do it. Survive, I mean. Being depressed is a luxury. In a way, I’d say we’re trying to create the obverse of the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is empathizable, sort of a hero of their own story.

The modern era is also a fitting vessel for anachronisms – do we not have actual cyborg limbs and donkey-pulled carts operating in the same world at the modern era? Capitalism can also contain little feudalisms in a way, in which a single man or single family controls the entire economy of a town or a village and profits from it. And at the same time, it can also contain little socialist utopias, scientist villages, in which everything is provided by the State. Aside from being a basic feature of reality (anachronism is nothing more than time failing to fit the stereotype about it), it is also a lovable creative tool, allowing for a plethora of what-if-scenarios. Imagine a modern world, only without television; imagine a modern world in which there never was a global war, imagine a world in which fossil fuels are less available. Now, if you will, imagine one which has forgotten its antiquity, and one, in which there is not just water between the continents, but something worse as well — an anti-reality mass we call “pale” (also more on that later). Now imagine one, which has a legitimate and operative “religion of history” in place, which seeks for people it deems special enough to be the “vessel of progress”. (This is not an alternate history thing, by the way. An alternate history takes place in our world quite recognizably and has no more than one divergence point from history as it happened.)

One might ask, why would we not create an even more modern world, if we wanted to maximise our possibilities? Well one of the answers is that it would have destroyed the necessary element of escapism, another is that we cannot create a good alternate Information Era because we ourselves fail to understand the Information Era (More precicely, we have the information era in its infancy and it works via radio relays). We are too close to it and it is too new to understand it, it is “in progress”. The third reason would be that technology is not a fascinating subject for modern science fiction. It’s become a natural part of our reality. We don’t believe it’s going to save us anymore – it has failed to deliver for too long. I am of the belief that the themes of science fiction today are societal, political and psychological (one could maybe add aesthetical to it, for we also love the world for its beauty). All fantastic or sci-fi elements are means for best exploring those themes.

I have filled my page. That’s all for the time being. Thank you for reading.

Martin Luiga Writer

[metamatar]

Sanatan Dharma literally translates to Eternal Law/Way of Life, it by definition forecloses the possibility of progressive visions of religion. Those who call themselves as belonging to Sanatan Dharma today belong to a 19th century Hindu movement that positioned itself against reform oriented revivalists like the Arya Samaj who wanted to trim off the worst excesses of Hinduism – sati, child marriage and untouchability. Not that their visions amounted to anything close to Dalit liberation, they would continue to endorse the philosophy of a caste system. But Sanatanis are very much the worst off the lot.