#i really like the chess pieces in the background i drew

[sluug-juice]

🌌Mindscape🌠

[divorcedwife]

i love your chess art so much! no idea if you’ve answered this question before but do you mind sharing how you got into the game? i think it’s always really nice to hear about players’ background stories (probably since it’s such an old game and the knowledge is passed down from generation to generation)

oh thank you!! <33 i don't think i've ever talked about this, no - and even then, i really appreciate questions so i wouldn't mind answering again :-)

i think how i got into chess is kinda funny. i love memento mori art and i love the image of playing chess with death to save yourself. i wanted to use something like this in a drawing, and drew a knight with a chessboard plate armor, and i wanted to have a checkmate on there, so people who can play chess would get that. death won

but since i didn't know how to play chess, i tried to search for an example of one, and unfortunately the one i picked looked a bit silly! it was a weird set up - like there were not many pieces, a bunch of knights and almost nothing else, something like that. didn't really look like a real game anyone would play. people pointed it out in the tags and gently poked fun at my weird checkmate. and i was mortified... truly no bigger shame for me than looking ignorant in front of everyone. i thought the only way to regain my honor was to make sure this never happened again, so i had to learn. and im glad i did! once i figured out how to actually checkmate someone, i started having so much fun. i love playing very aggressive and harassing the king from the start. i don't always win but i like to bother my opponent to the max

and any time there's a chessboard in my art, i actually open my chess app to play a little game and use that to set the game in a way that looks natural. it's the kind of little detail that doesn't matter all that much and means nothing to most people, but i just love getting those tiny details right lol. for my fellow pedants out there

[lunargazing-png]

Hope this isn’t too soon after your break! I meant to ask this a while back not long after the first one, because you’ve got me so curious: We know about Ikoleta and Az now, so what about Kara? Any info on her partner (assuming Kenzie wasn’t conceived via IVF or something similar) and their background?

Once again, thank you so much in advance. ❤️ Hope you’re well!

thanks for popping in!! I'm doing better 😊 Still somewhat on and off but I plan on coming back. I wish I could say how hectic my life has been- things could be better, but I'm riding the wave. Questions are a nice distraction 💗

Kara's previous partner was a man named Arrow. I don't have a very extensive background about him yet, but he was a nice man and I like to think that Kara's in laws treated her like an actual human being when she was recovering after the war. They met each other at a college party and he gave her his jacket because it rained. She info dumped to him about her studies and the station she was going to dock at to start her career: Shanxi. He was head over heels, and their personalities mended well together. There was no way he could let this opportunity slip away, so they ended up stationing on Shanxi together. I like to think that they both firmly believed they were each other's better half and this was the person who'd they see forever with.

(lil portrait I drew of him just for this ask! I like to think Kenzie takes from him a lot.) He was an aerospace engineer at the Relay 314 Incident. He was killed in combat during the first attack. Initially MIA when the war began, but eventually his remains were recovered and returned almost an entire year after. He's one of many casualties that are listed on memorial walls. I like to think that he's a very important person to both Kara and Az when they revisit the topic of the war. It would have been so easy to turn to hate and anger after her partner's death, but love is what made their time together so precious in the first place. Grief can be so difficult to work through and it never really leaves a person. I think Arrow is an aspect of Kara's foundation instead of something she ever tried to forget. She keeps up her promise that he'd see "forever" with her. I think Az has a lot of thoughts about him too. He had a lot to look forward to and loved someone that Azailick loves as well, it's only natural he has a lot of respect for the guy. Celebrating "turian pride" feels hollow to him when he looks at Kara and the struggles she went through after the war. There's twinges of shame and guilt scattered around in his consciousness about how he's a chess piece on the grander board that contributed to Arrow's death. Taking care of a child as a single mother, while going through the grief of becoming widowed, and also having to learn about living with a new disability all in the same breath hits Az like a ton of bricks when he thinks about Kara. He is not a replacement, but she deserves love and respect all the same in his eyes. If Arrow was still around I think he'd know the feeling that Az had when he dropped everything to go to her in the middle of a battlefield.

thanks for sending in an ask again! this is more of a sad one fwbfjhwa a little bittersweet!

[k00293900]

The finished product of my risograph book!

Here are my individual prints, I will explain my thought process and ideas for each of them;

Here in the left I created a drawing of myself, I wanted to capture the darkness and loneliness one might feel when judging their image, so I have myself/ character In a bathroom as it is a private place, I wanted it to be a bit eery so I drew an empty room with an old sink, pipes and a bin, to make the atmosphere more dark and isolated, I used the technique of cross hatching to make this effect also.

Finally using the highlighter colour I added a monsters face staring back at me in the mirror, I wanted it to be subtle yet prominent using strong features.

The monsters face is there to show how I might feel about myself when I'm feeling down or negative.

I really like how this one turned out, I enjoy the story telling within the piece and the detail also.

______________

On the right I have a drawing of my mom! This would be the last page of my book the main theme as I said earlier are the words "I want to be like you" instead of wanting to be something that I'm not or wanting to change my personality or self for the wrong reasons, this is saying I want to be like my mom, I want to Inherit the thoughtfulness and kindness of her I want to be like someone's for the better of myself, that is what this drawing is about.

The drawing on the left is the first page of my book, I wanted the viewers to be told immediately what this book is about, self-image that contains the positives and negatives of my personal self imagery and what it means to me, the main theme of this piece is the words "I want to be like you" and on the right I showed a metaphorical drawing of a chess piece looking at the mirror and imagining itself to be the bigger stronger and more important piece to the game, meaning that it wants to be better, this can be viewed as positive or negative.

__________________

On the right I drew a self portrait but I layered in pink different features of my family and friends on top of my own to make a collage look to the piece showing the confusion and urge to look different and unique especially now days, I like the glitch effect that turned out in the end.

On the left I drew a girl with her three personalities, I tried to illustrate this using different colours( however they came out too light in the end) it shows a mutual expression, happy and sad. This shows how someone might feel and their self perceptions. I finished the look by adding a solid blue colour in the background to make the faces pop.

_______________

On the right is a picture of my face, I deliberately chose to cover the eyes as a metaphor for me trying to stop myself from judging or staring at myself in the mirror or in photos, however it can be interpreted in different ways. I like the circle composition or frames the lower half of my face well I think.

Here is the first print I made from the publication workshop, it is a simple piece to illustrate my theme the disruption of self-imagery l, on the left there are eyes with a solid background

The drawing on the left simply describes exactly what this book is about, I decided to add this page to the middle of my book to get the viewers understanding of what this is.

Finally this is the print that goes on the back of each of my other prints as you flick through of each page you can see the cracks and glitches of the book as you go along it disrupts the book in a way too.

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Strawberries In Bed 1/1

Title: Strawberries In Bed 

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Wife Angela (OFC)

Challenge: 25 DAYS OF CAVILL by @emjayewrites

Summary: Napoleon absolutely loves spoiling his family on the Holidays. 

Word Count: 3000

Rating: Extreme Holiday fluff, oral sex (female receiving), some  intimate hand about the neck (female receiving), Napoleon is a boss and Angela loves it. Mature.

‘Bishop to knight 4,’ said Illya.

He looked up at his laptop camera, and smirked with satisfaction. The move was absolute perfection. There was no way he could lose now.

Sighing, Napoleon took a moment to recognise the move. Then, feeling resigned to losing yet again, he nudged Illya’s corresponding piece to the requested place on his own chess board. He studied how terribly boxed in he was and scowled. Illya was a genius chess player and Napoleon had learned a lot from him when they played on long, quiet missions. Unfortunately, their long quiet missions were long behind them, at least for a while and they had to resort to playing their games by correspondence.

How Illya could be more insufferable when they played their games through Skype, Napoleon just couldn’t understand.

If Illya was doing well, he would call for Gaby to come congratulate him and force Napoleon to watch her spindly-legged uncoordinated ‘Illya is beating Napoleon at chess. AGAIN!’ dance in the background.

‘Doesn’t look like you’re doing too well, Cowboy,’ Illya gloated and moved in close to the camera as if trying to peer through the screen and down at Napoleon’s board. ‘Make sure you move it to right square this time. Put camera down. I want to see.’

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon tilted his own laptop screen down and he could hear Illya laughing.

‘Good, Cowboy. Now, how to get out of this?’

Napoleon righted the laptop again and glowered at his friend’s very punchable face.

‘I’ll get out of it,’ he swore. ‘I just need a moment.’

Napoleon knew he wasn’t going to get out of it, but he wanted to make Illya believe that he had a trick up his sleeve. However, Illya didn’t buy it for a second.

‘Gaby!’ Illya called, turning to look over his shoulder and into the room behind him. ‘Napoleon will not get out of this. Get your dance ready.’

Not wanting to see the dreadful dance, yet again, Naopleon held up one finger, telling Illya to just wait one minute, when a piercing scream broke him out of his muse.

The smoke alarm!

Napoleon looked into Illya’s startled face. The noise must have have been loud enough to come across the computer’s microphone.

‘Convenient!’ Illya said. ‘When check is about to happen!’

‘Later!’ Napoleon snapped and shut the laptop.

There were more pressing matters to attend to now.

Napoleon opened the door of his den and stepped out to the smell of smoke in the air. Sniffing, trying to discern if it was house material burning or if it was food burning, he hurried down the hallway from the den, and into the broad tastefully decorated L-shaped living room. He glanced at the holiday pennants strung above the gas fire burning in the hearth and at the gaily decorated Christmas tree next to it. No fire there.

Turning the corner that led to the adjoining kitchen, he stopped short. From his vantage point he could see into the newly remodelled kitchen where his beautiful and capable wife stood looking helplessly at a spot on the floor beyond the long white marble topped island.

‘Angie, baby!’ Napoleon shouted above the roar of the exhaust fan and the bleating alarm. ‘What are you doing?’

The kitchen was a disaster and Angela gestured helplessly around her as if she couldn’t decide what fire needed to be put out first.

He extinguished the alarm, pulled open the sliding patio doors to let out the lingering smoke, and then went to attend to his wife.

Holding a bag of frozen peas against her palm, Angie stood over an overturned pan of burned sugar cookies on the floor.

‘I thought… I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot through the towel,’ she lamented and drew away the peas to examine the damage the edge of the cookie tin had done to her skin. ‘And then everything just went…’

She made another gesture around and Napoleon couldn’t fight down the sudden surge of adoration for her.

Tsking, Napoleon crouched to sweep the cookies onto the tray, which he then put on the counter.

‘Aw,’ he cooed, and she looked sharply at him, upon hearing the amusement in his voice.

‘It’s not funny,’ she warned him. ‘You’d better not laugh.’

Napoleon made a zipping and locking motion across his mouth, but didn’t suppress the smile that threatening to turn his night into a stint on the couch. He reached drew her close.

‘My poor baby.’

He cradled her hands between his and saw a glassy, angry red streak across her left palm. It didn’t look too bad, so he walked her to the sink and turned on the tap.

‘You’re still making fun of me,’ she groused, leaning her head against him as he held her hand beneath the cool flow.

‘Nonsense,’ he answered fondly and kissed her forehead.

Angie sighed and smiled as the throbbing pain in her hand finally subsided. She liked when Napoleon took control, whether it was of the situation or if it was of her directly. It made her feel loved and looked after. He was very good at taking control. And maybe, though she would not admit it to anyone but herself, it fostered a certain kind of helplessness in her, in order to facilitate Napoleon’s white knight tendencies.

Lifting her face, she nudged his cheek with the tip of her nose and she could see him smile. But, he stubbornly kept his attention on holding her hand beneath the water. She hummed softly and nudged him again.

‘Stop,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m concentrating.’

He wasn’t really concentrating. It was just one of the games they liked to play. Warm up the tiger before he pounces.

Angie reached into the water with her free hand and gathered her fingers into a line along the edge of her curled in thumb, threatening to flick the water from her dripping fingers and onto Napoleon.

That got his attention and with interest, one dark elegant brow flicked upwards.

‘This shirt costs nine hundred euros,’ he warned with a laugh. ‘Dry clean only.’

‘Then give me what I want,’ she replied easily, a teasing smile turning up the corners of her lush mouth.

Napoleon closed the taps and grabbing a tea towel, he gently and thoroughly dried her hands before leaning in to kiss her sweet lips. He backed her up against the edge of the counter and leaned his weight into her. Angie reached to slide her arms round his neck and made a small noise of protest when he grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands down on the countertop.

