#scarlet contraband

[undeadvinyls]

what kind of aliens are they?? as in the zombie ocs

ii should probably mention they r for my "PvZH set expansion project" where i pretty much rewrite/expand on the lore presented by the pvzh card sets!! and they r for the galactic gardens expansion, so. i should possibly explain how my take on pvz works like so

HUGE rambling under the cut, but appreciated if ppl would read it :]

Basics:

Let's start with the fact that the mere existence of zombies & plants living on different planets/different galaxies is actually something known, but here we will focus on the zombies side.

The space is inhabited with both zombies and plants, but zombies seem to dominate the galaxy more as a species. They are some galaxies were the plants are dominating, but most of space systems are zombie-dominated, as documented in galactic gardens comic and the Huge Gigantacus one, where we see more of zombies than plants.

The "earth zombies became aliens because of contact with Meteor Z" thing doesn't exist. Alien zombies are natural and native inhabitants of outer space and planets other than Earth. Meteor Z, like many other celestial bodies, can grand superpowers when in contact with an unliving organism (zombies, hence the name). Not all aliens possess superpowers, some get them accidentally, some on purpose. Meteor Zs are a common thing and are not treated as an illegal contraband.

Biology:

Alien zombies are distinct from each other; aliens are organized into undead species which inhabit different planets or chose a nomadic life style, all depending on the species.

A common trait among alien zombies is antennas, increased number of eyes, difference between norm of heights, etc. Some either decide to have their traits shown or hidden, either by morphing their parts so they disappear or hiding (ex. in hair)

Some alien species possess a thing called 'Full Alien Form" where they can transform their physical look into a way different image and become more chimeric-like in looks. It is not something to be treated as a "curse" though; it is a normal, ordinary thing found in a lot of zombie groups, all because of the otherworldly anatomy. Not all aliens possess a Full Alien Form though.

Law Enforcement:

Similar to the plants' Plant-etary Guard, the zombies do have an undead counterpart of it, it is called the Dead Space Department. Its main purpose is to protect galactic zombies from plants and connect them together.

Each planet, galaxy, etc. has their own rules, but some things are hailed as "intergalactically" illegal by the DSD, such as the Zombot Battlecruiser 5000 (like its flavor text says)

Bounty hunting is also a very common thing. Honestly, there's a lot of bounty hunters in space, either working alone or for some faction. Bounty Hunters are not that much wanted by DSD; unless they have done a crime against zombies. Plant-etary Guard is the faction which is always after a bounty hunter's tail.

Notable species (that I have ocs of!):

some of the most notable alien species featured in my rewrite are:

Arahnens -notable ones are Millisecond, Scarlet, Victoria and An Unseen Unnamed One:tm: BUEBEUB

Cephalins - notable ones are Lorr'aine, Henrique, Clara'beth and Tempest

Vespids (created by @/Scribshade <33) - notable one is Dalton

Cosmic Zombies - notable ones are Ivory

THATS ALL!! tysm for reading : ]]

[shadowrosespr]

Shadow Report - 2024-10-17 This is the Shadow Roses' public report for the third week of the month of October. More details about specific topics are available on request. The report is as follows.

Disclaimer: This is a RP Report. Activities listed here should be assumed to be in-character and be treated as such.

Suspicious Activity

There is a rise in suspicious happening in the Catacombs under the Slaugthered Lamb, on Stormwind Docks and over Booty Bay.

A group of gnomes was spotted organizing some sort of summoning ritual, but their activity was disrupted by a couple of night elves looking for a quiet place for intimacy.

There are reports of a small group of Death Knigths using one of the catacombs as a meeting place, during the mornings. Their activity seem to be focused on discussing regular affairs and their plan of actions for the following days, but further investigation is recommended.

Contraband is being traded on the Stormwind Docks late at night.

There is a rise of people settling at Booty Bay. A new pirate faction might be on the rise. Agents are on the case for more information.

Scarlet Crusade Infiltrators

There are reports of members of the Scarlet Crusade posing as Hallowfal Arathi to infiltrate on Stormwind and other Alliance-bound cities. Our orientation is for any agent to be on the lookout - Scarlet Crusade members are still to be arrested on sight, and shouldn't be allowed free access to Alliance cities.

Draenei Breeding Program

There has been an uptick of people interacting in Exodar, mostly engaging in what's being called DBP - Draenei Breeding Program. This seems to be a form of social gathering with emphasis on finding a mate and/or producing offspring. Caution is warranted when visiting the Exodar as to not disrupt those engaging in such activities.

Hotspot: Darkshire

With the arrival of October and Hallow's End drawing close, there is a surge in activity in Darkshire, and in Duskwood in general. People looking for interaction should head there. This is the report.

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 1,826

Dave: Combine whole Caledscratch and ruby contraband.

Out of curiosity you try it again with a whole sword. You dial back CALEDSCRATCH'S little turntable, rewinding the sword to a point in its history before it was broken. You then combine it with the red frog thingy to show the complete SCARLET RIBBITAR. But there's no way you can afford to make that yet. It costs even more now. Maybe you'll stick to combining items around your house for now, rather than stuff from your future sylladex. It'll be less confusing that way, and probably less expensive.

Author commentary: Taking a peek at this sword, we get the impression that it's very powerful but also a bit silly as far as killer swords go. Dave should probably just save his grist, forget this thing, and make use of much more serious and badass weapons, such as the ones found on the following two pages.

[neverafters]

his grimace was reflexive . they could have entire conversations with a single look , but saying any of it out loud was the worst kind of sin : it made it real . it was real . they had survived the great war together , but they were still fighting every day . stormy grays stared out at the empty court , like he could find something there . an answer . a way out . peace . it was just an empty court , a black and white reminder of everything they had been through , both separately and together . ❝ did you ? ❞ he asked, turning his tired gaze back to meet hers . ❝ survive ? ❞ he clarified , the word bitter on his tongue . that was all they could do , survive . it wasn't enough .

gaze dropped to the cigarette in her hand before he reached out , taking the contraband from her fingers . cigarettes were banned from evermore , but they each had their vices . jean's poison of choice was a bottle tucked into the chest at the foot of his bed . he used to be more mindful of how well he concealed it , but he just didn't care anymore . he took a long drag from the cigarette , then passed it back to her . ❝ you should get that looked at , ❞ he deflected , gesturing toward the scarlet stain under her nose . he knew she wouldn't . evermore's entire staff was under the moriyama's payroll , and that included the nurse's office. ❝ ———or , a tampon works wonders . ❞

SHE WATCHES HIM, EYES HEAVY-LIDDED. the earlier practice swirls like a storm in her head, ringing in her left ear still present. bruised knuckles & weary eyes & the taste of salt & metal on her tongue. it feels familiar now, what a horrible thing it is- to be accustomed to pain. she is at home knowing azure blues and emerald greens will paint the back of her hands & she is going to need some ice packs to keep her cheeks & eyes from swelling. it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, especially when she catches a glimpse of jean in the field he was not supposed to be in- salt to the wound. the memories of him and what they used to have been fading, dust in the wind and they have made an unspoken deal to let it be years ago. quick glances & almost uttered words & clenched fists are all there is now.

shit, he says, and bianca does not react in return: her feet resting on the seat in front of her, elbows rested on knees, heel of her palm pressed against her chin as a half-burnt cigarette dangles between two frail fingers. those things are going to kill you, he says, and she offers a feeble smile. “ c'mon, we both know i survived greater foes than nicotine. ” another puff, full lungs and a nasty taste on her mouth before her posture shrinks to reveal a much exhausted posture. “ why are you here? you haven't spoken to me in months. ”

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #26

Prompt: “I’m doing it, shut up“

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Rating: G

Pairings: Camille/Richard

Richard is not nearly as much a stickler for rules as she first assumed, or he pretends to be – really, he loves playing the stiff British man despite a tendency to bend the rules when he can and feels it’s right.

