#ive had customers- women

[lilac-melody]

mnnaaaa...

[pommancy]

[oldfritz]

i often think about the creepy saudi guy i met at a club in tampa and his equally creepy friend

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Going from a fast food restaurant full of twenty year old guys with ADHD and a boss who swears up an angry storm every time a customer exists, to a kitchen full of older ladies that are somehow all part of the same family and show pictures of their grandkids to anyone with a pulse.

[ajdrawshq]

i finished 7th dragon a lil while ago n some of the worldbuilding is so funny i cant stop thinking abt it. why is the lost city of atlantis populated by catgirls

[ghwosty]

I get to be in the beauty department today (and for this whole week to cover the usual lady), and for once im actually excited to be at work lol

[paper-mario-wiki]

you do such a good job passing! any tips?

thank you, i appreciate that! i dont have a ton of tips since ive only been at it for a little over half a year, and im kinda flying by the seat of my pants cuz i dont have a lot of people i talk to day-to-day about presentation. pretty much everything ive figured out by myself and with youtube tutorials. regardless, heres a few i can think of:

don't be afraid to go to a makeup store and ask for advice. i brought a picture of myself i put through faceapp to give me makeup, and i showed it to the ladies at sephora, who were able to get me exactly what i was looking for. theres a world of difference between a face full of makeup, and a face full of makeup that's slightly the wrong shade, and it's good to get the opinions of experts.

try to look at the other women in your family and see how they style themselves, or do their makeup, or even how they speak or carry themselves. finding a look that works isn't somethin that you can fall into super easily, you have to go searching for it. try to model yours after the people who literally share your genes and therefore your features. (note, the opposite is equally usable for transmascs, look at your brothers, fathers, and uncles)

spend time in the mirror seeing what looks right. comb your hair in different directions, part it in a different place, put a clip in, dye it a different color, etc. put on makeup and then take it all off, then put on way too much and only take half of it off. learn the muscle memory of holding a liquid eyeliner pen in your non dominant hand and tracing it across the eyelid on the opposite side of your face without twitching your eye. nobody will see you, you're in your own bathroom. with the resources you have, treat the Bathroom Fit Check like you're customizing a character in a videogame.

look for your angles! i wish i could look good at every angle, but i don't, and vanishingly few people actually do. i spent a lot of time looking at myself in my front-facing phone camera from different directions and thinking "fuck im never going to pass, i really dont look great. is this even worth it?" and no matter how much doubt i had, in the long run the answer ended up being yes, it is worth it. that's kinda how hard things are: they suck until they don't anymore.

this one is really simple and may not apply to you, but fix your posture. seriously. when i started standing up straight for a few weeks i noticed an change in how i looked and carried myself (and my back doesnt hurt as much now)

come to terms with the fact that a lot of women look like men, and a lot of men look like women. the idea that all men look one way and all women look the other is an propagandstic invention of the state that should not be taken seriously. (note: this tip works only inwardly as a facet of self actualization. no matter what, you will always run into people who buy into the propaganda. to the best of your ability, pay them no mind.)

im sorry i cant give you anything more, but thats kind of a big question to answer, so i hope this helps!

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[motherofdogs1010]

A Jedi in Arrakis III (Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: While on the run from Empire troops, Jedi padawan Y/N comes to find out that hyper-driving in a compromised craft can have some major setbacks when she discovers not only is on a new planet but a whole new galaxy as well...

Warnings: 18+ only, eventual smut, eventual pinv! sex, current fluff and eventual angst, kissing, simp!Paul, spoilers for Dune 1 and 2, somewhat canon aligned

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus, loves! I'm back and ready to grace you with my works!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Part I Part II Part IV

The Baron was a man of heavy weight and heavy glutton, he liked food and power with women waiting for him. He liked the power that Geidi Prime gave him, but most of all, he liked the power that controlling Spice, no controlling Arrakis gave him.

This is why he felt anger towards the Emperor for forcing his soldiers off-planet and handing his cash cow to the damned soft-hearted Duke Leto and his house.

He hated House Atredies with a passion and he could recall the countless interactions he had with Duke Leto, the heated arguments he had with the man.

Which is why he felt happy when the Emperor proposed the slaying of House Atreides, the slaughtering of those damned fools.

"There is a rumor floating around", one of his advisors said, "of a girl from not of this galaxy that the Duke has taken in, someone with some extraordinary abilities. The Emperor wants her alive, especially since the na-Duke is said to be quite taken with the girl."

The Baron grumbled as the sound of the Sardaukar's throaty chanting filled his ears.

It was another hot day on Arrakis, the dry heat of the planet making Y/N wonder why Paul and other members of House Atreides were wearing all-black. Y/N had been offered a loose, beige dress that she wore with a scarf covering that concealed her head and neck from the harshness of the sun that came down on the planet.

"Tell me more about Arrakis", she said to Paul as he led her outside. "I feel like we've only ever talked about our home planets."

"Everything I learned is from the archives", Paul began as she noticed a place of worship ahead of them. "The people who inhabit the planet call themselves Fremen, they're the only ones to ever to successfully live here. The sandstorms here are brutal, they ravage and destroy anything that crosses them... maybe not a sandworm, but anything yes."

Paul spoke in a gentle yet enthusiastic voice that made her stomach flop around and she felt her ears begin to get hot. She was embarrassed at the way he was stirring feelings, forbidden feelings in her as they walked along the compound.

"They value water here the most and the Spice they are constantly exposed to gives them blue eyes. Not much is known about them since they prefer to remain to remain remote."

"And you said Spice is what is needed to travel?" she said, Paul nodded.

"We rely a lot on Spice, which is why it is so unheard of that you traveled here without Spice", Paul clarified. "The Emperor gave my father control of this planet to find peace with the Fremen People but before, House Harkonnen controlled it."

Y/N saw inside the temple many people praying; religion wasn't something uncommon back home, there were so many from the Mandolorians to the Sith but she had never really seen such worship before.

"What are they praying to?" she asked, gesturing to the people.

"To Shai-Hulud", Paul said as a warm breeze came by, "it is also a Fremen custom to spit at one's feet with how they value water."

"We greet and say goodbye by saying 'may the force be with you'", she said with a small grin.

She missed home despite the intrigue this galaxy brought, although she wondered how much was about the galaxy than it was her interest and growing intrigue with Paul.

🪐

Jedi law dictated that love or any form of romantic feelings were forbidden yet Y/N could recall a conversation she had with Anakin about the law.

"It's an odd law", Anakin had said, "love is the strongest form of the Force yet it can also be your weakness."

Y/N wondered about it as she walked the halls of the compound; Paul had been pulled away by his mother, Lady Jessica as she said that the Reverend Mother was wishing to speak to Paul. It gave her time to contemplate on her growing feelings for Paul with BB following behind, letting out a little chirp every so often.

