#or dirt in large quantities

[stanley-mushroom]

Challenge: finish hoeing up the leafy greens without eating any

Difficulty level: impossible

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you seen how expensive food is getting? When I was at the grocery store last, I had to actually elbow other people out of the way when I was trying to shoplift. All these amateurs, doing it for their starving families, trying to sneak past the new security guard with an entire box of Lucky Charms tucked under their suspiciously un-seasonal winter coat. That's why he's there, now!

Because of this, I've thought really hard about starting a farm of my own. There's only two big obstacles: my property is entirely covered in shit-box cars, and I don't like hard (or even soft) work. So I had to figure out how to trick someone else into using their property to grow healthy, tasty vegetables for the rest of the community. That way, I could go back to cramming large quantities of mass-produced corporate corn-syrup-injected synthetic food into my bag and then not paying for it.

Here's something that's fun: the university has a lot of free land. And if you trick eager students into doing anything that looks good on their resumés, they will work an infinite amount of hours for no money. They're feeding their fellow citizen! A truly noble endeavour that not even mean old Dean Carbuncle could stand in the way of. Of course, I first needed to make it look like a legitimate enterprise. Have you ever shoplifted raised garden bed planters from a Home Depot? It's surprisingly easy if you wear a hard hat, orange apron, and bring your own forklift. Loaded a couple of those bad boys onto a flat-bed rental truck, signed it out myself ("J. Not-Fakington,") and headed for the campus quad and the co-eds eager to interrupt their high-falutin' studies with some dirt farming.

In a few weeks, the students were getting interviews with the news. One of them got an internship with the United Nations because she figured out how to hyper-grow corn cobs – they're like three meters long, you need at least two people just to lift them – and now the university is paying people to come and take them away. The grocery stores are again empty of all but the ultra-rich and my sticky, sticky fingers, and we've learned that although crime doesn't pay, a whole lot of crime sometimes benefits those around you.

[vashvenus]

★ミ serpentine.

synopsis: naga knives has a sort of morbid fascination with you than manifests in a strangely sexual manner.

contains: naga/serpent knives, knives’ taxidermy hobby is mentioned, sort of medical? but he’s just exploring and weird, dubcon i think?, he has two weewees, and afab reader. 3.5k words.

note: teehee!! this is a (late) christmas present for my BEST FRIEND!! my cool, adorable, and wonderful bff @knivesbunny <33 hehehe enjoy bee + everyone else!!

it was about time you moved on in the world. getting a fresh start in the form of a cozy cabin at the edge of the woods sung your name and the price point was staggeringly low so, after confirming there were no safety hazards, you took the place. with dark wood and muted tones alongside a beautifully kept garden by the previous owners, how could you possibly go wrong? well, ‘wrong’ is an arbitrary term and ultimately up to the individual for judgement.

your moving process went without a hitch. furniture and belongings all being placed properly following a good deep clean plus a couple coats of paint, things any place would need upon a new owner arriving. you'd been rather happy at the final product, something dreary at first taking the form of your own home; a fond word. trinkets, cupboards of dishes, and an amalgamation of photos and artworks lining the walls to create an atmosphere you almost wished you could share but, alas, a solitary life was your preference.

the garden out back was complete with a greenhouse tucked to the side, surrounded by an abundance of flora and fauna that also colourfully dotted the rest of the greenery. small plots had been sectioned out for different fruits and herbs and the idea of being able to grow a large quantity of your own food was an exciting new feeling, one that you couldn't wait to grasp. thusly, it wasn't long until you found yourself kneeling in the grass and working new seeds into the dirt. a variety of the basics alongside some of your favourites was the route of action, one also deemed reasonable. between fondly nestling new seeds and sipping at cool beverages, the thought of the greenhouse slowly slipped your mind despite how vital it was to your task. swiping the gathered sweat from your forehead, you rose up to analyze your progress to which brought your eyes back to that small addition cozied up to the side of the property. the bags of dirt and tools resting on the ground would need a place to go after all... so, you wandered over to that little building and fiddled with the door.

the wooden door was slightly overgrown and gave you a good fight to open, weeds and rust seemingly actively working to keep you out of the space. stepping back, you looked it over a bit more, not wanting any splinters, before pressing your shoulder into it for added force. with a combined 'bang' and 'groan,' the door scraped across the inner concrete floor before coming to a stop about three quarters open. you huffed and slipped in, cursing the rotten chunk of wood and attempting to get a good look at what you were working with. eyes glazing over various rickety shelves, a sharp and icy chill rolled down your spine. a small nagging voice in the back of your head whispered ‘something isn’t right,’ in response to the unusual, for lack of better words, appearance of the inside.

atop aforementioned delicate shelves lay different jars full of an indistinguishable liquid and what appeared to be organs, small ones so hopefully not human, as well as a range of entire animals fully submerged in their own watery tombs. wind chimes made of bones twinkled from the ceiling above firmly locked chests and you weren’t totally sure you were interested in the contents. the previous owners, an old couple, didn’t seem like the type to hoard such morbid trinkets but sometimes it’s the most innocent ones, you figure. still, the lingering idea of this being the work of some beast that had chased them away from their lovely home rattled at the back of your mind ominously. shifting on shaky knees and feet, you contemplated poking around a bit but rationality told you to at least find a sturdy pair of gloves first. though, as it would seem, the choice wasn’t yours to make judging by that same yet more aggressive scraping and slamming door.

whipping around, you came face to face with… a man? one with frosty eyes, near white hair, and a scowl that could skin you alive. more importantly, he was hanging from the ceiling of the small shed you were now trapped in; stuck. with him. this… not quite man, if your judgment of his long serpentine looking lower half meant anything. all wide eyes and dry mouth, you gaped helplessly at him, attempting to find some sort of explanation for what exactly you’re doing, as if this isn’t your property he’s on. his eyes turned to slits seeing you fumble for words and, with an amount of grace that shouldn’t be possible, he slithered off the ceiling to instead… stand? lay? rest? you’re not too sure but he’s in front of you now right side up. pupils merely scratches inside his powdery blue eyes, you fear he’s deciding if you’ll make a good meal and you’ve half the mind to assure him you’re not as tasty as he may think. alas, he speaks before you get the chance.

“name,” it’s a simple but firm commanding question you weren’t quite expecting but, to be real, what were you expecting from an interaction with a snake man? you stutter out a whimper of a reply and he clicks his tongue; it’s forked, you note. with all confidence you can muster, not much, you promptly for his own. he hums low. “millions knives. shorten it to knives at most. don’t dare to give me any sort of nickname, as you humans often do; it’s abhorrent,” and you’re shocked he’s so eloquently spoken. perhaps there’s snake people schools you aren’t aware of?

“right. noted, millions knives,” you hesitate, not keen on irritating him further, as clearly just your presence has perturbed him, “i… apologize if i’ve intruded but… this is my property after all. some sort of explanation on your,” you gesture widely at the space, “hobby would be appreciated.” your poor attempt at mimicking his speech pattern has him letting out a chuckle that sounds more like an array of chitters. palms sweaty and desperately avoiding eye contact, you gulp hoping he’ll entertain your question before potentially swallowing you whole; snakes can do that. his tail flicks your shin jolting you to bring your eyes back to his, admittedly handsome, face.

“my… hobby, hm? it’s nothing to you,” a disappointing response, “were you hoping i’d have a jar your size, little human?” you’re positive he’s making fun of your fear yet somehow his words feel flirtatious in a way that has your brain swinging like a pendulum between crying out of petrification and placing a hand on his built chest. “i’ve been watching you for some time now. you’re utterly,” his tail wiggles up to grip your waist, “fascinating. a perfect experiment.” if he didn’t sound like he was flirting before, he sure does now.

his words were true to an extent beyond your knowledge. ever since the first tour you took of the place, he had kept an eye on your every move. knives hadn’t found an ounce of appeal in new people moving into the small home but, if he had it his way, it would turn abandoned for him to find sanctuary in. alas, the housing market wasn’t on his side as people inspected the place top to bottom and he was stuck merely seething beyond view; that was until you came along. all bright smiles and eager nods, he was beyond irritated with the way he found you undeniably irresistible. something so... keen would make a lovely study after all, he thought, though destroying you utterly and completely was off the table for he'd never be able to poke and prod at you after that. unfortunately, in the time it took for him to mull over a game plan, your first visit was over and he slithered back into the thick woods while scowling; unfair. the jump knives felt in his heart upon your second visit was one that caught even him off-guard, an emotion towards humans beyond that of revolt? unheard of and vile. yet, he was the one who had it and couldn't simply deny that he was feeling something beyond curiosity. your scent, perhaps? he muses over a handful of biologically reasonable conclusions for his reaction to a distantly nodding vash whos already figured out the truth. he saves it though, as to not have his other arm lobbed off, and instead hums along agreeing to every point with faint amusement.

it's with thoughts racing past at speeds no human could match, that knives brings himself back to the present, large palms and boney fingers coming to trail your jaw. another flick of his tongue appears between the grin now forming along his pink lips and impossibly long teeth; even a playful nip would draw extensive blood. he makes a sound between a hiss and growl as one sharp nail trails along your neck down to your sternum slowly, as if assessing a piece of meat; perhaps, in a way, he was. silvery tail wrapping around your left ankle, he tugs your leg up with his head dipping to peer curiously at the limb. you can't really blame him considering legs are the only human trait he lacks but the unsettling nature still makes you shiver. knives takes turns with each of your legs and arms, taking them in at all angles and seemingly pleased with what he was seeing. sure, he wasn't fond of humans at all but, he can appreciate when one is well made; easy on the eyes. a slightly morbid fascination, maybe. finally letting you go from his clawed grasp, he nods, satisfied.