Even so, Camille knows that, between the two of them, she’s always been the one to think on her feet and perhaps do things in a rather… unusual way, rather than check the rule book. It’s part of the reason she did so well in undercover work.

Richard, for the most part, has come to accept that she will now and then rush in where angels fear to tread, and has even more than once covered her tracks when it needed to be done.

Anyway, here they are, watching Dan Allen drink in a bar. He’s suspected of being responsible for at least sixty percent of the contraband that flows into Saint Marie, and of course Richard feels very strongly about this, strongly enough that he didn’t complain when customs asked them for help.

“If we could just talk to him…” Camille muses.

“Yes, but we don’t have any evidence that would hold up at court” Richard reminds her.

“Look at him and tell me that man isn’t guilty.” Before he can say anything, she adds, “Yes, it’s a gut feeling, but humour me.”

It’s one of his sayings she has adopted, and it seems he accepts her request, for he frowns at Dan. “I suppose he does have a certain… air about him.”

“What gave it away” she says dryly as he knocks back another drink. “Say, we can’t talk to him as police, but he wouldn’t mind speaking to  a pretty woman who happens across him at the bar, would he?”

After all, one of the few things they know for sure is that Dan Allen is a bit of a womanizer.

“Camille, you’re not saying…”

“What? No law against it, is there?” After a pause she cannot help but add (as has become somewhat of a hobby for her because… well… she loves to see how he reacts) “Unless you don’t think I’m good-looking enough to catch his attention?”

“I – I didn’t say – of course you are – there is no – I just don’t think that –“

"I'm doing it, shut up" she decides because she can see that Allen is getting ready to leave, and she really wants to get something out of this – well, apart from having had another excuse to spend some time with Richard, but that’s neither here nor there (Again, as he would say).

So she gets up and, without giving Richard a chance to process, walks up to the bar, guessing correctly that he is the sort of man who prefers to approach the woman, rather than the other way around.

“Hello there beautiful.”

She forces herself to smile at him and is about to greet him or make some flirtatious comment when she sees the look in his eyes and the alarm bells start ringing.

She has met her fair share of men, and she knows that look. This is the kind who won’t accept No for an answer once he has decided he wants someone, and they can’t risk –

She decides to play naïve and simply ask, “Yes?”

But it seems that Richard read her body language correctly, because even as Allen licks his lips like a predatory animal and gets ready to answer, he calls out, “There you are, my love!”

And he strolls up to her, looking much more confident than he usually does – play-acting, she realizes. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He hesitates and she makes a split-second decision to press a kiss against his lips, since they are clearly meant to be together. Richard blinks at her, but quickly recovers. He turns to Allen. “Hello, I’m the husband.”

Camille takes his hand and, to her surprise, sees Allen back down. He must be one of those who doesn’t like being challenged by other man, since he immediately backs down.

They leave soon after that.

“Richard, thank you so much. Really” she says as soon as they’re a few streets away. “I had a bad feeling about this. You played the jealous husband rather well, really.”

Richard flushes scarlet and clears his throat, shaking his head. “Yes – well – it wasn’t difficult, not at all –“

A pause.

“To pretend” he then hastens to add, “That I was jealous. Or your husband. That’s what I meant.”

“Of course” she agrees happily because it’s too late – she has already realized what actually happened, and her heart is singing in her chest.

Not that cold and British after all, just as she knew all along.

She steps up and kisses his cheek. “Still – thank you. Again.”

When she pulls back, his face is still bright red, and she can only laugh.

She is ready to bet the next weeks and months will be very interesting in more ways than one.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Summer Break(down)

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, weed, breeding/forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Lee Bodecker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Lee + interrogation + breeding/forced pregnancy + “you think your father would still love you if he knew?”+ Reader is mayor's daughter and get caught by Lee) smoking weed , so she is forced to give her purity to him +  Reader is a sweet innocent girl that refuses Bodecker's advances, which makes him very angry so he forcefully gets her pregnant in a fucked up revenge plot to ruin her life and leave her as the scarlet letter in town.  Requested by anon and @jaceyneedsabetterusername​

You puffed the smoke and coughed it up in a painful cloud. Your throat burned as the acrid taste stained your tongue. You held out the burning joint to Darla and she chuckled as she watched you struggle. She took a log drag and blew rings in the air and handed it off to Mia.

“A whole year at college and you ain’t never tried it,” Darla teased, “what are ya doin’ up there?”

“Studying,” you rubbed your throat and refused another hit as your eyes watered, “you know how my daddy is.”

“Your daddy ain’t livin’ on campus, is he?” Mia trilled, “perfect little mayor’s daughter with her purity ring.”

“Shut up,” you growled, “if I got caught I’d be expelled, okay? I’m here now tryin’ it, aren’t I?”

“Ain’t ya?” Darla mocked, “is that how you talk now? So proper.”

“Christ, what’s gotten into you?” you waved away the smoke as she blew it in your face, “you miss me that much?”

“Nah,” she gave the stubby joint to Mia, “you just actin’ like you’re too good for us now.”

“How so? I’ve been nothing but nice--”

“Nice and sweet and perfect,” Darla muttered, “you running back to your dorm in the fall and I gotta wipe tables down as the eat-in.”

You were quite as her resent bit deep into you. It wasn’t like you made the decision yourself, your daddy would have skinned you if you hadn’t gone up to the all-girls academy. He held a prestigious office, he often reminded you, and you were just another merit on his record. You needed uphold his reputation as if it were your own.

Mia snorted dryly and offered you the joint again. Her face dropped as an arm reached around you, her reddened eyes glossy as the dwindling smoke was taken from her. You turned and backed away as the sheriff waved the joint in front of him and sniffed the air.

“I knew I smelled contraband,” his jaw ticked and his brow lifted as he eyed the three of you, “and you,” he pointed at you, “of all the girls in town, it had to be you?”

You looked at Darla and Mia as they blinked at the cop. Lee Boedecker was known for his cruel-streak and no-nonsense tolerance. You knew him as the pudgy, old man who tried to buy you a drink as you still wore your graduation cap. You remembered that day and the odd episode, how he scowled and stomped away, shaking your father’s hand on the way out of the diner.

“All this shit you’re bringin’ down from the city, huh?” he flicked the joint to the ground and blotted it out with his sole.