Trapped, she thought, and the warmth of pleasure suffused her skin.

Napoleon was an absolutely beautiful, high quality man. They’d met five years ago during a masked New Years Eve party and had kissed each other at the stroke of midnight before they had even exchanged names and they had been inseparable ever since.

But, they couldn’t make out like newlyweds in the kitchen when there was a holiday dinner party to prepare for.

She drew away just a little to catch his attention, to remind him that he had still had husbandly tasks to complete before the evening get-together, but he chased her, increasing the pressure of his kiss and slipping the tip of his tongue into her mouth. The heat and familiarity of that possession redirected her intentions and Angela’s thoughts scattered like rose petals on a soft spring wind.

Napoleon circled her waist and leaned back. It took a moment to register that he has moved at all and with a disappointed mewl, she opened her eyes. She looked up into his face, that face that promised that he would never hurt her, but that he would do everything he could to treat her like the queen she was.

The queen to his king.

‘C’mon baby. Up you go,’ he murmured lustily, crouching just a little to hoist her up onto the counter.

Angela reached for him, needy and wanting and slid her hands through his neat hair. Her fingers tightened and gripped him so that he had no choice but to look up at her. When their eyes met again, a silent agreement passed between them.

‘Be a good boy,’ she hissed and wetting his lips, he grinned.

‘Always, darling.’

Napoleon curled his fingers beneath the waist band of her velour tracksuit bottoms and as she lifted herself, he slowly worked then down along her strong, creamy thighs. Her hand tightened in his hair again when he leaned in to kiss her velvety inner thigh. He hummed quietly, relishing the sweetness of her skin, the silkiness of her, and the pulse of her heat that rapidly eroded his self control. He nudged her until she collapsed back on her elbows, and opened herself to his touch. Angela shifted and wriggled just enough, spreading her legs as far as the bottoms would allow. The thick elastic bit into her thighs but it was a punishment that she’d willingly withstand in order to quench the suffering craving she had for her man. She moaned quietly, carefully, still aware of the slow delicate breath that lingered in her chest. She was still aware of how she looked to him, alluring and picture perfect, teetering on the precipice of her awakening desire. She was so close to tipping over the edge.

And Angela kept the sound of pleasure that threatened to escape her lips, a wicked reaction to the slow deliberate stroke of Napoleon’s slippery, questing tongue along her slit.

She arched up high on her elbows and the trembling desire to be dominated by him drew the worst out of her, the part of her that would willingly degrade herself for him. Only him.

Napoleon dragged her to the edge of the counter and slid his hand up her belly, between her breasts to where he eased his fingers about her throat. Angela whined with anticipation of delicious pressure and pushed into his grip giving him permission to keep going. Those strong fingers remained cupped possessively but did not exert any additional force. Angela knew she would come apart at being denied, but she trusted him. She knew him. Napoleon was holding back. This was not the beast he could become, just a shadow of it for now, as there would be time enough for that later.

Napoleon knew exactly what he was doing and how to stoke the fire in her. He knew how to touch her and taste her and when he gently thrust one finger into her Angela cried out and swore indelicately.

The rumbling sensations of Naopleon’s smug laugh against her skin thrilled her and she clutched helplessly at his dark hair.

Napoleon turned his attention to her thigh again, that tender flesh, and bit her gently, but with full intention to leave a mark. Angela yelped, gasped and her orgasm took them both by surprise. Napoleon watched his wife shudder as she lost herself and he pushed in again to ensure that he would not miss a thing, not a taste not a drop. He lapped at her, sliding his tongue in deeper, his fingers spreading her wide open until she begged him to stop.

Too much, baby, too much please!

Napoleon did as she bade him and straightened, wiping up her wetness from his mouth and licking clean his fingers. Angela laughed breathlessly, reached for him and he helped her to sit up. She flopped bonelessly against him, and rested her head on his shoulder. She had no words to describe how light and content she felt in that moment, how lucky she felt to have him, so she remained silent and let him kiss her

Napoleon was about to say something but was interrupted by the front door chimes.

‘Probably the caterers,’ she said, finally getting herself in hand and pushing him aside.

With a smile, she hopped off of the counter.

‘I’m not finished with you yet,’ Napoleon promised, pointing a finger at her as he went to the door leaving her to clean up after them.

**

Angela and Napoleon were the consummate hosts and their annual Christmas party pulled friends and family and neighbours from all over for one night of excellent food and even better company.

Angela took pleasure in the perfect presentation of her house and pride that she had the means to accommodate those people who were dear to her. And because of that, the house was crowded, filled with awful Christmas music, sounds of laughter, joyous voices and a deep seated sense of love.

On her way through the kitchen for the fifth time to refill a platter of canapes, a loud voice stopped her.

‘Angie, darling!’ shouted a woman who grabbed her up and into a tight embrace.

A year or so ago, Angela had met Adiche and her husband Kofu on a trip to Florence. Napoleon had to travel to the city on business and ensured that his wife could accompany him and tour the country to her heart’s content. Adiche was an architectural graduate student who shared a 100 kilometre taxi trip from one city to another when the train system broke down, leaving she and Angela stranded in the middle of nowhere. On the journey they became fast friends.

‘Adiche!’ she cried hugging her tightly in return. ‘You… I didn’t see you come in. I’m so glad you could make it. You’re back from Dubai already?’

‘Yes! And Napoleon let us in,’ she assured her and held out the gift she’d brought. ‘I don’t know if you’re opening them now, or if they’re going under the tree.’

Angela smiled happily and took the heavy box.

‘Under the tree for now,’ she said. ‘And we’ll do the gifting in an hour or so.’

‘I’ll let you girls talk,’ interrupted Kofu who was standing at his wife’s shoulder. ‘But, where’s Leon keeping his special…’

With eyebrows raised, Kofu pinched his fingers together and made a drinking motion by his mouth.

‘You, sir,’ Angela laughed, shooing him away, ‘need to talk to Mr. Bad Influence himself. That’s his business.’

Grinning with anticipation, Kofu took the box from Angela and kissing his wife’s cheek he waded off through the crowd to find the good stuff.

‘That’s all he talked about on the way here,’ Adiche confided with a chuckle and pitched her voice deeper to imitate her husband. ‘Man, Leon’s got the best shite! Remember that bottle he sent to me for my birthday? Whooeee, I was sorry to see it go!’

The two women laughed and rubbing her hands together, Adiche returned to her normal voice.

‘I don’t ever want to hear about that magical bottle of booze any more! Now, what I want to know is if you’ve got the good shite.’

‘Come on girl,’ said Angie, taking her by the arm and leading her to the adjacent dining room where most of the women were camped out and having after dinner drinks and dessert. ‘I got you.’

As the evening waned and once everyone had their fill and all gifts were exchanged, Napoleon pulled Angela up with him so that they could both stand by the twinkling tree and make a joint toast to their friends and family. Afterwards, it was all new year wishes and hugs and kisses of farewell and soon after the caterers left, it was just the two of them once more. Finishing the last of her wine, Angela yawned and stretched feeling infinitely exhausted, but deeply content as she warmed herself by the fire. She had long ago kicked off her shoes and the white tiles before the hearth were warm and soothing against her tired soles.

Napoleon shrugged out of his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the back of one of the living room chairs. He walked to where she stood and pulled her into his arms.

‘I love you,’ Napoleon whispered, resting his lips against the back of her neck.

Angela sighed and leaned against him.

‘I love you,’ she answered, turning around to drape her arms over his shoulders.

Angela smiled up at her tired looking husband and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks.

‘Now,’ she murmured, rising up on her toes to kiss his lips. ‘What does Santa want for Christmas?’

Napoleon’s grin turned into a boyish laugh and he slipped his hands down from about her waist to cup her bottom. She felt so good in his arms that he didn’t know if his answer could illustrate the depths of his love and admiration for her.

‘I’ve already got what I want,’ he replied and kissed her again.

‘Then you don’t want what I’ve left for you under the tree?’ she teased and glanced back to the single unwrapped box that sat under the tree.

Napoleon followed her gaze and then looked back at her. He then bent a little and swept her off of her feet. With an amused chuckle, Angela settled easily went in his arms.

‘Later,’ he said, his blue eyes warm with mischief and carried her up to their bedroom. ‘I told you that I wasn’t finished with you. I want to make good on my promise.’

-the end

Merry Christmas and tagging some of my girls. I wish you a wonderful holiday and new year

[judexgraves]

The Warning, Ignored

“Check,” said the cloaked figure in front of Veronica.

Veronica lazily swayed from one side to the other in a chair she didn’t remember. In front of a chess game she didn’t remember starting, and with a person she had no recollection of knowing before now. The room was completely void yet pure white. She could not make out walls, but yet she felt trapped. Where was she?

“What?”

The cloaked figure’s head tilted up, but there was only darkness, no face to be seen. “Check,” it repeated. “It is your turn. What will you do now?”

Veronica looked back down at the chess pieces that were strewn amongst the table. Some had already fallen, and some were still in play. She wasn’t even sure she had played this game more than a handful of times in her life. Why was she playing it now?

“What do you mean?” she asked but when she looked back up there was Tabitha instead. Her face gave a look of confusion as she leaned all the way to the left into the couch armrest. Her eyes opened and closed slowly as she heard Tabitha’s voice, frantic, but unable to make out the words.

*****

“Narcan!” the paramedic demanded.

Tabitha stood at the opening of the back of the ambulance. She watched another paramedic hand over a syringe and her heart dropped. Tears streamed down her face and her hands trembled. The paramedic injected Veronica and Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief when Veronica’s eyes opened.

“V!” she yelled out. She watched as Veronica seemed to register her voice but her head fell back onto the stretcher.

The paramedic closest to the door moved to close it. “We’re going to Saint Mary’s,” he said while he slammed the doors in her face. The ambulance rushed off with lights and sirens blaring.

“But… I want to be with her,” Tabitha whimpered, confused why she wasn’t allowed into the ambulance.

Tabitha, still in her work clothes, jumped into her car and drove with her emergency blinkers on to the hospital across town. She had no idea what Veronica had done, or what she was thinking. Tabitha had been working a double at the restaurant when she got an odd text from Veronica. I love you… don’t let them wake me!

What does that even mean? Don’t let who wake her? Did she OD on purpose? What is going on in her head to think that’s okay? She’d never been so much as depressed, let alone suicidal! All these thoughts consumed her as she sped toward the hospital, nearly keeping up with the ambulance.

*****

Veronica looked out over the hilltop she stood on. It was dark, and the flora among her feet were rotted, decayed into nearly ash. The smell of sickly sweet death clung to her nostrils, but no matter where she looked she couldn’t quite find what would cause such a smell. There was no carcass, only the dead flowers. Slowly, she lifted her arm toward her nose, but before she got to close she realized it was her. She was the smell. She gagged, having to swallow back bile. What was wrong with her?

“You are sick,” the familiar voice caused her to look behind her. The cloaked figure made her chest ache.

“I’m only twenty-two, I haven’t even had the flu before. How am I this sick?”

“Pestilence does not care for your age or who one is.”

“Pestilence?” Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“They are coming. You are the beginning of an end.”

Veronica shook her head. “Now you just sound like you’re quoting scripture… I don’t-”

“Believe? No one believes until it is too late. There are many things one must believe in, and sickness and death will always make one a believer in them.”

“I can go to a doctor.”

“They have no cure for what is eating you from within.”

Veronica choked on a cry before she quickly turned away, only to fall to her knees from the dizzy spell. “I can’t leave my loved ones behind.”

“They will follow soon enough.”

“Will anyone survive?”

“No. Humans are the vermin, and we must cleanse.”

Veronica shook her head. Despite the putrid smell that came from her hands, she lifted them to her face to wipe the flow of tears. “I can stop it. If I stay away from everyone and end my life, I can stop it.”

“You can try…”

*****

Tabitha burst in through the doors of the ER, explaining to the man at the front desk who she was and what was happening. He checked with a passing nurse who gave a shrug and a nod, so he buzzed Tabitha into the open ER past the waiting room. She hurried into the room that she saw Veronica in, convulsing. Whether or not she was meant to be there was a wholly different story, but to her it didn’t matter the rules of the ER. She pleaded over and over for someone to help Veronica before two nurses pulled her from the doorway of the room. As they tried to console her, Tabitha couldn’t hear a thing, nothing more than noise in the background as medical staff tried to stop Veronica from convulsing. The foam from her mouth getting into her bright pink hair.