"alluring. remove these pesky clothes," he scrunches up his nose while pinching the fabric of your shirt, "and seat yourself atop that cabinet." his gaze never once easing up, you're between bolting or following his instructions. the former would rely on you being stronger and faster than the behemoth of a man-snake standing directly in front of the door and you're positive you'd be dead two steps in. with trembling fingers, you pull the dirt dusted shirt from your body and shiver at cool air ghosting across your bare chest, only held back by the simple bra clinging to your breasts. you swallow thickly before shimmying off your denim shorts past your thighs and awkwardly down your feet. having not removed your socks or shoes, it was quite the task, but potential tetanus from the rickety floors wasn’t on the menu today. knives found amusement in your struggle, if the chittering in front of you meant anything though, in truth, he was rather charmed. such clumsy behaviour almost reminded him of a newborn bunny. face flushed, you finally unclasp your bra and slip off your panties with no more grace than your shorts had been discarded with, before perching yourself on the cabinet knives had dully gestured to.

“is this… is this good?” the words slide past your lips before you let them, sounding too pleading for your liking but knives seemed to enjoy that despite a hum being all he offered in return. his strong chest was quickly in front of your eyes, curse his fast snake body, while his hands found purchase on your legs again. with one palm on each of your knees, he gently eased them open, nearly purring at the sight.

“you’re something of a gem, hm?” his voice was low, hands inching up your thighs with sharp nails leaving a trail of goosebumps. “how very kind of you to welcome me with such a,” the forked tongue of his makes a third appearance, “wonderfully prepared gift? such a lovely homeowner…” though sarcastically sweet in tone, his words did nothing but shoot directly between your legs. “i’ve got a keen nose, little rabbit, are you enjoying being my area of study?” his gaze was hard as he looked at you down his nose and from between long lashes. “your most intimate nodes are crying out ‘yes’.” he presses against your folds to spread them with feather light fingertips, much like one would a dissection. spreading you softly, his head tilts to one side while his eyes seem to slowly drag up and down the weeping slit of yours he's not fully exposed. knives wedges himself fully between both of your legs as to not allow you to close them and his other hand joins in on the fun, prodding softly at your entrance. he seems to revel in the small whimpers you make, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes from a mixture of desperation and humiliation at letting him do such to you so easily.

employing a sort of gentleness and patience you didn't think he had, knives slowly eases in one of his fingers down to the second knuckle before pulling it out with a wet 'schlick' to wrap his mouth around it. the taste seemed to please him based on his own moan and he returned to his previous ministrations, softly thrusting the finger in and out of you. with the hand that had been used to spread you, he smoothly switched to rolling gentle circles over your clit, eyes still fixed firmly on watching the way your body reacts. a second finger accompanies the first in its delicate rock, encouraging more of the sweet sticky essence of you to drool out and across his hands. panting and whining, you buck pathetically into his hands with closed eyes and red bitten lips; you miss the way he slides to his knees. for a man so large he is more than quiet, something you can't match with the harsh suckling on your clit coaxing loud cries from you. his mouth curls the slightest bit with a smug smile and you can feel it past the swirling of his tongue and sharp incisors teasing your skin. briefly, you hope he won't bite. the soft plunging motions of his fingers turns harsh alongside the movements of his mouth. he seems eager to have you unravel on his face and, despite your own tattered pride, you can't stave off the shuddering of the orgasm that washes over in the most intense waves you've ever felt. embarrassingly loud slurps echo around the small shed as knives continues his own motions with glee. it's only when you gently push at his forehead that he shifts backwards and up, allowing you some reprieve from what he had just done. you're breathless, to say the least, having been made to come so shamefully on the handsome mouth and hands of this stranger but somehow you don't feel as though you were the only one who had fun despite his firm acclaims of experimentation.

you're struggling to regain your breath while knives looks you over with thinly veiled lust, you figure teasing him for it wouldn't go well so you restrain despite the thick atmosphere begging for some reprieve. while still gasping for air and shaking the post-orgasm fog from your head, he's pushing you down with his body weight and adjusting the way you lay across the cabinet to his personal preference; legs bent around his waist and hand beside your head. with hazy eyes, you look down to catch the way not one but two thick cocks slide out from the slit they had previously been held in. hanging heavy but curved up slightly, thick arousal is pooling at the tips and you think you can see ridges along the base of each. your jaw is slack as knives lets out another one of those chittery laughs.

"scared, bunny? no need, i'll make it work," his smarmy expression is nearly enough to have you shooting something snide back but he's lining up the tip of the lower cock and sinking himself in faster than you can think. "let go of any premonitions, this will be mutually beneficial."

if you could have any thoughts, they'd be nothing more than slurred curses but with the thickness and impossible length occupying and stretching your insides, you're rendered incapable. he's slow enough to give you some time to adjust but still fast enough that your body can't quite keep up with what he's giving; a pleasurable form of purgatory. knives allows his hands to wander your body, one coming to grip and gather your wrists to now rest above your head while the other fondles your breasts harshly. he's grabbing you in a way that feels inexperienced and almost charming though the harsh penetration is tearing you away from the idea. knives trails his hand from your breasts, to your stomach, and back up to grip your throat as he finally bottoms out inside of your tight heat. the wetness and warmth covering him is seeping out and down his tail to leave a lewd trail of combined juices he briefly admires the shimmer of before he's sliding himself out and roughly back in with a resounding slap. a high and needy sound escapes your throat as the tip of his cock taps your cervix and the rest of it rubs across your walls, eagerly taunting all of what's to come. the hand around your throat compresses your blood flow just enough to have your head feeling like it's full of cotton and your body even more pliant for his use. nails tilt your chin to have you make eye contact with the man currently deep in your guts, a glittering and dangerous grin spread across his face. with your eyes on his, knives begins pounding into you with earnest.

all of the sounds that leave you are high-pitched and warbled with unshed tears borne of the hand around your neck and stretch of your cunt. he's letting out strangled grunts and eager clicks at the grip of your wet pussy trying to milk him dry. his second cock his sliding against your clit and lower stomach with every harsh thrust he gives you, rubbing and pulling pleasurably. all of your nerve endings feel ablaze with the way he's using your body in a way that's filled with determination. his head drops down to make contact with your shoulder, his mouth sliding up your neck to replace his hand and add plentiful marks along the untouched skin; he figures an array of bruises will decorate it better than any necklace. dark indigo and rouge dappling the skin as blood comes to the surface, he's enamoured with how it looks tainting your flesh. both of his hands are now around your hips to hold you still for every pump of his cocks along and into your body, forcing you to take it all in full. you're crying with your back arched and chest forced to the ceiling as he continues his fast pace with teeth grazing your nipples. knives is biting numerous times across your tits, imprints of his fangs left in the wake akin to a path on a trail; he's oddly proud of his work. you're beyond your own body, desperate for him to bring you to a second high of the day, hips trying in vain to undilate against his own but his grip is too firm; his unnaturally strong. tongue flicking at your nipples, one cock deep in your guts, and the other beating against your clit, it's not long before you're babbling useless pleas for him to not stop. through choked sobs and moans, you're falling to pieces with his cock nestled deep inside of you. your brain is blank as lights splatter across your vision, eyes rolled to the back of your head and drool leaking from the corners of your mouth. still, his heavy rutting hasn't ceased. every limb of yours is twitching as sobs move past your lips without permission and your hands slide from his grip to claw uselessly at his back from overstimulation until knives is letting out an otherworldly growl as he sinks to the hilt one final time. you can feel the thick ropes of his seed coat your insides as his body curls around you protectively; a mating instinct maybe. he's grumbling lowly as an impossible amount of his spend leaks in and out of you with each twitch of his shaft.

you're still feeling a touch foggy when he pulls out, globs of shared slick pooling beneath you. knives is assessing your form critically, hands and eyes sliding over every bruise and bite left behind from his own roughness. it's almost sweet, how he seems to care for your well being despite his words claiming otherwise, and you simply allow yourself to enjoy the way he's fussing over you. once satisfied, he nods to himself and moves to scoop you up in his arms despite your small whines of protest but your indignation doesn't last long as he slithers you both over to your home, mumbling something about a shared bath; for purely experimental purposes, of course.

[najia-cooks]

苦菜 / Kucai (Chinese sowthistle stir-fry)

Common sowthistle (Sonchus oleraceus) is a hardy flowering plant in the family Asteraceae (alongside, for example, daisies, sunflowers, and dandelions). It is native to Europe and West Asia, but appears throughout the Americas, East Asia, Australia, and New Zealand. It is a common weed in recently disturbed soil, and sometimes pops up among and competes with cultivated crops.

Sowthistle is eaten as a bitter green in Chinese cuisine. The word "苦菜" (Mandarin Pinyin: kǔcài), from "苦" "kǔ" "bitter" + "菜" "cài" "vegetable" or "greens," is often used to refer to sowthistle—though it may also designate other bitter greens, including garlic chives.

This recipe prepares sowthistle as Chinese bitter greens are generally prepared: blanched in salted water, then fried with ginger and garlic. The sweetness and pungency of the aromatics round out the earthy bitterness of the sowthistle, making a dish that's excellent as a side with soup or rice. Here, I used it to top a fried tofu sandwich with a soy-sesame-ginger sauce.

Recipe under the cut!

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Identifying common sowthistle

Young plants grow from a rosette of waxy leaves with deep triangular lobes. Leaves growing from the stem are alternate (one leaf per node), simple (not divided into leaflets) and pinnatifid (divided, but the divisions do not go all the way to the midrib). Leaves have hairless midribs and clasp the stem at their base.

Stem is hairless and mostly unbranched, except near the apex. Stems terminate in clusters of flowers which are yellow when in bloom. Mature leaves and stems produce a white, milky latex when broken; not toxic, though quite bitter.

Young leaves, top two; mature plants, last three

If the leaf margins are covered in sharp spikes, you may be looking at spiny sowthistle. This plant is also edible, though it may not be worth the trouble to remove the spines to eat the mature leaves. Younger leaves, which generally form towards the center of the rosette, have softer spines and are edible without processing.

Young prickly sowthistle, left; mature prickly sowthistle, right

Common sowthistle may also be confused with common groundsel. Groundsel exudes a clear, not a milky, sap when broken, and its leaves are more deeply lobed. It is more densely branched and its leaves are waxier. Common groundsel is toxic and should not be consumed in large quantities.