“N-no, I--” you looked back and forth between Mia and Darla.

“You two,” he pointed at them, “you go on.”

“What?” Mia quivered, “but--”

“You let me deal with her,” he waved her off as he gripped his gun belt, “just lookin’ out for the mayor’s daughter.”

The other girls peeked at you and slowly backed away. You watched them fearfully and as they disappeared around the front of the building, you turned back to the sheriff. He tutted as he shook his head and came closer.

“Won’t that be a scene? Tellin’ your daddy what I found you doin’,” he snickered.

“I… I wasn’t, I only--”

“I don’t care what you was only doin’,” he snorted, “I don’t… have to tell him but you’re gonna have to convince me not to.”

You blinked at him and frowned. You weren’t sure of his meaning and you surely didn’t want to find out. You backed away and he caught your arm.

“Now where’d you get that stuff?” he looked down at the crushed joint.

“It’s not mine,” you quavered, “I swear--”

“No?” he swung you against the wall and knocked the air out of you, “you sure you don’t know, now?”

You shook your head fearfully. You wouldn’t say it Darla who rolled it and lit it but you weren’t going to sell yourself down the river either. He slammed his hand above your shoulder and rested his other on his pistol as he loomed over you.

“Which one was it then? Pretty little college girl…” he purred, “a good girl, tell me which one of ‘em had it.”

You shook your head and pressed yourself to the wall, “I don’t know. Please, sheriff--”

“Please, sheriff,” he unholstered his gun and raised the muzzle. He steadied it against your chin and pushed your head up, “it was just a drink, sweetheart.”

“Sheriff, I--”

“You think you too good for me ‘cause your daddy,” he dragged the gun down your chest and along your stomach, “‘cause he sendin’ you away to read books?”

“No, no, what are you--”

He shushed you as he pushed the gun lower and hooked it under your skirt. He shoved his hand under your skirt and poked your vee with the metal nosebarrel

“I’d hate to ruin ya like that,” he sneered, “but I s’pose up at that fancy college, you got some good use.”

You shook your head and trembled as tears pricked and your nose tingled. He chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead. He wiggled the pistol between your thighs.

“No? You think your little act works on me?”

“I-- sheriff, please, I never--”

“Hmmm,” he hummed and inhaled the scent of your hair, “you ain’t no good girl.”

You sniffed as the tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart beating wildly as you waited for him to pull the trigger. He prodded more firmly and lowered his voice.

“How about I drive you back to your daddy’s and discuss this with him?”

Your eyes rounded as his blue ones caught them with a vicious gleam. You sobbed and shivered.

“If-- If you gotta--”

“Come on,” he pulled his gun away and yanked you off the wall.

He marched you down the alley and pushed you into his cruiser. He slammed the door and dropped into the front seat. He leaned to one side as he holstered his gun and clapped his hand over the wheel. He looked at you in the mirror.

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me the truth?” he asked.

“I did--”

“No,” he interrupted you, “you shut up if you ain’t gonna tell me straight.”

He started the car and rolled down the street. You shrunk into the seat afraid that someone might spot you through the window. He steered through the town and headed up the hill to your daddy’s house. You watched the trees around you as his thick breaths were laced with heated mutters.

He pulled off halfway up and idled between a pair of elms, “you can still keep my mouth shut, sweetheart.” You blinked at the mirror and he turned and stretched his arm over the back of the seat. He grinned at you and licked his lips. “What d’ya think your daddy will do?”

You hung your head. Your daddy would be so mad he’d lock you up for the rest of the summer, or worse, pull out his old switch. Your lip quivered and you sniffed as you wiped your cheeks with your cuffs.

“You want me to tell him?” Lee asked.

You peered up through your lashes at him and shook your head. He nodded and killed the engine. The car jolted as he got out and slammed his door. He opened the back and bent to look in on your with his hand on the roof.

“Right then, on your back,” he ordered.

“What--”

“If you don’t want me to tell him, you gotta keep me quiet, now lay down, sweetheart,” he reached to his belt and unbuckled it with one hand, “it’ll be quick, promise, then you can go back to bein’ a good girl.”

“Sheriff,” you kicked yourself across the seat and lunged for the other door.

He caught your ankle and dragged you back. He flipped you onto your back and crawled over you, his weight suffocating as he posted his knees between your legs.

“That’s the thing, you can keep me quiet or I can make you scream and tell your daddy anyway,” he warned as he fought with your flailing hands, “it all goes the same way, got it?”

You stilled and stared up at him. It was as if he’d slapped you. Your eyes overflowed and he brought his hand up to trace the streaks with his thumb.

“You’re so sweet,” he ran his hand down to your dress and groped your through the fabric, “mmm, so sweet.”

You tensed as he pushed his hand between your bodies and lifted himself as he pressed his fingers to your cunt. He tugged your skirt up impatiently and rubbed along the front of your underwear. You turned your head and swallowed a sob.

“I woulda been nice, taken you out proper,” he pushed his fingers under the cotton and you gasped as he caressed your folds, “you coulda been a sheriff’s wife, you coulda made your daddy proud.”

He poked his fingers inside you so roughly you whimpered. He pulled them in and out even as your body resisted. He sank to his knuckles and squeezed until you cried out.

“Now you can take my bastard home to him,” he snarled and tore his hand out of your knickers.

He unzipped his pants and wriggled as he shimmied them down. Still trapped beneath his weight, you stared at the back of the leather seat as your tears hovered on your lashes. He grunted as he ripped your panties down to your knees. He stretched the cotton between your legs as he bent them and rested on the fabric.

Bent beneath him, you closed your eyes as he felt around your cunt. He pushed his knees against your ass and lined up with your entrance. You clenched as he prodded and struggled to get his tip inside of you. He swore and leaned heavily on the elbow planted beside your head.

“Now, don’t make this harder than--” He bucked into you so hard you hollered. He smothered it with his hand and held himself deep inside of you, “you weren’t lyin’ about the boys, were you?”

You squeezed your eyes tight and he wiggled until you squirmed. He pulled back and rammed back into you roughly, groaning as he did. He waited and did it again, each thrust reverberated up your spine.

“You think your father would still love you if he knew?” he rasped, “huh, what you think everyone will say? That whore went up to the city and got a child on her.”

“P-p-please,” you whispered as you pushed on his chest, “it… hurts.”

“Oh, it gon’ hurt, sweetheart,” he growled, “but it didn’t have to.” He hissed as he kept his hips moving, “you made it this way.”

“I can’t-- don’t-- I can’t have a ba--”

“You gonna have my baby,” he sneered and hooked his arm under you, “you gonna carry me with you the rest of your life,” the car shook with his movement, “it was only a drink, sweetheart… one drink.”

👮👮👮

Please reblog and like! Let me know what you think.

[holyhead-harpy]

The Inflatable Killer Whale

For @pottinglilies - you are such a gift to the fandom, and I thought your killer whale story. I hope you like this.

“Last year, Lils, can you believe it?” asked Marlene McKinnon as she and Lily Evans exited the welcome feast.

“It feels so strange to be leaving Hogwarts,” Lily replied.

