#peddlers of flesh

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Hi friends started the Tattoo Artist!Sero fic! Here's a rough, rough, lil snippet cause who knows how long this will take me 😅😅

Sero has always loved to draw, even when he was a little kid. What started as small doodles, those that filled his notebooks more than his writing and school work, turned into piles and piles of sketchbooks that were filled with intricate drawings. 

He remembered being little, using washable markers to doodle fun patterns and designs on the arms of his friends, remembering how most recess breaks were filled with doing a doodle request for a number of fellow classmates. To being older, and having those same classmates come up to him to see if they could utilize his skills to make projects look nicer. To even being in college, a prestigious art school, and having people beg him to make a tattoo design; willing to pay lots of money so they could forever have a drawing of his on their skin.

And that sparked something inside him. A passion to turn a hobby into a career.

It took years and years of effort, of schooling, of practicing, of littering his skin with designs both good and bad (and subsequently spending more time fixing his faults), and then drawing on the bodies of those that were not always ideal, but Hanta Sero finally achieved his goal, and somewhat his childhood dream and hobby, into a reality. He finally owned his own tattoo parlor.

He found a little shop within the city, perfect enough for him and a few of his friends to call their own, to create their own brand, and to make their own living. It was a little run down, but after a few weeks of intense TLC, and an inspection, it was good enough to start accepting patrons; and boy, there were a lot of them.

Word got around that he was finally opening his own shop, to accept clients and create art on their skin that they would enjoy for a lifetime, and so many jumped on the chance. Some were people he had known for years, eagerly awaiting another drawing of ink, and some were those that saw his work on his many social pages that wanted to add another to their growing collections. Whatever the case was, once he turned on the neon ‘open’ sign on the day of opening, he and his friends were booked for months in advance.

And the cherry on top of all of this? Was the bookstore that sat just across the street from him. Not because he was into books, though he did read from time to time, but because of the owner that bookshop had. He couldn’t deny that he thought you were pretty when he first caught sight of you through his window after closing on his first day; and he couldn’t deny that he would wait with anticipation until you closed shop and were on your way home just so he could get a glimpse of your cute face.

hope you like it~

[saijspellhart]

Things I liked about the Netflix ATLA and some critiques:

Before you read. Please go watch the series, take off your blinders and keep an open mind. It’s surprisingly good. This review has spoilers.

They reordered some scenes so that emotional moments would have a larger pay off. Like getting to see and experience Aang’s relationship with Monk Gyatsu, and seeing his tribe before it was destroyed. So when he has his breakdown in the air temple with Sokka and Katara later, you really feel and understand his agony.

Azula is introduced earlier, with a story running simultaneously with the Aang’s journey but not involved with his. So she has a chance to be more fleshed out and explored before she becomes a major threat. Only time will tell if this more complicated Azula comes close to the animated one. Big shoes to fill, but not a bad start.

Fire Lord Ozai plays a more sinister and oppressive role. Not a faceless boogeyman anymore. You get to see his machinations and the cruel games he’s playing with his family, and see the emotional abuse that warps them.

Appa is adorable as fuck, and so is Momo. So well animated, such gorgeous care put into them.

Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Roku make more of an appearance. With Kyoshi narrating the prologue. And if you loved the novels you’ll see they incorporated more of Kyoshi and Kuruk’s backstory from the novels than what we saw in the animated cartoon.

The acting was competent, even if a little wonky at times. I found Sokka very endearing, I loved the kid they cast as Aang and you can tell they really tried to find a balance between serious and playful. They didn’t always hit it, but the effort was there.

Zuko was great. I think they nailed him and he had great chemistry with the actor playing Iroh.

King Bumi was great, I love how they made his internal struggles more complex. He wasn’t just a crazy old man anymore. He was a crazy old man who was weary and worn down by the horrors of loss and war. A crazy old man who struggled to reconcile that the best friend he lost is the avatar and wasn’t there for him.

I loved the costume and set design. It was like stepping into the actual world of ATLA. Cities were complex and well constructed. Every setting was incredible and the attention to detail was intense.

Zuko’s boat is full of artifacts he pilfered from the Air Nomads while hunting for the avatar.

They changed how Aang got the bison whistle so it makes more sense and fits more seamlessly into the story. It never made sense why a random peddler would be selling a bison whistle if air nomads and bison have been gone for 100 years. Not impossible for a peddler to do, but not probable. The Netflix series actually gave more meaning for the artifact and changed how Aang received it.

Emotional points in the show are now more intense and brought me to tears.

Commander Zhao is more competent and conniving, and his presence felt more dangerous and less comedic.

Sokka’s outright sexism was changed from putting girls down, to just manly machismo, talking himself up. Not gone, but not degrading. They decided to let the sexism message shine more prominently with the northern water tribe, rather than tackle it twice with Sokka too. (Sokka’s sexism being solved in one episode was never well written to begin with. And the animated series quickly forgot about it and moved on to him tackling more important issues, like his being a non bender inadequacy, his leadership journey, his physical combat journey, and him finding himself as more than just the funny sarcastic guy.) For time constraints, it was better the Netflix series did not to tackle the same problem twice, especially when you might not have the resources to give both sexism issues the gravity it deserves. By focusing the sexism problem to the northern water tribe they were able to give Katara more attention.

We got to see Katara’s water-bending go from being ultra sloppy and weak to badass. It feels like they are spending more time focusing on her developing into a warrior rather than being the mom of the group. I’m honestly not sad about it. She’s still the hope ridden, emotional glue, but now it feels like she explores that warrior side a little deeper. It felt so earned when she got the title of master at the northern water tribe finale.

The actor playing uncle Iroh nailed the role. I couldn’t think of a better live action adaptation of Iroh. I love him so much.

The shirshu looks fucking phemonal.

Koh was scary as fuck and I love it. They really nailed his horror elements. Even if I’m a little sad that they changed some things about his face stealing. (He eats faces now to steal them, rather than stealing when someone shows emotion.)

The three actresses who play Mei, Azula and Tailee actually look appropriate for their age. Since they are introduced earlier, they are clearly younger, and since this show is intended to get more seasons, the casting choice made sense as we are intended to watch these girls grow up over the course of the entire show. These actors will get older, and the characters will get more menacing and sharper. It’s great. It’s thoughtful. I love it.

We get to see Zuko’s dynamics with his crew more. And find out that he did more than just speak out against his father at that meeting. His outburst at that meeting saved an entire squad of soldiers, and they don’t even know it. Zuko feels such disdain and bitterness because of the situation, and his crew doesn’t even know why. It’s so complex, you can see how the abuse Zuko endured causes him to take out his anger on his crew, and in turn they are bitter back. And it’s this cycle, that festers. But the crew also grows with Zuko, they change and evolve as he evolves. And it’s such a delight to watch.

They could have cut the Secret Tunnel minstrels altogether, given the time constraints and that the episode was mostly fluff in season two. A fun romp, but not necessary. But the creators knew people loved the minstrels so they found a way to use them anyway. Because they knew they were special. I am thankful for that, even if they show up waaay earlier than they should.

I was honestly more sold on Sokka and Suki’s relationship in the live action. It’s was so adorkable. Do I wish it had more time to develop? Yeah, of course I love a good slow burn. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun as hell watching the two flirt so badly with each other. Sokka being a buffoon, and Suki overstepping and being too rough, before realizing she was being too hard.

Some Critiques:

They reordered some episode storylines to happen at the same time, and while it does bloat some episodes. it’s understandable due the episode and budget limitations. In the cartoon, during the inventor episode Katara didn’t have a lot to do, and during the freedom fighters episode Sokka didn’t have a lot to do. So they ended up combining both stories into one hour long episode in the live action, so that both Katara and Sokka would be involved in something. Is it the best? No. But it makes sense. I get it.