One nurse maneuvered Tabitha to walk with her away from the scene, but Tabitha just looked over her shoulder until they rounded a corner and she could no longer see inside the room. She then looked to the nurse and shook her head repeatedly. “Please. I’m begging you. Help her.”

The nurse sat Tabitha down at a table in a break room. “They’re doing all they can, ma’am. Please, take this and calm down.”

Tabitha looked at the can in front of her and carefully she took it from the nurse and nodded as she gave a few light sips. It only soured her stomach, despite the ginger she tasted, so she set down the can and began to sob. The nurse rubbed her back gently as if to comfort her, but Tabitha found no comfort in the memories embedded in her mind of Veronica convulsing.

*****

Veronica went in and out of consciousness. She saw the bright lights, heard the frantic demands of doctor and nurse alike, even felt the harsh punctures of syringes and that of the needle prick of an IV. She kept trying to beg them to stop, to let her die, but couldn’t form the words. The heroin had either done quite a number on her, or all of this stress was traumatizing her. She wasn’t sure. She had never touched drugs before, but she was sure she had done enough to end her life. So why was she still alive? Why weren’t people just letting her die? Didn’t they see? Didn’t they know she was already dead? That they would be too if they allowed her to live?

“Stop,” she whispered, but in the midst of all the frantic noise, she fell on deaf ears.

“They won’t stop, and neither will what’s inside you,” the voice came to her as if in a dream once more.

Veronica looked to her left and instead of machines and nurses, she saw the cloaked figure. Decay rained down upon them both in a soft shower. She smelled that distinct rot again. “It’s going to get on them, make it stop!”

A haunting chuckle emerged from the void. “They were infected the moment you arrived.”

“Stop. Please,” she begged.

“I only collect. I am the warning, ignored.”

Veronica turned her head to see the rot that was coursing upon the nurses and the doctors. They didn’t see it, but she did… she knew, and they were blind.

“Stop.”

*****

The faint beeps were lulling Tabitha to sleep as she sat beside Veronica’s bedside. They had gotten Veronica calm enough to put her out of the ER and into a room for further testing. The doctors tried to explain to Tabitha that the blood work they did was inconclusive. That besides the heroin something, odd, was in her blood. They took more to review, considering it a fluke for now, but to be safe wanted to keep her for observation.

Just as Tabitha’s eyes were shutting she heard her name. Her eyes shot open and she saw Veronica’s worried face.

“V!”

“Tabby… why? I told you not to do this.”

“What? Are you really upset with me to want to save you?”

“You don’t understand. I was trying to save you; all of you.”

Before Tabitha could speak, an alarm rang out. Codes were being listed frantically, but the only thing she understood was the word, QUARANTINE.

“What is going on?” Tabitha whispered.

“It’s happening,” Veronica said, voice weak and her bottom lip quivered. “It’s begun.”

Tabitha turned to Veronica seeing small, red welts appear on Veronica’s body. “V?” she questioned in a shaky tone.

Veronica looked to Tabitha. Her right eye bulged and then rotted from her skull. Black ooze trickled from the open space. “You should have listened.”

Tabitha screamed. She looked down and saw small, red welts appearing on her own skin. Before she could call for a nurse there were many more screams which echoed from the hall. There were so many and so loud. It was almost deafening as Tabitha drew closer to the door to open it. The scene in the hall was enough to make Tabitha’s blood run cold.

Some nurses were running toward patient rooms, others were sitting in the floor clawing at their red, welted skin. A patient was face down in a pool of dark blood that seemed more like oil. Tabitha shook her head. Her vision tunneled as she felt nauseated. As she felt the bile rise to her throat she felt herself falling. She passed out before she hit the ground.

*****

“Checkmate,” the cloaked figure said.

Veronica sat upright and rigid in the familiar chair. Her eyes scanned the game of which she still doesn’t remember playing, but the figure was correct. It was checkmate. The game was over.

“Did I even play?” A chuckle from the void had her arm hairs stand on end.

“Not willingly, no,” it replied.

“Why me?”

“You were merely a random means to an end. It could have been anyone, and now it is slowly becoming everyone.”

“Will I see them again? My friends? My family?”

The cloaked figure looked to a door, one that Veronica hadn’t noticed. “Walk through there and you may find out.”

Veronica sat in silence for a moment. Her head slowly turned back to the cloaked figure. “I’ll play you for it. This time, I'll actually play.”

“Play me for what?”

“For the human race.”

Deep laughter filled the room. “It is over. What has been done, is done. I only collect.”

“I tried.” Veronica choked on her cries. “I tried to warn them.”

“Yes. You did, child, you did.”

Veronica felt tears fall as her mouth opened and she spoke with the figure, “I am the warning, ignored.”

[satonthelotuspier]

❄️ Untamed Winter Fest 2019 ❄️

Day 29 - Frozen - 1.8k

Jiang Cheng watched the gently waving fan as it moved hypnotically, still covering the lower half of Nie Huaisang’s face. He wondered if this was the Nie Sect leader’s version of those flesh eating plants that lured in their prey with pretty colours and tempting smells before snapping closed and devouring what was caught.

The thought made him uncomfortable and he tried to banish it as his eyes lifted and travelled a little further up to find those solemn dark eyes watching him watch the fan.

And really now he was looking for it Jiang Cheng wondered how he, how everyone, had missed that underlying tone of cold cunning in their depths.

But perhaps it was just that he could see it now because he knew it was there; people only saw what they wanted to see, nothing in the world was truer than this.

Nie Huaisang had been a consummate strategist, matching Jin Guangyao move for move, year after year, in a hidden game of chess only one of them had been aware they were playing.

While one man acted the benevolent patriarch of the cultivational world the other played the clown in the background, wept and shook his head when pushed to the forefront and cleverly used his prey as his protection.

Jin Guangyao hadn’t ever seen it coming. That was scheming on another level entirely.

Jiang Cheng considered that they’d come a long way from those silly boys who’d met at the Cloud Recesses and spent their days fooling around, drinking, sharing pornographic books, whilst going about their young lives with their seemingly all-consuming worries.

The worries of children.

Life had chewed them up and spit them out since, and while he didn’t think there was a cultivator of their generation that had come through the last several years unscathed Jiang Cheng had closed himself off emotionally in order to survive, his frozen heart refusing to allow any further possibility of hurt.

He wondered if, like himself, Nie Huaisang would give anything to return to those carefree days of innocence, to be surrounded by his family again. He liked to think he’d not be nearly as ill-tempered with Wei Wuxian as he had been, that he’d appreciate that lively, conceited yet warm-hearted brother of his more, that he wouldn’t waste time bickering in front of his sister and instead just be in her calming company and give her all the love she deserved.

Perhaps Nie Huaisang had the same regrets, wishing he’d not spent so much time avoiding Nie Mingjue and instead been more appreciative of the love and care his elder brother held for him.

***

He would be the first to admit the meeting hadn’t held his attention and he had let most of the discussion flow over his head despite Lotus Pier being the host location, it had been a relief as it drew to a conclusion so he could see the other attendees off to their accommodations.

Afterwards, though it was late in the evening, he found himself in the company of the man who most of his thoughts had been on during the conference as they walked leisurely along the walkways and paths along the lake.

“Jiang-xiong was quite preoccupied during the discussion” Nie Huaisang commented, giving him a quick look from the corner of his fox-eyes.

“It’s the same discussions over and over though isn’t it? Patting themselves on the back for seeing through the Chief Cultivator and having a part in bringing him down” he sneered. The discussion was mostly made up of the smaller Sects due to the current political climate. He had heard Lan Xichen of Gusu had retreated into seclusion after Yunping City; the Jin Sect was in complete shambles despite his attempts to help Jin Ling settle things down, and that only left the Nie and Jiang sects of any size, and the smaller sects were full of their own importance.

They strolled on.

As ever Nie Huaisang was elegantly dressed; he’d always had that interest in beautiful fabrics, intricate braids and hair ornaments and beautifully painted fans. His was the soul of a poet or an artist, not a warrior or a diplomat. And look what he had accomplished.

It was another truism that war made murderers out of even the gentlest souls; one just had to find out what one was prepared to go to war for.

“I thought of the past. Of Cloud Recesses” he broke the companionable silence as Nie Huaisang walked on beside him, his closed fan tapping occasionally into the palm of his left hand.

“They were simpler times” it was almost tentative and Jiang Cheng glanced over, but couldn’t read the reason as the fan flipped open and rose into place to hide his expression, “but no less sincere”

“Do you think of it sometimes?” Jiang Cheng asked, curious how close he’d been in his thoughts earlier.

“Sometimes. Rarely. It’s...raw. I haven’t allowed myself to want the things I wanted then for a long time. I was too focussed, too...consumed. And too dead inside”

That Jiang Cheng understood, hadn’t he acknowledged that frozen part of himself that kept him safe, but emotionally separated from the world? Nie Huaisang came to a halt then and turned to face him.

“Perhaps it’s time we looked forward instead, Jiang-xiong. Perhaps now all accounts are settled it’s time to accept that wanting some of those things we wanted as silly little children in the Cloud Recesses is permissible”

Jiang Cheng didn’t think he quite grasped what Nie Huaisang meant, there seemed to be a message for him, especially in those fox-eyes which stared at him over the top of the fan, but it eluded him.

“It’s perhaps time to let ourselves heal” Nie Huaisang touched his arm with the lightest of contacts, then folded his fan and moved off back towards the dwellings with a, “Goodnight, Jiang-xiong”

***

He spent a lot of time with Nie Huaisang over the following days. Jiang Cheng told himself it was because he was the least annoying claimant upon his time. But he did genuinely enjoy their evening walks which became a staple of the conference. Their talk rarely became as deep or personal as on the first evening, but they never lacked for subjects, and neither minded when silence fell between them when there was nothing that needed to be said.

Jiang Cheng being Jiang Cheng did notice that the other had started to act a little more solicitously towards him, there were often small touches or smiles that caught him off guard, and maybe made his pulse speed up a little. Purely through surprise, of course.

He thought it may be due to Nie Huaisang finding someone with a shared history who had suffered similarly, and who he could talk to about it that made the other move towards renewing their friendship, to which Jiang Cheng had no objections.

He was a little sad when the conference ended and it was time for the other sects to go their own ways. Although only due to the impending departure of Nie Huaisang; he’d happily row the boat away from Lotus Pier himself for any of the other Sect heads. He was at the pier most of the day seeing them all off on their separate journeys.

Nie Huaisang took his leave late in the morning, “Thank you for your hospitality Jiang-xiong, I hope to see you again very soon”

“I hope so too” he allowed himself to agree and didn’t miss the warming of the other man’s eyes in response.

***

Over the following days Jiang Cheng didn’t want to admit how empty Lotus Pier had suddenly become. He continued to take the evening constitutionals that had become the norm with Nie Huaisang but they were lonely and left him brooding more often that not.

He did think deeply on Nie Huaisang’s comment of letting themselves heal and what that meant to him, he felt like the message had carried a very important weight for the other man. For himself he considered part of the healing process would be to forgive and let go  as completely as he could of the hatred he had carried for Wei Wuxian in the years since the Burial Mounds. It was something Wei Wuxian had wished for him as well, as he’d informed Jiang Cheng during a time spent trapped in a cave awaiting rescue together.

They both knew it wasn’t going to be easy, there was no magic fix-all. They had hurt each other deeply. But his family was everything to Jiang Cheng, and knowing he’d been naive and childish enough to be manipulated into betraying the man he had always thought of as his brother left a sour taste in his mouth and a cold ache in his chest.

How they were going to get there, however, he had no idea. Perhaps he could start with writing to Wei Wuxian; he thought he might find it more freeing than having to be honest with his words, which Jiang Cheng was under no illusions he’d be terrible at.

He would think the matter over carefully before he committed himself, however, it was a delicate situation and something that should be approached with forethought.

Several days after Nie Huaisang had left for Qinghe a small box was delivered to Lotus Pier. It was carved with the beast-head sigil of the Nie sect so he had no questions over who it was from.

Inside was a jade pendant carved in the shape of a nine-petalled lotus flower. The petal tips had all been limned a delicate shade of purple and beneath the pendant was a silver bell and a matching purple tassel. It was an exquisite piece meant to be worn on his belt. Something told him Nie Huaisang had been the one to make it himself and that same something itched vaguely in the heart he thought frozen solid from years of grief.