“Well, we’re not leaving yet, so don’t get all maudlin on me. Will you be taking off that Head Girl badge to celebrate the start of the year with the rest of us tonight?”

“Yeah, Marls, Merlin know I’ll need to take my chance to relax while I can before NEWTs prep really kicks up.”

“Merlin’s balls, don’t remind me,” groaned Mary MacDougal as she passed the two other girls on the stairs, “do you think if I spontaneously combust they’ll send a passing grade to my mum out of pity?”

“Probably not, said Marlene, not unsympathetically, “did you ever hear what happened to Edna MacMillan?”

Mary’s wince suggested she had.

“Oh, Mary, I brought you something for your Muggle Studies project,” Lily interjected.

“Wicked, thanks!” Dread at the upcoming exams pushed off for the time being, Mary disappeared amidst the throng of students in the stairway.

“What’d you get, Lils?” asked Marlene.

“I’ll show you later tonight,” Lily responded.

However, all thoughts of muggle items quickly left both of their thoughts as they entered the Gryffindor common room and observed the riot of decorations and students loudly catching up with their friends after the summer holidays.

“This seems a touch overboard,” Lily said, after taking a minute to regain her bearings.

“It’s seventh year,” said Remus Lupin as he passed by, levitating several streamers that were flashing between scarlet and gold, “so, it’s now or never, really.”

“And I, for one, vote now,” Marlene agreed enthusiastically, “Remus, I assume someone has drinks?”

Remus indicated one of the window alcoves, where a grinning Sirius Black was holding court over an eager throng. “Sirius picked up some stuff from Hogsmeade.”

“So that’s why he missed the Sorting,” Lily muttered.

Remus put a finger over his mouth and winked. “Mums the word, if you don’t mind, Madame Head Girl.”

Lily rolled her eyes but nodded nonetheless as Marlene threw an arm over her shoulder and led her to the drinks.

“So, Sirius, I assume there’s some fire whiskey among your contraband?” asked Marlene.

“You assume correctly, but for two ladies as lovely as yourselves, I’ve got something even better: old Aberforth gave me a bottle of his moonshine,” Sirius said, “careful though, this stuff is strong.”

 ~

Several shots of Aberforth’s moonshine later, the common room was beginning to have a pleasant blur around the edges. The lower years had largely been shooed off to bed, and the upper years were taking full advantage of their last day before classes began, other than an unfortunate few who had not completed their summer homework. For her part, Lily was feeling somewhat more fond of her year mates than usual—even of Potter, who had, admittedly, been much more tolerable of late and hadn’t asked her out once over the summer or since arriving back at Hogwarts.

“Lils, your muggle thing!” said Marlene suddenly, with great urgency despite the slight slurring of her words, “your muggle thing, you were going to show me your muggle thing!”

“Oh, right,” Lily replied, somewhat loath to leave her comfy spot of the sofa nearest the fire, “can I show you tomorrow?”

“No!” Marlene exclaimed, giving her friend a light shove off the sofa, “I’ll save your spot, just go get it!”

“Or else we can set a new fire for you wherever you end up sitting,” said the passing Sirius with a wicked grin.

“You will do no such thing, Sirius Black!” called Lily over her shoulder as she made her way up the girls’ stairs.

“Merlin’s balls, but she reminds me of McGonagall when she’s pissed,” commented Sirius as he went off to find where Prongs had wandered off to.

 ~

After taking a frankly embarrassing amount of time trying to blow up the item before remembering she could just use an inflation charm, Lily returned to the common room bearing a large inflatable killer whale. She showed it to Marlene, who was somewhat disappointed that it didn’t actually do anything.

“So,” said Marlene slowly, turning the orca over in her hands, “it’s made of rubber…”

“Right,” Lily replied.

“And you fill it with air…”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“You play with it Marls, it’s just for fun.”

“I’m not sure about muggles’ ideas of fun,” said Marlene dubiously, “I mean, I can’t imagine spending much time playing with that.”

At that moment, however, James Potter—Quidditch sensation, Gryffindor heart-throb, and three-sheets to the wind on several shots more of Aberforth’s moonshine that would be strictly advisable for anyone who was beginning the next day with double potions—gasped audibly and snatched the orca away from Marlene.

“What is this?” he asked, slightly too loudly.

“It’s an inflatable killer whale,” Lily replied, “a muggle creation.”

Rather than respond, James darted off amidst the throng of people, still holding the toy.

“Damn,” hissed Lily, “I need to get that back. Who knows what he and his idiot friends would do to it.”

 ~

“Sirius!” James exclaimed, brandishing the orca, “look at this!”

“That’s neat, mate,” Sirius replied.

“Neat? This is the greatest thing muggles have ever created!”

“I’m not sure about that,” Sirius said reasonably, “what about…”

“No,” James cut him off with the confidence of the very drunk, “bugger your motorcycle, this is the greatest thing that muggles have ever made.”

What was sure to be a passionate argument was cut off by the arrival of Lily Evans, in full force as Head Girl and Voice of Reason of Gryffindor House, only slightly undercut by the fact that she had clearly been drinking as well.

“I’ll have that back, Potter,” she demanded, and grabbed the killer whale back from his arms before marching off.

“Tough luck, mate,” Sirius said, patting James on the shoulder.

“No,” said James, “this means war.”

 ~

Lily had just resettled on the sofa—though Marlene had taken her spot nearest the fire while she was gone, the traitorous witch—when James sprinted past with a yodeling war cry and stole the orca. Lily reacted quickly, firing off a tripping jinx at his back, causing him to fall forward and taking out a pair of sixth year girls with him. Lily made her way over as delicately as possible to retrieve the whale, fixing the prone boy with her iciest glare.

 ~

“We need your help, Moony,” James murmured to his friend.

“What with?” asked Remus without hesitation.

“To distract Evans,” Sirius answered.

“So we can get the whale back,” James clarified unhelpfully.

“The whale?” Remus questioned?

“Don’t worry about it,” Sirius said.

“How should I distract her though?”

“Just talk about homework or something,” Sirius said.

“Ask her what she wrote about for the charms essay on the impact of wand grip on emotion-based charms,” James said, with unexpected insight, “she loves charms.”

Several minutes later, Lily was giving an impassioned oration on the importance of varying one’s grip in accordance with whether one wanted to cast a charm to cause a positive pr negative emotion, Remus egging her on by suggesting that the Crumperton grip was designed to be multipurpose. However, it wasn’t until Sirius pointed out the problematic nature of defining an emotion as positive or negative that the orca fell beside her, forgotten. James took the shark and snuck off, always having preferred Transfiguration to Charms and thus much less invested than the others.  

 ~

It was significantly later that they called the debate a draw and lily noticed the toy was missing again. However, she quickly spotted it next to James, who was quite distracted by a game of Exploding Snap. She attempted to levitate the whale over to her, but even heavily inebriated, James’s seeker instincts held true and he snatched it out of the air.

 ~

“You know,” said Sirius, “after all this bother, I think our killer friend needs a name. Ulrich, perhaps? Unctious?”