Katara starts off bland in the first episode and it takes a bit for her to grow into the character.

The past avatars can be a bit strong with the doom and gloom, and I wish they’d toned that back.

Koh and Heibei (I dunno how to spell the panda spirit’s name) got combined to the same episode, and Koh stole Heibei’s spotlight. Again, I understand why these got combined, but I think it could have been handled a little better and Heibei should have gotten more closure.

There should have been a ninth episode, placed between the two episode Koh storyline, and the Northern Water Tribe storyline. Why? Because the Koh storyline was really heavy and intense. And it leads right into the season finale. An extra ninth episode should have been added with a more lighthearted tone. Something to ease the tension between the two very intense storylines.

Aang should have been using a glider to flit about the temples in the first episode. But it’s not something that ruins the whole show. It was a dumb that only happens in a single episode in the season.

I really missed Momo and Appa’s presence. They appeared atleast once in every episode, but it was still sad they weren’t more of a presence. Again I understand why. They were so beautifully animated that everytime they were on screen it (without a doubt) cost the production thousands of dollars. They were generous including as many of the unique animals and creatures as they had.

I still don’t think Sokka had enough time to develop a relationship with Yue at the northern water tribe. It was rushed and contrived in the animated version, and it was rushed and contrived in this Netflix version. There also wasn’t any of the chemistry like Sokka had with Suki to make the whirlwind romance work. I never liked the romance from the original, and I wasn’t a fan of it here. But that’s ok, because it’s such a small and insignificant thing.

In conclusion most of the changes I can see made were due to budget, and episode limitations. The creators were clearly trying to bring theater-cinematic quality to what was essentially an eight hour long film. And you cannot deny that this show is stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. Most of the episodes cut were filler, and while hilarious and mostly loved by fans, were stories not as necessary in the grand scope. You could feel the love and appreciation the creators included in this series. It wasn’t soulless, it wasn’t a heartless cash grab, it wasn’t a shot for shot (thank god) but it also didn’t butcher the source material.

I understand that the animated show creators had creative differences with the live action Netflix adaptation creators. But that doesn’t mean that the Netflix series completely failed. As every fanfic writer out there knows, the original authors are not going to love what you create based on their works. Tolkien hated every adaptation of his works, HATED them. But no one is going about saying that the Lord of the Rings trilogy movies were hot garbage. A creator doesn’t have to endorse a project for it to be good.

Netflix ATLA is good, it’s not perfect. And it never was going to be perfect. The cartoon it was based on wasn’t perfect either. But the ATLA cartoon was definitely some huge shoes to fill that set a bar very high. Any adaptation was going to struggle to be just as good.

I think the Netflix adaptation was a treat and a pleasure to watch. I think people should go into it with an open mind and see that it’s not trying to replace the cartoon. It’s a love letter to the cartoon.

PS: According to behind the scenes commentary on the Nickelodeon ATLA cartoon, the reason we didn’t get a season 4 was because the creators wanted a live action film. Nickelodeon offered the original cartoon creators the option to make season 4 or to spend the budget meant for season four on a live action ATLA film. The original creators chose the live action film directed by M. Night Shamalan. They wanted a live action for their show over a 4th season. They had no idea M. night would butcher their baby with his pathetic film all those years ago.

This show was a second chance after the M. night abomination. And you know what? It’s a pretty decent adaptation. And guess what? With a resurgence of interest in the series, we are getting more animated content for the original animated series. There’s definitely something for everyone on the horizon if this succeeds.

[aanthirin]

OC: Vivayth, Warrior-Witch

(art by plague-ridden-rat)

(Full references and guide here)

Formerly a Redoran born in Ebonheart, Vivayth is a mystic and a pellar who applies the will of the House of Troubles and follows the most ancient of magical practices as a means to harness chaos and free herself from the shackles of mortality. An incredibly spiritual person at her core, the combining of the divine and the mortal is essential to her day-to-day, and though her methods of learning and expanding upon her repertoire are unorthodox at best and criminally insane at worst, faith drives her to hopefully one day help all of mortalkind into godhood, even if it means one must turn to the Testing Gods of the Dunmer and bargain with all manner of Daedra and spirit.

While she does try to be kind-hearted and endeavor to be good to people as much as possible, the truth behind Vivayth is far darker than some would have you believe. Despite her awkward behavior, absentmindedness and apparent sweet motives, Vivayth is, in truth, a deeply emotional and troubled individual. Wracked by emotional unpredictability, she often finds herself lost in bloodlust and sadism in moments of intensity, only to later drown in regret. Self-inflicted exposure to horrors of all kinds has left her not only numb to carnage and the loss of life, but it has led her to develop a thrill for both seeing it, and causing it. In spite of all this, she's a woman of faith; religion is a tremendously important cornerstone to her entire personality, and not only is her odd, unorthodox, fully heretical faith is paramount to her way of life, but so is her philosophy of struggle that inevitably may lead to ascension beyond one's flesh. The Ancestral Spirits of Morrowind, those being the Daedra, will always be held in high regard in her heart, and they have enough sway over her that she has since rescinded her faith in the Tribunal; a love for the Three she has held for over a hundred years, now dead.

(art by bloodandboneart)

Vivayth was born to the Rathryn family in Ebonheart on the 21st of Midyear, 2E 409. The Rathryn were a prestigious clan of highborn largely made up of Redoran who have earned their high standing in society by working for the powerful Ra'athim nobility and their ebony mining fiefs. While this arrangement has brought tremendous prosperity to the clan over the generations, young Vivayth—who was, at the time, a boy—felt that this lifestyle she was born into was less of a luxury and more of a suffocating, gilded cage.

The stress of living up to her parents' expectations of her and carrying out whatever duties they might have deemed necessary—ranging from attending Great House banquets to rub elbows with the elite of Ebonheart to training in the yard in preparation of one day taking over the entire clan as its patriarch—was impossible to cope with. Throughout her first years, she slowly began sneaking away from the Rathryn Estate to explore the wilderness that spanned the city island Ebonheart was situated in, calling herself a budding explorer and trailblazer. This led to a dangeorus run-in with the wildlife. As a young child, a passing Mabrigash has taken quite a shine to her, and after healing her and sending her back to Ebonheart, the next several years were spent occasionally traveling to the city gates to mingle with other Ashlanders, who travel to Ebonheart to trade with the merchants and peddlers outside the city gates.

One day, many years after transitioning into a woman and learning what she could about Mysticism from the Ashlanders, Vivayth left her home and her gilded cage to carve her own path in life, and become her own woman.

(art by OathFrog)

Ever since her youth, Vivayth has always looked to the horizon. Her absentmindedness and forgetfulness show how truly far her mind lies above the clouds, and beyond unto the stars. When leaving her hometown of Ebonheart, she promised to herself that she'd acquaint herself with as much of Tamriel as she can, singing her way through life with her lute at her back to support her previously vagrant lifestyle. Her wanderlust is at fault for her interests in Mysticism, a magical practice where discovery and contradiction are foundational.

This had a partial, somewhat unfortunatae result: the laws of the Tribunal Temple and the opulence of the Great Houses led Vivayth to stray from the path of righteousness and into the darkness of the Daedra. Recent events have brought her to look to the teachings of Veloth, and to a greater degree of heresy, the Hunting Grounds of Hircine.