Still, it was a lot of time and effort to spend on a gift to a friend. He would have to be sure to write and thank him, perhaps send a gift back, although he was under no illusion he wasn’t an artist like Huaisang; any gift would have to be commissioned by him only and therefore perhaps wouldn’t come across as quite as sincere?

He was just drifting off to sleep that night when something clicked in his head; he shot upright in bed.

Wait, what had Nie Huaisang meant about sincere feelings from their times at Cloud Recesses? About allowing themselves to move forward and heal, and accepting that childhood wants that were still valid?

His pulse sped up.

Was he being courted?

The conversation JC refers to with WWX occured in my Day 13 prompt for reference but it’s not necessary to have read for the above

[velthequeen]

Bubblegum Bella (Addy x Antonio)

An imagine that entails how Addy Bishop and Antonio Dawson met and became partners in Intelligence.

The transitional period between spring and summer in Chicago was somewhat enjoyable. It was still kind of cold out, but not dress in a parka-type cold. Crime didn’t stop, but neither did the hard working officers of the Chicago Police Department.

Antonio Dawson had sent his kids off to school before driving to work. Being in Intelligence had its ups and downs. Each case was grueling, but getting justice for the victim(s) and the city was always rewarding at the end. He just wished it didn’t have to interfere with his family life. Him and Laura’s separation was still rocky, and his kids are more important to him than breathing. Pile that with the crime of the Chicago and trying to downplay it all, and it created one frustrated Antonio. He could’ve sworn he saw a couple grays when he got ready this morning. The Dominican man just needed a release. Something to relieve his stress.

That’s how he found himself in Molly’s after work one night. It was late as hell, and he knew his kids were dead asleep at this hour. It was so late even he was getting droopy eyed. He sensed a body sit down next to him, and a small sigh came from the mouth of it. “What he’s having.” A woman’s voice said. The light fragrance of honey and gardenia filled the detective’s nostrils. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the stench of everyone in the bar. He turned to see a pretty blonde with the same droopy yes he had. Seems like she had a pretty long day, too.

“You sure you can handle it? It’s pretty strong.” Antonio remarked without looking at her. His drink has indeed been strong, one that wouldn’t put him over the limit but enough to make him feel a bit less stressed. The woman looked at him as she took the cup in her hand and downed it without so much as a wince. Antonio looked up and down, am impressed expression on his face. “Damn.” He said, causing her to laugh lightly.

“You come to Molly’s often? I haven’t seen you around before.” He interrogated. The woman smiled at him before shaking her head. She dampened her pink pout with her tongue before pulling a small lollipop out of her pocket. It had a pink and white rapper that had a candy brand’s name scrawled in cutesy letters. The word “BUBBLEGUM” was written under the name. She unwrapped the sugar stick before placing it comfortably in the corner of her mouth.

“I just moved from Boston. Molly’s is five minutes from my place.” She told him. Antonio nodded, downing the rest of his drink. She seemed to be in the same predicament he was. Tired and in need of a friendly face. Maybe they could be each other’s support system for the night. The blonde swirled the lollipop in her mouth as they sat in comfortable silence, trying to drown out the other patrons of the bar.

“Those things will rot your teeth, bella.” He laughed, complimenting her in Spanish before ordering them both another drink. She knew enough of the language to realize that he just called her beautiful. Her grin drew him in. She was just too good at the charm factor.

“I like things sweet.”

x

Antonio couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was now the next day and he was sitting at his desk waiting for Voight to present a new case. They had spent the entire night together, to the point where he was in his third cup of coffee in the last hour and a half. Her words and face burned in his brain like some sort of wildfire. He had been bouncing his leg so much that his team was starting to take notice.

“No more coffee.” Erin said as she took his cup from him. When he began to sigh, she shot him a glare which caused him to sink back in his seat and suck air through his teeth. Erin walked away, causing Antonio’s thoughts to race once more. He was no lightweight and could remember everything that happened the night before. He was weak for a woman he didn’t even know the name of. It was honestly humiliating if you really thought about it. After two drinks and a night together and he was itching to find her again, yet he had no idea where to look. Quite mind boggling when one realizes that he’s a detective and finds things out for a living.

The worst of it all was that he could still feel her. Her fingertips against his skin felt like fire and ice. She was like a drug. Her being was intoxicating. They didn’t have sex by any means, but they almost shared a kiss. Almost. Antonio has of course initiated it, but the blonde got a sly look in her eyes and moved away. He would never force himself on to anyone, but he found himself nearly groveling at her feet.

“Not yet.” She spoke as she separated them with a turn of her head. Before that, they had been mere centimeters apart, and now she was staring at the pavement. They were outside now, standing next to the railing on the harbor. A couple of people were outside enjoying the nighttime of Chicago. A soft yet chilly breeze flew around, one that was common yet uncomfortable, even with a jacket on. Antonio used his fingers to gently guide her chin so that they would looking at each other again.

“One kiss, bella. That’s all I’m asking.” Again, he would never pressure her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. But he knew they both felt a bonding pull towards each other. It wasn’t love at first sight by any means, but he still wasn’t sure if it was repressed lust or liquid confidence.

“Believe me, I really want to. But not yet.” She repeated her words, putting a halting palm on his chest as he moved closer. His hands rested respectful on her sides as his lips got closer to her ear. “You smell like candy.” He whispered with a lazy laugh. This was the liquid confidence. She laughed with him, welcoming him brushing near her. He so badly wanted just one kiss, but he didn’t do it. She already said not to, and he felt as though he physically couldn’t disobey what she had put down. Did she have this affect on everybody?

“Here. To take the edge off.” She soothes calmly as she pulled another perfectly wrapped lollipop from her pocket. He reluctantly took it, and the sweet taste did end up distracting him from what just occurred.

Antonio was pulled out of his reverie when he heard Voight’s office door open. He fiddled with the bubblegum candy wrapper in his pocket as his eyes were lifted to a beautiful sight. No, it wasn’t Voigh, although the man was beautiful in his own way. It was her. His one night coming of age romance. She was here, in his precinct, in his unit’s loft. Was fate real? It must’ve been.

“Everyone, we have a new addition to the unit. She comes from Homicide in Boston, same as Sia. Her name is Addy-“ Hank rambled in the beginning before Antonio looked at her more fully. The night before she was dressed in a nice black coat and dark purple top. She looked casual. Today she looked like she went through Erin’s closet and assembled a look fit for an Intelligence detective. One thing that she said the night before stuck to him. She never told him her full name but she said something that resonated with him. Something about chess.

“I never actually learned how to play.” Antonio confided in her as they sat in the back of a quiet indie café. It was one of those popular downtown hipster areas in Chicago where they served you vegan food and had piercings in. She had set up the chess table for them, and seemed pretty interested in the idea of playing before the next few words came from her pretty lips.

“Neither did I.” She confessed. He looked up with a questioning glare before they both burst out laughing. Once they got shushed by other patrons trying to read books, the blonde bit her lip and Antonio stifled his laugh. “You seem to know what you’re doing, bella.” He could’ve sworn he saw a light blush creep to her cheeks before she turned away.

“My grandmother always wanted me and my sister to learn how to play. We would find ways to cheat the game so she’d think we knew what we were doing.” She set up the remainder of the pieces before entwining her fingers in his. She picked up three of the pieces and set them out for both of them to see.

“You wanna know the most complicated way to win? You need your king,” She told him, holding up the kong’s piece before putting him in his rightful place. “The knight,” She repeated her actions with the knight. “And my personal favorite, the bishop.”

“Bishop.” Antonio whispered quietly to himself as he watched Voight say it out loud. Addy’s smile illuminated the room, and her old friend Sia was the first to return it. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you all.” The way her lips moved was so mesmerizing to witness. As she turned to Antonio before sitting at her new desk near Sia’s, she shot him a secretive wink. She remembered. All of it.

While Hank was explaining the new case that they had, Antonio couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She knew he was staring; she could feel it. But Adelina just kept twirling her wavy blonde locks in between her fingers, attentively giving her eyes to Hank as he detailed their case. When he was finished with the background, he assigned everyone to their respective tasks.

“Lindsay, you and Halstead go through security of the last know address. Olinsky, take Ruzek to take out the house. Bishop, go with Dawson to sniff around the construction site. See if CSI missed anything. Blaisie, you’re with me.” The sergeant said before going back into his office. Addy was still sitting at her desk, innocently sucking on a bubblegum lollipop. Same as last night. Antonio has to restrain his chuckle.

“Those things will rot your teeth, bella.” He said after he made his way to the front of her desk. His cost was already on, and he was waiting patiently for her. That sly look in her eye came back.

“I like things sweet.” She responded, putting on her coat as he led her out of the Intelligence a Unit. Maybe fate was real after all, considering the circumstances.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Gracie!

You have been accepted for the role of ALICE LONGBOTTOM! We really enjoyed your application for Alice! We loved the personality section and the discussion of Alice’s worldview weaved throughout. Definitely looking forward to see how her black-and-white thinking will play out in the Order! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Gracie

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m in my fourth year of college, and I’ve managed to be a part of tumblr rpgs my entire college career, so I’m quite good at balancing my IRL responsibilities with managing replies and all the fun stuff. If I had to put it on a scale of 1-10, probably like a 7, 7.5. I usually know well enough in advance when I’m going to have some tough schedules so I can work around it or ask for a brief hiatus.

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers or squicks to note, but I’ll let you know if that changes.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Alice Aurelia Longbottom (née Edgecombe)

AGE: 33

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female, She/Her, heterosexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: Nope! Love everything! <3

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

There’s something interesting about being caught in the middle. It forces a person to think, rather than to just pass by.

That’s where the Edgecombe family had always been. Not quite so lofty as to be a part of the Sacred 28, but still, a perfectly respectable pureblooded family. They never really stood out. That was, until Alice.

         Unlike her older brother Frederick (or Freddie to his friends), Alice was always quick to question something. Why was the sky blue? Why was her name Alice? Why could they perform such amazing acts of magic, while muggles lived their whole lives without it? She could always be found digging through her father’s study for the answers or climbing to the tallest tree or digging up the garden to see if she could figure out some of the answers for herself.  

         In school, she had a bit of a reputation as a know-it-all. But not your typical know-it-all. She never insisted on interjecting into every class, every conversation; No, no Alice wasn’t at all like that. It wasn’t that she talked very much. Alice would only speak when she had something to say. She was very quick to correct you if she thought you were wrong and could verbally cite all the reasons why. Needless to say, this didn’t help her make any friends. If someone asked her a question, she almost always had the answer and then some. If she didn’t have the answer for you, you could rest assured that after an evening in the library, she’d basically be an expert on it and could tell you just about anything you’d want to know. The thirst for knowledge was relentless. She wanted so desperately to understand everything, and whatever Alice wanted, Alice would get.

Alice is a perfect balance of soft and tough. She’s like the soft beauty of fresh snowfall mixed with the sharp bite that whips in the winter wind. Being raised as the proper daughter of a pureblood family, she could play the part of the polite, soft spoken, and quite witch. However, she never bothered to hide the wit and charm that crackled in everything she did and said. She’s poised, and at times quite cunning, but never, never cruel or harsh. She’s quite captivating, though she never wants to be the center of attention. At her core, she’s kind, and she’s sturdy. She’s also stubborn as anything. As such, it’s very difficult getting through to her when she believes something.

Her world view is one of black and white. There aren’t any shades of grey. There is only right and wrong. In Alice’s mind, the laws are there to protect everyone- to keep everything and everyone in the right. By breaking the laws- even bending it, could spell out something disastrous. Her world view is why becoming an auror seemed like such a natural fit for her. She could make things right, and she could solve problems. She could see something wrong, look for the pieces of the puzzle and reassemble them to find the answer.

Alice is kind of like a pointillism picture. From up close, there’s nothing that seems to stand out. Just another dot on a canvas- one in a million. But upon further inspection, and a different perspective, she’s remarkable. She could be the center of attention, if she didn’t prefer to hide in plain sight. She liked being considered average. It drew less attention to her, and it made it even more satisfying to surprise people when their assumptions proved to be wrong.

But pictures aren’t always pretty.

The clever, calculated nature of the way her mind works means that some people tend to consider her cold, or unfeeling. The know-it-all wound up separating herself from pleasantries and conversation, as people never seemed to like to talk with her. Alice is incredibly blunt and doesn’t sugar coat things. Facts are facts, and there’s no point in making things seem like they aren’t all that bad when they are exactly as bad as they look. In this way, Alice is her own worst enemy. No matter how hard she tries to make friends, to get people close enough to her so that they might begin to understand her, she says something harsh, or doesn’t let emotions influence her response. Then it’s just one more person who finds her completely intolerable.