Lady Jessica had been pleasant to her, the woman reminding her of some of the older Jedi Masters with her way of speech and stance, but Y/N had managed to piece together that it had to be from strict upbringings and belief of the Bene Gesserit.

"Ah, F/N", a familiar voice called out to her and turning around, she saw it was the Duke, himself.

"Oh, Duke Leto", she said, "how nice it is to see you. Thought you'd be caught up doing Duke stuff."

Duke Leto chuckled as he said, "I'm on my way to find Lady Jessica."

"She took Paul to meet with some Reverend woman?" Y/N said with a questioning tone.

Leto sucked in a breath and nodded, Y/N wondered just how this Bene Gesserit ideology worked. It was nothing she had ever seen before back home and seeing the way the Bene Gesserit sisters carried themselves intimidated her just a bit by how their eyes singularly focused on you as if they were truly trying to dissect you right down to your core.

She just hoped that she wasn't about to fall into their cross hairs.

Another night came to Arrakis with cool air and a beautiful night sky that always kept reminding her of Tatoonie as BB charged in the corner. Her hair was down again and she was in another loose muslin nightgown to help with the heat of the planet; she had the doors closed along with the windows as she sat in her room, watching a hologram archival documentary on the planet.

The Duke was pleasant to talk to, he was knowledgeable and kind, and for some reason reminded her of Obi-Wan.

A knock, a familiar knock echoed in her room and she tried to suppress a smile as she knew it was Paul.

Walking to the door, it slid open to reveal the young na-Duke but she could see something was troubling his mind a bit as she greeted him in.

"Something troubling you, Paul?"

Paul looked at her as they sat on the small sofa that was in the room.

"Your way of believing is so simple yet so understandable", Paul breathed, "my mother was supposed to birth a girl, it's how it's been for eons with the Bene Gesserit."

"Why?" she frowned.

"I think... it's so they could eventually get their Kwisatz Haderach", Paul voiced, Y/N frowned. "It's their Messiah, a male heir that possesses the abilities of the Bene Gesserit."

"And you think it's you?"

"I hope it's not me."

She remembered Paul's earlier explanations of the abilities of the Bene Gesserit sisters and their use of something he called 'the Voice', which reminded her of the way the Force could be used to manipulate weak minds.

Paul was quiet for a moment before he scooted closer to her and she felt her breath get caught a bit in her throat as she stared at him.

"I have these... visions", Paul said, staring into her eyes. "I dream of things that I'm never too sure of and for months, I dreamed of a girl... I dreamed of you."

Y/N felt heat rushing through her as the sound of the hologram documentary rang quietly in the room.

"And ever since you've arrived, it's felt like I've been living a dream... a dream that I never want to wake up from."

And before she knew it, she felt Paul's lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss and her heart raced as she felt a surge of electricity go through her...

So many thoughts were running through her mind in that quick moment and maybe it was the instant connection she had felt towards Paul, maybe it was some odd corruption from the Sith side of the Force that made her entangle her fingers through his dark, curly hair and push her body against his lithe frame.

But all she knew at the moment was that Paul felt like home.

TAGLIST

@cloudlst

@khlaeesihavilliard

@colors-for-the-world-please

@senhoritaapple

@dark1paradise

[warsofasoiaf]

A feudal contract is a method of gaining power for rulers, ensuring loyalty of the support base they need. The Targaryens didn't need the nobles as a support base before the dance, they were kept around as a convenience. The field of fire and Harrenhal prove that beyond any doubt. Even after the dance you had people like Aegon the Unworthy brutalizing people and taking noble women as he pleased (heavily implied to be without consent in some cases). There was no feudal contract, The Targaryens began as absolute monarchs with dragon power and continued to act as such until people realized that they could put a stop to it.

Westeros is it's own world with it's own politics and culture. You can't understand it perfectly by assuming it functions like medieval Europe. The fact that letting the peasants die during war is standard practice disproves the idea of a feudal structure on the lower end of society as well. The social structure is closer to ancient China.

A feudal contract is also a means to devolve power in the absence of a established central bureaucracy to administer territory. House Targaryen's use of Torrhen Stark to put down the Sunderland revolt or the various (failed) uses of viceroys and other noble appointments to administer the failed conquests of Dorne handily rebut your thesis that they kept around the nobles as a "conveinence." Aegon ruling on legal matters using maesters to advise on legal precedent and customs, and Jaehaerys I's consolidation of the legal code to ensure specific rights granted to lords, knights, and kings from everything to the right of pits and gallows to who is mandated to sit "above the salt" demonstrate that there are very clear structures in place that are very much not an "absolute monarchy." Nobles inherit their fiefs by right, a hallmark of a hereditary military caste and one of the key elements that advanced aristocratic power in regards to royal power.

Moreover, the predation of the nobility over the smallfolk, from Aegon IV's use of the Goldcloakd as his personal kidnap squad to provide women for sexual assault to the vast toll that noble warfare takes on the peasantry is very much keeping in line with history, and GRRM's writing style of "history taken up to 11." Legal protections for young peasant women who found themselves pressured to satisfy a King's lust were minimal (feudalism depended on legal inequality between the social classes). Warfare on medieval Europe often depended upon the chevauchée, a deliberate targeting of peasants to weaken an enemy's economic base and stir up unrest from the peasants who would fear the lack of protection. Medieval warfare of knights versus knights was often a chaotic affair, it was more reliable to strike at a noble's lands and villages, raiding the granaries and terrifying the populace. Taking into account GRRM's own self-described penchant for exaggeration for dramatic emphasis and his style where he often focuses on the lurid even to the detriment of the book in question (Coryanne Wilde), it's quite understandable.

I've never pretended to say that I understand Westerosi society perfectly as you assert. GRRM has been rather open about using a rough layman's grasp of English and European feudalism as a model for the political landscape of Westeros that he drew from that is relatively common to plenty of fantasy writers. He draws from plenty of sources that have shaped his own life as well - a lot of the troubles of war against the smallfolk are drawn from his experiences as a Conscientious Objector in Vietnam portrayed through medieval warfare. He's not a medievalist, but to deny that feudalism is a key component of Westerosi society is not correct, going either from GRRM's own statements or an analysis of the text as a whole; it's just flat-out wrong. You seem to have a singular fixation on the idea that because of the dragons, the Targaryens acted like absolute monarchs, but that's both not true and a remarkably limited conception of what feudalism was.

-SLAL

[rvp32]

Thanks for accepting the IVE headcanon request! Would be amazing if you do one for TWICE! Big fan of your fluffy fics <3

I hope you guys are loving these headcanons just as much as I am.

Nayeon

Yeah, she would be livid if she ever saw another woman trying to flirt or even touch you. She will drag you away from the public and tell you exactly why she's mad and kiss you multiple times going as far as biting your lip. The pain from your lip remains a reminder to you and also is a sign to other women that you belong to Nayeon

Jeongyeon

Probably the most mature one and wouldn't be super possessive, she really loves and trusts you but if it does go overboard just expect a simple message. She is very open with communication and wouldn't keep things to herself if it upset her.