(art by Geinkotsu)

Vivayth always has been, and always will be, aggressively patriotic. Sure, her ideals and views now align more closely to that of the Ashlanders and she is not the fondest of the Great Houses, but her homeland is her soul, and the soul of her people. Nothing about this will ever change, except that the fact about Morrowind being free of lycanthropy has become somewhat inaccurate. She does not believe herself to be the last werewolf in Morrowind, but she is one of the last, after the Temple hunted them down to extinction within the tribunate.

Though madness is unbecoming of a former Redoran such as Vivayth, it has sunk its claws into her mind. Her pursuit of divinity is partially a result of her curse of lycanthropy, though one may come to find it's merely one layer of an ultimate desire for absolute freedom. Ultimately, she has chosen to interpret that she was chosen to help carry out the fate of the Dunmer people: apotheosis. Freedom from mortality, and the destruction of limitation.

This delusion has poisoned everything about her: every little choice that she makes, every promise, every step that she takes, and every word carefully chosen will, in her mind, lead her to fulfill Lorkhanic grand design and destroy the idea of mortality altogether. She will stop at nothing to convince and persuade those she holds dear into sharing this sentiment, and she thinks that if any want to stop her, they will be met with an early freedom of their spirit from their corpse.

[surethingsis]

שלום, אני לילוש ואני סיימתי תיכון לפני יותר משמונה שנים.

בכל מקרה הנה האדונית והרוכל פוגש את גרוויטי פולס.

English under the cut

Theres this short story by S Y Agnon called The Lady And The Peddler in which a jewish peddler and a goy lady start a relationship. The peddler is sure he is so lucky to live under the lady's care but actually she has nefarious plans with him (spoiler- shes want to eat him).

Its an allegory for the relationship of Jewish culture and goy culture but im too tired to explain.

It's really cool how well the themes fit with the story of Bill Cipher and Ford.

The lines written in the pic are form the story-

"you want to know what I eat and drink?"

"I drink human blood and eat human flesh"

Thanks for caring bye#

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Challenge {2/2}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!bladesmith!reader Summary: It is time to deliver the sword to the prince. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, jousting, smut, caught in the act WC: 3.9k

HOTD Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

Two weeks passed quickly as you worked tirelessly on Prince Aemond’s sword. 

You had not heard from him since he left that morning and you were not sure whether or not you had expected him to send a message of some kind before you made the journey to King’s Landing. You couldn’t deny you were a little disappointed he hadn’t sent a raven - if for no other reason than to check in on the progress of your work. 

Nevertheless, you had gone above and beyond to create the masterpiece before you. 

It was by far the most expensive piece you had invested in and the twin sapphires alone had cost a small fortune but after being inset into the eyes of the dragon on the pommel you knew it was worth it. 

The sword was made of manganese steel imported from Dothraki, which was far lighter than iron, and had been folded with carbon dozens of times over to increase the tensile strength of the metal. The fierce dragon had been carved into the manganese steel and then dipped in gold but the snarling teeth were made of white gold and polished to perfection. 

There was no way to mistake this for any common blade and it was truly fit for royalty. 

A local leatherworker had taken the measurements of the sword and made a scabbard that would protect it while it was not in use and you slid the sword into the sheath before locking it into a travel box. 

“Your carriage is ready to leave, mistress,” Gerry said after knocking at your bedroom door. “Oh, you look lovely.”

The dress was stiff and uncomfortable and you wished you could travel in more sedate clothes but in public such a scandal could lead to incarceration and that would be bad for business. The other option was to wear the heavy cloaks of your work attire but even after a thorough washing they never smelt or looked very pleasant. 

“I look like a meringue,” you murmured, shrugging the puffy sleeves that capped just above your elbow. 

“Nonsense,” Gerry said with a giggle, taking it upon herself to straighten the layers of skirts so they hung neatly. “The prince will be lost for words, mistress.”

You narrowed your eyes at your housemaid. “What makes you say that?”

She couldn’t suppress the smile that she tried to hide behind her hand and shook her head. “The girls talk, mistress. Kasia and Tiff heard from Kyron, the stable boy, that the prince and his guard were arguing before they left.”

You shouldn't have been interested in gossip but you were leaning forward in anticipation as her smile grew. Finally you lost patience and huffed as she forced you to ask, “Arguing about what?”

“You, of course.”

“Me?”

“Aye, the prince confessed he had fallen to temptation of the flesh. That had to be you, right, mistress,” she said with a wink. “I imagine his highness has a date with the High Septon on his return. You were careful, right?”

You rolled your eyes and gave a droll nod. “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t bite my head off, I promised your ma I would watch over you, bless her soul. Now be on your way, it is a long ride.”

Kasia was already waiting at the front of the house with the carriage and you climbed into the cab before making space for her. You would have preferred for Gerry to make the three day journey with you but she wasn’t comfortable going anywhere near the capital, and you didn’t pry to find out why. 

The carriage driver whipped the reins and you jostled with the movement, eventually falling into a routine sway as the horses ambled along the road that would take you south to King's Landing. 

The noise of the crowd was unlike anything you had heard and the musicians playing an upbeat tune only added to the cacophony. Peddlers worked the stands around the stadium, selling their merchandise to the viewers, while food stalls were erected outside with the scent of their goods almost eradicating the smell from the horse stables beyond. 

Finding space on a bench seat, you pulled Kasia down beside you and stilled her leg that kept bouncing excitedly with every match that went by. You had arrived later than expected when the wheel of the carriage broke outside of Rosby and so far Ser Criston hadn’t lost a match in both jousting and sword fighting, but you were hoping to catch the next one.

You were beginning to tire of the harsh sun that beat down, the temperature enough to rival your workshop, and ready to find some solace in the shade when the next trumpets fared for the jousting final.

“Mistress, that is Prince Jacaerys,” Kasia gasped as she pointed to the house flag that had been raised and a chestnut steed trotted into the lists with a helmeted rider upon its back. “Who would dare strike a prince?”

You had an inkling as you looked to the other side of the arena and saw the flag of House Cole being draped onto the rung. “Unbelievable.”

A white stallion leisurely walked into the lists and you were the only one who wasn’t surprised to see Prince Aemond riding atop with his helmet tucked under his arm. Whispers began to spread along the rows of viewers as they realised it had been the One-Eyed Prince fighting under his knight’s banner the entire time. 

“What is the meaning of this, Aemond?” King Viserys asked as he rose slowly from the royal box. 

“It was pointed out that fighting as a prince may lead my opponents to go easy on me, and I would not have that shame,” he said with a smirk thrown Jacaerys’ way. “That need not be a problem now will it, nephew?”

Prince Jacaerys pushed his visor up over his helmet and dark hair tumbled out to frame his face. Even from so far away you could see his brown eyes were full of disdain and his jaw was clenched as he spoke through his teeth, “No problem, Uncle.”

It would have been embarrassing should he have said otherwise, he would have been practically admitting he only reached the finals because of his royal title whether or not it was true.

“Well played,” you chuckled to yourself as you watched Prince Aemond place his helmet on his head and shove a gloved hand out for his steward to give him the lance. 

In the royal box the mothers, Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenrya, shot to their feet and rushed to the edge balustrade with concern etched into their faces. The look they shared both held reprehension for the other and you briefly wondered what it was about before a cheer erupted and your attention was brought back to the match.

The princes spurred their horses forward with a kick of the stirrups and you leaned forward in your seat with the rest of the crowd.

There was not a whisper in the air as anticipation held the spectators in silent suspension. To cheer either prince would be to insult the other so not a sound was made.

The horses reached the fence and raced towards each other with thundering hoofbeats. The distance narrowed and no one took a breath as they lowered their lances, the blunt tips aimed at the other.