There’s also the fact that she was in Slytherin. While being in Slytherin doesn’t automatically stain you with certain irredeemable qualities and brand you forever as a dark wizard, it does sometimes create situations where you’re surrounded by people who tend to agree with the sentiments of dark wizards. Being surrounded by these ideas for seven years of her life, hearing the whispers in the halls and the common room conversations, she learned to think like them. Part of these experiences are what helped her to the top of her field. The other part allowed her to work as they do- to be manipulative, to toy with people. These are aspects of herself that Alice hates the most and would love to see disappear. However, they are a part of who she is, and she will still slip into old habits from time to time when these undesirable qualities are called for in whatever task is at hand. And sometimes, even when they aren’t called for. Sometimes it’s just a subtle comment on something, but this controlling aspect of her will rear its ugly head from time to time.  

Alice is a force to be reckoned with. She knows what it is she wants, and she will get it. She knew she wanted to make her family proud. So, she did as she was told, sat straight, acted the proper lady. She still bites her tongue around them rather than tell them how she really feels. Once she knew she wanted to become an auror, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, she worked hard and got it. She wanted Frank, and she got him too… But now she’s not so sure he wants her too. He’s grown so distant.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Alice’s family isn’t exactly easy. Her mother, Cordelia, is the definition of a mother hen. Constantly fluffing and preening and just ever-so-slightly overbearing. It took years, and a muggle book from a Hogwarts friend, to realize that her mother is Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice- to a T. While she would probably never utter it allowed, Alice’s mother wanted desperately for her daughter to marry up in pureblood society. She was positively thrilled when Alice brought Frank home for dinner. But that’s not to say the woman doesn’t care about Alice. She’s incredibly proud of her daughter and her accomplishments. In polite society, she gushes endlessly about her Alice, the auror, who managed to snag THE Frank Longbottom.

         Alice is more like her father, Atticus, than anything. The man is quiet. While he doesn’t say much, his mind is always working, always playing some elaborate game of chess with the world, a game that he will inevitably win. He taught Alice to think before she speaks. To always have a plan, all the way from A to Z- just in case something was to go wrong. Alice was always much closer to him than to her father. He just seemed to understand her better than her mother. The clucking and fussing and frills were nice, but Alice needed time away from all that noise to function. She’d much rather be hiding in her father’s study, in silence but never alone. That’s not to say it was always quiet. The battles of wits between these two were legendary- it’s better to never bring up politics around them unless you’re willing to listen to a very well mannered, but absolutely scathing debate.

         Freddie had been her best friend and confidant growing up. She’d constantly pester her big brother for the answers to her innumerable questions that swirled around her head. He was always more of a “mama’s boy” though. Always looking to stay in the woman’s good graces and do as he was told.

         Now, it’s quite difficult. Cordelia and Atticus are both inclined to stay in the graces of pureblood society. Instead of speaking up, they bow their heads, turn a blind eye. To agree that perhaps Lord Voldemort isn’t all that bad and that everyone’s just blowing it out of proportion. Freddie, never one to question his parents, is following blindly along with them.  Alice is forced to watch silently as her family slowly aligns with something she views as truly, and irredeemably wrong.

OCCUPATION 

Alice is an auror. Alice is bright. She knows the spells to use, she knows the laws, the protocols to follow. But it’s not just that that makes her such an excellent fit for the job. The ability to think quickly, to solve the problem in front of her efficiently and effectively, was the key to her success. She had a clear mind in the face of danger, which helped to make her one of the best duelists in the business. She and Frank had been nearly unbeatable. But something is off with them, and it’s throwing off their dueling, and it’s throwing Alice off her whole work game.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

         Alice is in the inner-circle of the Order. She was there to provide a level head and a ministry insight into what was going on politically. She’s there to try to keep everyone safe and protected. At first, the work she was doing with the Order was right. They were protecting the innocent and defenseless. But when things began to fall more and more into a legally grey area, Alice wasn’t so certain anymore.

She’s known who she is and what she stood for her whole life. To be questioning something now is ground shaking. Watching as the younger Order members are more inclined to cause chaos that increases the panic within the community rather than focus on quickly, quietly, and legally helping the others and slowly dismantling the forces that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is assembling is painful for her. She’s trying so desperately to show them that there’s a better way of doing things. A safer way, for everyone involved. But they don’t seem to want to listen.

Watching as Frank takes on more dangerous and legally questionable jobs from the Order has been causing a pit to form in her stomach. Not just because she adores him and would be inconsolable if anything were to ever happen to him, but also because the one thing she cares about most above all is beginning to exist on the fringe of the black area in her mind. In her world without a grey area, she’s not sure what she can do. She knows she won’t turn on him or expose him, but then, what is she supposed to do here?

SURVIVAL:

         The British “Stiff Upper Lip” defines how Alice gets by. Living in the Longbottom family house is a step up from the tiny Edgecombe household, and a very welcome change to the tiny London flat she’d holed up in after Hogwarts as she was getting her start at the Ministry. Having copious amounts of floo-powder in the house always makes the commute to work a breeze.

More eyes are on her now than when she was younger. Marrying up meant that people paid marginally more attention to her, even more so as a respected auror. She’s forced herself to be very careful. She never talks of the Order in public. At work, if the group is mentioned, she’s always the first to volunteer to investigate them. Better her than any of the other aurors. If it were anyone else, it was likely all their faces would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet, holding numbers across their chests and looking incredibly grim. Worse the end of her career, if she was discovered to be associated with the Order, it would almost definitely be certain death, now that so many of Lord Voldemort’s followers are also working in the Ministry. She can never be too careful with who she trusts.

RELATIONSHIPS:

         While it may not seem like it from the surface, Alice is holding on for dear life with Frank. They’d always been a team in her mind. The two of them against the world. But now he won’t talk to her. He’s been distant, and she barely recognizes him some days. The man she’d married isn’t who’s sleeping beside her anymore, and she isn’t sure where he went, or what she must do in order to bring him back. It’s not as though she can talk to her family or work friends about the problem without exposing the Longbottom’s dirty little (illegal) secret to the entire wizarding world. She can’t talk to anyone about it. She can’t talk to Frank about it. Her parents cannot know that she’s part of the Order, or else they could be in serious trouble. Not that she’d even like to imagine it, but she knows there’s a chance that they could turn on her and turn her in or inform someone in Voldemort’s ranks of just what the Longbottom’s are up to. She can’t talk about it at work or risk exposing herself as a member of the Order. Alice is a cauldron of stress that is at risk of bubbling over. She needs a shoulder to cry on, or at least someone to vent to. Otherwise, Alice is going to explode.

         Caradoc Dearborn is clever. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He knows how to think, and not just blindly stumble into things firing spells left and right. He’s one of the reasons that she still has faith in the Order and what it’s doing, and why she hasn’t withdrawn. She hopes he can help direct to Order into doing what’s best for the entire wizarding community, without making a muck of every law and statute the wizarding world lives by. She can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a parent, and she’s sort of taken him under her wing as a younger sibling of sorts.

         Mary MacDonald stresses Alice out more than anything. The girl’s completely all over the map. She flickers back and forth between what’s right and what’s wrong in Alice’s view like a light bulb on the fritz. It doesn’t make sense to her that one person can change her opinion on something a million times in a minute. In Alice’s mind, maybe the girl changes her mind so much because she isn’t sure what she believes. Or worse yet, she knows what she believes, and she’s trying to take the whole Order down from the inside and take everyone along with it. She doesn’t trust her as far as she can throw her.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Alice x Frank, Alice x Chemistry

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

         Alice is very privileged. A pureblood witch who married into another pureblood family? A respectable Ministry job? That’s as good as it gets, as far as some in their community are concerned. But she’s never been one to judge. In school, she enjoyed seeing the other half of the world. She’d trade books and music with muggle-born students, read as much as she could about everything- vampires, werewolves, shape shifters- everything. The unquenchable thirst to know all that there was out there provided her with the facts. But the facts, she’s beginning to find, are often different than the reality.

The underlying prejudice with her still exists, as much as she tries to fight it. She listens to her family and questions whether they always thought that way. Whether or not she used to agree with them. She can’t recall, and she hopes it wasn’t so. But sometimes, watching as these youths who think they’re changing the world by tearing it apart… She wonders just where they learned to think this way. Are they muggle ideas? I want her to try and better understand the struggles that others who aren’t nearly as privileged as her face daily. To try and understand why some are, in her mind, so intent on blowing things up and starting again. To understand their struggle, so that maybe Alice can learn to think beyond what’s black and white in the eyes of the law, and instead see what’s morally and ethically the right thing to do. Perhaps this ability to better understand may help her to realize where her loyalties should truly lie in this war.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Literally, everything. Alice Longbottom has always been my favorite of the Marauders era characters, as I feel like she can be interpreted a plethora of different ways, and I think that this interpretation of her may just be my favorite yet.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Maybe an inspection of ministry workers, or something that could poke at whether they’re involved in anything suspicious? Or a raid on Diagon Alley.

ANYTHING ELSE? Nope! <3 Mischief Managed!

[antihero-writings]

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade—Chapter 1: Nothing But Her—Pandora Hearts fic for Phmonth18 Tragedy Trio Week, Prompt/Day 2: Mask (Full Chapter)

Fic Title: Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade

Fic Synopsis: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

Chapter Title: Nothing But Her

Character Focus:  Jack Vessalius 

Notes: 

For Phmonth18, Week 3, Prompt/Day 2: Mask. 

What started out as something that was supposed to be a short little fic about Jack’s internal monologue became an in-depth look into Jack’s psyche…hehe. I’ll admit, this is one of the weirdest formats I’ve ever used, and I’m not quite sure if it works, but I had fun with it! This is my first time writing heavily about Jack, and it’s about how his mind works….so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies to his character. I also wrote this pretty quickly, so I will likely need to edit it. I also intended to post it as a long oneshot, but the second half was already lacking, and I couldn’t do the ending justice in a day, so I decided to post the first section right before Phmonth18 ended. 

Some good songs for this fic: "Masquerade" by Jonathan Thulin, and "Welcome to the Masquerade" by Thousand Foot Krutch

Chapter 1: 

Everyone always wore a mask.

That was how things were, how the world worked. No question. No alternative. No argument you could make to stop it. Like a plague that replaced everyone’s faces with the skin of monsters.

The world was a masquerade. A dance, where you trade partners, and you never quite know who you’re dancing with anyways. You’re thrown in without knowing the moves, and are required to learn as you go, because you can’t stop. If you stop, the music, the momentum of the world turning, doesn’t. So if you do, you may just be trampled, thrown off the world.

As you grew up, you learned the moves, programed them into your bones until the motions were mechanical, and your body knew nothing else. Nothing but the lies. Grew up, painted your mask, made it more ornate, less likely to show your true colors, less likely to fall.

Something that made a louder crash when it did fall.

They always do. Eventually. Don’t think you can escape it.

Your parents, your family, your friends, they’re no different. When I said everyone, I meant everyone.

But when you grow up in gutters, in the stench and blood, the offal of humanity, and watch from afar, forbidden from the dance, but also from...not dancing, learning that you must to learn the dance to survive, to make in it the world, you may or may not grow to hate humanity.

I couldn’t wear a mask. But I was doomed to see through everyone else’s. See their lies, see their hypocrisy, their cold cut rules about how much of a clown you could be, I could see the puppet strings.

I learned to hate.

But.

The room glittered and gleamed. The chandeliers, the polished marble tiles, the wine glasses, the clothing of the dancers, and his smile.

Jack stood on the sidelines. The black and white players spinning before him, coming near him in flashes and fake smiles.

Outside, snow fluttered down onto a darkened ground, he couldn’t see past the wind and flakes to a world beyond. He had to stay inside, or else the storm might overtake him.

Storm inside. Storm out. Between two evils, how do you know which is worse?

They didn’t know they were simply chess pieces. That this was simply a game, that they would be sacrificed, all for the sake of the king.

Once, he had found their twirls and fanciful garments fascinating; the masks shined and their feathers climbed towards a twinkling ceiling. He looked on with longing, then.

Now, the word fake grew out of the crevices where their eyes were meant to be, it crept along their porcelain cheeks, their feathered heads, their bejeweled necks—and they didn’t see the vines, the spiders, linked together into chains, strangling them, driving fangs into their chests.