Momo

Weirdly enough she would hate it. She loved you more than anything in the world and is loyal to you to the bone. So she expects the same from you which you give. But there are times when women don't take the hint of you being uncomfortable with their touches and this pisses Momo off because you are clearly uncomfortable. She would interrupt your conversation and introduce herself holding her hand out, "Hi, I am Momo, his girlfriend. If you keep making my man uncomfortable you better know how to fight because I'm going to beat your ass till you realize how stupid you are ."

Sana

There is quite literally no chance of women even coming to you and being touchy with you because Sana is always by your side hugging your hand like a Koala bear. But if a dense woman tries to come toward you with a flirty smile, expect a tonne of kinship. Kisses, handholding, fixing your shirt, or fixing your hair. She will very clearly make it known that you are taken.

Jihyo

Any woman would be stupid to try to go toward Jihyo's man. There is quite literally no reason for you to choose any other girl especially when you have a Goddess like Jihyo always right next to you. If someone dares to flirt with you when Jihyo leaves for a few minutes, then expect to get a passionate kiss but what you don't know is that she has her middle finger showing to the girl. After pulling away from the kiss all Jihyo says is "Leave," in her commanding tone and with eyes that could kill.

Mina

She's probably the most possessive one in the entire Twice. You don't usually run into a lot of women given your profession but it does tend to happen at professional parties which Mina always attends with you. Your suit for the Night will include a ring with M carved on it, cufflinks with Mina's name, a tie clip with her name, and finally a custom-made Audemars Piguet Royal Oak with Mina's name carved into the bezel. Everything on you clearly screams that you belong to Mina. But if some stupid woman thought she still had a chance and tried to flirt with you, Mina wouldn't let that slide. She would have her secretary look into that person and make them pay.

Dahyun

She would be too shy to outright come out and express her possessiveness or jealousy. Dahyun really loves her privacy so she doesn't like to attend high-profile events because of all the press coverage it gets. Sometimes she stumbles onto pictures of you with other women who are slyly touching you. She wouldn't say anything but there would be signs, like the increased touching, biting and her basically throwing herself onto you. After you are done all she whispers is"You are mine"

Chaeyoung

Very vocal about it, the minute a woman tries to act flirty with you Chaeyeong will let her know clearly and that if she does it again there will be consequences ones that are going to be extremely hard to deal with. "Touch My boyfriend another time and you can say goodbye to life." Unknowingly to you, the reason all your exes broke up with you or ghosted you was because of Chaeyoung. She was scaring them away.

Tzuyu

Will elegantly make the woman realize how stupid she is to try and flirt with her boyfriend especially when she is in the same room. by saying things like "I can see you have a taste for the finer things; unfortunately, he’s already taken by the finest" or "Oh, I admire your optimism! Though I’m afraid he's a bit out of your league."

"Thank you! I didn't know how to tell her to leave, it was getting uncomfortable,"

"That's what I am here for baby, those sly bitches won't bother you as long as I am here

[fanficfanatic000]

(A date?) E.M one

Nerd loser eddie x nerd loser fem reader

Trigger warning 18 + content no minors

Summary ( the fem reader works at a craft shop .seems and patches. Reader has more alt style. Reader is 21 and Eddie's 22. Eddie dropped out of high-school after almost dieing. The reader has zero friendsUntil a certain boy came into your work.)

A usual day usually consists of older women asking for floral pattern fabric And the white thread until today It was afternoon when you heard the bell on the door ring as someone with clanking chains walked in "welcome to seems and patches anything ya looking looking for?"You had to greet every customer because The job made you. He walked up to the counter. His figure was tall and leaned back Slightly his ripped dark blue jeans slightly baggy and hanging over his dirty white sneakers. His black Metallica t shirt was slighty tight clinging to his chest under a Jean jacket and a Jean vest. His doe brown eyes looking at you with his small stubble on his chin and a grin. "Uh do you guys have any sew on patches?" He raised an eyebrow"Yep our patches would be in isle 8" you smile "yeah thank you..." his hand on the back of his neck and he gulped "um can you come with me... i kinda wanted a second opinion and...." he gets flustered from your stare "n-nevermind" you smile "no problem its a pretty slow day anyways" his face immediately brightened and the red from his face drained "thanks p-pretty girl" and that caught you of guard cause no one has said that. Your face turned pink "you okay?"He looked down at your name tag "y/n?"You awkwardly nodded yes "um yeah its just no one has ever said that..."He tilted his head "?thank you?" His nose slightly scrunched "no ive never r-really been called pretty" you look down and you walk towards the isle slowly "seriously?""Yep" you say popping the p "Well i think thats probably because you make them nervous so they could never get it out.." his words have you all red and filled with butterflies he runs infront of you and held his hand out "im eddie."You put your hand in his ringed hand "hi eddie" he smiles wide and his beautiful eyes sparkle then you made it to the patches. He grabs a Metallica patch and holds it to the Jean vest. "Where would this look good?" You grabbed the patch from him and put it on the left of his chest. The air heated from noticing how close he really was. "Here would look pretty good"You hear a shaky breath exhale from eddie "Yeah" his face a pink tint as he grabbed a patch with a little coffen on it "how about this one?" You put it under the spot of the other one. The sunsetting out side "um i gotta check out now my uncle wanted me to get pizza and he's probably so Starved" he laughs slightly. As he just gave you an explanation to leave a store. "Well eddie i hope you enjoy your new patches." You say scanning them he smiles "ya know im thinking ill need more tomorrow if a certain pretty girl will be here." He leaned foreword and winked playfully. And you handed him the patches and he stepped out the clear glass door and you watch as he fist pumped in the air then basically skipped away.

look for part two with hash tag

A date em

[gatheringbones]

wickie stamps, from I am your Frankenstein, from leatherfolk: radical sex, people, politics and practice, edited by mark thompson, 1991

[“When I, in a scene, tediously lay out my implements, I honor my mother's labors and my brother's sacrifice. After cutting my beloved, I methodically wipe up her spilled blood, bind her wounds, and clean the scalpel. Then I wipe down the room. I, too, drop to my knees between her widespread legs and worship her femininity. Only then do the doors to this sacrificial space slowly close. Then I lift my head and gaze with bleary visions into the eyes of my beloved, which are trusted beacons. I am left with a sadness for my brother, who, unlike my beloved, had to let his blood alone. But I am grateful that I, unlike my momma, am no longer hostage to my brother's masculinity or his homicidal/ suicidal whims. Yet as my watering mouth and cunt attest, I have retrieved this cherished womanly act from the undeclared war zone called my past.