“How about Hortensia?” Remus suggested, eager to head off what was sure to be a list of every name beginning with a U ever bestowed upon a child—with the unfortunate naming habits of pure-bloods, there were sure to be a lot of them.

“Alihotsy,” James declared, “like the fudge. Merlin, I’d like some fudge right now.”

 ~

As the party began to wind down in the early hours of the morning, Lily approached James again.

“Look, I know we’ve all been having fun, but I really do need that back. I only brought it for Mary’s Muggle Studies project, and they’ll be starting on them soon, to be ready for NEWTs.”

“I’ll give it back for a kiss,” James offered, perhaps less flirtatiously and more sincerely than he intended.

“Alright,” Lily agreed easily, surprising herself as much as James. He handed back the orca and Lily closed her eyes as James slowly leaned forward. Then, suddenly, James snatched back the toy and ran off up the stairs, cackling. Lily was annoyed, of course, bit underneath that was surprised to find herself, disappointed?

James Potter woke up the next morning to a splitting hangover, which quickly gave way to intense regret as he remembered his final actions from the night before.

“Did I really give up the chance to kiss Lily Evans?” he groaned.

“’Fraid so, mate,” Sirius answered, far too cheerfully as he levitated the inflatable killer whale to make it appear to swim through the air of the dorm, “but at least we’ve still got Alihotsy. I’ll admit, she’s grown on me.”

James only moaned and buried his head in a pillow.

[dystopiandramaqueen]

E4E9: Osblaine

I am ending my mourning period.

Just in time for the finale tonight.

God give me strength.

June driving away from Luke. With Holly. To see Nick.

That was the first time she looked free since she left Gilead.

Smiling- not to manipulate or soothe Luke. Not out of politeness. Smiling at herself. Because she was happy.

I love her red coat. Red is traditionally a women's power color. It has been twisted by the patriarchy into a badge of shame. Women with red nails? Red lips? Red dresses? Harlots. Ladies of the night. Homewreckers.

Think of the Scarlet Letter- the novel where a puritain town made an adultress wear a red "A" on their chest to shame them for sexual activity, very similar to Gilead.

But in this scene- June's owning it. Reclaiming it. Wearing power red. The color of fire. Heat. Lust. Blood. Wine. Sex. Birth. Wearing it proudly as she leaves her husband to see her lover. LOVE it.

Me screaming at the screen: JUST RUN AWAY WITH HIM WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE JUNE! I know they wont let Nick "rescue" her. Bc feminism. But god what if she rescues him. Throws baby daddy in a car and drives off into the sunset. If that's not how the finale ends, I'm writing it.

June is SO INTO NICK. Ok. She is the thirstiest fangirl of us all.

And he is still fucking flirting every chance he gets. Sayin she looks good off the bat. Lord have mercy.

Between the lines:

He doesn't wanna talk about Gilead.

He's surviving. Barely. "Hanging in there"- makes me think of clinging to the edge of a cliff. Not stable. Not comfortable. Hanging in there. Like Bruce said yesterday, his focus is survival.

I love that he never stopped working to help her, to fulfil his promises to her. Even long after she was gone.

Note they're sitting at different windows, separated until she confirms that he did all that for her.

Their kiss had the same energy as the hospital kiss. It was unplanned. Urgent and unavoidable.

When I think - about Atwood's words that "every time is the first, every time is the last"- this meeting (to Nick) must TRULY feel like their last. He has gotten her all the way out. She is safe and stable. He wants her to stay there. Raise their daughter in freedom. Forget him and move on.

But as much as he needs this to be the end of their relationship-

He can't not kiss her. He has to. He needs her to know that he will never stop wanting her, fighting for her, loving her. Even if he never sees her again.

And she has to stop them. Bc when Nick is in that headspace, he'll kiss you in the middle of Waterford's house in broad daylight. He'll kiss you in a hospital hallway surrounded by soldiers. When he's hurting like that, he doesn't give a shit about anything other than her lips and his. Her heart and his.

June breaks the kiss, but remember in the hospital she chastised herself and ran away.

This time she holds him. She doesn't fight the emotion. She kisses his forehead like she did on the bridge.

He's fuckin crying. Just like the hospital. Sniffing and wiping his cheeks. God help me.

I wonder if Nick knew Holly was coming.

I notice him using his gentle sacred touch with that doll- like he did with the letters from Jezebel's. It's contraband. It's illegal where he lives. To love his own daughter.

The way his voice breaks when he asks if Holly can keep it with her- even when he's not around. Bc he needs Holly to know he loves her. He'll never stop fighting to keep her safe. He'll never forget her. Even if he never sees her again.

Note how Holly locks eyes with Nick when he gives her the doll.

Gift giving is a language young kids understand. She sees him in that moment.

Outside- in the shadow- Nick's chin is quivering. His muscles are tight, jaw clenched, breaths shallow. He's trying not to cry. Trying not to kiss her again. Trying to hold his shit together so June remembers a dignified goodbye.

"Keep yourself safe" because he won't be there to do it anymore.

"Try and be happy"- he doesn't sound convincing. But he's giving her permission. Permission to move on. To forget him. To have a full life without him.

It's final goodbye. Like "take care" was outside the rubble of the Waterford house. It's an I love you. When those words are too painful to say.

He won't say I love you because he needs her to try and let him go.

He will never let her go, but he needs her to stay safe in Canada.

June laughs, firing it back at him - bc it's a fucking joke.

They both know they're only happy when they're together.

[outsiders-angel]

I got tagged in a music game by @noworriesbae!!

I gotta do 3 artists and five different songs from them.

Periphery:

Make Total Destroy

Scarlet

Alpha

Frogging Bullfish

Marigold

Make Them Suffer:

Doomswitch

Hollowed heart

Bones

Contraband

Uncharted

Mori Calliope:

Wanting,getting,wanting

Q

End of a life

Dead on arrival

Cursed night

No worries tagged some of the people I was gonna tag, but I’ll also include @lovely-n0vember @mylovelylittleluna @crybabyfucktoy @thecrypticores @poison-r0se

[cxnsolatio]

✚✚✚  lilith  —  @redlips-blooddrops-deux

It had gotten worse again. The ear-splitting screams, the smoke, equally assailant of the eyes and the lungs, the many stenches of survival and death. And with it, the symptoms of which condition he could not tell anymore, the insidiousness of both disorder and withdrawal intertwining into the same thread of hardship past and present higher authorities spun in his name. He woke up, and it did seem he woke up a number of times disproportionate to those he fell asleep, acutely aware of the changes to his heart rate and blood pressure, even by his standards, more than humble fluctuations of routine. At least these manifestations he could keep intimately hidden, making no one the wiser. Of his eyes, people had grown accustomed to their unsightly appearance, so much so they held it as standard. His hands, however, were harder to render invisible.

The tremors marred his pride as everything that he was, a captain, a doctor, a man. How could it not be so, when even the task of shaving, habitual by nature and methodical in execution, proved difficult? It had surprised, infuriated him to find the cakes amiss from their storage box, for sure not taken but consumed. How could he have been so careless as to let them disappear? He was always so disciplined in his expenditures! If he was not, was he actually himself? A single droplet of scarlet fell onto the sink, carrying with it gallons of shame.