Common groundsel

Ingredients:

Large bunch common sowthistle leaves (Sonchus oleraceus), preferably young

1/2-inch chunk (5g), scrubbed and thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced

Neutral oil, to fry

Toasted sesame oil, to top

Salt, to taste

Instructions:

1. Wash leaves thoroughly in a bowl filled with water. Pull leaves out to allow dirt to sink to the bottom. Repeat.

2. Boil leaves in salted water for about 10 minutes, until tender.

3. If desired, soak in cool water for 1-3 hours to remove some of the leaves' bitterness.

4. Heat oil in a wok or frying pan on medium-high. Fry ginger and garlic for 30 seconds, until fragrant. Add leaves and fry a minute or two.

5. Remove from heat and stir in sesame oil. Taste and adjust salt. Add a dash of mirin or rice vinegar to balance the bitterness, if desired.

[wishitweresummer]

Apple Picking

Dream Team Ficlet

Word count: 913

“I swear to god I will kill both of you.”, Dream hissed in the direction of the two giggling menaces. He cursed himself, knowing his blush was undercutting his threatening tone.

“Just get us some apples.”, George grinned and shoved Dream towards one of the trees.

“No! You get them!”.

“You’re an idiot. You know we can’t reach.”, Sapnap said before crossing his arms.

“Are you making fun of us?”.

“Of course not! I ju-“.

“Then get us apples!”, George shoved him again.

The second Dream reached up for a dangling apple, tickling hands were at his sides again.

“Stop!”, he squealed embarrassingly loud. He whipped around and grabbed the offending hands; Sapnap.

“I want the apple!”, he whined, eyes glinting happily at Dream’s state.

“Then stop…ugh!”, Dream looked around and wanted to disappear under the few fleeting glances from people around them.

Their apple basket was empty. Empty. The plan was to go home with apples and bake an apple pie on stream.

“You have to stop so I can get an apple.”, he whispered.

“Sure!”, Sapnap peeped as he stepped back and shook off Dream’s hold. They had been through this about ten times now. George was grinning like a wolf and eyeing him down mischievously. Dream had to hold back a whine.

“George. No.”, he whispered. George only smirked and creeped closer. Dream huffed softly. This was so ridiculous. The problem with George is he never seemed to respond to future threats. He would attack him now, even if it meant his demise later tonight. And Dream was too flustered to shove him or tickle him back right now with people around. “George.”, he warned again.

“What am I supposed to tell chat when we don’t have apples for the stream tonight?”.

“I don’t care, it’s your stream.”.

“Then I’ll tell them the truth.”, George shrugged.

“You’re such an idiot.”, Dream turned around quickly and grabbed for some apples, going for quantity to hopefully get this over quicker. Small hands were stuffed into his armpits before he could get his hands on any and he snapped his arms back down with a loud cry. He burst into giggles as he stumbled back and knocked into George roughly. Dramatically, he fell to the dirt.

That drew a lot more eyes. Sapnap laughed as he helped a giggling George back up to his feet.

“You pushed me!”.

“George, shut up! I didn’t push you!”, Dream whisper-shouted. His face was burning as he tried to ignore the lingering buzzing sensations from George’s rough touch. “You two are driving me crazy!”.

As true as the statement was, he had to fight the smile that threatened to form from how playful his friends were being. It was relentless and annoying…but he loved them.

He turned and went to reach for the apples, but the other two flanked him and he felt the next tickle attack coming.

“Oh my god!”, he pinned his arms to his sides again before turning around. George and Sapnap put their hands behind their backs and tried to look innocent.

He dropped his face in his hands and groaned into them.

“We are never gonna get any apples.”, he said right into the palms of his hands. A few sudden pokes to his sides sent him squeaking and jumping back.

“Guys!”, he smacked away the sneaky hands and stomped his feet. He felt like a kid, brimming with energy and giggles from how stupid his friends were being.

“C’mon…” he muttered, eyeing both his best friends and feeling cornered against the tree. He tilted his head a little in thought and suddenly kicked his leg back into the trunk of it. Nothing happened. There was no fucking way he was lifting his arms again. The other two giggled at his failure.

He eyed George’s small frame and made grabby hands.

“C’mere George, let me lift you up.”.

“No!”, the older stepped back and his eyes widened. The giggles escaping his lips were giddy though, so Dream grabbed for him anyway. George shrieked and fought the large hands enclosing around his waist. “Dream!”. He laughed and squirmed, trying and failing to get down.

“Get the apples, Georgie!”, Dream laughed as he held up the struggling man. They were both on the verge of collapsing with how George was thrashing. Close by, Sapnap giggling hysterically at the scene.

“Is everything okay over here?”, a new voice suddenly interrupted them and George was dropped with a squeak. The three boys struggled to calm their flustered giggles, assuring the concerned worker everything was fine. They had been in their own world and hadn’t realized how much of a scene they were creating.

While George was fixing his clothes and Sapnap was stood there watching the worker walk away, Dream quickly spun around and finally grabbed a bunch of apples from the tree.

“Idiots…”, Dream said quietly and walked between them with the basket of apples.

“Are they good ones?”, George caught up quickly and tried to tilt the basket so he could see them.

“You’re going to get whatever I grabbed!”.

“How many do we even need for a pie! Is this enough!”, Sapnap leaned in from the other side, walking in step with Dream.

“I’ll DoorDash more if we don’t have enough!”, Dream held the basket to his chest protectively as he headed towards the car.

In his head, he was already laying out his plan of attack for when George’s stream was over.

[randomwriteronline]

woe/rejoice. agori (and by extension glatorian) hcs be upon you

Agori exhibit subtle sexual dimorphism differently depending on which tribe they belong to (i.e. lebori males have brighter plumage, fezeri females are larger), while their bone structures are essentially identical. Gaquri are the only tribe able to naturally alter their bodies' production of their estrogen and testosterone equivalents. Actively transitioning and/or intersex individuals of any tribe can present dimorphic traits of one sex, traits of both sexes, muddled traits, or none at all

Their breasts are placed in the pelvic area, like horses, and the nips are the only visible part. To prevent chafing, lower garments have soft reinforcements at hip-height

They have short, nubby tails which have survived across their evolution despite having lost their original size and purpose. their movement is very limited and usually unconscious; since they remain the same length during all stages of life, they appear to "shrink" the more a person grows. children use them to better balance themselves when learning to walk

With the exception of Basari's and Fezeri's, Agori ears are very flexible despite their small size and can lean in almost all directions. Their shape varies across tribes

Their senses aside from touch are generally keener than humans'

Agori clothing tends to prefer function to form and does not have significant differences between masculine and feminine styles, although it wasn't always the case before the Shattering

Together with hugs, kisses and handshakes, each tribe has a unique display of affection or greeting pertaining to the head and/or face: Lebori preen each other, Gaquri rub cheeks together, Koniri gently nip ears, Fezeri butt the top of their heads, Basari scratch each other's nape, Potori shove temples against one another and Tapyri press the other's hand to their forehead. The gesture's intensity is usually toned down when done to someone of a different tribe to avoid discomfort or pain

If an object is in an enclosed space like a house, a vehicle or a box, Agori will point to it with their chins instead of their fingers

Vorox and Zesk still communicate in an extremely simplified version of a strict Basari dialect, although the phonetics had to be heavily changed to adapt to the shape of their mutated mouths. Malum has learned it and is currently the only fully sapient being somewhat fluent in Bara Magna Basari

Other tribes tend not to know Tapyri have hair

Koniri fur keeps warm, but becomes stiff in great quantities; Lebori down feathers are very soft, but struggle to retain heat on their own; Potori wool offers great insulation in most climates, but risks growing mold easily when humidity increases

After they (almost) went extinct, the sturdy carapaces of dead Bara Magna Fezeri were pillaged to make very durable high quality armor. because of this there are no intact pieces or Fezeri remains left, and the few plates that have survived since, no matter how worn or outright broken, are either made into family heirlooms or sold at exhorbitant prices. Sahmad has a large number of them (almost all buried) as he made a habit of targetting and capturing anybody who wore them specifically

Tapyri are unique when it comes to cleaning since their protective mucus naturally catches dirt and other particles for easy removal, meaning they only need to scrub or peel it off. Gaquri, Koniri and Potori take water baths while Basari, Fezeri and Lebori take dust or sand baths

Agori children are addressed with the pronouns ti/tir until they choose their own. its highly unusual for someone to use ti/tir for tir whole life, and the set is often used as a playful jab when a person exhibits childish behavior

Pregnancy is a very taxing endeavour: the process takes around a year and a half, but the parent's body will additionally need two or three years to recover from the strain of the experience as a whole, during which it will be physically unable to produce the necessary material to make another child. sudden spikes in stress or a constant stream of it during pregnancy is almost sure to produce a stillborn, and its very easy for older individuals to simply not have the energy to make it through childbirth once the time comes. this used to not be a problem, since Agori are very long lived and the whole planet was full of them, but the Core War drastically reduced their numbers and the hazardous conditions produced by the Shattering all over the planet made for a very dangerous environment to attempt having a child in, so births became extremely rare in the 100 thousand years before Mata Nui's return. the so called "children of Bara Magna" (which include Gresh and Berix) are few and far between, commonly having significant age gaps from one to the other

A wide number of male MU beings is perceived as feminine or adjacent by Agori, partly due to sexual dimorphism not being A Thing for most species, partly due to voice and countenance: Tahu, for example, is considered to be very lady-like. in his specific case this perception might however be also affected by the fact that he was modeled after Ackar, who used to be much more overtly femme in his youth* (check tags)

this is what ive got so far. peace and love on spherus magna.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

In A Week’s Time - Part 2: Elliott x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Breast worship

You were sweating, your back aching as you hauled a wheelbarrow around the dirt paths on your farm. The damn thing was full once more of melons ripe and ready to be dropped off in the bin by your home for selling, all in great quality as well as quantity. You had already put aside a few for the town, both as gifts and for selling to Pierre so the town could enjoy the fresh produce. You could already see the big check in your mailbox soon for just the melons alone.

You had managed to lug the wheelbarrow to the bin and started to carefully put the melons in one by one until you found yourself scratching at the iron, no melons left inside. You pulled your phone out from your back pocket and noted the time, 10:40. You would have to halt the harvesting process to go down to Pierre's to get more melon seeds, and that would take away a good hour or so. You still had to take care of the animals before night came.