My S/ M scenes are the grappling hooks that dredge up these matriarchal memories. When I place a switchblade at my beloved's neck as she cowers at my knee with dripping cunt, I remember myself at age seven, standing at the top of an endless stairway. At the bottom of the stairs is my oldest sister with her boot on my daddy's chest. She's pinned his bourbon- soaked body to the floor. In her upraised hands, arched high above her head, glistens a machete. Its fierceness is intensified by her rage. Next to her, less sure and looking to her older sister for guidance, stands another sister, who, with candelabra held high over her head, hesitantly mimics her older sibling's stance. Both of my sisters have felled the monster called my daddy.

But powerful women have not always been the center of my life. Although my first taste of lesbianism was in the children's home, the first three decades of my life were exclusively heterosexual. My boyfriends ran the gamut of wealthy, overeducated bastards to intriguing but dangerous ex- cons. During these years, the horrors of addiction ate away at my life. But, as in my childhood, there were hints of my While involved with my old man the heroin addict, I enjoyed the scheming, the hustling, and the tension as we waited to cop drugs. Although I was never an IV drug user, I enjoyed the ritual of preparing his works, tying him off, and, once he'd hit a vein, meditating on the blood that slowly swirled into his syringe. Later, while involved with another man, I loved hanging out with him in pool halls while he hustled customers or strutting down the street on his arm dressed in my suede hot pants, high- heeled, over- the- knee boots, and short leather jackets.

It was not until I was thirty that I took my first woman lover. Being someone who would, in order to survive, merge with whatever scene I had to, I melded into her life of brunches, women's concerts, and softball. Because I had stopped using drugs and booze, this relationship was the most stable I ever had. For the first time in my life, with the exception of my siblings, I met strong, independent women.

But, inadvertently, I had walked away from the roots of my eroticism- roots that were intricately spliced into a complicated past. Despite the freedom that I immediately gleaned from claiming my lesbianism, my sexual lust dissipated, just as it had in my heterosexual relationships. Like twenty years earlier, I feared that I would have to sit before a sexologist who would convince me I was frigid.

But this time, I fought back against those inner voices that said there was something wrong with me. The erotic hunger I had felt when I watched my mother's ritual, wore men's clothes, or witnessed my sister's fighting back became familiar again. I, who could not even say the word sex or even leave the lights on in bed, began marching into women's bookstores and picking up lesbian erotic magazines. I rented porno graphic videos. During sex, I started wearing leather and integrating mild bondage and domination. I threw out my milquetoast wardrobe and wore only jeans, leather jackets. and boots. I chopped off my hair. I got tattoos. I came to look like what I had become: a lesbian sadomasochist.”]

[mustainegf]

SO OBSESSED with how dave talks about his love of reading--like I just picture him grabbing small moments to have a coffee and read in between his hectic touring or recording schedules.

ok but imagine 90s dave going in a bookstore (since he is always mentioning that he likes to read and do lyric research) and he see you, you are just soooo small trying to get a book from the top shelf while the staff keep helping other customers. He loves to lend a helping hand to a pretty lady--and you are even more enchanting once he gets to really see your face. Being an experienced flirt at this point in his life he asks you about the book--you pick up a book for yourself every Monday just as a little treat. He starts to get a little anxious because you seem much more educated than him, so instead of mentioned the martial arts books he was going to pick up he lies and says he was looking for his favorite poet, who you love too. He is just SO a-flutter with your intelligent charisma that recognizes a piece of him that others don't take the time to see beyond the rockstar persona (maybe it's because you don't even recognize him!). He definitely returns the next week to try and catch you again and take things to the next level--he just happens to have a book you would love... but you have to go to his apartment to get it. oh, and it just happens to be on his nightstand.

I SCREAMED WHEN I SWEAR THIS REQ!??? HOLY SHIT THIS IS SOME OF THE BEST STUFF IVE EVER GOTTEN I LOVE THE DETAILS

PART 2?????

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁹⁶

𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

Monday again, a drizzly afternoon diagonally opposite LA's downtown area, both pretty anti-climactic, and I was hunting for something more. This small, inconspicuous bookstore, whose entrance is slightly concealed from the rest of the city.

It was that kind of place where I could get lost on shelves, trying to look through worlds inside pages to find inspiration for new lyrics, and maybe even learn something new about myself. Not that I was ever very open to it.

I loved the smell of books and the quiet, plus the feeling of anonymity, a great gift this place had given me. No paparazzi, no screaming fans, just me, books, and my thoughts.

Exactly how I liked it.

I pushed open the door, a soft tinkle of a bell at the entrance. That familiar smell of aged paper and polished wood grabbed me once again, and things were calm.

I walked back to where they have a small section, wanting to find a book or two on martial arts before I went on to search for inspiration.

Turning the corner, I came face to face with her.

She was tiptoeing, her fingers barely brushing the top shelf to reach a book. Petite, nearly delicate, with long hair down her shoulders. Her fingers were hardly brushing against the spine of the book she was trying to retrieve.

No one in the bookstore staff seemed to be noticing her struggle.

I held my breath for a second, enthralled by the image of her.

I finally stepped up to her with a smirk playing on the corners of my lips. "Need some help with that?" I asked, the silence broken by my voice.

She turned to look at me, her eyes grew wide with surprise. They were an exceptionally striking shade, very intelligent and knowing, as if they could see right through me.

She responded, her voice soft and melodious, "Oh, um, yes please." Her cheeks went pink, like early lilacs.

I reached up and easily grabbed the book she was after.

Our fingers brushed briefly as I handed it over to her, and a jolt of warmth went through me. "Here you go," I said, trying to maintain my cool.

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at me. Her smile was warm and real. "I pick up a new book every Monday as a little treat for myself, normally I don’t have this much trouble..." she tried her best to shrug it off, averting her gaze.

Something about her seemed interesting. She didn't seem like the kind of women that had been filling my head lately, she was classier, much more thoughtful.

"That does sound like a lovely tradition," I said, nodding at the book she held in her hand. It was some volume of classic poetry or other.

She nodded. "It helps me after a long day. There's something so soothing about a good book."

I felt a slight bit of anxiety as I realized I wanted to impress her, to let her know that there was more in me than met the eye, than just that of some rockstar persona everyone else seemed to know.

I swallowed hard and said the first thing that came into my head. "I was actually looking for my favorite poet, too." Completely disregarding the martial arts book I was searching for.

She lit up with interest. "No way, really? Who's your favorite?"

"Rainer Maria Rilke," I lied, hoping she wouldn't see through me. IT was a name I knew from a short class I took in Highschool. Though, I had been looking for some books on martial arts, but I didn't want to appear shallow or uneducated to her.

She beamed at me, clearly pleased. "Rilke is wonderful! His stuff is so well done. What poems do you like the best?"

I drew a blank as I tried to remember something, anything, about Rilke from my junior writing class. "Uh, well, definitely one of my favorites is 'The Panther.' The imagery is rich, and it does play on that sense of containment."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly! I love how he used the panther as such a perfect metaphor. So beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time."