From your vantage point in the stands you could see how Prince Aemond’s head was turned far more than Prince Jacaerys’ to account for the lost vision in his left eye but his aim was still well positioned. With the extra height he had over his nephew, Aemond’s reach was greater and his lance smashed into the Velaryon’s chest, glancing off the armour and under the shoulder plate.

A collective wince hissed across the crowd and the younger prince screamed as he was thrown from his horse. The scream was echoed by his mother and Princess Rhaenyra rushed from the royal box to check on his welfare along with the maesters. At least given the painful squirming on the ground, he was certainly alive.

Prince Aemond tore his helmet off and his silver hair shimmered in the brutal sunlight, it was almost too bright to look at directly but even with the glare there was no hiding the smirk on his face. Dismounting to the dirt, he sauntered over to his nephew and dropped to one knee beside him, his hand hovering over the wound he had dealt.

How you wished to be close enough to hear what he said, because although he looked like he was offering condolences there was no mistaking the disdain on his face or the amusement when Jacaerys weakly tried to push him away.

Looking up, Aemond saw his half sister nearing and rose to his feet, swiftly leaving the arena without a care for the splatterings of polite clapping for his win.

“That is my queue,” you said to Kasia as you grabbed the boxed sword from where you had kept it safely hidden beneath your skirts and rose to your feet. “I shall see you back at the inn for dinner.”

It wasn’t difficult to find Prince Aemond with his hair like a beacon. Everyone gave him a wide berth in the streets except for his trusted knight who noticed your approach first and sighed heavily. It was the sigh that caught Aemond’s attention and he turned to see what had elicited the annoyed sound from his friend.

The surefooted prince stumbled as he spotted you and his eye travelled your body from head to toe twice before he blinked and recovered.

“I almost didn’t recognise you,” he admitted and nodded his head to Ser Criston. “You may leave, I am sure my mother will want to accost you for the role you played today.”

The white cloak knight didn’t look pleased but nodded back before casting a glance your way and shaking his head. You couldn’t help but send him a sweet smile and bat your lashes at him with a dainty wave of your fingers, earning a chuff of a laugh from the prince.

“Blessed name day, my prince,” you greeted him when you were alone and once more walking towards the Red Keep. You held the box out for him, grateful you no longer had to lug it around the city. “As requested.”

“Do you have a sister?” he asked, taking it from your hands and tucking it under one arm. “You look rather similar to a woman I met a few weeks ago, though she was a little more scrappy and rather filthy.”

“Ha ha,” you exaggerated with a roll of your eyes. “Here I thought you were a prince but I have been fooled by a court jester. Funny how one and two are the same.”

“There she is.” He grinned and opened a door that led to a courtyard but the small joy he had disappeared in the company of the few people milling about. They shifted uncomfortably in his presence and the place fell silent until he had passed under an archway and turned down a corridor.

You were utterly lost by the many turns it took to come to the room he eventually led you, closing the door behind with a click of the lock.

The box thudded as he placed it on a writing desk that was covered with books and letters with the dragon crest drawn upon. They couldn’t have been important as he shoved them aside and unlatched the lid.

“Congratulations on your win,” you said as he opened the reward. “You must be proud.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Prince Aemond retorted as he unsheathed the sword before twirling it in his hands. “I just wanted to see the look on that bastard's face when he lost.”

He continued to inspect the weapon, staring down its length to ensure it was straight before pricking his finger on the tip to test how sharp it was. He gave a satisfied hum at the conclusion and you bit your lip at the reminder of the similar sounds he had made.

Finally he brought the pommel closer and peered at the intricate dragon with intense scrutiny. “Incredible.”

“I’m almost reluctant to part ways with it,” you teased and he gripped the handle tighter as if he were prepared to fight you for it. “But you seem rather attached already and I’m feeling charitable.”

“How generous of you.” He rolled his eye and sheathed the sword before buckling the scabbard to his belt and pointing to a large purse on the table. “I suppose that means I can return that small fortune to the coffers then.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not that charitable.”

Unaccustomed to wearing dresses, you hadn’t realised crossing your arms had pushed your breasts up dangerously high and they were barely contained by the corset. It was only the lingering stare of the prince and the widening of his eye that drew your attention down where he was fixated.

“Not one raven, not even a ‘hello, how have you been?’” you tutted and ran your fingertips teasingly over the skin of your bosom. “I should be insulted.”

His eye followed the movement hungrily. “You have the attention of a prince, insulted is not the word that comes to mind.” One long stride closed the distance and you craned your head back to hold his stare.

“Did you confess your sins to the Septon?” you had to know as you felt the heat of his armour warming your skin. “Did you repent for the sordid touch?”

“I did. And I swore I would banish all thoughts of you from my mind.” He swallowed deeply and reached for the bowtie that held the laces of your corset together. “I did so knowing it was a lie.”

You cursed under your breath as his words affected you more than you expected and you covered his hand with yours, guiding it to the delicate laces so he would hurry up and free you from the constraints of the dress. You could finally breathe liberally and you inhaled deeply as the heavy materials fell to the floor but there wasn’t time to waste as you reached for his armour.

Your deft fingers made quick work of the buckles and Aemond caught the heavy plates before they could clatter to the floor, instead depositing them to the side where they wouldn’t cause an accident. 

Next went his damp clothes, the material strewn across the room as you wrapped each layer like a gift - eager to get to the prize that waited beneath.

“I’ve heard men fuck like a lion after fighting in a tourney, like the sweat gets their blood pumping,” you stated as you push him into the chair in front of his desk and straddled his lap. 

He grabbed your hips and lined himself up with your entrance, pulling up down his length until you couldn’t take anymore and gasped at the fullness. He still wasn’t done, not when he wanted to tease you with more than his body, his lips following the line of your jaw until he reached your ear and whispered, “Lions are nothing compared to a dragon.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you held on tight and rolled your hips to take your pleasure from him. He let you have your moment, enjoying the warmth of your cunt as it tightened around him and the press of your breasts to his skin, but then he wanted to chase his own ecstasy and gripped your hips. His arms should have been weak and trembling from the day spent fighting but they were still strong as he guided you up and down his cock. 

“Fuck, Aemond, you feel so good.”

“Hmm,” he growled in your ear, “I am your prince.”

“You can be my prince out there but right now you are just a man, now fuck me like one.”

In an instant you were empty and he was on his feet, spinning you around and bending you over his desk. The void you were missing was filled with one rough thrust and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry of dark pleasure that erupted. 

Gone was the restraint, gone was the control. Prince Aemond was unleashed. 

The wood cut into your hips and his ink pot spilled, books tumbled to the floor and the armour resting against the table leg toppled over. The clatter of metal was like the herald bells being struck and shouts came from outside the door. 

“Fuck,” Aemond growled at the knock that quickly followed. “Go away.”

“My prince, it is your mother,” Ser Criston called out.

“Fuck.” This time the sound wasn’t from frustration but fear and he pulled out in a rush to find his clothes scattered around the room. “Give me a minute.”

“Cole, move,” a surprisingly stern order came from a gentle feminine voice and the lock on the door was opened from the outside before the door swung open.

“Mother,” Aemond greeted quietly as he covered his manhood and bowed his head.

“I expect this unbecoming behaviour from your brother but,” she sighed dramatically and Aemond’s head dipped further at the disappointment radiating from his mother, “not my sweet Aemond.”

You coughed a laugh and covered your mouth as the sound drew her attention to you. You didn’t have enough hands to cover your nakedness and your dress was inconveniently in a head at her feet. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m no one, your highness,” you said as you shifted on your feet and tried to shimmy across to hide behind the prince. 