At the same time, sickness pooled in his own heart, started creating ripples towards his thoughts, reaching his words, crashing upon the shores of his actions.

A sickness called hate.

It took him far too long to realize the motions held no meaning. They were all just tumbling in the dark and the cold, trying to make meaning of the moves when there is none. The shimmer on the surface of the water was reflected from a sky they could never reach, not something buried beneath that they could touch, hold, and keep, if they just held their breath long enough.

The same was surely true for the waters in his own heart.

At least, that’s how it seemed, and what he told himself.

Black and white. No color. Pawns and knights in a grand game of chess.

What was real?

What would happen if it all just…stopped? What if we called the world, the dance by name?

A pause. A flicker. A flash. Color.

First it was red. Red like lamplight, in the night-soaked brightness of the room, a lantern of hope, guiding him across the lifeless waters to a land where there was more light like hers. Red that burned—could it burn down the masks? Like blood. Like roses.

Red in her eyes.

Then it was her hair, a splash of brown, flowing between the sides of black and white.

Then the violet of her dress, like she was the only royal in a council of fools, and common sense.

He lost track of the moves to stare her way.

One day, as I met a girl—brown hair, eyes red as roses in the snow—who wasn’t wearing a mask. She told me she could see through the masks too. But instead of hating the world in general for the practice, she questioned, she wondered, and she cheated the game.

And looking into those red eyes, I realized nothing else mattered. Not the world, not the deadened grasp of humanity, the music, the moves, or the masks.…Just her.

I tried to follow her, but in the mix of feet, in the unlearned motions, I myself was trampled to the ground.

So I resolved to learn the dance—not to live, not for the dance itself—but to follow her. To trade partners until I found her hand. I had to get up, to sew together a mask, glue on the feathers with blood, and pull the jewels out of dead men’s hands.

Horror is the word, I believe. The one to describe the things I did. I think you’ll find that both joining the dance, and subverting it, will inevitably lead to that word. I followed in the steps of people who did worse than me. Danced with partners whose masks were sewn into the skin. I did things that’ll make you shudder to think.

All part of the dance.

                                        Nothing but her.

Outside, silent snow turned to to the taps of rain, asking to get in.

As he stared the girl’s way, the other dancers knocked against his shoulders, they trod on his feet, and scoffed at his incredulity.

He looked over their shoulders, trying to catch another glimpse of the one real thing in the sea of falsity.

She faded.

Fear, desperation set into to his fast-beating heart.

And, at last, he moved.

Out from the sidelines, into the mix of motions.

But instead of following the ordained pattern, he was a wrench in the perfectly predestined machine.

The other cogs knocked into him, he tripped into the workings, fell to the tiles beneath, was kicked by the steps, and lay beneath, watching the movements of the gears ticking above him. 

“Lacie!” he reached out for her.

And on the floor, his gaze on her fading footfalls, he realized that that the pattern was too ruthless to break. Kicked and beaten by the dance, he realized that the only way to follow her, was to join the dance itself.

He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow her footprints through the forest of feet and fakes.

If he’d bend the rules a little.

After a long time of setting the moves into my hands and feet, the day came when my hand found hers.

She…didn’t remember me.

No peppered, cheerful hello. No pretense, or pretending.

No mask.

My free spirit. My unmasked beauty. My blood red girl. My Lacie.

In eight years, she still hadn’t changed, been chained; she was still the same dash of color in a world of black and white fakes. A player in a world of pawns.

Despite all the things I had done, I knew she was the one person who would still accept me.

The time we spent together after that, the days in the sun…I never wanted it to end.

But.

  After the moving maze, the muddied world of men, the journey to get back to her, his hand found hers.

Something real, something dynamic, instead of stagnant, something warm to the touch, not metallic and cold.

Standing before him—at last—was his pride, his prize.

She was on the other side of the endless ballroom, off to the side, her head turned, gaze out the window. But she was still dancing with someone. Slowly, their moves less cold and mechanical.

He didn’t bother with the pretense of the dance, or courtesy towards the one she was currently dancing with. He threw his arms around her, and held her tight.

The shock in her eyes told him something wasn’t quite the same.

—(Or maybe he wasn’t quite sane)—

Did she not remember him? That moment when color entered his world?

What was all of time for him, was a passing glimpse for her.

It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t cover those pretty eyes with the mark of a fake.

And she never did. Not as long as he knew her

“Jack.” She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers along his skin, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

She smiled, and it was the only real thing in the sea of masks.

But that smile didn’t last forever; it became a twisted thing, etching itself onto her features.

A thing that certainly didn’t belong to her, even now.

Was this her mask? Could her face have been a mask this whole time?

She pulled away from him.

“You fool.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and it pierced his heart.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She gestured grandly to the room as a whole.

What? What didn’t he see? This was how it had always been. Nothing had changed.

She grabbed his chin and made him look away from her.

“Look at them.”

Then he saw.

The dancers around them weren’t just dancers, strangers, background.

They weren’t strangers at all.

Or maybe they were even less known to him than strangers would have been.

Many of them were wearing the same green outfit he wore presently, others were in red, and blue, some wrapped in a thin blanket…They all had the same blonde hair, sometimes in a braid like his, others messy and short. And they all still wore masks, as if the emotions could be written and plastered on rather than felt—happy, sad, angry…that disgusting smile…

His disgusting smile.

Each and every one of them was himself.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Or had they become this way? Somewhere in the middle, had strangers morphed into mirrors?

The music faded out, and the rain outside grew louder and louder until he couldn’t help but turn to the window, as if to demand some peace and quiet.

The drops that dribble down, and splattered across, the panes were not clear, or grey, or blue.

That red he had once found so fascinating, once begged for, was painting the world.

He swallowed.

As he realized the change in scenery, all the other Jacks stopped, turning to him with mechanical motions, and faceless expressions, some creepy army of past-self-dolls.

“Lacie,” her name on his lips, he turned to her, his one hope, his one safety in a world that had fixed its canons against him.

She was no longer beside him.

Laying in his hand was a limp chain.

He didn’t want to look, to follow the trail; he feared what he would see. But he chased the links to the ceiling—

Her body, suspended in the air above, like she was one of those twinkling chandeliers. Her body, pierced by chains.

That red rain was inside now.

And below her, looking his way, was someone else. Someone who wasn’t wearing a mask.

My Lacie, who lied, and died at the hands of her brother. For the simplest crime of never wearing a mask over those red eyes. For the simplest crime of existence.

Oswald. Her brother.

I should have hated him, perhaps. For taking her from me.

And there was a part of me that did. Surely. But he loved her too, you know. And it was some sick sense of duty that threw her into the pit, not his own will.

I was a question in his eyes, and he was an answer in mine. There’s something about mutual darkness between people; being able to look into someone else’s soul, and see your struggles reflected, and yet…not yourself… Something that we call friendship.

The first thing he saw was his cloak, like a wave, breaking across his shoulder. Crimson, just like her eyes.

Just like her blood he spilt.

Then his eyes, violet, like her dress. A violet that was sharp, and cold, and unforgiving as a winter storm. Then it was the black of his hair and clothing. A deeper black from the dancers before. A darker sky.

He was the black king, after all, wasn’t he?

                            "Lacie is dead,”

                                                      “I killed her.”

It wasn’t malice, or revenge. It was the requirement of a leader.

Or at least, they poisoned his mind, and made him think so.

I’m sure he would have joined me, if he wasn’t such a fool. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own ignorance.

(An ignorance that was my fault).

Joined me to get her, that is.

Death isn’t quite the right word. She was cast into the Abyss, into a place where no return.

But I learned that the masks, the dance, the masquerade, goes by another name:

Chains.

Chains come in many forms. There are the chains that killed her, the ones that we create contracts with. Chains between people, and the chains we create for ourselves.

Then there’s another type; this world is a ruin—(I always knew it)—and the Chains around it are the only things keeping the world from the Abyss. They fall between the lines on the pages of our story, into the places our eyes can’t see.

Or, more accurately, keeping the world from her.

Blood red world. My gift for my blood red girl. And I didn’t care how blood I spilled in the midst. Not really. Not enough.

This world is rotting anyway. I’ve known it from the start. But not to her. She saw the light. She saw the stars. She saw that there was something real behind those shimmering lights. That maybe it wasn’t all on the surface. Maybe there was something beneath the waters that we could reach.

And I’d bring the world she loved to her.

                                                                          I’m doing this for you.

[namira2006]

Milos had never meant to make a bargain with an ancient Seelie royal. She had emerged from dramatic fog one night while he was staking out a mark for a contract in the sweet little town of Myrefall.

 The mark was a cheery and guarded old woman who wore secrets like a silk scarf fastidiously tied around a blouse collar. Openly, decoratively, inalienable. She adorned a different silk scarf daily. Milos could appreciate the subtle power to be found within such a meticulous adornment and admired the woman from afar. Two houses over from her he had been stationed. Upon arrival, he had draped himself in the false identity and case briefing bestowed by the organisation. Name: Avan Malek. Background: kid who struck lucky in a business deal and was able to finally purchase a house in the town for himself and family. Presence: Minimal but Pleasant.

 Nobody who knew Milos could possibly deign to describe him as pleasant. However, he felt pleasant when the allowed him to live another day. So, he would fight the Snarl in his belly and smile fucking pleasantly at the citizens of Myrefall. Everyone here was sickly sweet to one another. He had been out for a walk earlier that day, simply minding his own business, when a neighbour, Old Pickles, had felt entitled to stop and say hello. Old Pickles conversed at him for minutes, Minutes! Expressing genuine interest in his activities and life! The gall! He was struck with a pang, missing the acquiesced Fear and wide berth those in the castle gave him. The population here could really do with developing some shame, maybe a little bit of personal torture, just a little. Obviously, Milos grinned his best neighbourly grin and engaged the man, he was a professional after all.

 No part of his brief for the mark outlined, referred to nor alluded to any sort of Seelie presence. He checked and everything. Creatures, ideas, inventions, sometimes people; would sometimes pass through the Holes In The World. Extensive training was given by the Organisation to its employees about the Holes, with step by step instructions on how to deal with anything that could have entered. Simply put: kill it, make sure nobody witnesses this, do not dwell on Other Magicks, get on with your actual fucking job.

 The Seelie folk were no strangers to the Holes, after all, they inhabited another world and possessed magicks of their own. But generally, they flew under the radar on other worlds. The Central Board for Magick Education Curriculum and Practice in the Seelie government enforced strict policy about all Seelie children learning how to sufficiently cast glamours and conceal their magick. While the Seelie did not frequently engage with the Holes, some had exited in various places and could blend in with ease. Perhaps look a bit more closely at some of the strangers you pass by this week, perhaps you’ll notice an otherworldly shimmer to your local barista.

The foreign cottage had been his home for one week. The Organisation had not provided him with any leisurely activities for the scoping period. He pottered about the house, bored. Trained a lot each day, broke into most of the houses in the neighbourhood, read some scrolls, kept to himself. Cement yourself in the mark’s world, stay discreet, do the job, do the job, do the job. Usually, Milos would have already killed the mark and be debriefing the Shrouded in the Organisation’s board room after three days. Whoever had taken out this contract specified they wanted the mark to be taken care of by someone she had grown fond of. So, become fondness material he would.

Restlessness coursed through his mind, he vibrated with it.

It was day eight, he had done his routine town inhabitant engagement for the day. Only four homes broken into today. Eve had fallen, the moons rising. Sat in his back room, he examined what he’d pocketed from the mark’s house, taking notes in a black bound leather journal. The inventory: an official, sealed letter from the state of Zashtun, a large feather and one of those exquisite neck scarves.

He closed his eyes and focused on his fingers, pressing magick into them, around them, from them. His left pointer finger gained its glowy extension, allowing him to slice open the letter with the Sharp razor-thin blade. His eyes followed the neat, purposeful hand upon the parchment. A scribe, perhaps? I am writing to you about arranging a meeting due to your expertise on the matter of magicks in the history of Usta blah blah blah. Skipping ahead, he skimmed for any words of interest. There was obviously some reason Milos had been paid to silence this woman. Bingo.

Zashtun’s researchers believe we have made significant progress on closing the Holes in the World. Make haste. Why was it official business type always put their most important points at the end? Milos considered it counterproductive, just make your damn point, save some parchment, move on, whatever.