God, the way she spoke was like butter, slipping through the cracks of my mind. She was so passionate about the poetry, that my knowledge from Highschool was slowly resurfacing.

The more we talked, the more engrained I became, smart, articulate, impassioned about this literature.

She seemed not to recognize me at all, and that was quite refreshing. It allowed me to be just Dave, the guy who enjoyed books, instead of Dave Mustaine, the Megadeth frontman. I wanted to see her again, to get to know her better. I craved it.

The following Monday, I went again to the old bookstore to look for her. I had brought with me a manuscript on which I thought she would take interest in, but I did not wish to be too obvious.

I pottered around the shop in a good feign of browsing, with my glance popping out every few seconds to await her entry through the door.

There she finally was, as lovely as she had been the first time that I ever saw her. She came back to the poetry section, and I went in, taking a deep breath.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound very casual.

She looked up and smiled warmly. "Hi! Nice to see you again."

I felt relieved and elated. "You too. I actually, uh, brought a book I thought you would like..”

Her eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Really? What is it?"

I handed her the book, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda, a book Id bought at a separate shop only days earlier. "I thought you might like this. Nerudas stuff is pretty good, I had it around my house for a couple years, so I thought you might be interested."

She took the book from me again, and my fingers touched hers. "Thanks so much, Dave. This is really sweet of you."

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "No problem. I figured you'd like it."

I knew I had to make a move as that afternoon was wearing away. "You know," I said, feigning indifference, "I have another book that I think you would love. But It's back at my place."

Those sparkling eyes took an interest. "Oh? What book is that?"

"A rare edition of Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet."

She paused a second, then smiled. "I'd love to see it."

[katy-l1988]

Chapater IV: The child

Zestial was momentarily paralyzed as he saw Carmilla standing, illuminated by the spotlight, her figure shining amidst the dimness of the venue. Their eyes met, and in that instant, everything seemed to stop around them. Buried feelings and forgotten memories resurfaced in his mind, reminding him of how much he missed her. Araziel, noticing Carmilla's intense gaze and reaction to seeing Zestial, felt a flash of jealousy ignite within him. His fingers slightly tightened on the edge of the table, and a cold, defiant gaze settled on the angel who had interrupted his night.

Meanwhile, Carmilla, standing in the middle of the restaurant, struggled internally, her heart torn between illusion and commitment. On one hand, she longed for the lost connection with Zestial, a spark of nostalgia and desire burning in her chest, something Araziel could no longer awaken in her. Asmodeo seized the opportunity for his own entertainment. Without hesitation, he took to the stage.

For him, it was all comedy, entertainment for his drama-hungry audience. However, behind his mask, there was a disdain for love he had never managed to feel, a belief that darker desires were superior to any romantic feelings.

"Listen up, everyone! Today, three great celebrities from Hell visit us!" Asmodeo exclaimed sarcastically, with a mischievous smile, relishing in the audience's attention. "Come here, Araziel!"

The angel combed his pink hair, which shimmered under the spotlights he loved so much. Among the Infernal Rings, he was known as the "Father of Titans," the first angel to break one of God's sacred rules by conceiving hundreds of Nephilim with human women. These giants were violent beings who wreaked havoc in ancient times, wiping out many human settlements. Upon their death, they became demons of great strength but little intelligence. Araziel gathered them all, turning them into thugs whose services would be offered to sinners and other renowned beings, including, of course, Asmodeo.

"This demon is a legend! The very embodiment of desire and rebellion!"

"If Sin of Lust says so, I'll take it as a compliment," he smiled, delighted that the audience praised him. "Remember, my friends. If you need protection, don't hesitate to call."

"Oh, Carmilla, how did you manage to snag such a stud?"

"Come on, Asmodeo, who could resist my charms?" Araziel continued, addressing his wife and inappropriately groping her breasts.

"Don't touch me!" Carmilla shouted, pushing Araziel away. "Is this why you brought me here? To humiliate me?"

"Look at that! You have a real firecracker, Araziel. These kinds of jewels are too valuable and desired. You should take better care of her," he declared, pausing dramatically before continuing his biting comment. "After all, a 'relationship' of so many years isn't maintained solely by good manners."

"Don't you know any other way to attract your customers?" Carmilla interjected, trying to camouflage her distress with anger, though the pain and shame were evident in her voice. "Or are you so miserable that you only feel powerful by playing with others' lives?"

"Carmilla, enough," Araziel warned, grabbing her arm, but she pushed him away.

The audience, surprised by the woman's audacity, murmured among themselves, some even discreetly applauding her bravery. However, Asmodeo, accustomed to being the center of attention and having absolute control over his stage, felt increasingly uncomfortable for being challenged in that way.

"Touché, Madame," he muttered under his breath, trying to regain his composure in front of the audience watching the tense interaction. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But don't forget who owns this place."

"Oh, I know who you are, Asmodeo. The question is, do you really know who I am?"

Asmodeo, momentarily taken aback by the firmness of her response, quickly regained his composure, though his eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and resentment.

"Mmm, a purposeless soul? Araziel's doll? A caged bird?" Asmodeo said, his tone sarcastic and contemptuous, echoing Carmilla's doubts and insecurities.

Araziel watched with a mix of amusement and arrogance, relishing in his wife's submission. For him, that moment was like punishment, punishment for always preferring an old man from heaven over him. Shame consumed her, as she struggled to maintain composure under Asmodeo's ruthless gaze and the scrutiny of the audience. Zestial, consumed by anger, chose to use his monstrous form, an imposing and threatening creature. With a quick movement, he moved toward Carmilla to shield her. His eyes gleamed with fierce intensity as he looked at Asmodeo, warning him in a grave and severe tone.

"Don't ever stick your venomous tongue where you're not called, Asmodeo. I won't allow you to dare insult Carmilla again," growled Zestial, his voice resonating with authority and determination.

Asmodeo, surprised by Zestial's intervention and the fury emanating from him, instinctively recoiled, though his expression remained defiant.

"Who do you think you are to give me orders? This is my house, and I do as I please here," Asmodeo responded disdainfully, though it was evident that Zestial's imposing presence made him uncomfortable.

Carmilla, sensing the tension in the air, gestured for Zestial to calm down and return to his normal form.

"It's not worth it," she said, giving Zestial a smile. "Come on, anyway, I don't like this place. It's just trash."

She and Zestial left, leaving the two demons behind. However, they had barely taken a few steps outside the establishment when Araziel quickly caught up to them. Blinded by fury, he pounced on Carmilla ferociously, his hands gripping her hair tightly, and with a swift motion, he pulled her back, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Zestial, witnessing the violence against the woman, could no longer contain himself. With a wild roar, he lunged at Araziel, and in an instant, the scene turned into a whirlwind of blows, grunts, and the dull sound of bodies violently colliding with the ground and alley walls. Their fists danced in a deadly ballet, each blow laden with fury and desperation. The golden blood splattered on the pavement, reflecting their true nature. The rage in Zestial's eyes was so intense it seemed to glow with its own light, while Araziel fought with fierce determination, fueled by indignation and wounded pride.