“Her name is Y/N,” Ser Criston said without even stepping into the room.

“The bladesmith you visited, who is also the daughter of the metal merchant?” she confirmed as she took a second look at you before turning her back. “Cover yourselves.”

“Yes, mother.” Aemond grabbed your dress first and tossed it with more force than necessary before swiping his own undershorts up from the floor. “I will go to the Sept and confess.”

“Don’t bother,” Alicent scoffed with a toss of her head. “You are not contrite. No, I have another way for you to repent and save your honour.”

It was far harder to get the dress back on than it was to get off, especially since it had taken the help of Kasia last time. You were still busy trying to thread the laces back through the eyelets when the Queen dropped the bomb.

“You will wed her, Aemond. I won’t have any more shame on this house.”

“Mother,” Aemond interrupted but she held up a hand to silence him, something that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Beg your pardon, majesty, but fuck that. I’ll take a vow of silence and be on my way out of this dreadful city.”

“Silence? From you?” she said with a humourless laugh. “If the people weren't still watching the tourney the entire residence would have heard your filth. No, I’ve made up my mind.”

“More like lost it,” you uttered before Aemond pinned you with a glare that had you closing your mouth once again.

“Cole, make sure my son’s betrothed finds her way to her own room. Alone.” With that she departed and Aemond’s posture slumped.

The moment she was out of hearing range you turned to him. “I’m serious, I’m not marrying you, or anyone for that matter.”

“I don’t believe we have a choice.”

“I do.” You tied a knot in the lace just enough to be sure it wouldn’t suddenly come apart as you stormed out of the room and straight into that bothersome guard. “Move.” Ser Criston looked at the prince but you snapped your fingers in front of his face. “I’m talking to you, so don’t look at him.”

“Let her pass,” Aemond said and your head spun incredulously towards him to find him already dressed. “I’ll escort her.”

“To the ladies wing?” he asked as he moved aside and let you through.

“To the stables.” Aemond caught your arm and turned away from his guard to head in the other direction. “I’ll not marry a stranger because I wanted to wet my prick.”

“How uncouth,” you teased as you hurried to match his pace through the Red Keep. “Such a filthy mouth, Prince Aemond.”

He growled as he pushed you against the cold stone wall and caged you between his arms, his erection hard against your hip through the layers of cloth separating you. “Now is not the time to tease me.”

“Yeah?” you pushed back, grinding yourself shamelessly against him in the empty hall. “Or what?”

Aemond’s fist hit the stone with a groan before his hand circled your wrist and tugged you with a renewed pace. “You were born of the Seven Hells, I swear.”

“What makes you say that, my prince?” I asked sweetly. “My devilish good looks or what was it my stable boy overheard…oh yes, my tempting flesh?”

Aemond opened a door and the irritating smell of stale dust told you the storage room was not often used before he pushed you inside and closed the door behind him. “This is the last time,” he promised himself as he bunched the material of your skirt up over your waist and freed himself from his trousers.

You knew you would miss the feeling of him stretching your cunt with each thrust and the way he stroked your walls until they clenched around him. None of your past lovers had been able to fill you quite like he did, or take your attitude either.

“You can always visit me,” you offered in a moment of weakness as the tension of the oncoming orgasm built, “when your sword needs taking care of.”

The sounds of your bodies slapping together filled the room and the table you were sitting upon rocked as Aemond filled the space between your legs. His hand dropped your skirts so he could cradle your face, his thumb tracing your lips. “The bladesmiths here will suffice.”

“I wasn’t talking about that sword.” You nipped at his thumb and smirked, feeling him react instantly as he rutted harder against you. Your legs wrapped around his and your hands slipped under his shirt as you pulled him closer, chasing the high that was cresting inside you.

Your orgasm erased your ability to think and your body jerked as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. The feel of your cunt pulsing around him tipped the prince over the edge and he released a shuddering breath as he spilled himself within you.

There was no time to enjoy the afterglow and Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers before pulling your skirt down over your legs that were still dangling off the table.

“I doubt my mother will let me leave the keep for a while after this,” he said as he helped you off the table and onto shaking legs.

“Do you always do what your mother says?” You asked him, fixing one of the clasps of his vest that had come undone.

“Don’t.”

Your lips twitched as you saw the fire in his eye. “Don’t what, my prince?”

“Don’t challenge me.”

“Afraid to lose?”

He chuckled and caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His teeth bared as he leaned closer and his silver hair brushed your shoulder while his hot breath kissed your skin.

“You should know by now…I never lose.”

Tagging: @hopebaker , @padfooteyes , @fan-goddess , @whitefang1919 , @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed , @let-love-bleeds-red , @raven1234321

[emielboven]

Flesh Peddler, for The Electrum Archive Issue 02

[professor-doctor-doctor]

Since everyone is posting about their headcanons and OCs, here’s…the closest I have to an OC?

The Shindo brothers, in childhood. Matsuzo, at the top, is the name I gave to Heiji’s nameless older brother in the first episode. Takeshi is technically an OC—both Heiji and Matsuzo appear in the final show, but Takeshi does not. This is intentional. Takeshi did not live into adulthood—and yes, it was Heiji’s fault.

Some quick headcanons regarding the brother’s, Heiji’s childhood, and their relationships with one another:

Matsuzo is primarily focused on his studies, both academic and refining his Shindo-Ryō. He’s the reserved older brother, and his father’s apprentice, meaning most of the time he’s away from his younger siblings, being trained personally. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t spend time with them—Matsuzo helps train Takeshi, who is also training to be a swordsman. While Heiji is the only of the sons to not be learning Shindo-Ryō, Matsuzo still makes some time to spend with him, such as joining him for tea ceremonies, or doing calligraphy together. Out of everyone in the family, Heiji’s closest relationship was with Matsuzo.

Heiji began youth as the quiet, overlooked child, and after his younger brother’s death, became something of a trouble child—making associates with drug peddlers and flesh traders within the city (such as Hachiman), even building his own miniature gang, which later results in his father banishing him from the family and Kyoto as a city. But before all of this, he was the studious of the three, and yet pretty much ignored by his father due to his lack of interest in fighting. His mother died when he was around nine years old, and it was she who taught him how to brew tea—but other than that, he hadn’t much a relationship with either of his parents. He was closest with Matsuzo, but despised his younger brother Takeshi, who often took joy in poking fun at how useless Heiji was when it came to the samurai arts—quite literally what their entire clan is known for. He beat him on several sparring occasions, and was overall just as annoying as a younger sibling may be. It was a great source of embarrassment for Heiji, and culminated overtime into a festering hatred for his own kin.

Takeshi, for all his nuisance, was essentially acting in the way any other little boy would. He was rambunctious, loud, and prideful, all of which clashed with Heiji’s personality. He was well liked by his father and eldest brother, however, who saw that he had the makings of a very promising warrior. It was seen that where Matsuzo would inherit the dojo and ruler ship of the clan, Takeshi would likely go on to be a great warrior, and add a new branch of lineage to the Shindo family tree. Heiji was overlooked, due to the fact his only ambition seemed to be that of an artisan.

However, Takeshi met a tragic end at the age of ten in the summer of 1613, when he fell gravely ill of a mysterious illness, and passed away. He was buried in the family grave, and the loss hit both Matsuzo and the Shindo Patriarch hard—not so much Heiji. Soon after, Heiji began to take advantage of his silver tongue and skills in trade, further dampening his relationship with his father. His sly and snake like attitude lead his father to both see and suspect the worst in him, and when Heiji turned 19, he was banished from the family, on the grounds he had disrespected their values in every way possible. The Shindo Patriarch Even accused Heiji in having a hand in his brother’s death, which is…just ridiculous, right?