Law donned coveralls of his own, Tang yellow, so that he could keep his hands pocketed and concealed from the crew, lest the sight of his digits stripped of all sureness unnerve them, further adding to the captain's list of quandaries to fix. As he traversed the metal corridors of their home, he dispensed nods and smirks alike in acknowledgement to everyday jibes. Good morning, Captain, you look like crap today. Did you even sleep? Do you ever? Of fucking course he did.

In a dark niche where he fit like a grotesque in a cathedral, Law uncovered his hands, extended five fingers ahead. There are five stages to sleep deprivation. Each more distressing than the former, an ever-increasing nightmare of fatigue and disconnection from reality, crystallising in psychosis. Why would anyone believe that he, who treasured his mind, and the family he had fashioned over the years over his own existence, would gamble theirs on his personal rest, or lack thereof? Law would not lose either mind or family a second time. Sleep could, after all, be induced. The persuasion better than nought.

Every so often, Law needed a little help, and this he sought no further than his own acquired pharmacological knowledge, himself capable of providing the medicine needed through cultivation or purchasing of ingredients, isolation of active principles, the fashioning of drugs. It would not do this time �� he needed her. Rather, he needed the culture only she could source and whose details would not share, that rarest of poppies, the analeptic properties of her opulent beauty notwithstanding. But it was prophylaxis he required besides treatment. He required his hands to return.

***

The cobblestone mirrored the red lights which emanated from the cabaret and filled the street with an aura of dangerous sensuality. Patrons awaited at the door, the evening breeze carrying voices and giggles which betrayed gambling intent, promises of a night well spent. Unlike them, it was not the illusion of easy fortune or the palpitations choreographed by glistening legs en suite which had brought Law here, but the contraband. All else, displays of sinful worship in this temple of vice, may come as dividends bestowed upon him by the Bellerose herself, if in a charitable mood. God willing.

Law lifted the hood of his coat over his hat, half-concealing the spots from view, not quite succeeding at looking inconspicuous. Such would have been undoable anyway, given Kikoku's slumber against his arm and shoulder, as if in loving embrace. Then again, anonymity was not the goal the doctor was striving for, only a balance between recognition and privacy so he could conduct his business with the Madame in peace.

He saw that Russo fellow, Law recalled, motion for the next person in line to come closer for inspection and admittance or exclusion. Muttering under his breath, he cursed the security for always making him part from his blade, even though it would always be returned unscathed upon the owner's compliance, what reasonable alternative did Law have? The man was a pain in the arse, and number one in what felt like an endless catalogue of obstacles before the owner could be reached. What a shame his sideburns looked particularly plain today, lessening the chances of Bellerose finally cracking under the weight of his handsomeness and grant him a VIP pass to release him of all this preceding ado! 

A band-aid with a childish doodle of a single bear face could be found on his right jaw, where the tremor had maimed him.

[snoauthentic]

Gasoline -Fred Weasley-

Prologue

        Yesterday, I arrived at the Weasley's house for the last few weeks of summer break before we went back to Hogwarts for our next school year.  I was also pretty happy to get to go because I love quidditch, but it also meant that I got to spend more time with Fred and George. The three of us, plus Lee Jordan, have been friends since our first year when we meet on the scarlet Hogwarts train, and ever since then, we've all been pretty much inseparable. Since our second year, people have always assumed that Fred and I were dating, but we're far from that. In fact, over the summer, Aiden Rosier and I have been sending letters back and forth a lot more. Aiden is a seventh year Gryffindor who I met in the previous school year. We had ran into each other in the library one afternoon while I was trying to study for the O.W.Ls. He actually helped me study quite a lot for them, and I passed every single one that I took thanks to him. That all being said, I'm hoping he asks me on a date soon. 

        Mrs. Weasley came into the room quietly, waking Hermione and Ginny up before she made her way towards where I laid. She paused for a moment when she realized I was already awake before she said, "Oh, you're awake! Hurry and get ready. Don't want to be late for the World Cup."

        "Yes, ma'am," I replied, pushing the covers off of me and got up. I grabbed my clothes and waited for Hermione to close the door as her and Ginny went down. I also packed a bag with a change of clothes so that I could change before the game. I definitely didn't want to cheer for Ireland in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. After making sure everything I needed was inside my pack, as well as packing a few more things that I may not need, I tossed it over my shoulder and left the room to head to Ron's room where Fred and George were sleeping due to Bill and Charlie taking over their room. I knocked on the door and leaned against the wall, waiting for them to answer. Ron and Harry were the ones who opened the door, I gave them a smile and wave which they returned before they walked past me to go down stairs. Without asking if the twins were decent, I walked in and shut the door. They were already dressed and were standing over something on Ron's bed.

        "What are you two trouble makers up to?" I asked as I stood beside them. 

        "We're stocking up on our Ton-Tongue Toffees," George answered, holding up the brightly colored wrapped candies. 

        "We're going to try to make a bit of money while at the game. Get the name out for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Fred grinned. 

        "Do you have room in your bag for some? Mum will more than likely try to make sure we're not smuggling anything out because of the incident yesterday," George said.

        I nodded remembering what had happened. I had stayed at the Burrow while George, Fred, Ron, and Mr. Weasley Floo'd to Harry's house to pick him up. They had told me that the fireplace was boarded up when they arrived, so Mr. Weasley had to essentially blow it up, giving the Muggles a big fright. Fred and George had went up stairs to fetch Harry's truck and Hedwig's cage, and whenever they were about to Floo back, Fred "accidentally" dropped a ton of the toffees. He had grabbed all except one which happened to be the one that Dudley, Harry's plump Muggle cousin who was also put on a diet, had ate the toffee and his tongue had swollen four feet before they had allowed Mr. Weasley to fix it. When Mrs. Weasley heard what happened, she had a right fit. 

        "Yeah. Mum put an undetectable extension charm on it first year. You don't think she'd check my bag?" I asked.

        They both paused, thinking, before Fred said, "No. She swears you're a good influence on us."

        I didn't say anything else as I placed my back on the bed and opened it, shoveling some of the toffees into it and under some clothes in case Mrs. Weasley did want to search it. The three of finished hiding the contraband before making our way downstairs and into the kitchen, taking seats beside one another. Everyone ate in silence before Mrs. Weasley told us that Bill, Charlie, and Percy would be apparating to the game later. This of course made the others groan since we had to wake up earlier than they had to. 

        Out of no where, Mrs. Weasley caused everyone to jump due to her sharply saying, "George!"

        "What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived absolutely no one. 

        "What is that in your pocket?" 

        "Nothing!"

        "Don't you lie to me!"

        Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

        Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand. 

        "We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. I bit my lip, hoping she wouldn't search everyone for me. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

        As the scene went on, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the twins. I knew that they were trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find the majority of them. Toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans. Thankfully the toffees that we placed in my bag, stayed in place. 

        "We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away. 

        "Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

        I flinched as she said that, my heart sinking as I looked at the twins' face. For a split second you could see sadness filter into their eyes, but in the next, they were filled with anger. I knew her words hurt them, I had comforted them many times in the past when Mrs. Weasley scolded them for their joke shop items. 