You looked back at the wheelbarrow and shrugged. You could do another round of piling melons into it and dropping them off at the shipping box and you could go down to Pierre's.

With a groan - both from you and the aging wheelbarrow - you had managed to turn it around the shipping box and back down the dirt path you had made with the damned thing, through the large field of blueberries that would be ready to harvest soon and past the small patches of peppers and tomatoes growing on their sticks to the emptying melon fields you had dug up a little over a week ago.

You took out the little vine shears and snipped off the melon from the vibrant green of the stem. Hauling up the dense melon up and lowering it into the cavity of the wheelbarrow, you felt your lips tug down with your stomach.

It wasn't the same without Elliott by your side. He had swore to himself that he would be there to help you harvest and bring items to the shipping bins with you, to go run to Pierre's shops with a few crates of produce to sell and buy more seeds for you to plant (as well as buying you a bouquet of fresh flowers every time he went there). You missed him terribly, you couldn't wait for him to tell you all about his trip, about how many different people he had met over his journey, about the fans and aspiring writers, about the cities. You especially couldn't wait to hear about what he had to say about Zuzu City and how much it had changed since you left a few years ago.

Twelve melons, thirteen melons, fourteen melons...

You barely got any sleep over the week he had been gone, he was going to be returning later tonight. You had thought about completely skipping the luau tomorrow so Elliott could rest up and relax after such a long trip. You spent countless nights staring at his spot on the bed, his side completely cold and absent of any life. Your cat had even missed Elliott, pawing at his pillow, sitting at the counter where Elliott normally leaned on in the morning to drink his coffee and scratch at the kitty's head, sleep under Elliott's writing chair or nudge the pen cup that hadn't been used all week.

But he was coming back today!

At that thought, a fire was set in your gut, your body spiking up in energy and excitement as you loaded more melons onto the wheelbarrow.

Twenty-six melons, twenty-seven melons, twenty-eight melons.

You had eventually gotten to the maximum of fifty-five melons, all "gold star quality according to Pierre." You had gripped the old handles, leather cracked and peeling apart (you really needed to order a new wheelbarrow, maybe even a small tractor for the farm now that you started to think about it. You hauled the wheelbarrow to the dirt path between the crops and pushed, your arms on fire for a spilt second before giving in to the constant strain of everyday farming. Your feet dug into the dirt, the wheels cutting through the soaked earth as you pushed harder and faster until you finally cleared the wall of blueberry plants to right in front of your house. You turned around and dragged the wheelbarrow behind you, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand which you just realized had dirt on it, you came to a stop right in front of the shipping bin that was already starting to look packed. You hauled open the top of the bin and started to place every melon inside, being careful not to damage any of the produce.

As you were about halfway done with the contents inside of the wheelbarrow, you had stopped. Your body halted to a complete stop, you were frozen in place. Your instincts built up from fighting in the mines had kicked in.

Someone, or something, was watching you.

You cursed to yourself that you had left your sword on the porch, propped up with your fishing pole, milk bucket and shears.

Slowly, you turned your head towards the greenhouse and slowly around back towards the barn and coop to the south, but found nothing suspicious. What could be out this early? No slimes, no shadow people, no insects or bats flying about. Maybe just some big bug?

You turned the other way towards the entrance of your farm, but you stopped at the gates.

There was a figure down the road, coming to you from the bus stop.

A figure that looked so familiar.

Hope shot right through you, excitement filled every pore in your body as you dropped the wheelbarrow and raced towards the gates.

You launched yourself at the gates and unclocked them just as he settled his luggage on the ground.

"Hello, my radiance," he purred. A fresh bouquet of gladiolus flowers and roses, bright and firey like the season of summer, was held in his hands, outstretched towards you. "I've missed you terribly."

You pulled at the farm's gate and stilled at the open space. You both were staring at each other, no sure what to do or what to say or how to say it. You both stared at each other, dumb-founded smiles on your faces. You were only brought out of it by your kitty brushing up against your legs, meowing cutely at you as it trotted over to Elliott to greet him the same way, purring as its tail curled around his slender legs.

You instinctively reached out for his luggage that trailed behind him, maybe even for the carry-on bag slung over his shoulders, but Elliott didn't allow you, instead, plopping the bouquet of fresh flowers in your hands, tutting you about overworking yourself as he walked towards the house. The cat followed him on his heels, a bounce in its step. You followed them both to the farmhouse and had even opened the door for Elliott had he lugged his bag up the few stairs.

"How has the farm been, dearest?" he asked, slipping the carry-on bag off of his shoulders and placing it on the floor.

"A wreck without you," you exhaled, walking into the open kitchen and placing the bouquet of flowers on the countertop.

You had dug through the cabinets under the counters for the glass vase you had purchased on a whim upon moving here years ago. It was something to spruce up the once old and cramped farmhouse but you ended up never using it until you and Elliott started dating. He would buy you flowers every time you both had a date.

"Is that so?"

"Mhm. Couldn't sleep at all without you," you hummed as you filled the vase with water. "Missed you terribly, waited by the mailbox until the mail came. I still have all of your letters and poems you sent me on my end table. I would read them every night before trying to get some sleep."

You slid the flowers into the icy cold water.

You felt Elliott's lanky hands settle on your hips, fingers gripping your shirt to pull you back so his chest and stomach were flush against your back. He leaned his head down and hummed in your ear, nosing away the locks of hair that had flung themselves out of the ponytail you had tied earlier.

"I could barely sleep either. Countless nights spent awake, looking over pictures of you, dreaming of your beautiful voice, wanting your soft lips against my own, hands interlocked. I've missed your wonderous face so, I dreamed only of it, of your lovely smile, harmonious laughter."

He dipped his head down to kiss at your neck softly, humming as you exhaled.

"Elliott," you crooned.

"Ah ah, we still have work to do. I assume you still have melons to prep for selling? Seeds to buy and sow?"

"Sadly," you sighed, already dreading having to replant dozens of spots of melons.

You still needed to haul back maybe another three or four more wheelbarrows full of the damned things.

"Why don't you go get the seeds from Pierre's? I'll tend to the harvest and prep the land while you're gone. You need a break, my love, you've been hunched over all day."

"What about you?" You turned to face him in his hold, your back now pressed against the lip of the counter and your chest against his. "You've been out on the road for a week and then some, dealing with people, cities. The drive back must've been awfully long."

"I'll be fine, my love. I've been itching to get back at the routine. We'll rest when we're done."

"Are you saying you won't want to attend the luau tomorrow?"

"We can, it would just mean we can't," he hesitated slightly, "have as much excitement tonight."

At his suggestion, you threw up your brows in surprise. A blush had smattered your cheeks with blazing heat.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed, but, ah, those plans would have to wait, yes?" He placed another gentle kiss on you, this time on your lips. "Let us run along, now. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can have our share of fun."

With sweaty clothes now a sloppy pile at the bottom of the laundry basket and hair fluffy and dry, you stood in front of the mirror sitting on top of your long dresser. You had a dollop of cold, creamy moisturizer on the tips of your fingers, slowly applying it to the length of both arms and what was left had been smothered onto your neck and upper chest. Massaging it in, you saw Elliott creep up behind you in the mirror in front of you. Your husband wrapped his arms around the curves of your waist, hands clasping against your belly button, dragging you closer to him so your nude back was against his naked front. He hummed in your ear, placing his nose against the crooks of your neck, pressing light kissing down the curve to your shoulder with a soft hum.

"Hello Elliott," you giggled, capping the lotion bottle.

"Hello (Y/n)," he murmured in your ear. "You look lovely in that top."

You glanced at yourselves in the mirror, an amused smirk plastered itself on your lips. You were not wearing a top, only a simple black bra. Black leggings sat covering your lace underwear, you were still barefoot.

"I'm not wearing a top Elliott. Only a bra."

"And it's quite ravishing on you if I must say." He leaned even closer to your ear, nipping at your earlobe. "And I love how I know what lies beneath its coverage."

He grasped at the silky pads of your bra and squeezed gently. A slight chill ran up your spine, a dainty smile on your lips now.

He always knew what to say to make you smile and blush like you were still a schoolgirl.

"You know, Elliott," you hummed - Elliott had busied himself with going back to kiss at your shoulder and the side of your neck - "we could go down to the saloon? To celebrate you being back in Pelican Town? My treat, yeah?"

"You spoil me, my starlight."

"Only if you want to. I don't know how you're feeling, but I'm in the mood for Gus' new shipment of alcohol from Grampleton. Caroline told me the melon wine is really good when I went to go for seeds at Pierre's. And Kent said he had a new beer in stock for people to try out. He said he liked it a lot."

"That wine sounds delicious, but not as delicious as you."

His hands lightly covering your belly button pushed into your stomach, pulling you closer to him. He swung you around to face him, your breasts pressed against his chest and he nudged you towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the soft mattress. Your butt had hit the soft blankets, surrounded by the plush flannel throws that had not been folded yet and would most likely not be folded until tomorrow.

Elliott had pursued, however, coming closer and closer until your back was flush against the flat surface of the bed. He hovered over you, one knee between you parted legs and the other was outstretched with his foot against the floor to stabilize himself as to not fall on you.

His hair was tucked behind his ears, but still hung out just a bit over his shoulders. His gaze was dreamy, warm, loveable, filling you with the desire for his care and touch.

He had slowly dipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours. A sweet, simple kiss was what it looked like on the surface, but Elliott's level of romance and his sway with words and emotions made it feel like so much more than what it was. He pulled away to show a faint blush over his tanned cheeks, showing off the light freckles on his nose just a bit more than usual.

You were left longing for another kiss, a soft whine leaving your slightly parted lips. You wanted more, you craved more. More kisses from him, more love from him.

Sensing your desire and growing need for him, Elliott had leaned down once more and reconnected your lips into an even more passionate kiss. Your chest pushed out just a touch at the kiss, a soft intake through your nose. Elliott's hands came up to wrap themselves around your wrists. Squeezing gently, just enough to have your fingers flexing, he pushed harder into the kiss.