By the time the show begins, Matsuzo and Heiji have somewhat reconnected. After their father passed away and Matsuzo became leader of the Shindo clan, Heiji eventually reached out—after, of course, getting a comfy spot working for the Shogun to facilitate the trade of foreign guns into Japan. He was deeply apologetic and implored his brother to see past his father’s foolishness—he had loved his brother, after all. He’d have done nothing to hurt him. Matsuzo, Kind at Heart, welcomed him back in—a grave mistake. For with Heiji came his empire of drugs and trafficking Matsuzo had no clue of.

Despite being the eldest, and the leader of the clan, Heiji became richer and of higher status through his success as a criminal overlord. It wasn’t long before it was Matsuzo bowing to Heiji.

This is just a quick overview of how I interpret Heiji Shindo’s family—I actually have a fic of Matsuzo eating dinner with him, Fowler, and Hachiman, supposedly after the scene where they agree to set the four fangs after Mizu. If you want me to post it, or rant more about my elaborate backstory for the unforgivable rat that is Shindo, please let me know! Comics and the likes will also be coming soon :3

[carmelasoprano]

[...] Douglas Carter Beane gives us As Bees in Honey Drown, at the Lucille Lortel Theater. Here is the long-awaited saga of a postmodern lady no better than she has to be, in a world considerably worse than it ought to be. The lady is Alexa Vere de Vere (J. Smith-Cameron), a self-described British promoter of rock stars, now in the market for higher and hungrier talents. When we first encounter the chic flesh peddler, she has just come across a magazine photograph of first-novelist Evan Wyler (Bo Foxworth). Tracking him down, Alexa bats her mascaraed eyes, flashes a little leg and purrs a business proposal. —The New Leader (September 8, 1997)

[highqueenofprydain]

Scarlet

The great door crashes into its frame, slammed by the hand of the silence that swells into the room. Only as the last echo ebbs away does she remember she is wounded, reeled back to reality by the flat, pittering sound of her own blood dripping upon the floor.

She raises her hands and stares at them, shining crimson streaming from multiple slashes across their surfaces, a pattern to drive any fortune-teller to madness. The idle thought breaks through her numb rage for an instant: imagine the reaction of one of those itinerant peddlers of cheap magic, asked to read the map of horror etched on her palm.

A long lifeline. She almost laughs, but it’s a bitter thing that fills her mouth with iron and salt, or perhaps she’s just bitten her tongue too hard again.

Her gaze wanders over the metal shards littering the floor, reflecting bits of the room like a shattered mirror. She sees her own face, a fleck of skeletal white against a field of scarlet drapery, and turns away from it, leaving the empty room to its silence.

She wraps her hands in her own skirts to keep from leaving a trail down the hall. The sliced flesh throbs and stings, welcome reminders that she still can feel something. It is a long time before she speaks a word…a charm with which she once could have healed such superficial wounds from the inside-out. Now, depleted, it merely closes what was open.

But better that, than bleed where anyone can see.

[hiislegacy]

Starter | Muse: Sephiroth

There wasn’t much that truly sent his mind reeling, not anymore. He had felt like he had seen it all, by this point, considering his connection with the Lifestream; of all the possibilities that had been revealed, and those that haven’t. He wasn’t fully made knowable of it all, as much as he had wished to be. So, when he found himself on the verge of something akin to defeat, his (what he thought was a long-dead) heart actually raced with adrenaline. For there was no conceivable way, not after the measures he took to ensure his final victory, that this insignificant little flower peddler be the one to gain such a significant blow.

His pride was still hanging on, even as magical powers enveloped his form, even as that positive energy seemed to suffocate and drown out his thoughts. Then the frigid temperatures hit him, and not even his strength in fire, or any of his many materia could have braced him for how bitter it was on his flesh. He did not wish to lose this body, having just reacquainted with his form quite recently, thanks to his special puppet’s help.

But now, along with the ice, did he notice something else coming around to surround and consume. Beautiful rainbows and pale light, green and so free, did they now begin to swarm him. The very essence of the planet, along with her powers, all assaulted him at once with their might. He was unprepared for such, and having thought he could take on any and all things, his vision went black from consciousness leaving him so briefly.

When he came to, just seconds later, to that power dragging off of him, doing enough to knock him down. Sephiroth gasped for air, wing splayed out and behind him, making to stand with his surprised rage, but something stopped him from getting past his kneeling position. This something was her power, a ward of some sort, with invisible chains that kept his limbs and frame perfectly where he was.

Those eyes shot her way, trying to summon the flames to burn all this off, but even that was useless. His powers seemed so dim, and nearly quiet, but without the proper movement, he couldn’t even assess really why this was. Well, save for the fact that his enemy was here, still alive. Still standing. Breaking all the rules that he has surely set with fate and everything. How that infuriated him, and he silently glared, still trying to figure out if there was some way out of this.

@phantasiiae

[konkuurito]

THE YOKAI -- DEAD BY DAYLIGHT.

𝑰𝑭 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑫𝑶𝑴, 𝑰𝑭 𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑬--

the clan folded in over itself, a kingdom of cards collapsing in a bloodbath, sinewy viscera and rotted carrion in the wake of a monster. interestingly, the kuronuma clan's former oyabun, minato kuronuma, was identified to be the body found in santa monica penitentiary. forensics identified the mangled mound of flesh after recovering the body through only DNA-testing. there wasn't much of anything left, after all.

los angeles law enforcement looked to locate the whereabouts of one jay kuronuma, the oyabun's only heir and second-in-command--the man who had become the kuronumas' de facto leader during his incarceration. a few lowly peddlers of the clan were interviewed in exchange for protection against what they described as an evil spirit. a yokai.

these sources (with their questionable reputability taken into consideration) spoke of their de facto leader making a pact with a mysterious being, one they have all dubbed as 'the entity'. however far-fetched their stories may be, they all have consistently reported inhuman claws and teeth. a few of the guards at santa monica penitentiary have reported the same story, all saying they spotted a heavily-tattooed man with fangs and several ethereal tails spread out behind him.

the guard's particular sighting all place what is speculated to be one jay kuronuma at the prison shortly before finding the body of minato in his cell. several of the kuronuma peddlers recall in the previous few days jay kuronuma speaking to what appeared to be thin air, becoming far more aggressive. no traces of jay kuronuma have been discovered since his vanishing into the red fog.

the collapse of the once-powerful kuronuma clan in this manner remains one of the biggest mysteries in the american yakuza.

--𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑾𝑬 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑰𝑴 𝑰𝑭 𝑯𝑬'𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑼𝑺 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲, 𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑳𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑼𝑺 𝑵𝑶.

[tristayranambrosio]

Vengeance/Satisfaction Day 4 - February 21 DWC

(Content Warning!!!: This particular story has very sensitive content and I urge any readers to understand the severity of that. The story contains Drug Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Prostitution and addiction, Power imbalance, Closeted Queer Identity and related pressures of society, and just all around awful. This is from Trist’s perspective as we’re flipping from him to Jezza for these writing challenges but you all NEED to know what you’re getting into Jericho is a -villain- he is supposed to be horrible, please feel free to hate him I know I do.) @daily-writing-challenge )

Jericho Archstone was a known peddler of vice in Silvermoon since far before I was born. His empire had been built on the backs of addicts, and what was worse he knew full well the horrors of what he did to those who were desperate. When they could no longer pay, he came up with increasingly creative ways to exploit his clientele, my mother was among them. He filled her veins with poison with the constant reminder that she had the choice… but she’d always make the one that got her more of the very substance that destroyed her. But my mother is dead now… I’m all that’s left, And after the thousandth time I destroyed his supply of illicit substances with their hateful effects that he expected me to use or sell, he had to resort to another way to gouge her debts from my flesh. By putting it on the market to anyone with as twisted an appetite as his. I tried to run… but unlike the guards of this wretched city his drug addled goons had more motivation than gold or the satisfaction of roughing up a bard that was better at seducing their lovers than they’d ever be… if these jerks caught me they’d get their fixes free of charge. It wasn’t as if I never tried to escape him… eventually I accepted I would simply pay my mother’s debts and give in to the monster’s satisfaction.