Carmilla, still dazed from the fall and the blow to her head, tried to get up from the ground, but a sudden sharp pain pierced her stomach, paralyzing her completely. The spasms of pain shook her as she clutched her abdomen with her left hand, feeling as if something was tearing her apart from the inside. Desperate and in tears, she screamed with all her might, begging them to stop the fight. As expected, Zestial was the first to react. He pushed Araziel away with a shove, freeing him from his tight grip, and turned to Carmilla. Without hesitation, he reached out his hand to her, offering assistance to help her up.

Carmilla clung to Zestial's arm, trying to alleviate the discomfort in vain.

"Stop pretending already!" Araziel exclaimed, visibly frustrated. "We're not fighting anymore."

"She's not pretending, Araziel," Zestial responded firmly, as he lifted Carmilla in his arms. "She's in a lot of pain. She urgently needs medical help."

Upon Zestial's words, Araziel nodded somberly. Without saying another word, he opened a portal to the Ring of Sloth and rushed Carmilla to the hospital. There, both Zestial and Araziel remained by her side as the doctor examined her. With a peculiar mask reminiscent of the plague era, the doctor asked them what had happened, but none of those present could offer a clear answer. They explained that they were in the middle of a fight, and suddenly she started screaming.

The doctor, with expert gestures, examined the affected area in Carmilla's stomach, causing her to cling tightly to the top of the stretcher, with Zestial holding her to prevent her from moving too much. The doctor didn't offer immediate explanations, instead, he positioned Carmilla in a specific way and ordered the nurse to prepare some additional supplies. He also requested that they call obstetrics, which further puzzled Zestial and Araziel.

Carmilla, feeling great pressure on her back and hips, spread her legs trying to relieve the discomfort. The doctor, observing the woman's unusual position, instantly understood what was happening. Without wasting time, he pulled out a pair of scissors and skillfully cut the pants she was wearing, revealing what was causing her pain.

"Do you want me to prepare her for the delivery room?" the nurse asked.

"It won't be necessary. The baby is already coming, and she won't let herself be moved," the doctor responded calmly, assessing the situation.

"A baby?" Carmilla, Zestial, and Araziel said simultaneously.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?!" Araziel exclaimed, his tone filled with anger and frustration.

"How could I tell you something I didn't know? ¡Carajo!" Carmilla responded, her voice trembling and on the verge of tears.

"Don't give me that! You should have known!" Araziel insisted, his anger growing with each word.

"Enough!" Zestial intervened, his voice resonating with authority. "Now is not the time."

The seraph fought to hold back tears as she clung to the edge of the stretcher, trying to endure the pain. She was aware that God, her father, had designed her with the ability to conceive, but she never thought she would face this situation so suddenly and overwhelmingly.

As Carmilla struggled to stay awake, Zestial approached her with tenderness. His presence was comforting, and his warm hand on hers offered silent support amidst the enveloping agony. Although Araziel was the father of her child and her husband, at that moment, it was Zestial who could help her. Their eyes met, seeking comfort. Despite everything that had happened between them, at that moment, Zestial was her rock, her refuge in the storm.

Araziel, feeling once again displaced by the presence of an elder, stepped away frustrated. Without saying a word, he headed towards the hospital exit, needing a moment alone to process everything he had just discovered. The cool night air greeted him, and with trembling hands, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his coat pocket. He lit the cigarette with brisk gestures, letting the smoke slip between his lips as he sank into his thoughts. On one hand, he felt hurt and angry by Carmilla's sudden revelation of her pregnancy and the apparent emotional bond between her and Zestial. On the other hand, a part of him knew he had no right to feel that way, given the state of his relationship with Carmilla.

As he took a deep drag, a wave of understanding suddenly washed over him. That woman he so desired was having his child. The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, momentarily clearing his mind of all worries and fears. He extinguished the butt, letting the night breeze dissipate the remaining smoke. With firm and determined steps, Araziel returned to the hospital with a clear resolution in his mind: that creature was his, and he would not allow Zestial to take his place as a father, having stolen his wife's heart.

With a quick gesture, the doctor turned back and exclaimed excitedly:

"There you are! Come, do you want to see?"

Araziel approached cautiously, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he watched attentively. As he leaned in to get a better look, he could distinguish how the baby's head began to emerge, with strands of white hair identical to her mother's.

With a gleam of excitement in his eyes, Araziel turned to Carmilla, his voice full of enthusiasm and astonishment.

"It's our baby, Milla!"

But Carmilla, still overwhelmed by the pain and surprise, looked away. With one final gentle push, the baby emerged completely. A beautiful girl with silver hair and a tan complexion, identical to her mother. She had no wings, but that was beside the point, as there was a precedent that Nephilim, and even the Princess of Hell herself, did not possess them. Araziel, momentarily forgetting his resentment, cut the cord with the doctor's guidance, and with the baby wrapped in a towel, he approached his wife. However, Carmilla, overwhelmed by confusion, was not ready to face reality. She shook her head, refusing to take the baby into her arms.

"No, I don't want to see it," she murmured, looking away and feeling a lump in her throat. Zestial, sensing Carmilla's distress, tried to reassure her by gently caressing her arm.

"Milla, it's a girl…our daughter," he insisted, his voice soft but firm.

"That's exactly why. What can I expect from her if you're her father? Will she inherit your lies and deceit?" Carmilla responded, with a hint of bitterness in her voice, as she diverted her gaze from the baby towards Araziel.

Zestial knew the child shouldn't bear the brunt of their issues, so he sided with Araziel, and after a few moments, Carmilla relented. With his large hands, she held the baby against her chest, while the little one instinctively sought her source of nourishment. Araziel watched in silence, while Zestial stepped back.

"I can't believe you want to name her that," commented Araziel, furrowing his brow.

"Why not? It's a beautiful and unique name," Carmilla replied, defending her choice with determination, though a hint of doubt lingered in her voice.

"But…Velvette? Don't you think it's a bit…extravagant?" Araziel persisted, not hiding his disapproval.

"What's wrong with that? I like it, and that should be enough," Carmilla retorted, maintaining her stance.

"Fine, I won't argue with you."

Five years passed since that event, when Carmilla and Araziel made the difficult decision to officially divorce. They agreed, of course, on a shared custody arrangement that allowed them both to spend time with their daughter. According to the agreement, from Monday to Friday, Velvette would be with Carmilla, while on weekends, namely Saturday and Sunday, it would be Araziel's turn.