Lips melded together, saliva had been swapped, noses brushing against one another with each connected kiss. You purred into the kiss, gasping as Elliott's sharp teeth had sunk into your bottom lip just a bit, enough to cause a sharp little sting, not biting down hard enough to draw blood. Your bare toes curled at the affection, your breathing because somewhat labored, Elliott had taken his lips away from yours to kiss at the exposed skin of your neck. Not satisfied with how much room he had to work with, he had let go of one of your hands to snag gently at your hair to tug at your locks just enough to pull the crown of your skull back and reveal more of your precious throat to him. Cool kisses pressed against heated skin, soft groans from your husband were blowing against the columns of your tensed throat. His teeth skimmed over the sensitive skin of your bobbing throat, threatening to take a bite of you. Your breath hitched when he nipped at you.

His hands released your hair and wrist for a brief moment, opting to snag at your bra and unhook it adeptly, tossing it to the side, allowing it lay rumpled on the pillows.

With your bare breasts exposed, Elliott cupped both of them with his lanky hands, agile fingers wrapping around the rosebuds of your nipples. Fingertips gently pressed together, squeezing your nipples ever so slightly. A small spike of pain erupted from both, a small cry left your swollen lips, your head pressing against the flannel sheets and throws cushioning your head and body. Elliott ducked his head down, lips immediately going to your right breast. He at first pressed light kisses around the curve of your breast before he had started to nip at the sensitive skin. He was still massaging your breasts, fingers still pinching at your nipples as your lower back arched off of the bed. You could feel his erection contained by his pants rub up against your knees and thighs.

Elliott growled lightly against your skin, humming in delight as you writhed underneath him. Soft pleas for him to continue escaped from your lips to which he gave in, you could feel his growing smirk ghost against your breasts.

Once he had deemed your right breast to be marked up enough with marks, he had moved to the left. Kissing, sucking, nipping, gently sinking his teeth in to not draw blood but leave a mark. He did it all until it had matched your right one, all while still playing with your sensitive nipples and massaging your aching breasts.

It felt amazing how he spoiled you with massages and touches and kisses. Like a gift from Yoba themself.

Elliott had trailed a kiss from between your breasts down to your stomach. He had removed his grasping hands from your breasts back to your wrists to pin them back onto the bed just as he had started to give love to your lower torso. Every scar was kissed lightly, lips brushing over them lightly like feathers. Every light and dark scar got love from him. The bandages you had placed not too long ago from a trip in the mines had got even lighter affection, but not any less. He murmured his apologies against them, about how you had gotten hurt without him there to aide you. He even kissed where he remembered you having some scars, both from your rambunctious past and from your times in the mines and on the farm. Like the one you had on your hip where the scythe had cut you open just a bit. The scar had faded thanks to Maru's tips on aftercare, but Elliott still remembered seeing the scar when you two were dating. The fact that he remembered and still gave tender love to the area was sweet.

You whined softly, missing his lips on yours.

As if reading he had been reading your mind, he had slowly made his way back up your center, between your breasts, up the columns of your neck back to your lips. As if starved himself, he had kissed you with a fiery passion, more than he had before. Growling into the cavity of your mouth, you had whimpered once more at the playful nipping at your lower lip.

Your lips acted in one movement, melding together like molten metals, working perfectly in harmony. Kisses with Elliott were never dull, love with Elliott was never bland. He was always full of a passionate energy that never stopped. He groaned again into your mouth, feeling your knees brush up against the erection pressing against the zipper of his trousers. You were teasing him, but you knew you would wait until tomorrow to do anything else. After all, you couldn't go limping around the luau tomorrow, especially in front of the governor. And you knew, you knew damn well, that Elliott would be standing there, smirking like a cheeky twat knowing full and well why you were limping as you would have to falsely explain how you must have hurt yourself farming (though, it would only fool a few of the residents as the rest would know instantly what had happened if they were to glance at the marks on your neck). You just had to not stir that pot, and you would get to enjoy the luau without limping everywhere with your legs tucked under you as to not fall over.

Elliott had pulled away for a brief moment, looking down at you from the curtains of thick auburn hair. Green eyes had glazed over, hazy but alert to your being below him. Sweat had covered his neck and bare chest, deliciously highlighting his body. A blush had fired up your cheeks, you had the lewd thought of tasting him just as he had tasted you, kissing and lightly lapping at his body. Just the thought had you drooling underneath him.

"Do you still want to continue? We may miss out on that wine Caroline had told you about," Elliott murmured above you.

"We can continue this afterwards," you hummed

[eccentric-nucleus]

i read this the other day and it made me think about minecraft mods

it does kind of strike me how many of the Traditional Rationalist Singularity Things are fundamentally... single-player? not a lot of 'you will be able to love and be loved' happening. a lot of 'you will be able to have a big mansion with sexy servants'. even the bit about 'appreciating art' is about appreciating an endless stream of flawless ai art, in much the same tone as the bit about being able to appreciate all the physics the ais will figure out. art, physics, same thing, right

so there was this minecraft mod called 'equivalent exchange' that assigned every item in the game a numerical value. dirt was 1 point. diamonds were 8192 points. iron was 256 points. sugarcane was 8 points. and so on. and the two big things you could do is there was an 'alchemy tablet' that would record stuff you put in it and maintain a points buffer and let you take out any item you had the points to create. so, yes, you could turn one diamond into 4 gold or 16 iron or whatever. equivalent exchange! the other thing was a solar reactor that would just constantly give you points. so once you had found any one thing in the world, you could make infinite copies of it, given enough points.

this mod was somewhat contentious. some people loved it! others did not love it. minecraft is kind of a game that trades on the specific. items aren't fungible. there are sugarcane farms and pumpkin farms and iron farms and mob farms etc, and different kinds of items require different infrastructures to obtain in large quantities. equivalent exchange got rid of all that; suddenly every item is fungible!

you can look at various minecraft mods and be like, okay, is this a mod about giving you a solution block, or is this a mod about giving you a flexible framework to figure out your own solutions? equivalent exchange is pretty much pure 'solution block', but stuff like minefactory reloaded or mekanism is also pretty heavy on the solution block: this block makes cobblestone. this block makes ice. this block makes lava. meanwhile, mods like botania or create are more about giving you blocks that do very broad interactions ('this block places another block in the world', 'this block moves around other blocks', 'this block breaks other blocks') and expects you to make your own rube goldberg machine that automatically manufactures stuff or w/e. because some people find the challenge and complexity of that more satisfying than just being able to press a button to get infinite power. something something there are many lessons we could learn from elf-only inn

anyway until your local transhumanist can design a minecraft mod that people would like to play i don't think i'd trust their ai to design a utopia people actually want to exist in

[asma-al-husna]

Allah’s name Al-Ghafoor— The Forgiving, The Exceedingly and Perfectly Forgiving— occurs 91 times in the Quran. He is the One whose forgiveness manifests both quality and quantity. Al-Ghafoor is the One Who forgives, regardless of how large the sin is, and He forgives over and over again!

The Perfect Forgiver and Pardoner, the One Who Covers and Protects

Ghafoor comes from the root ghayn-faa-raa, which points to three main meanings. The first meaning is to cover, veil, conceal, and hide. The second meaning is to pardon, to forgive, and to set aright. And the third meaning is to cover a thing to protect it (from dirt).

This root appears 234 times in the Quran in nine derived forms. Examples of these forms are yaghfiru (He forgives, will forgive), wa-is’taghfir (and ask forgiveness), and maghfiratun (forgiveness).

Linguistically, both ghafoor and ghaffaar refer to the concept of maghfirah. Al-Ghaffaar refers to the fact that Allah forgives repeatedly (the quantity) whereas the name Al-Ghafoor points to the extent of His forgiveness (the quality). Allah’s name Al-Ghafoor does not just mean that He forgives us; He also protects and shields us from the consequences of our own actions. He does maghfirah— He covers our sins while being fully aware of what they are. His perfect forgiveness is truly a sign of His ultimate mercy for us!

Al-Ghafoor Himself says: Inform My servants that it is I who am the Forgiving, the Merciful [Quran, 15:49] . . . He causes it to reach whom He wills of His servants. And He is the Forgiving, the Merciful. [Quran, 10:107] . . . He said, I will ask forgiveness for you from my Lord. Indeed, it is He who is the Forgiving, the Merciful. [Quran, 12:98]

A Beautiful Combination: Al-Ghafoor and Ar-Raheem

In the Arabic language, for example in the name Ar-Raheem, the yaa indicates the continuity of Allah’s mercy. The name ﺍﻟﻐﻔﻮﺭ (Al-Ghafoor) on the other hand does not mean that He is always or forever forgiving, because then there would be no Hellfire. The waw in Al-Ghafoor shows us that Allah is exceedingly forgiving; He forgives beyond what any of us can expect.

One of the most common pairs is Allah’s name Al-Ghafoor combined with Ar-Raheem, which is repeated 72 times in the Quran, demonstrating that He covers these sins because He is so merciful to us.

An example of this beautiful combination is in one of the most hope-giving, heart-comforting ayaat in the Quran. Al-Ghafoor Himself says: Say, O My servants who have transgressed against themselves [by sinning], do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins. Indeed, it is He who is the Forgiving, the Merciful. [Quran 39:53]

Instead of saying: O, you sinners! look at how gently Al-Ghafoor addresses us by saying yaa eebaadee, O my servants who have transgressed against themselves. Alhamdulillah; we have a Lord who is intensely forgiving and merciful to us.

How Can You Live by This Name?

1. Call upon Al-Ghafoor.

Call upon Al-Ghafoor when you do wrong to others or even to yourself, no matter how big or small the sin is. You can start your dua’ with this beautiful name. Always ask Him to do maghfirah on you (to cover up and forgive your bad deeds) and never give up asking. At the same time, never think of how big or little a sin is— think about the greatness of the One you are disobeying.

2. Never despair.

A characteristic of a true believer is that he or she never despairs. We don’t despair in the help of Allah ‘azza wa jall and we don’t despair in His mercy and forgiveness. This means that whenever we commit a bad deed– and because we are humans, we will sin– we don’t let it get us down but rather fight back by turning to Al-Ghafoor straight away and following up our sin with a good deed.