“Who’s the Brute then.” Jericho sneered at me fiddling with his rings counting them like he always did, “You holding out on me? I haven’t seen a cut from his visits.” “He’s not paying.” I say flatly, I’m bored, tired, long past thoughts of Vengeance for what he did to my mother, and so disassociated I don’t even register it’s for me I should be vengeful. “You’re giving it away for -free- now?!” He booms furious. “You don’t -own- me anymore Jericho. You had your money a year ago. Leave me alone.” I say and never before had I let my voice sound so dead. “That’s fucking bull shit, slut. You still sell yourself, and I want the cut I deserve for -raising- you. Out of the goodness of my HEART!” I want to scream, roar… but I don’t, I simply reply the way I’ve trained myself to, the way I learned to meet even monsters with. A soft pity in my tone, “You need to have a heart first… all that’s left in you is a cruel organ that only draws satisfaction from your golden idol and your ring of loyal addicted followers.”

“You know every once and a while I think you might be my hellspawn and then you spout some shit like that. What’s he PAYING to leave those bruises on you? It’ll spook other buyers.” He scoffs at me, giving my whole body a disgusted once over, unimpressed as always despite the small fortune he got off selling me to lonely people who just needed to hear they were wanted. That was part of why I didn’t hate what I had been for him… the junkies couldn’t afford me, so I was often thrown to people who thought the only way they could have someone like me would be to pay. A fantasy that could convince them I loved them at least as long as the gold made it into Jericho’s pockets. So many of them were just lonely, some of them I helped assure, gave them the confidence to pursue those they longed for or just… forgive themselves for the mistakes they made in their lives. Convincing them they were better than paying for me generally pissed Jericho off but the gold he made shut that up. “I told you. He’s not paying.” I remind him. Bored. “You’re fucking a Orc-Chiefling brute that would be disowned for consorting with a whore like you? If he was paying he might actually retain some dignity in their eyes, but no you’re just giving it away when you should be threatening to expose his deviance, Is that the plan? Get him in good then get the hush money out of him when he’s good and hooked? Maybe you are Daddy’s little leech, the fruit of my very loins.” He smiles at me with all teeth as he stalks after me, long strides keeping pace as I try to just get back to the Curtain. The reminder of what he took from my Mother for years and the implication that he might be my sire sticks like tar in my insides and I want to be sick.

“There’s no -plan- Jericho. I’m not exposing anyone. Leave. Me. Alone.” “No just fuckin him and risking his discovery. You know -I- don’t give a rats ass but I know that clan of uptight jackasses. They won’t like that their Chief’s son is dallying with a washed up elf Whore, no matter how pretty.” “It's none of your business or concern.” I make to storm off but he grabs my arm and sinks his nails into my skin painfully, and for a moment I’m the scared boy I was when he came for me the first time, when he demanded the gold I’d made playing and singing and took everything but Hypernia and my Rose… I feel small and afraid and know this man was the one that had killed my mother slowly while I had to watch her wither away into madness... How do you fight something so huge, that sees us like chattel that bleed gold into his coffers. “That’s where you’re wrong, little boy.” He hisses into my ear, “You -are- my business.” I find my voice but it trembles out of me, “Not. A-anymore. I paid you all my mother owed. I worked for it, you got everything, l-let me-” “No. Give me what you have. I want you to PROVE all you’ve got in your purse is the chicken scraps that your beloved DIRECTOR gives you.” He sneers at the Cabaret again… my sanctuary, my safe haven from him… and I realize he’s sizing up a target. He’d tried to buy the place but Nestor wouldn’t sell nor would he allow Jericho’s goons to peddle for him on the premises. It was by no means a dry or sober place, but Nestor didn’t want anything to do with the Archstone empire… The only reason they were in jeopardy was because of me then too, because Nestor took me in when he caught me sleeping under his tables. I tremble at the thought of those inside coming to harm because of my refusal to comply and I shove my coin purse into his chest then wrench free, “Take it. Leave me alone!” I take off but I don’t run… if I show anyone it puts them at risk… Jericho doesn’t need the meager wage in my purse… its not about that. Its about reminding me that the world doesn’t like people like me, people who refuse to lose their faith in others because of monsters like him. I will never give him the satisfaction of breaking me.   

[cyberpunkonline]

It's 'All Saints Day' - so let's take a look at some Cyberpunk Saints!

In the gritty and dystopian worlds of cyberpunk, where the lines between right and wrong blur into shades of gray, a unique breed of characters emerges. These are the unsung heroes, the saints of cyberpunk, who may not wear capes but display unwavering moral compasses in the face of technological chaos and societal decay. Here, we delve into the lives and stories of five such cyberpunk saints, whose actions have left an indelible mark on the genre.

1. Remy "The Seeker" Vargas Film: Strange Days (1995)

In the cyberpunk classic "Strange Days," Remy Vargas, played by Michael Wincott, is a former LAPD officer turned black-market peddler of SQUID recordings – immersive experiences that tap into people's sensory memories. Despite his questionable occupation, Remy's redemption arc unfolds as he becomes the unlikely guardian of justice. His journey is a testament to the power of second chances, as he risks everything to expose a web of corruption within the LAPD.

2. Sister Mary "The Healer" Literature: "Neuromancer" (1984) by William Gibson

Within the pages of William Gibson's seminal work, "Neuromancer," Sister Mary stands as a beacon of compassion in the unforgiving sprawl of the future. She is a nurse with a heart of gold, providing solace and care to those battered by the relentless march of technology. Sister Mary's unwavering empathy serves as a stark contrast to the callousness of the cybernetic world she inhabits, making her a true saint of the cyberpunk realm.

3. Case "The Reluctant Redeemer" Literature: "Neuromancer" (1984) by William Gibson

Another figure from Gibson's masterpiece, Case, is not your typical hero. A washed-up hacker and drug addict, he finds himself thrust into a high-stakes battle against shadowy corporations and rogue AIs. His transformation from a cynical, self-destructive loner into a reluctant redeemer mirrors the broader themes of redemption and renewal often explored in cyberpunk. Case's journey serves as a reminder that even the most broken souls can find redemption in a world dominated by technology.

4. Gaff "The Silent Sentinel" Film: Blade Runner (1982)

In Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner," amidst the neon-lit streets of a dystopian Los Angeles, we encounter Gaff, portrayed by Edward James Olmos. He is the enigmatic and almost mute character who leaves behind cryptic origami figures. While not a central character, Gaff's role as a "retirement" officer transcends mere enforcement. His complex relationship with the film's protagonist, Deckard, adds layers of moral ambiguity and introspection to the narrative, making Gaff an intriguing and enigmatic figure in the cyberpunk landscape.