However, Velvette still grew up under the predominant influence of her father. He was her idol, her role model, although let's say he wasn't the best. Under his rule-free upbringing, Velvette became a passionate young woman, with great energy that could sometimes turn into a problem. Araziel, though he loved his daughter, was not the conventional father figure. His approach to parenting was more relaxed, allowing Velvette almost total freedom to explore the world around her. This resulted in a close relationship between father and daughter, but also in the lack of boundaries and structure in Velvette's life.

On the other hand, her relationship with her mother was more distant. Although she lived with her and spent time together, Carmilla was immersed in her career and other responsibilities outside the home. This caused a gap in their relationship, and the girl began to resent her mother for what she perceived as a lack of attention and commitment to her. Arguments between the two were frequent, and the young girl openly expressed her dissatisfaction with the situation.

"I'm home!" Carmilla announced, placing her keys on the bedside table near the door. "Velvette?"

Carmilla went straight to Velvette's room, and upon entering, she was met with a dense cloud of smoke that made her nose twitch slightly. However, before opening the window to ventilate the room, she noticed the surprise on her daughter's face, who had obviously been startled by her sudden entrance.

"Mom! You have to knock," Velvette scolded.

"Not when you live in my house," Carmilla replied, looking at her, noticing the cigarette in her hand. "I've told you not to smoke inside the house; you should go out to the terrace."

"But it's cold outside," Carmilla picked up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill.

"It doesn't matter, there are rules in this house," she insisted, while picking up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill among the objects. "What's this?"

"A pill?"

"Don't play dumb, pendeja. Tell me, where did you get this?"

Carmilla, unable to contain her frustration at not receiving an answer, grabbed Velvette's face tightly, her hand covering almost her entire head.

"Mírame, mírame..." Carmilla insisted, shaking Velvette harder. "I'm talking to you!"

Velvette, annoyed by her mother's treatment, looked at her with defiant eyes.

"Since when are you involved in this, Velvette? Since when are you taking drugs?"

Velvette forcefully released herself from Carmilla's grip, turning her face away with fury. Her eyes sparkled with a defiant gleam as she faced her mother.

"Since when?" she repeated sarcastically. "For months now, what did you expect, Mom? We're in damn Hell."

"I don't care where we are. I didn't raise you like this!" Carmilla exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and anguish.

"You? Raise me?" Velvette scoffed, with a look of contempt on her face. "Dad was right about you being a proud, selfish bitch."

Carmilla felt as if a dagger pierced her heart upon hearing her daughter's words. Anger and sadness mixed in a whirlwind of emotions within her. However, Velvette wasn't finished.

"You don't even bother to leave your office to see what's happening with me," Velvette continued, not stopping. "Do you think I don't notice how you hide behind your work to avoid dealing with your own problems?"

Carmilla was overwhelmed by Velvette's barrage of accusations. The tension in the room was palpable as mother and daughter faced off in a battle of wills.

"¡Ya basta!" Carmilla shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. "I won't allow you to talk to me like that, do you hear me? I'm your mother, and I deserve respect."

Velvette let out a bitter laugh, her eyes filled with disdain.

"Respect. Do you think you deserve respect after everything you've done? You know nothing about me, Mom. You never have."

A heavy silence filled the room as Carmilla's words hung in the air. Tears of helplessness began to well up in her eyes as she looked at her daughter with a mixture of pain and resignation.

"If that's what you think of me, then there's nothing more to say," she said firmly, though her heart was breaking in her chest.

Velvette looked at her with disdain, no hint of remorse in her gaze.

"Fine by me. I don't need anything from you anyway. I've always been self-sufficient, remember?"

Her daughter's words were like a direct blow to Carmilla's soul. She turned away, unable to bear the pressure of the moment. With heavy steps, she left the room, heading to hers. Velvette stayed in the room, feeling a strange mix of anger and sadness for what had just happened. She knew that things between her and her mother would never be the same again, but for some reason, that didn't matter to her as much as she thought it would.

On Friday afternoon, when Araziel came for his daughter, Carmilla led him to her room to discuss in private. Velvette knew that her mother's anger wouldn't last long, as every time those two were together, their instincts took over. Anger turned into desire, into bites, and scratches. The teenager, aware of the situation, sought refuge in her headphones, trying to block out the noise emanating from the next room. The muffled sound of

music flooded her ears, providing her with a barrier of isolation against the intensity of the encounter between her parents. With closed eyes and a heavy heart, she swallowed a pill, letting herself be carried away by the sweet promise of oblivion it offered. The enveloping melodies of her music intertwined with the passionate whispers filtering in from the adjoining room, creating a separate world where she could temporarily lose herself. However, even in her self-destructive retreat, a thread of concern persisted within her.

Once her parents left, leaving behind a charged and messy atmosphere, Velvette felt a momentary relief. She sighed deeply as she removed her headphones, allowing the silence to fill the room, if only for a moment. The tranquility was interrupted by Araziel's voice.

"We're ready to go," Araziel announced, his tone firm and decisive. "But I need to talk to you seriously once we get home."

Velvette followed her father with quick steps, feeling Carmilla's gaze boring into her back. Though she tried not to look directly at her, she could sense the anger emanating from her mother like a stifling wave of heat. For the first time in a long time, Velvette realized that she had crossed a line, had hurt her mother in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Carmilla watched her with a mixture of pain and disappointment in her eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her expression was cold and distant. Though Velvette tried to read her thoughts in her face, Carmilla's gaze was impenetrable, hiding her true feelings behind her mask. For a moment, Velvette wished she could turn back time and undo her words, but she knew it was already too late. She had made a grave mistake, one that had angered her mother to a new level.

[acornminiatureslog]

Hounds of Terra Lore Overview

Ok, I've been trying to get more of this stuff written down, so here's a crack at that. This is just bullet points and timelines, though I am trying to improve my writing skills enough to throw together a short story down the line.

The Hounds of Terra are a successor chapter of the Brazen Claws, established as part of the 23rd founding in late M37. They were granted the world of Euros IV on the furthest reaches of the eastern fringe as a chapter homeworld. The intent with their founding was to secure the region and allow for the withdrawal of other imperial forces. The Quintand Gamma subsector the world resides in was key in keeping more easily secured worlds supplied, even if the subsector itself was not good for much more than raw resources.

A lieutenant of the Brazen Claws serving within the deathwatch, Devros Avidon, was selected to be the chapter's first Chapter Master, as the High Lords desired a seasoned commander to be appointed so far from terra. Besides Avidon, a handful of squads who survived the Brazen Claw's assault on the Eye of Terror but believed their chapter destroyed were directed by the administratum to the newfound chapter. Undetected in these veterans, the taint of the warp had twisted the fine details of their geneseed.

Over the next few decades, the chapter's apothecaries were more and more confounded by the decline of the chapter's geneseed. Eventually discerning the cause, the chapter command fiercely debated what was to be done. The chaplaincy eventually won out, arguing that as no marines had turned to chaos, this was merely another test the chapter must endure, pushing themselves as far as they can bear in service to Him on Terra.