3. Train yourself to be forgiving.

Think of the forgiveness of Al-Ghafoor and be inspired to adopt a habit of being forgiving in your daily life. Always try to go to sleep with a heart clean of grudges. Hamdun al-Qassar, one of the great early Muslims, said: If a friend among your friends errs, make seventy excuses for them. If your hearts are unable to do this, then know that the shortcoming is in your own selves. [Bayhaqee] Always give others the benefit of the doubt, making excuses for them and never hunting for others’ mistakes.

4. Cover the faults of others.

Abu Hurairah, may Allah be pleased with him, reported: The Prophet sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) said, Allah will cover up on the Day of Resurrection the defects (faults) of the one who covers up the faults of the others in this world [Muslim]. You know what Allah Al-Ghafoor will give you for covering up the faults and shortcomings of others in this world? He loves this quality so much that He’ll forgive your sins and not call you to account for your sins. If at all He will do so, He will not do it publicly so that you’re not embarrassed before others.

5. Don’t expose yourself.

The Prophet sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam said: Every one of my followers will be forgiven except those who expose (openly) their wrongdoings. An example of this is that of a man who commits a sin at night which Allah has covered for him, and in the morning, he would say (to people): I committed such and such sin last night, while Allah had kept it a secret. During the night Allah has covered it up but in the morning he tears up the cover provided by Allah Himself. [Al-Bukharee and Muslim]

When you commit a bad deed, do you feel ashamed? We should never like to express our sins and sin openly. You often see that people are even bragging about their sins, like being with women (or men), going out and dressing immodestly and gossiping about others. Imagine you tell others about your bad deeds, and they feel inspired to do it too. Never talk to others about your sins.

O Allah, Al-Ghafoor, we know that You are the most forgiving. No matter the size and amount of our sins, we call on You to forgive our sins, hide our faults from others, and protect us from the effects of our bad deeds in this life and the next, to support us in never despairing of Your mercy, and aid us in forgiving others, ameen!

[goldenfreddys]

september '04, cont.—hangin' with the unloved kids

When Nadia arrived, the front entrance of Freddy’s was locked, and there was still no word from Jeremy. She peered through the glass, scanning the main party room for clues. There was the movement of a door swinging shut as a figure walked into a fenced off play area at one end, though she didn’t catch a good look. She squinted, then walked back to her car.

There were no other cars in the parking lot. Nadia opened the trunk, briefly considered smashing the entrance open with her tire iron. Bad idea, given there was a camera out front and it would draw attention. Kneeling out in the open to pick the lock was out of the question, too. She grabbed her backpack and hefted it over her shoulder, then locked the trunk.

For the past few weeks, she’d been working at a hardware store in the area, processing orders and moving stock around in the warehouse. She remembered a coworker complaining about having to prepare a big order of various machinery, screws, brackets, clamps and wiring for Fazbear Ent. which were listed in very specific quantities. Naturally, this meant the building had some sort of docking area to receive the supplies.

She yawned, pulling her hood up as she made her way to the back end of the pizzeria. Her dusty converse crunched against the gravel driveway that led around to small bay door. To her relief, there was only one security camera back there, which was too caked in dirt to function. There was also a regular single-person entrance before the corner with an “authorized personal only” sign above it.

A laminated piece of hot pink paper written in comic sans read: Pinpad broken. Key in the mailbox. DO NOT misplace it. Thanks, Sean.

As promised, there was a key in the box beside the door. Nadia let herself in, then tucked it in her pocket. As expected, it led into a storage garage, which had doors into, according to the scuffed plaques, a kitchen and a parts & service room. There was a corkboard beside the kitchen door, with more printed notices from ‘Sean’ ranging from reminders that smoking must be confined to the designated area and away from view of clientele, to warnings about certain employees failing to properly record their break time, to legal disclaimers and safety procedures.

Cautiously, Nadia tried the door to the kitchen. It was definitely locked. She then moved to the parts & service entrance. The handle seized partway, but opened with a bit of applied force.

How spooky, she mused. A couple badly damaged animatronics were slumped around the room, which was cluttered with various robotic parts and costume pieces. There was a tangible sense of impending doom fluttering around in her chest. She imagined her friends at the movies, watching her as the protagonist of some annual slasher reboot, saying “Boo, bitch! Why is she doing that?”

Nadia started humming to herself, nervously, as she crept through the room.

“He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it anymore obvious?” she sang under her breath, “He was depressed, she was insane- what more can I say?”

She reached the other side of the room without incident, eyeing the broken down robots as she slipped out. It was hard to shrug off the fear that something really bad had happened to Jeremy. She chewed on her hoodie string as she continued across the party room, towards the area she saw the figure. The checkered tile seemed familiar, somehow. Vague memories of Ms. Fitzgerald’s family photos came to mind. This was Jeremy’s hometown, he'd told her. That he always thought about maybe moving back after graduating, but never had the nerve to consider it for real.

Suddenly, a large gift box by the prize counter jostled. Nadia froze, staring at it. The lid opened, slowly, and a marionette peeked its painted face out. It stared back at her for a moment, before beckoning her over and disappearing back inside the box. She glanced around, then cautiously approached the box. The puppet emerged, again, and held out a checkered, holographic pink slap bracelet.

“For me?” Nadia asked, smiling despite herself.

The puppet nodded, carefully snapping it around her wrist. Nadia struck a goofy pose to flaunt her new accessory.

“Why, thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

The puppet turned its head to the play area. There was a small clatter from the dark, then the sound of screws rolling across the floor. Nadia walked closer to the sound, gripping the shoulder strap of her bag. There was someone in there, trying to gather the screws back up. She strained to get a better look.

The figure froze for a moment, then scrambled to their feet and whipped around. Their eyes caught the light like freshly minted dimes— Nadia was suddenly unsure if it was a person at all. She took a step back. The figure lunged forward, catching against the wall just short of where she stood. They flicked a switch.

Kid’s Cove lit up with warm, fluorescent light.

Not Jeremy, Nadia realized, but uncannily similar. She let a sharp breath out and let her shoulders fall. The girl had the same brown, freckled skin and dark curly hair, though hers was seemingly tied into a loose ponytail. She briefly imagined an underpaid cartoonist pasting big eyelashes on her boyfriend before calling it a day.

“Um, miss? We’re not open until nine.” the girl’s face was expressionless, though she was evidently startled.

Nadia decided to take things one problem at a time, admitting, “I was supposed to pick someone up, but I can’t find him, so…”

“So you… Broke in?”

“I think it’s more like spontaneous urban exploration, but yeah.”

She smiled approvingly, “Okay, metal. You can call me Chucky, I work in maintenance. Your name?”

Behind her, a tangled mess of metal limbs and animatronic pieces jostled, sending a few more screws from the spilled pile on the floor rolling away.

“Nadia… Uh, what’s over there?”

Chucky turned and walked back to the tangled animatronic heap. She swept the screws away with her hand and kneeled down next to it, “Toy Foxy, captain of Kid’s Cove.”

A fuzzy off-white snout flopped across Chucky’s lap with a creak. She gave it a pat, before turning her head to stare at Nadia.

“But her enemies call her… The Mangle.” She stated, dourly, fluttering her fingers for dramatic effect.

“... Somehow, the tots here are really good at disassembling him while we’re not looking, but my supervisor said he doesn’t want me wasting time on it, anymore. So, I like to come in early and see what I can do before opening time- just, y’know… Making sure he’s mobile and there’s no sharp edges poking out, anywhere… What was the name of the employee you're looking for?”

“Jeremy.”

“Journey Fokker, Catering…? No, that's not right… You mean Jeremiah Fitzgerald, overnight security!”

Nadia hummed in agreement.

“Right. Mike said he was giving him a ride, earlier. Had a rough shift, or something… He’s daytime security, but he's been sitting in overnight to make sure the rookie has everything down.”

“So Mike drove him home?” Nadia asked.

“Probably. He's been bitching up-and-down about the guy for days, but it's just tough love.”

Chucky got to her feet and smiled fondly, hitting Nadia with a weird sense of deja vu. Her brow furrowed as she rooted around in her head, looking for what she was reminded of. Maybe it was the angle, the lighting, or the position of the name tag on her jumpsuit.

A little tiny Ghostbuster on the front lawn, dated October ‘88. Charlotte and her brother, ready to trick-or-treat.

“This is a crazy question, but like… Did you ever have a twin brother? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” Chucky’s poker face returned, “... Why?”

[heresiae]

popular opinion: in medieval times (1016 years btw) they barely washed, they used to eat the same five things every day, they were generally miserable, died very early and didn't have any kind of serious medicine. they used religion as witchcraft and they were technology stuck. also, INQUISITION.

reality:

they washed, quite regularly, like any other worker in the country. not only that, they knew there was a correlation between dirt and infections. warriors used to wash themselves and their clothes thoroughly before a battle, because they knew wounds would have a less likely chance to become infected if they didn't come into contact with dirt (they actually boiled their linens).

Europe have always had its large variety of vegetables, we just stopped eating them / grow them / because after the 1400 some of the imported seeds were easier to farm in large quantities in various climates (but we lost most of their knowledge after the 50s). we always had lots of herbs so food did have taste.

they were not miserable, they were simply living. they had a decent work/life balance but it's not like the Roman Empire crumbled and everything become very sad (like, no holidays, free time, food and shelter. you have to remember that the nuclear family is a very young concept. people lived in large numbers, extended families etc. you were never alone and you shared responsibilities and all). they were still regular people with regular lives and regular problems (and honestly, can you look at our world today and saying we don't have to worry about was, famine, drought and pestilence?).

yeah the life expectancy was not the one of today but it wasn't that uncommon to reach 50 o 60. it depended a lot of your job, luck, class, care of yourself, etc.

they did had medicine. not the one of today but you know all those "modern" bio remedies based all on plants etc? yeah, they're old. very old and they could cure some common stuff and hard stuff (I should find that link of a medicine book that there was only one copy of it in England and had the only recipe for curing an eye disease that it's still tricky today).

yeah. no. yes, they were religious in a different way that we are today because religion kind of permeate every aspect of their life. you have to remember that theater was not allowed, but religious reenactment were and you can betcha they went full drama on them (it's actually how the theater got to be reborn). so it was like the cinema of today. they did not fall on their knees praying for God or the Saints to save them at any occasion, they put work towards fixing their problem. not very different than today.

guys, you seriously believe that in 1016 years, with scholars freely running through the lands of Europe (they used to get free passage everywhere), books being copied and shared, big fairs happening regularly with people from near and far countries participating, that there wasn't even a single tiny tiny technological improvement? I'll leave you the wikipedia article for you to read in your own time

guys, if Galileo taught us anything is how they were not so ready to burn people at the first sign of heresy. "heretics" got several warnings and occasions to abjure whatever they were doing and killing them was the last extreme solution (like, refusing to stop following your own cult, preaching to the masses, fortifying your village to resist the besiege from the Church army, etc...). the Spanish inquisition was another thing and it was after the medieval millennium.