5. Molly "The Street Samurai" Literature: "Neuromancer" (1984) by William Gibson

Molly Millions, also known as "Razorgirl," is a cyber-enhanced street samurai in Gibson's "Neuromancer." Her steely determination and skill with cybernetic enhancements make her a formidable force. However, beneath her tough exterior lies a character deeply scarred by her past. Molly's journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in a world where flesh and technology merge seamlessly. She fights not only for survival but for the chance to reclaim her humanity.

In the cyberpunk genre, where moral ambiguity reigns supreme, these unsung heroes, or "saints," stand out as beacons of hope, redemption, and resilience. Their stories remind us that, in the darkest of futures, there are those who refuse to lose their humanity and continue to fight for a better world. These five characters, each flawed in their own way, exemplify the enduring themes of the cyberpunk genre and the indomitable spirit of those who dare to be the good guys in a world gone digital.

- Raz

[oakendesk]

book cover - Love Peddler - 1957 (modified version of 1952 book cover Lust for Love and 1953 Book Cover Pound Of Flesh)

Owen Kampen

book cover - Lust For Love -1952

book cover - Pound Of Flesh - 1953

[minti-tales]

A treat will be awaiting minti when she enters her rooms at GA headquarters: a plate of sliced limes, cut into perfect circles and placed in an ornate bowl. A glass of what appears to be a sweet and fruity beverage is placed next to it. A folded note is placed in front:

“Green like your eyes - T”

Minti Chocolate undergoes a change.

CW: Body dysphoria, language, mental health, nudity.

A miracle potion, contained within one slender, royal blue-tinted bottle. A convenient way to become a new man - or woman - by simply sleeping, as long as the drinker had removed all their clothing before getting into bed.

That's what the drink was supposed to be, if the heavily robed hyur who gave it to Minti hadn't lied. A free sample, meant to give the viera the same power of transformation that it had for the lalafell, now hyur, gladiator she helped earlier that day. The fellow who wanted a shot of confidence before their big debut in the Ul'dahn Coliseum.

It was so utterly convenient, wasn't it, the way that the gladiator just happened to walk up to the peddler and Minti as they were talking. Just happened to flex his muscles like one of the Mandervilles, and declare that he felt as if he were a man renewed - a lalafell reborn. Odd, too, that the peddler acted as if nothing had ever taken place, and practically shoved a spare bottle into the viera's bags before scuttling off to whatever alley he happened to come from. The whole thing stunk, if she could be honest with herself. Stunk like a wilted cactuar. A set-up. That's what it was. A set-up.

That scene by Sapphire Alley was surely just a scheme to separate the viera from her gil, a distraction to keep her from helping a person in need. There were geomancers in Kugane who did a similar thing, pretending to divine fortunes for gaijin visitors and shoving healing bracelets onto their wrists. "A donation," they'd intone, over and over, "A donation and all your troubles will be gone. Your love - returned from overseas. Your purse - full to bursting. All for a small donation. This bracelet will keep you safe, but the kami will sour your fortune if you do not seek my help.

Have care, good sir. Have care."

---

There was a part of Minti Chocolate that felt as if she wasn't herself.

A mask from some forgotten play clung to her flesh, refusing to peel off. Minti had made peace with herself after the events of recent days, yes, but something still dug its pinching claws into the contours of her face, spun tight sticky strands by her eyes, her lips, the parts of her that could extend the fibers of her muscles into what passed for a smile.

She could feel the thing's reach over her all the way up to her very long ears.

Voidspawn.

Dragonspawn.

The heretic girl sheltered by the heretic knight.

What a shame that she didn't burn along with her House's Lady.

The viera was herself, but also, very strongly, she wasn't. This she knew. In this moment, hidden away from her friends and coworkers, she couldn't reach the bottle to pop the cork, drink it all in one go, and get herself into her comfy bed to sleep. Her clothes were off, she was as naked as could be, but she could. Not. Reach it.

Was she sweating? She must be. Twelve, this must be panic, or...

What would Krile think? She'd say something about being true to yourself or some shite, nothing good or of import. But, but being true meant taking risks, yes? Yes?

(The Signora): Better to stay as you are, my dear. To smile and laugh and be a good girl and stay out of sight, lest the priest with the burning gaze sees you too-

Minti's hand was shaking, reaching for the bottle. She was close - so close that the tips of her fingers were chilled by the dripping liquid coming off the bottle. How her hand shook!

Ah, but then there was the cool of a bird flapping its wings from nearby. A great, warm, gigantic bird roosting by her, and extending a wing across the whole of her back.

(The Firebird): To what heights must I climb to reach your heart, Minti? Are you afraid to trust someone who doesn't wear your face? Who is not you?

A lifetime ago, you gave me your trust, and I, in you. Our hearts were shared, our wings aloft on the same skies. Do not tell me that the world has forced you to rise to where none can touch you. Where I, your center, your flame, cannot find you.

Do not dare tell me that you are paralyzed with guilt, my love. You do not deserve a moment more of living with this pain.

Allow me. I will not ask your permission, you are clearly in no position to give it.

Consider what I do an act of selfless love.

Harken to me.

Listen to my melody, my heart.

---

Ah, yes.

Minti was awake.

It'd been such a long sleep, and she was sure that her head was being drummed on by an entire percussion section of lalafells. Twelve, everything hurt.

What was over by her table? Her bags and adventuring gear had been pushed to the side for...fruit. A glass with green liquid in it. A square piece of vellum - a note?

She should go get. She shoul- Ahh!

The floor hurts when you fall on it, doesn't it. It hurts more when your limbs feel like a newborn dhamel, flailing about this way and that, your brain firing off commands to nerves and muscles that haven't a damned clue what they're supposed to be doing.

(Minti): Little steps. I'll take little steps. I'll crawl on the floor if I have to, like a damned newborn. I don't care who sees me. I don't. Care.

After stumbling over to the table, her legs and feet making the weakest attempts at working, Minti got some answers. It wasn't her imagination playing tricks on her, there was fruit. A plate of sliced emerald green fruit, each perfectly cut, in an ornate bowl. How considerate. Mayhap if she had a bite-

(Minti): Agh. Gah. Sour. Quite sour. Pfleh.

The calm, androgynous voice of The Artist reached Minti's ears. Louder than a whisper, with the delivery of an authority figure who was...disappointed. Not mad, just disappointed.

(The Artist): <Calmly> Minti.

(Minti): <Frustrated> What?

(The Artist): I believe those are limes, of the fruit variety.

(Minti): No shite, I knew they were limes.

(The Artist): Limes happen to be sour, not sweet.

(Minti): I know that.

(The Artist): Why did you eat them?

(Minti): I was hungry.

(The Artist): ....

(Minti): Don't you go quiet on me, I'm not stupid.

(The Artist): Read the note. But first, you may wish to squeeze the limes into the glass, stir, drink, and look at your visage upon yonder vessel's surface. I believe some...rather dramatic changes have taken place.

One sweet and sour drink later, and The Artist was proven right. There had been changes.

To start, Minti was taller, quite taller. She had broad shoulders, long braided black hair that flowed down her back, a scar along her left cheek, amongst other changes. The woman was as if a sculptor had crafted a Hellsguard woman out of Thanalan clay and breathed life into her. To say that she was statuesque was putting it mildly.

After patting her cheeks, pulling her nose, and doing all the things you aren't supposed to do with your face, Minti reached for the square piece of vellum which had laying by the glass and fruit. Lucky that her magnifiers were nearby.

It read, "Green like your eyes - T." She did have such striking green eyes, didn't she?

Even in this new form, this...Hellsguard Roegadyn, if there could be any certainty of it, Minti Chocolate had green eyes.

A green drink, for a woman with beautiful green eyes.