The apothecarium and forges of the tech marines together forged the new path for the chapter's aspirants. The mutations had destroyed the function of the Sus-an Membrane and Omophagea, as well as put the Betcher's Gland and Larraman's Organ into an overactive state. In addition, the geneseed was no longer receptive to the standard pool of aspirants, the apothecarium finding that women were more receptive to the chapter's geneseed than men. Among more mundane medical complications, his made it so each aspirant would have to endure their throat being burned out from inside before they could be fitted with corrective augmetics. Any aspirant deemed to not have endured as they should is denied augmetics, forced to succumb to their injuries.

This means that the entirety of the modern chapter is equipped with augmetic vocoders where their voice boxes once were, with the standard rite of passage for an aspirant elevated to full marine is to allow them a few days and the aid of a tech marine to customize their vocoder's sound. As a result, the common euphemism for promotion out of the scout company within the Hounds of Terra is for one to "earn their voice."

As a marine of the Hounds of Terra weathers multiple campaigns, they develop a network of scar tissue from nearly any wound. Over time, this will impede the marine's motion, requiring amputation and replacement with augmetics. By the time a marine is granted the rank of Veteran, they are likely to have replaced two or more limbs.

In the lead up to the great rift, the Hounds of Terra lost their homeworld, driving the chapter to the stars. As the eye of terror spread and darkened the light of the astronomicon, the Hounds crossed paths with the remnants of another Iron Hands successor, the Twilight Hawks. The Hawks had fallen prey to the predations of chaos, losing most of their chapter and their fortress monastery to a slaaneshi uprising.

Given the unprecedented circumstances, the Twilight Hawk's first captain, Tetys, agreed to have the remnants of his chapter be integrated into the Hounds of Terra, benefiting from the Hound's resources, while the Hounds were able to stabilize their chapter's geneseed with the careful introduction of what reserves the Hawks had.

The acquisition of primaris modification further improved the stock o the chapter, although it also caused a crisis within the chapter's ranks. An argument started by lieutenant Duskova escalated into a shipboard engagement, resulting in the self destruction of the strike cruiser Adamant Shield.

At present, the chapter is doing what it can to support the imperial forces out in the eastern fringe, whilst also seeking the means to refit the chapter flagship into a vessel truly worthy to hold the title of fortress monastery.

[pisboy]

as a fellow alopecia haver would you mind if i asked a few questions about how you cope with it? like, do you wear hats or wigs or do clever hairstyles to hide it or do you just let it show? ive tried pills and scalp shots and nothing is reversing mine. im only 26 and i feel like this is the worst thing to ever happen to me and i dont know what to do about it. nobody even thinks balding women exist. nobody considers how it is to actually be one. im so scared no one will ever like me or find me cute again. i used to think i was so cute. this sucks so bad.

For me the back of my head around the nape and up to nearly the top of my scalp has never grown hair, not even when I was born. My father also has alopecia areata and he has a few golfball-to-coin sized patches he loses and regrows at a random basis. So I've had my entire life to contend with hair loss and family that was familiar with it, so I sympathize so incredibly hard to women who develop it later in life. It is probably mortifying.

So yeah, shots and pills and balms and oils and etc have never worked for me. I also lose hair at random basis around the rest of my scalp, mainly around the margins of my crown (losing my bangs) and the sides of the back where I already do not grow hair. I also lose half my left eyebrow on a regular basis. If you go far back enough in my #me tag I've posted what it looks like. I also preface some of my advice might not be helpful if you have afro-textured hair, but I will recommend someone who will be extremely helpful in that respect.

Also I hope you don't mind me doing a shotgun blast of advice but maybe my experience will help someone

Things that worked for me:

I've always been flipping my part as my hair cycles in a growth/loss state for my bangs. Low pony tails tend to hold better than high ones in what is essentially a clever combover. Uhhh and always keep a hair tie around in case there is wind lol I always get self conscious when there's a breeze.

This is kind of vague and probably shitty advice but I've noticed over the years I lose hair when I am stressed, so I've had to make the call (in addition to other factors) to quit jobs that really strain me and I've noticed improvement in hair growth. So depending on your circumstances I say make some effort to reduce your other stress factors while you go through figuring it out. This shit is literally traumatizing.

This thing here is basically a pepper shaker for keratin bits that can color-fill in patches of missing (or really tiny short baby) hair. I can only speak as a brunette but it works pretty damn good as some camouflage for your skin poking out where you can't cover it. Do note it kind of has an ashy texture so it's something to wash out at night like makeup. Scalp makeup lol.

Hats are good. I wore trucker hats for most of my teen years, but I don't wear them much anymore, especially being out of the stress of school. However - a piece of advice from a mentor of mine, Jamie Elmore, is to call hats, bands, scarves, wigs, anything under an umbrella term "accessory." It's kind of corny but sometimes conceptualizing these things that way helps coping with the impulse of a world that demands you hide your hair loss and another where you can freely express yourself without fear of judgement. Anyway, I recommend looking her up, she has a magazine and works hard for the alopecia community, particularly for black alopecians.

Oh yeah if you can find those hippy chick silk hair bands that have the elastic around the back, I love those. Regular bandanas are also good.

Uhhh shorter hair also tends to weigh and pull less, which I think everyone has varying sensitivity to, but to anyone considering a bob, why not might help lol. I also lose my hair in the largest amounts in the shower, so like, if you develop a weird complex about showering I know allllllll about it.

I have tried partial wigs, which are custom cut out and adhered to your head, and it's nice if you want to do hairstyles you otherwise could not, but it's high maintenance, very itchy, and gets gummy after about a week.

But yeah it's been a very slow and steady process to get used to going out in public without putting effort in camouflaging my alopecia, and that mostly has to do with tuning people out. The existential stuff gets personal so I save those conversations for a 1-to-1. *Holds you by the shoulder* we are all coping out here.

I look at that sword of Damocles hanging over my head and if my scalp gets wiped out beyond all sidepart repair, I'll go full wig-wearing. I once had a hair stylist who was giddy at the idea of shaving my head when I explained it to her, which was comforting in a silly way.

Anyway, it's been years since I've dipped my toes into the greater Alopecia Community, the ones with all the acronyms, but there are NAAF chapter groups that you can meet and hopefully find people to connect with. I think you need to join an email group though. Anyway. For the longest time the only people I knew with it was just my dad and a cousin who had it for 1 year and never again and seeing a group of people with patchy/full baldness in person for the first time made me cry.

To end on a good note, there have been trials for JAK inhibitors (a treatment for many autoimmune disorders) having really breakthrough success rates at hair regrowth, but I haven't looked into it lately. Seems very promising. A lot better than cortisone shots in the scalp I figure, maybe worth the pain lmao

EDIT: i misremembered it being lupus medication, but it was actually Janus kinase inhibitor trials with success.