I'm not saying it was a peachy period, I'm just saying it was a period and not the worse by a long shot.

[morgana-ren]

Do you have any tips on increasing word counts in fics?? Or is it just something that develops overtime? Thank you!!

So, for me, my wordcount comes from two different sources:

1: My erroneous belief growing up that the average chapter of a FF was around 7.5k words.

2: My overly flowery, pretentious purple prose.

I have a massive problem with going on for too long as opposed to not long enough. You know that writing advice that will tell you not to get too up your own ass with the details? Yeah, I do the opposite of that. I'll go on for eight years about how the rosy-wood sheen of a desk and by the time I've finished jerking my own writing brain off, no one is interested in the story anymore.

My advice to you would be don't worry about length. It's not quantity-- it's quality that matters. I've seen 2k stories that hit hard over 50k ones that just... drag. I would argue that length doesn't matter in the long run as long as you're getting across your point effectively, efficiently, and emotionally.

The only reason a fic should be incredibly long is if there is genuinely that much information to convey. As writers, and especially neurodivergent writers, sometimes we get a little carried away. A common mistake is people getting so caught up in the details that they forget to tell a fucking story. An obsession with word count really contributes to that in my opinion, because if it's not needed, it becomes invasive filler nonsense, and believe it or not, people can tell.

If the line doesn't fit, isn't needed, doesn't help, or isn't useful, cut it. Trim it like a hedge. Sculp a good story from the dirt with blooming aspects, not dead leaves and rotting twigs. Descriptions can be great, but they can also be a fuckin' anchor weight yanking your story down into the depths.

Think: Is it important to the perspective? Is it something the character would notice, subconsciously or not? Does it contribute in one way or the other to the story or the environment? Don't get me wrong, there are amazing authors who write the most useless shit (Victor Hugo is famous for writing like 8 pages of description about characters that literally don't matter) but when you're grasping the basics, it's best to try to keep it simple.

Another piece of general advice I can give you is to emulate the greats. Read FF authors that you love and adore, figure out what about their style that it is that you admire so greatly, and try to blossom your own style from it. Something about it deeply appeals to you, so figure out what and why!

If you're taking commissions and they want a specific word count and you're having trouble reaching it, there's a few reasons that could be. Maybe the idea just doesn't speak to you, or maybe you skipped over some detailing that you could have gone into. Re-read it outloud. Are the emotions being properly conveyed? Picture yourself in their shoes. What would you notice?

For example, say you have a character that is crying, and you have written them crying. What else about crying makes it hit home? The large, intangible lump wedged in the throat that makes it hard to swallow. The way your nose gets runny, especially when you look down and it's humiliating in front of another human. The way it blurs your vision and clumps your lashes together. That horrible, aching rake of razored claws down the inside of your chest that makes your body almost literally collapse on itself like a singularity. Being unable to breathe between heaving sobs and fighting for breath over your body's need to just completely break down. Maybe the character is prideful and spends a good two paragraphs trying to hide it. (These are bad deliberately, as you take them, fine-tune them, and then place them properly. Just write something general at first.)

Think about what descriptions really hit what it is that you're trying to sell. Tend to the environment around the characters to play positively into the story. Sneaking metaphors for whatever it is that's happening to them occasionally works well, but can be rough to pull off (say, leaky pipes dripping incessantly driving the character mad even though it's barely audible when they're remarkably stressed over a billion things and it's a breaking point. Drip. drip. drip. into a puddle that pools on the floor one measly drip at a time.)

I'm no professional, but these are just things I've picked up over just talking too fucking much and writing things that I am interested in, and it kills me every time I cut some useless bullshit from my stories because I like the way they sound even though I know it's just filler or even nonsense to the readers.

[rogerrrroger]

You [points at you]

You're very cool, I love your TF2 Dragon AU- can you share some fun facts about the AU?

Me 😳

Ok ok ok so

There’s a lot of things about spy that I didn’t mention on the reference post. I was considering making him use a cloaking device like normal but it would be so much cooler if he just had that power, so spy can become invisible by appearing to dissipate into smoke. And, another thing, the reason why he has none of the normal merc gear on his body is because his weapons are his teeth and his tail. It’s not very noticeable, but his tail is sharp and can be used to stab people in the back in place of his knife, because it would be hard to use a butterfly knife with those hands. And his teeth, when he opens his mouth, are long and pointed like a vampire and are very venomous. It’s where he gets the nickname ‘snake’ from :>

Spy also passed his blue tone down to scout, but not his venom. Scout, spy and medic are all bipedal because I feel like spy and medic would rely on their hands a lot and being very precise, while scout is among the smallest and fastest so it would make sense for him to be bipedal. (I’m really wanting to draw scouts ma now I’m thinking of it)

It took me a bit to puzzle out the value of double jumping if every dragon (almost) can fly, so I’ve made it so that scouts double jumps are more of a speed boost. Like, he flaps his wings to get extremely fast for a bit. Scouts legs are also modelled after the dinosaur gallimimus, which has very short calves and thighs but long feet to lend to speed and agility.

It’s obvious, but sniper, soldier and medic are all bird-based. Because how could they not be. Sniper’s back legs are also those of a dingo and his bushman nature would lend to his patterns and colours being mainly for camouflage in the Australian landscape, so red dirt and brown. Dragon sniper uses his bow a lot more than the gun, as it works better while he’s flying. Soldier has very powerful wings that he uses to fly higher and at faster speeds than others. Medic has a very high endurance and often hovers behind others. Also, medic’s ubercharge briefly replaces the torn wing on heavy so that heavy can fly for the duration.

Fire breathers: Scout (sharp, uncontrolled bursts of fire), engineer (extremely hot flame, can produce magma), pyro (alllll the fire. So much fire in very large quantities)

None breathers: Medic (just sharp teeth but no venom), spy (potent venom), demoman (however, demo can breathe underwater) soldier (mouth’s just for yelling) and sniper (fire danger in the bush)

Misc: Heavy (breathes an icy vapour, which can shoot small ice crystals to harm enemies or just freeze them on the spot)

OMG IM SO SORRY MY DEMONS TOOK OVER AND I WROTE A FUCKIN PARAGRAPH

[psycheetamore]

Choosing to follow destiny

Chapter 9 - Improvise, adapt, overcome

Pre notes with this chapter: Feyd-Rautha has been in reactive mode most of the time. Let's give him a more active role, doing what he does best: hunting. First published on AO3

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, the typical Feyd tags (smut, violance, non-con/rape etc), imaginary suicide, see for full tags: chapter 1 - the author regrets nothing

Word count: 2k

Link to previous chapter

+++

Feyd-Rautha decided he needed to set a trap. He needed to find Paul Atreides. He also wanted to find the person that was starting to occupy part of his brain.

By now they would be expecting him to pop up at their raids, so taking that route no longer was an option. He needed to find a way how he could surprise them. Meet them at their place where they laid their heads to rest before and after their attacks. He wanted to do to them what they had done upon him.

He realised their stings followed his crawlers. They would position themselves at the locations where his machines were planned to go. They fled by foot, showing that they could not go for away.

His guards never made a priority to follow them. Rather, their priorities were with securing the harvesters and the spice already collected. He would change that priority. Hunt them down to where they fled.

But thinking that through, they would never stay where his men followed them to. And he would never be on time to find them off guard.

What other options were left?

He decided: if he could not follow them, he needed to join them. There were risks. Risks only made the reward more pleasurable. He was already enjoying the prospect.

+++

It took a while before a Fremen stillsuit was located that fitted Feyd-Rautha's muscular and tall frame. He could cover his face and hands in cloths, a mask and dirt to prevent his pale skin from showing. A large enough quantity of locally forged weapons was available to suit his preferences.

+++

While the raid was ongoing, he made sure two of his guards killed one of the fighters, to prevent a higher number of people retreating than were present at the start of the Fremen assault. To add to the conviction that he was one of the Fremen, he then killed these two guards while ensuring he was being seen.

He was surrounded by fighting Fremen. It was an impressive sight to behold. Both individually and forming part of a group each of them was well trained. Everybody knew their role, and was sufficiently flexible in manouvering to another role if necessary. They were excellent warriors, and well prepared.

It did not take long before the group dispersed. He had managed to identify the leader of this surge, and followed the relatively large portion of fighters joining them.

He was surprised with how long the group walked. Several hours past. Fortunately, nobody spoke. Nobody walked near each other. On some stretches people walked with a distinct movement to prevent calling worms, something he only read in books.

By the time the desert was dark, they reached their hiding place. He kept track of the stars and moons to have a general feeling of where they went and where Arrakeen was located. Probably he was already outside of the reach of the tracking device he had through which he could call for his ride back.

About 10 people were sitting outside of the cave structure, and another 20 were inside. Clearly this was a grouping station, from which several attacks were organised.

His heart started racing, followed by controlled breathing to get himself to calm down again. Most of the warriors had ditched the coverings of their face, but enough did not, allowing him to only partially uncover his face. In the cave it was dark enough that the soil he had put on his face hid the paleness from his skin. The only thing he needed to do was observe from a safe distance, and avoid any interactions until the only noise in the cave was the slight snoring of his new comrades.

+++

After the post-mortem of their stints, Paul, Yaina and Bakyi spoke some words of encouragement to their warriors. They spoke in Chakobsa, which Feyd-Rautha had a basic level of proficiency in.