This was a huge Secret. The Holes were whispers in the collective unconscious, most people would never encounter one, but they were Known. They featured in stories transmitted to children, folk tales, poems. All of Usta’s magicks were somehow connected to them, this was less widely Known, but was no grand secret. The Holes just Were. Like the wind just is, like the sand in Frankston’s desert, the swamps of Cloncrow. Those parts of nature simply intrinsic to nature itself. Those natural forces that cannot be controlled, only ever harnessed. One stares awhile into any, aghast with the sprawling power held, with the power whispering magick, magick, magick. And one finds themselves unable to look away, and one’s tour group has already left them behind to ponder their own insignificance.

Milos’ face did not show any signs of being rattled, but his still glowing finger-blade was quivering. His head span a little. It was at this point he noticed vines had swiftly grown around his back door. It was engulfed in them. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Hmmph. Show yourself. I do not have time for games.” He commanded. Making no effort to disguise his thick accent, as he usually would. He stood up straight, assuming a crouched fighting stance. Magick flicked to his pointer finger and it shifted. In this form it produced a thin silk, capable of slicing through almost any substance. Came in very handy when opening plastic packaging. Milos gracefully tiptoed to the door, the leaves now rustling hard in sudden, conjured wind. They chittered. Dense fog peppered the room. He perched himself against the wall, only one foot on the ground, trying to locate anything that would help deduce whatever this was.

“My, my, my! It is always such a treat when humans think they could out-wit us. Darling, relax.”

A being had sprung up right next to him, he hadn’t even noticed. It was mere inches from his taut form. It seemed, similarly shaped to a woman. Definitely a woman’s voice. Plant debris scattered through its hair and its head was Too Big and its dark skin appeared to shift and shimmer under the surface. Scales. Those are fucking scales.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.” She remarked, utterly deadpan.

Her arms (?) were folded and she was mere inches from Milos. Her movements were so fluid. She obviously was not currently underwater, but the languidness of her demeanour was like that of someone relaxedly floating in the sea.

Milos cleared his throat again. He sighed.

“Who are you? What do you want? Can we negotiate my firstborn? Etcetera, etcetera.” He did not care for this otherworldly figure’s disruption. However, it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome change of pace. Perhaps she is a worthy chess opponent, this prospect alone held him back from crowding her backwards into the tight, deadly thread he had set up. She did not have eyebrows.

“We both know you aren’t having any children, dear. Not with your………. Proclivities.” She was sneering.

“I really never thought otherworldly entities would be homophobic. As much as I’m enjoying this tense chat, might I suggest we do it over a game of chess?”

Milos had allowed her to play as the white pieces, graciously allowing her the perceived upper hand of a first turn. There was no chance she could possibly best him, not many could. The creature-lady widened her large yellow eyes, like a pelicans, then drew her expression to one of petulance. She appeared to have cottoned on to the fact that Milos was mere moves from trapping her in to Check Mate. Her pelican eyes lifted to meet his. Direct.

“You cannot kill that woman.” She said this in a way that did not allow for negotiation. Luckily, Milos had always thought beyond the realm of discussion and negotiating and exchanges. He only thought of that which Happened and that which did Not.

“Can you price match my employers?”

She hummed in response, contemplating.

“Not financially, no. My people do not deal in your supercilious monetary means. I can offer you sanctum from their web of pain. When it is unearthed you have not completed your job, it will not be you tangled in the sinister silks.”

It was his turn to hum in response. He furrowed his brows. Suddenly grateful to actually have them. This creature was so unreadable. So markedly Not Human. Milos decided this was entirely rooted in her lack of eyebrows.

“Hmmmmm. Do I dare even ask what you ask of me in return for this sanctum?”

[ryqoshay]

The recent Wonderland Chess set is sure to bring new ideas... While Nico might understand that Rin & Hanayo, as the focus of the photoshoot, would get king & queen, she probably isn't happy she drew the pawn out of the remaining pieces despite getting the background privilege. She may have to be reminded by her fellow BiBi teammates that "pawns are the soul of chess" & that she can eventually be promoted to a queen...

I’ve been thinking a lot about the new Wonderland/Chess setfor µ’s. And I will absolutely admit that the idea of Nico drawing the pawn forher piece to represent amuses me greatly. Or maybe it wasn’t a random drawing.Maybe someone assigned Nico the pawn as a way to tease her.

I can also see Nico taking pride in the fact that there arenine pawns on the board, to which Maki may very well make a decidedly exasperatedresponse; something along the lines of “Oh, gawd, nine Nicos… the universe canbarely handle one…”

As for “background privileges” being given to another pairbesides the focus pair, I haven’t really figured out how to address the creationof the SSRs. I wrote the scene for the Ice Cream set as well as one that wasinspired by the Birthstone set before I got the idea to have some sort of focuson the UR pairs of given sets. From a photoshoot standpoint, I see the pics forthe URs as being taken at the same time while the SSRs are taken later,somewhere else within the set and with similar props. But from a story standpoint, I’m not quite sure. I suppose I could have the photography companysuggest having a secondary focus pair. But first, I think I need to address theissue of the SRs and their lack of background in a magazine before I figure outthe new pairs with backgrounds.

All said, yes, the Wonderland/Chess set will most likely geta scene or two written at some point. Nico and Maki are too adorable to ignorethe set completely.

[vieuxnoyesrp]

Mel, the role of Rogan Jones has been a highly anticipated addition to our cast of active characters since the plot of Arcane society has been introduced. Being the head of a faction leading the psychics makes Rogan one of the bigger pieces on the chess board. For that reason we wanted to be certain that the role would be prized by someone who would succinctly capture his aptitude for business, leadership, and an uncanny skill of malicious manipulation. His particular thirst for power showed through in your para sample--demonstrating the fact that the more we chase a sense of control, the more likely we are to lose it and act in a way that isn't necessarily wise for our position. Yet, all the same, you managed to also give us a picture of what this big boss man is like when he lets loose a little through your head cannons, and his penchant for applying strategical thinking to a fault. That coupled with your ambitions for the soon to be revealed lost relics plot and the unraveling circumstances of his domestic life give us the reassurance that you're the right fit for this role.

Mel, thank you very much for applying. As for Rogan…

                ⚜ ~ WELCOME TO VIEUX NOYÉS!!! ~ ⚜

Wondering what to do next? Click here and let the good times roll!

⚜ Roleplayer: 

⤜ Name/alias: Mel ⤜ Pronouns: she/her ⤜ Age: 21 ⤜ Timezone: MST ⤜ Activity: My activity could be best rated at a 7. I am going into my fourth (but not final) year of University so I will be in classes and be working on assignments. However, I make an effort to keep up with the OOC and dash at all times as to not miss anything, as well as am always available for plotting (except when sleeping). ⤜ Best form of contact: Here on Tumblr works best for contact. I have the Tumblr app and keep logged in so I can check for messages between classes ⤜ Any Triggers? Anorexia and cutting. It’s just something I have blacklisted, so as long as it’s tagged I’ll be fine! ⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés?: The absolutely wonderful Kitty introduced me to this roleplay and encouraged me to apply. ⤜ What drew you to the RP? I have to be honest, I’ve only watched Season One of the Originals and nothing of Teen Wolf. However, I’ve been in various roleplays that have dealt with the supernatural in various forms. I myself have written vampires, humans, and werewolves with experience writing against them as well. What really drew me to Vieux Noyes was the idea of a more mature roleplay focused on furthering writing skills and plots.

⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay? The hunter’s plot sounds just… fascinating. The idea of a once strong society becoming nothing more than background characters but rising again is just thrilling. I’m very interested in seeing what they do with one of the Lost Relics and how the other factions will deal with the repercussions.

⚜ Desired Character: Rogan Jones

⤜ Why do you want this character?

I am a sucker for characters in power. Despite having been thrust into power than seeking it, Rogan has the natural leadership abilities and keeps him in power. Yet more than just his leadership, I want to explore that makes him who he is. 

⤜ What are your future plans for this character?

I’d like him to come to realize how his work is pulling him away from his wife and ultimately destroying his marriage. That being said, no matter how much he loves it I don’t believe his life will allow him to step back and just be with her. I plan to explore that struggle between love and dedication to his wife and obligation to the Society.

I plan to have Rogan delve deeper into the secrets of the Lost Relics. He will, of course, say that he’s doing it for the good of the people he’s protecting. However, there is a large part of them that is drawn to the power they could have and if he doesn’t become aware of that, the obsession may destroy his marriage completely.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… Where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time? 

He wakes to his alarm going off. He quickly quiets it so Evelyn can get her rest, while he rises and gets rest. He leaves just as the first morning rays are touching onto the city. He arrives at Hotel Royal to discuss a deal over breakfast. Next, he visits his family’s detective agency to ensure that the problem of the Arcane Society has been properly… dealt with. He’ll mean to stop in and buy his wife something to brighten her day, but there are always meetings to attend and it slips his mind as he rushes from one location to another. At 4 pm he’ll arrive at the Headquarters of the Arcane Society and sit at the desk overlooking the city before beginning the pile of work on his desk. It isn’t until he looks up to see the sunset long gone and night set over the city that he will head home to the outskirts of the French District and collapse into bed exhausted.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice.

Drinking Phobia. He’s self-conscious when it comes to drinking. He doesn’t have any beverage around anybody unless it was bought for him or given to him. It stems from a fear at a young age that he would miss his mouth, or spill and make a fool of himself. Now it’s become a hard habit. He does, however, drink around Evelyn.

The Night. The night he proposed. Rogan had thought about it for months, planning exactly what he would say to Evelyn. The ring burned a hole in his underwear drawer for longer then he would hope. It was never a doubt that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he just wanted to ensure it was as perfect as he believed she was. Finally he proposed to her in her art studio, her covered in paint and him on one knee staring at the love of his life. It’s not a night he thinks about often.

Board Game Nights. Unbelievable as it may be, Rogan was once a young man. In University, Rogan was introduced to the Board Game Club through an acquaintance in his classes. From the first game he played, he was hooked. His personal favorites are games that cater towards strategy, and he’s particularly good at Risk. He hasn’t had the opportunity to play ever since University ended and although he misses it, he finds himself much too busy to bother trying.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character?

While reading Evelyn’s bio, I saw in the last paragraph she’s pregnant. I don’t know if this has been addressed yet as the character is taken, but I am so wanting to plot that. I’d have to discuss details with the mun, but Evelyn and Rogan’s relationship is one I want to delve into.

As well, I’d like to plot with Rogan and the witches. Rogan does not enjoy mystery and while supernatural power runs in his family, he can at least understand that. The witches power is a mystery to them and I imagine it as the faction he has the least amount of connection with. It’s a puzzle he has yet to solve and one that keeps him up many nights while his wife sleeps beside him.

There are two plots I’m incredibly interested in exploring. One would be what would happen if Rogan felt his power and authority was being questioned or taken away from him. Despite having been forced into his role it is something that he has become extremely competent in. I don’t see him reacting well to the idea of losing it all, but gosh golly if that’s not something I want to plot out.

I’m also incredibly interested in the idea of Rogan as the protector. With his marriage vows, he has included that role to Evelyn of him as a protector. But I’m really interested to plot out what would happen if he had to take on that role for somebody else, rather it is a deal or a decision he has to make in a snap moment.

⤜ Para sample:

(Retained for privacy).

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? Yes, Kate Argent

⤜ Have you read the rules?: Read and ready to flex my creative muscles

⤜ Anything else? A big thing I love is critique on my writing, so if you have anything you found awkward or could be better in my writing, please let me know! I’m always seeking to better my writing.

Also, I am just…. so excited about this RP. The amount of work and care you’ve put into it is astounding.