        All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not as nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her. I gave her a small smile and hug before placing my back on my shoulder and running after the tall boys. Mrs. Weasley shouted for us to have a lovely time and for us to behave as our group of eight departed towards the portkey, where ever that was. 

~~

        It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. I glanced up as I noticed Harry speed up to walk beside Mr. Weasley. 

        Faintly, I heard him asked, "So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?"

        "It's been a massive organizational problem," sighed Mr. Weasley. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters-"

        I pretty much tuned the rest out as I looked to my left at Fred.

        "Are you two okay?" I asked. 

        "Fine," George grumbled. 

        I sighed heavily, "That's some bull. You're forgetting I've known you two for six years. Stop lying to me."

        "We're just tired of it. We've poured out time, energy, and money into making quality products, and Mum destroys them then essentially says we're going no where when we're trying to do something we love!" Fred bursts. "I mean honestly. We don't like Ministry work, but she wants us to work there like Dad, like Percy. She wants us to get a job like Charlie or Bill. We're not them though. We're Fred and George. We're jokesters. Pranksters. We like to bring smiles onto peoples faces and make them laugh. Why can't we do the things we love and want to do rather than what everyone else wants us to do?"

        I nod, "I agree with you. You should be able to do what you love, and everyone knows you guys have a passion for it. I would just continue to do it, and if needed, just send me all your products. It'll be safe at my house."

        This brought a smile onto both of their faces, and I'm glad it did because that's what I was shooting for. Ahead of us, Mr. Weasley was stilling telling Harry how so many wizards were able to congregate in one area without Muggles getting suspicious. 

        "For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

        Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of us, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Fred, George, and I walked closer to Mr. Weasley and Harry. 

        "What sort of objects are Portkeys?" Harry asked. 

        "Well, they can be anything," said Mr. Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them, stuff they'll just think is litter."

        We continued to trudge down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. My hands and feet were freezing, so I knew everyone else's probably was as well. I was about to start talking, but with the stitch in my side getting worse, I decided not to. We began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of frass. Each breath I took was sharp, and occasionally my knees would slightly give out causing me to stumble a tad. Thankfully Fred reacted quickly and grabbed my arm tightly to keep me upright. Eventually, he got tired of doing it every time and just kept his hand on me until we made it to level ground. 

        "Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes. Now we just need the Porkey. It won't be big. Come on."

        I tossed my head back in a silent groan as everyone dispersed to look for something that could be actual litter on the ground. We had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout broke the still air. 

        "Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

        Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

        "Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed behind him, completely tired. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand. My face contorted into a look of disgust, not looking forward to touching it what so ever. 

        "This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric."

        Cedric Diggory is definitely described as handsome. He's seventeen, Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team, and if you asked anyone other then me, they'd say he was the most attractive student at Hogwarts. 

        "Hi," said Cedric, looking around at all of us. I gave him a smile. Cedric and I had studied many times in the past as well since we typically would end up at the same table in the library. 

        Everybody said hi back except Fred and George who merely nodded. I knew that had never quite forgiven him for beating our quidditch team in the first match last year, but honestly, Cedric did argue with Madam Hooch about the win and how it wasn't fair. 

        "Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked. 

        "Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

        "Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when eh's got his Apparition test. Still, not complaining. Quidditch World Cup. Wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons, and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy," Amos peered around at all of us. "All of these yours, Arthur?"

        "Oh no, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley paused, looking at me. "Except her, although she might as well be. This is Fallon. Over here is Hermione, friend of Ron's, and Harry, another friend-"

        "Merlin's beard," said Amos, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

        I scowled. I knew Harry had be tired of people having that reaction every single time they met him. I know I would. I glanced over at the boy in question to see his eyes squint slightly before answering, "Er-yeah."

        "Ced's talked about you, of course," Amos said. "Told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. You beat Harry Potter!"

        I stared wide eyed at him, completely baffled that he'd say something like that. Apparently I wasn't the only one because Fred and George scowled and Cedric looked embarrassed. 

        "Harry fell of his broom, Dad," I heard him mutter. "I told you, it was an accident."

        "Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman, but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh?" One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be genius to tell which one's the better flier!" 

        I couldn't be silently any longer, so I pretended that I was trying to be quiet but in reality I wanted him to hear, "The only reason Hufflepuff won because demetors overstepped where they weren't welcome and attacked Harry. If anyone thinks that means the other is a better flier, then they're just down right daft. Gryffindor has won every game they've played while Harry's been on it, and we would've won that one as well if it weren't for the dementers."

        Fred and George stifled their sniggers on either side of me as Mr. Weasley looked at me with wide eyes before saying quickly, "Must be nearly time! Do you know whether we're waiting for anymore, Amos?"

        It look Mr. Diggory a moment to focus on what Mr. Weasley had said because he was staring daggers at me, "No, the Lovegoods have been here for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets. There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

        "Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off. We'd better get ready."

        Everyone gathered around the moldy old boot, each of us grabbed ahold. All of us except Harry and Hermione. Mr. Weasley told them to just hold on, and when they did, he began to count down. Once he said one, it felt as if a hook just behind my navel had been jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground, and I could feel Fred and George on either side of me. My shoulders banging into their stomachs due to the height different. We were speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color. My forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then my feet hit the ground. I stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding Fred and George as they banged into each other and fell to the ground. Shockingly, I stayed on my feet, and after allowing the world to refocus, I helped everyone else to their feet. We bid farewell to the Diggory's when Basil, an odd man in a kilt and a poncho, had told them where they were to set up camp.

[ridetherain]

Oof, it's been a while. I just haven't had any luck lately. I've been working on a new idea and I like it, but getting the words out of my head has been like pulling teeth! This is something completely different because I needed a break.

Community Garden

Words: 1664

Zelda let out a sigh at the gentle sound of wind chimes. The breeze was light and pleasantly cool in the heat of the Hyrule summer. It was good to get out of the stuffy castle and into nature, however artificial a community garden really was. Little plots were spread out in a wild array of liveliness with greenery springing from most boxes and a notable few browning and wilting. It was safe enough that Impa stayed at the entry gate and Zelda was granted the gift of solitude. Gravel crunched under her feet as she walked down the rows and ducked under a particularly vivacious bush growing spicy peppers. Another gardener was humming an aimless tune from several aisles away and the melody got Zelda whistling along gently.

She came to a stop at her two raised beds strung together with a fine netting material. Her samples of safflina were happily growing in one box where she planned to attempt crossbreeding them to produce a new variation of the plant. The second box was divided in two with sunshrooms taking the northern half and swift violets filling the southern. Zelda slipped on her worn pair of gloves and knelt at her experimental box. She gently picked all the little weeds that had grown since she last tended the garden and swayed in time to her little whistle. It was a beautiful day. She pulled out a small paintbrush and gently began hand-pollinating her safflinas. She kept her journal close and marked down the number of flowers painted with pollen on each plant. With any luck she would get a hybrid variant that could produce elixirs with dual properties. Thus far it has been considered impossible, but no one had tried to cross breed the ingredients. However, it was also possible that she would emerge with an entirely different effect. Pioneering a brand new elixir type would certainly ease the sting of failure on the dual property front.