"You fought well today. With the fearlessness of a lion, the ferocity of a hyena and the precision of a hawk."

A subtle nudge towards the symbol of the house of Atreides. From the dark corner he had retired to, Feyd-Rautha asked himself whether that was Paul speaking. He has already concluded that the person speaking was the uninvited guest that had spoken to him. The sounds of his voice was all too familiar, and the piercing eyes removed any doubt he may have. Now he could see his full face, the resemblance from a family portrait stashed in the library of the palace became uncanny. He noticed the movements of a trained fighter. Paul was electrifying. Paul commanded the room. Feyd-Rautha was impressed.

It was Paul's father, Paul's family, that was murdered in cold blood in the very rooms were Feyd-Rautha now resided. That have caused pain, and still cause pain, to Paul. Good, Feyd-Rautha thought. That would give Paul an edge when combatting him; he liked a challenge.

The fighters slammed the palms of their hands on their stillsuits. Feyd-Rautha could do nothing but join. He felt part of the group, it was exhilerating.

Another person continued, causing Fremen to hurdle closer to the centre of the main cave: "We took losses, but the Harkonnen pests took more. We have noticed their approaches are changing every day since the Beast was ousted. But we are seeing new patterns of repetition."

These observations were made by the person he spoke to recently, the person he managed to find in the rocks. Now he could see their face as well. The face was nothing like he what he had expected. He was not looking at a Fremen native. The face he saw was androgynous. Sharpe features, yet soft. Years of adversity showed, but did not hid any determination. Easy to look at. When recalling the uninvited visit, he could now also picture faces.

It appeared at least two of their leaders were not Fremen. Good to know, their acceptance of otherworldly people could provide opportunities.

He joined at an excellent moment, as he was gaining a lot of information on how to improve spice harvesting. The second person spoke for a long time and shared the observations they made, and effects it would have on future strikes. This person had a book in their hand from which they every now and then spoke. That book must contain their battle plans and so much more. He needed to get his hands on that book.

By the end of the monologue, the Fremen slammed their palms on their stillsuits again and shouted: "Yaina Sadus, Yaina Sadus, Yaina Sadus". By the third time, Feyd-Rautha had joined the chanting.

+++

During the few hours to follow, Feyd-Rautha kept to himself. Once the group was asleep, he silently stalked around looking for his prey.

Yaina was the person who frisked him, who spoke with him, who saved him. Yaina was the person who truly commanded the room. The person that set out the strategy. Yes, Paul was still alive, but if he could choose, he would want to approach and awe Yaina. The bigger target. This would have more impact.

It took a while in the maze consisting of caves and hallways, and with a few guarding Fremen here and there, before he found Yaina sleeping.

They were alone.

He looked around in a nearly empty cave. Yaina slept on the ground, covered by the cloths that they had worn during the fight. Above their head were a couple of daggers. The stillsuit was thrown in a corner, together with a backpack. Apart from that, the cave was empty.

He wanted to straddle the sleeping person, put his hand on their mouth and a knife to their neck. Force them on their knees. Have them experience the humiliation he encountered. However, he considered that he did not really have an exit strategy. He did not know the layout of the cave, he did not know how to get out quickly. An important information gap compared to the 30 fighters that were ready to charge at any moment.

It was a safe bet that the backpack would hold the notebook he needed. He now gained knowledge on where they slept. With everything he already gained, including the contents from the backpack, the moment to leave had arrived.

+++

It took about another hour to leave the cave and venture into territories where his tracking device had connection again. Within another 15 minutes he was collected and flying on his way back.

+++

Within a few hours after Feyd-Rautha reached the comfort of his chambers, Yaina had turned the cave upside down. She was very careful with her backpack. It contained strategic information. It held the few items that could give away her gender. Most importantly, if the last thing that connected her to her parents and her origins was included therein: her golden ring.

Despite all her efforts, the backpack was nowhere to be found. It was a mystery. She could not decide whether she made a mistake of displacing it somewhere in the maze made of up caves and paths, or whether someone took it. But everywhere where she looked, every person she scrutinized: her backpack was not to be found.

She had no leads to go on, no basis for a hypothesis. It bugged the hell out of her, even more than her feeling that she could have sworn the number of people still in the cave compared to the people in yesterday evening was off. However, she, Paul and Bakyi did not come up with any names of people who were missing, other than the comrades that fell yesterday.

+++

Despite an intense day and night, Feyd-Rautha could only capture sleep when the light of the morning was already slipping through the cracks of the blinds. The bag he stole presented the cherry on top of the pie he got yesterday. The briefing he heard yesterday only gave a hint of the breadth of all the written information he obtained. He had observations on Harkonnen tactics and machines, high level overviews of the active Fremen squads, nicknames of quite a few fighters, plans about attacks, potential counter attacks and counter-counter attacks. This was a gold-mine.

However, he really got worked up about the personal belongings he found in the bag. He found typical Fremen clothing, but also what he recognised to be a breast band, underwear suited for females, thin rags and a golden ring.

He felt delighted, as his fingers caressed the soft materials.

Yaina was a woman, there was no doubt about it. She wore these items. They smelled like her. Her natural scent, not the smell of otherworldly luxurious elixirs his clothes were manipulated with. He closed his eyes and savoured the scent of desert summer from her clothing.

He held the ring in his fingers. It was beautifully made, with carvings that reflected the sea. The bottom side of the ring was flat, while the upper part was flowy. Another ring could be put on the top to come to a complete ring. There was an inscription inside in a language that he could not decipher, or perhaps they were symbols he did not know. The ring was held in a little bag and was well polished. It had importance. He tried to put the ring on his smallest finger, but it would only pass the first knuckle.

He tried to think how this ring would look on the soft yet cold fingers of Yaina. Never had he experienced a woman like this. They were servants or Bene Gesserit witches. The latter may have been appealing, but off limits and not really human. The former broken into compliance and therefore without true appeal to start off with.

He now understood that he needed to find a woman to soothe his soul.

He had never been so close - so fucking close - to finding a woman who truly fascinated him, yet never felt so distant.

He was not waiting patiently. He would make her his.

+++

Link to next chapter

Post notes with this chapter: I can't help myself. I just needed to add a few little references here and there to Depeche Mode (well... it’s a bit more than just references to It's No Good and Soothe My Soul) and Peaky Blinders.

[theprissythumbelina]

More Worldbuilding Thoughts...

As always happens with my shower I come out with more thoughts on the magic system in Mortal Sparks. A special thanks to you @thetruearchmagos for helping me out with this in the past.

Magic is fairly common in the world of Mortal Sparks, plenty of people have a little, a few people have some, and one or two has a lot. As I've discussed before, (I'll link this post later) many magic users will contract with a minor demon for knowledge and power boosts. Some of the religions in this world consider demon contracts to be heretical, others are more permissive.

In this world, magic users are traditionally sorted into the user's preferential element. Fire, water, earth, air, are the main groups, but there are those who prefer potions over active spells, sung over written magic, sympathetic over contagious magic. Everyone with a bit of magical leaning can do just about any type of magic, but they are most powerful and most capable with their preferential type. Training of witches, wizards, and warlocks takes place in their local covens, and tends to focus on the users preference to the exclusion of the other varieties and styles.

As the world of Mortal Sparks is in a total war situation, (I'll post another link here but its 4 am and I need to write this down) many magic users have been drafted or enlisted in the Continental armies. In these modern armies, the main magic types have an almost hierarchical ranking. Earth type users are at the top. Earth users have the most varied abilities and the most practical effect on battles, troop movements, embankments, and trenches, of which there are many in this war. Earth users are also the most rare and the weakest, as dirt, rocks and soil are heavy and 'stubborn' and using magic to change or move them takes a great deal of energy. For that reason, earth magic users are almost never on the front lines, but are still recognized as being able to turn the tide of any war.

Roughly equal in second and third rank are air and water. Both are able to control weather conditions to some extent, although the climate's natural system will sort itself out eventually, and both are capable of wreaking havoc on the enemy without a battle even taking place. More than a few invading armies have been blown off course or suddenly submerged on a previously safe path. Compared to earth users, water and air magic is easier. A water user can perform more spells with their element than an earth user, and an air user could perform even more than a water user. They are also more common, with the more powerful ones being held in reserve, while the weaker users might even serve as common soldiers on the front lines.

At the bottom of this hierarchy are the fire users. Fairly common, individually powerful but as a group weak, fire witches and wizards serve alongside non-magic users as well as having their own squads (is this the right term?). The weakest are popular as a cigarette lighter, while others follow the main battle groups clearing out captured areas. Fire users are especially dangerous in enclosed areas, including trenches or urban areas, as large quantities of combustive gases can be pushed in by air users, and the resulting explosion can be controlled and guided by the fire mage. However, this doesn't mean that magical fire only ever just burns the enemy.

[lily-the-pokemagician]

Hello People of Rotumblr

I hope you are all having a wonderful day.

I am Lily and i am a Pokemagician from Johto, and i hope to revitalize interest in this dying art by blogging about it.

If you are interested in a Magic Show you can book me by sending me an inquiry on this Blog.

I am also in the business of selling spells, colloquially they are known as potions and they can grant a variety of effects. Attracting Pokémon, gaining new abilities or even changing your appearance. All of these are possible with the help of my spells.

However, i am also asking for help with this. My potions require ingredients from all manner of Pokémon. Don't worry i am only asking for what they shed themselves for instance: dirt from under a Meowths claw, the string shot of a Spinarak, water from the water gun of a Croconaw. I think you get the idea. I'm not here to harm these cuties.

If you are willing to help, you can send me the ingredients via Pelipper Mail. I don't often get the chance to test the spells myself so if you are willing to send large quantities of the ingredients i will gift you a spell of your choosing in return.

//OOC

Same Mod as @val-victory. I've had this Idea for some Time to create a Sideblog based off the one off character Lily from the Anime. since she is one of the few Characters that canonically have the Ability to turn someone into a Pokémon even if just temporarily.

Pelipper Mail/Malice Open. Musharna Mail/Malice Open. Magic Anons OFF. (ironic isn't it)