[tkmedia]

Ranking the Rooms: AFC North TEs

While the AFC North is currently known for its star power at quarterback top-to-bottom and its physical, fast defenses, one area that is getting overlooked when it comes to overall depth and talent might be the tight end rooms. Last season, the Cleveland Browns signed standout free agent Austin Hooper and drafted Mackey Award winner Harrison Bryant, while the Ravens rolled with one of the best tight ends in football in Mark Andrews and arguably the best blocking tight end in football in Nick Boyle. Pittsburgh and Cincinnati seemed to be trending in the wrong direction in the area ahead of the 2020 season, but now, after addressing the position in the offseason through the draft and free agency, both teams are on an upward trajectory at the position, making it a very deep overall group within the division. You might be surprised at some of the changes in this group compared to last season. Let’s get to it. 1. Baltimore Ravens Any time you can start your positional depth chart with a true talent like Mark Andrews, you’re doing something right. Andrews is a terrific receiving option at tight end for the Ravens, having hauled in 58 passes for 702 yards and seven scores in 14 games last season. Andrews can carve up defenses over the middle of the field and is a tough cover when the Ravens use play action. Add in the blocking abilities of Nick Boyle and it’s clear the Ravens have a terrific pairing that works well together, allowing them to be a bit creative with Andrews as a receiver. Last season though, the Ravens struggled with injuries at the position as Boyle played just nine games. What came out of that adversity though was overall improved depth as the Ravens brought in Eric Tomlinson to play the Boyle role, which he did well in, and also saw the Ravens address tight end heavily via the draft, grabbing Michigan FB/TE Ben Mason and Virginia’s Tony Poljan. Mason should slot in comfortably as TE3 on the Ravens, giving them a terrific blocking option that could line up on the line or in the backfield, helping the run game continue to roll downhill. Behind those five names, guys like Eli Wolf, Jacob Breeland and Josh Oliver are all battling for an opportunity on the practice squad or are auditioning for other teams that need TE depth in camp. This is a deep group overall. Don’t be surprised if one or two teams pluck some of these guys at the end of camp cuts. 2. Cleveland Browns Last year the Browns were No. 1 and looked ridiculously loaded at tight end with Hooper, Bryant and David Njoku. All three return this year in their roles, but it’s clear that not all three are right for the Browns’s style of play. Hooper was the big get in free agency for the Browns, but he’s not the best blocker overall and really struggled to find his footing in the play-action heavy system in Cleveland, which really took away his ability to stretch the field like he did in Atlanta, hauling in 46 passes last season — the lowest total he’s put up dating back to the 19 passes he caught as a rookie in 2016. He’s still a supreme talent at the position, but it just feels like he’s hindered quite a bit in Cleveland’s system. Behind Hooper, Bryant really emerged last season as a possible No. 1 TE in the future, catching 23 passes for 238 yards and three touchdowns in limited action. He was the Mackey Award winner for a reason, much more of a move TE that can play in the slot than in-line. That could be a guy Kevin Stefanski and the Browns try to exploit this season with mismatches in the secondary. Njoku, a former first round pick, seems to have fallen out of favor, but he’s stuck around and pushed through the adversity, so credit to him. He’s embraced his role as TE3 in Cleveland and has really committed to improving as a blocking option. The stats simply aren’t there to match the talent (19 catches, 213 yards, two touchdowns), but he provides experienced depth at the position in case of injuries. Behind that trio, names like Stephen Carlson, Jordan Franks and Connor Davis will battle it out for a practice squad spot in Cleveland with very little chance of cracking the top 3, barring a trade of Njoku in training camp. 3. Pittsburgh Steelers No change here in the ranking for the Steelers compared to last season, though some names have changed. Eric Ebron returns after an up-and-down season and enters a contract year. Ebron flashed a bunch last season, grabbing 56 passes for 558 yards and five scores in his first year as a Steeler, but he was a liability as a blocker in-line, and really went through a rough stretch late in the season with drops. He’s TE1 though and gives the Steelers a chess piece offensively to move around and take advantage of mismatches. The retirement of Vance McDonald hurt from a blocking standpoint, but in steps rookie Pat Freiermuth, drafted in the second round 55th overall out of Penn State. Freiermuth is a great athlete overall but wasn’t utilized downfield at Penn State, serving as more of the check down tight end in the middle of the field. That might stay the same in Pittsburgh, at least for this season. He’ll take over the TE2 role and handle a large portion of the blocking duties as well. Behind those two, TE3 is up for grabs between Zach Gentry, Kevin Rader, and Dax Raymond. I would not be surprised if Kevin Colbert pulled off a trade to grab a more experienced tight end to fill the depth role on the roster, but I have to give Rader the edge right now. I know it’s such a small sample size, but I really liked what I saw from him late last season as a blocker and on special teams. 4. Cincinnati Bengals If you’ve read me on Steelers Depot at any point in the last six years, you know how much I love me some CJ Uzomah. Uzomah played just two games last year, but quickly established rapport with Joe Burrow last season, averaging four catches for 43.5 yards per game in those two appearances. He returns healthy for 2021 and has more playmakers around him, which should open things up for him in the middle of the field. Behind Uzomah though, there’s little depth. Drew Sample flashed at times last season, but he’s more of that throwback tight end for the Bengals, one that can handle himself on the line of scrimmage but might not provide much as a receiver consistently. Behind those two, who are locks to make the 53-man roster in Cincinnati, names like Thaddeus Moss, Mason Schreck, Pro Wells, Mitchell Wilcox and Cheyenne O’Grady will battle for the third tight end spot and a practice squad job. Moss and Wells are probably the most notable names there for those reading this. Moss reunites with Burrow, his college QB, while Wells has the basketball background and excels downfield but needs a lot of work as a blocker. The name to truly watch though as a deep sleeper is O’Grady, a true move tight end that went undrafted strictly for character concerns coming out of Arkansas. He’s good after the catch, can line up all over the field and has the ability to hold up as a blocker. 2020 AFC North TE rankings:  No. 1 – Cleveland Browns No. 2 – Baltimore Ravens No. 3 – Pittsburgh Steelers No. 4 – Cincinnati Bengals 

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[elkboy]

The Orthogonal Game Design Association

I found a rather unusual flyer on one of my morning strolls. It was at the corner of Purple alley, an old dilapidated brick wall sat at the back-end. A brick wall with a crude glass bulb for a light fixture, a host of cobwebs, nail polish art, semi brownish layers of gunk, furry tail from some sort of animal pinned with nail, pieces of glass stuck with cellophane and insect wings glued at carefully chosen positions. As I drew closer, the bulb on the wall emitted a faint glow, revealing a flyer. A simple monochrome color scheme it had, white background and black font. Like a pearl amongst the rough, the flyer read 'The Orthogonal Game Design Association is Hiring!'. It looked like a notice for a video game company of some kind. It was no ordinary flyer as I would soon find out. Underneath the header was written in bold, 'We make video games that reveal the true nature of reality!'.  

At first I didn't know what to make of it. 'Orthogonal Game Design Association'? What does that even mean? (A quick google search that I did later on: For the unacquainted, orthogonal game design is when the elements of a game multiply the game's space rather than add to it. An example is chess where all the different types of pieces have unique moves like Vertical, Diagnol, L shaped etc. This thought process leads to games that are pure and abstract, and therefore more profound. To sum up: the elements of an orthogonal game are qualitatively different rather than quantitatively). As I keep reading the flyer, I find a manifesto and I think to myself, 'In a world that is driven by money, here is an artisan that truly cares for his craft'.

Mission Statement of The Orthogonal Game Design Association: 

1) To make games that inspire awe. The games of today are merely toys expecting us to 'role-play' and pretend. Where are the video games for adults? 

2) To make games that do not borrow from other forms of art like books, film and music. 

3) To give people a unique experience by subverting expectations. In other words to make games that do not feature 'guy with sword' or 'guy with gun'. Games have been and still are a fast-food experience. People know what they are getting into almost all the time. This must change! 

4) To make games that are 'non-manipulative'. A famous designer once said 'A good puzzle game is one that makes you feel smart'. Manipulative much? We have our doubts as to whether this man was a designer or a parasite.  

5) The current state of games feature too much 'fluff'. They use cut-scenes, unnecessary story, arbitrary progression systems etc. and dilute the gameplay. Some might even say that these elements are used to hide how brain numbing the actual gameplay is. We are looking to make games that are pure and transparent. 

6) To make games that will open the mind of the player through a series of transcendent realizations, thereby improving the quality of life itself.

7) Each game must be beautiful, unique and mind altering. If a game is missing any of these traits, we don't ship it.  

By the time I had reached the end, tears filled my eyes. All this while I thought video games were arbitrary when along comes a group of incessant radicals with a mission statement so ambitious that it might just blow a hole through the stratosphere. 

I trotted back home, pulled up my keyboard and searched for the 'Orthogonal Game Design Association'. I find the website, and it opens to a poem. 

A computer simulation is like a lens to the universe

It has the ability to express the fundamental truths

The nature of interactivity is a deep joy

Whilst being visceral

It also has the ability to conjure up any complicated commentary

However in the pure geometry of it all 

Lies the ability to invoke a sense of play

If the flyer produced tears in my eyes, then this poem made the hair on my arms raise in salutation. It is done... I must play their games. I search the website and to my horror, I don't find a single trace of interactive anything. This must be a mistake so I try to look elsewhere on the web. Thirty minutes later and without any success, it hits me like a haymaker. The Orthogonal Game Design Association was instated in 1996 and to this day have not released a single game. Was their ambition of an artistic work, a dream too big? Are they still tinkering away, perfecting some tiny detail? I guess we'll never really know. 

(Based on the musings of Jonathan Blow) 

[voidcrow]

The Involuntary Blood-pumping Muscle of the Cards - Day 26

Vaadeus arrived to a living room that, while rather badly trashed, had fallen nearly still. The noise had also been reduced to murmurs. Floating further into the room, he saw that most of the demons that had hands to hold things with were facing each other in pairs, holding cards in their hands, and explaining things like "trap cards" and "draw power" and "the metagame" to each other in respectably hushed tones. Even Xorrogg and Xorrogg Junior watched others play the game with silent interest. The once and former Lord of Zilnakhan was pleased with this.

"Oi! Headdy!" the voice of Rupmat called from some ways off.

Grimacing at the nickname, Vaadeus nonetheless approached a square table with a checkerboard pattern—whose chess pieces had been swept off and now littered the floor—where Rupmat was in the middle of a Summoners' Showdown game against another, red-skinned imp. They stood on stacks of books that sat atop the chairs so as to put their eyes above the table.

"Come see this," said Rupmat to the eredar with a grin. "I've got Kazuul on the ropes."

"No the fuck you don't!" complained Kazuul.

Vaadeus huffed. "I am a veteran of the Burning Crusade—thousands of years spent conquering and destroying realm after realm. Your infantile games of make-believe battle are of no interest to me."

"No, really, watch." Rupmat insisted, before turning his attention back to the table. The one he called Kazuul had a number of face-downs, but no familiars in play. Rupmat revealed one of the cards in his hand to the red imp:

[SPELL] Peep! Peep? Peep. You may look at your opponent's hand.

{Background Music, “A Mighty Foe”, begins}

"Show 'em, Kaz," said Rupmat while putting the newly-cast spell's card in his discard pile.

"Gah!" The other imp was outraged. "That one oughta be banned." Grumbling, Kazuul then flipped over his hand of four cards.

Rupmat noted something about Kazuul's hand with a grin: "No familiars to summon, huh? That's peachy. In that case, I'll summon this." The gray imp then slapped a card from his own hand on the table:

[FAMILIAR] One-Crow Murder [COST 0] [ATT. POW. 300] [STAM. 220] [PERSISTENT]: When One-Crow Murder damages the opponent's life, it instantly returns to your hand. If this happens, your opponent is not permitted to draw a card at the beginning of their next turn.

{“A Mighty Foe” reaches 0:21 and continues.}

The card projected an image of a seemingly ordinary bird.

"And I'll make it attack you directly!" declares Rupmat. The One-Crow Murder, sure enough, flew forth to give the ethereal wall in front of Kazuul a few generous pecks, cracking it and bringing down Kaz's projected life count to 7700. However, the bird then flew away, laughing, and disappeared. The associated card flew back into Rupmat's hand.

"Your turn," said the gray imp afterward.

Kazuul reached to draw a card from his deck, but when he did, it simply flew out of his grasp and laid itself back on top of the deck. "Oh right, I can't draw," the red imp recalled. Then the red imp freaked out. "Oh gods, I can't draw! I can't... anything!" After fretting in place for a long moment, Kazuul heaved a resigned sigh. "Your turn, Rup."

Rupmat drew a card... but simply laid the same familiar from his last turn face-up. "I summon the One-Crow Murder," he said, "and I'll have him attack you directly!"

As the bird once again pelted Kazuul's wall and took off cackling, the gravity of his situation fully dawned on the red imp. "Oh, no. Oh, nooo."

Rupmat's grin was consuming a lot of fecal matter, so to speak. "Your turn."

{“A Mighty Foe” reaches 1:05 and is interrupted by a record scratch.}

"This game is ridiculous," remarked Vaadeus, "You are ridiculous. Everything I've seen and heard since being roped into serving the damned blood elf is ridiculous! May you all—"

Vaadeus was interrupted by the crash of a door being kicked open, cringing at the sound.

"WHO WANTS TURKEY?!"