After the pollination was complete, Zelda turned to her mushrooms. They were thriving happily in their thick compost bed. A stray weed or two were quickly pulled. Soon she would be travelling to the Spring of Power and wading into the frozen waters for a chance at her birthright. She had planted the sunshrooms for these trips and with a sad change to her whistle she pulled two from the rich soil and packed them away for later. It seemed unlikely that she would be successful at the spring, but at least she wouldn't freeze. Her knight had been quite cross (for him) when she had caught cold during their last trip to the spring. She was out of sync now with the happy meandering sound emanating from beyond her little plots, but she couldn't bring herself to match the happy sound.

Last she turned to the violets. There was no purpose to these. She had no need for an elixir to increase her speed. Even under the influence of such a drug she was unlikely to outpace much of anything. Most lizalfos were fast enough to kill her before she even knew to run and the Yiga could teleport. Even her own appointed knight was fast enough that she wouldn't be able to outrun him. Really, Zelda didn't know why she didn't just visit the official royal gardens to see pretty flowers. Professional gardeners took the time to grow violets that were nearly twice the size of her little plant and sculpted to a shape pleasing to the eye. There was something charming about the lopsided way her flowers decided to grow though. They leaned away from the small overhang strung over the mushrooms and only bloomed at the top third where the most light was available. Her mother used to love misshapen flowers. When Zelda was very, very small they used to sneak into the gardener's shed and steal away plants that had been discarded from the main gardens. They would put them in pots and nurse them back to health as best they could from the little balcony off of Zelda's bedroom. The Queen would say that the flowers just needed someone to love them. After she died, Zelda had all the pots removed and set up a prayer mat in their place.

Now, her flowers weren't so illicit and they had never stolen violets so it wasn't the same, but a melancholy tune drifted out of her anyway. Sitting in the fragrance of the violets felt the same as when she and her mother would sit and inspect their contraband in the warm evening summers of her childhood. With a sigh, she made her way over to the water pump with a big watering can and let out an internal sigh when she realized that the happy humming gardener had stopped humming. No doubt she had driven it away with her melancholic response. She plunked her can down at the pump and worked the heavy handle until water was easily flowing into her container and it was as full as she was able to carry.

Zelda straightened from the pump at the sound of footfalls making their way closer and closer. She put on her best Princess-Meeting-Peasant face for the humming gardener.

"Link?!" Zelda said incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

He gave her a wide-eyed look then looked down at himself and back up to her. He was in ragged brown breeches with the start of holes forming around the knees and a threadbare linen shirt that was untied at the top. He looked like nothing so much as a poor farmer. He even had the broad hat that was ubiquitous in the Hyrule Fields. Nothing about him looked like the straight-laced soldier she was familiar with or even like the relaxed Royal Champion he pretended to be for the crowds. He was uniquely bland in these comfortable, worn clothes and intricate, but common woven basket full of vegetables and herbs draped over his arm.

"Harvesting, Your Highness," He said. Link was kind enough not to add "obviously" to his response. He glanced down at her watering can on the ground and stepped close to her. He offered his basket and lifted the watering can easily with his other arm in one fluid motion. The basket was lightweight and had a very comfortable handle which had been worn flat and smooth from long-use. Link must have been gardening here long before he became her knight.

"Which way, Princess?"

She gave him an uncertain smile, but nevertheless led the way back to her little sanctuary. He bore the water to the entry and stepped back out after relieving her of her burden. He stood awkwardly for several moments, observing her careful watering of the recently pollenated safflinas, delicate touch on the life-saving mushrooms, and comparatively haphazard handling of the violets.

"Violets are my favorite," Link said, breaking their silence. "I'm surprised to see you growing them."

"I like them too," Zelda said simply, "They're pretty. Do you keep them as well?"

"Not here, but my mother grows them at my home in Hateno. She has flowers in as many colors as she can get. It's always beautiful. I just grow food." He gestured to the basket on his arm.

"Not enough food in Castle Town for your appetite?" Zelda let a teasing note color her tone and Link blushed scarlet in response.

"Never."

Link smiled a real smile at her. "Why violets instead of silent princesses? They're your favorites aren't they?"

Zelda shook her head, "They're difficult to grow. I just wanted something to enjoy," She paused and cast about for something to prolong the conversation, "Looks like you're preparing for a meal. Got someone special you're cooking for, or are you hoping for a good meal before our next journey forces us back on rations and forage?"

For some reason the question caused him to turn a deeper shade of red than her teasing really called for.

"No, nobody special - I mean, she's special, but it's not - I mean, yes I'm cooking for someone but we're not - I'm not, you know, special to her..." He petered off into an embarrassed sigh and ducked his head into his habitual uncomfortable neck scratch. Zelda gave him a strained smile to let him know that she wasn't going to tease him any further.

"No doubt you will charm your way into your special lady's heart in no time. I have yet to find a woman in Castle Town that isn't at least half in love with you. Once you round out your prospects with a homecooked meal I doubt she will be able to resist. Very few men can boast protection, charm, and domestic skills." Zelda tried to keep the envy out of her tone. She would give anything to have a suitor as accomplished as Link vying for her favor.

"That's kind of you to say," Link said in a self-deprecating tone, "But I'm afraid she wouldn't look twice at me. And even if she did, she's discovered my faults."

"Oh, no," Zelda said with a wicked smile, "You've told her one of your awful puns haven't you!"

"Many."

"For shame, Link! Let me see what you have in that basket. You'll need something special to make up for it!" She leaned forward and dug through the pile of vegetables before finding a few wildberries at the bottom, "Ah, ha! Make the lady a dessert. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I can assure you that it works on women too." She gives him a saucy wink that seems to shock him.

He tries for nonchalance, but still only managed a stammered "Yes, Princess." Zelda retrieved her own basket of sunshrooms and hooked her hand into the red-faced Link's arm and nearly dragged him out of the garden and back into the real world. Somehow she was back to whistling the happy tune Link had started.

[moos-cow]

’Tis The Season For SMUT

Like what I’ve posted before, I’ll be participating in @voltage-vixen​‘s  ’Tis The Season For SMUT Challenge!

So, without further ado, my first post for the challenge:

Day 1 Prompt: Kiss me under the mistletoe

Pairing: Lancelot Kingsley / Reader Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Genre: Fluff-SMUT Word Count: 2021 Warning: Graphic

“Zero! Over here!” you yell from across the street, waving a hand overhead to the wandering Ace of Hearts. Once your eyes met, he immediately walks over to you with a couple of bags in hand.

You had volunteered to head in the decorating of the Red Army Headquarters for Christmas-- a job usually taken by Jonah due to his ‘high standards of style’ as he’d call it. But like all the other officers, the closing holidays made him busier than usual; events with the nobles happening one after the other, and meetings with the Black Army for their joint Christmas event for the citizens topped his already packed-to-the-minute daily work.

Now that December has finally kicked in, you don’t hold back in your decor shopping escapades; you’d been waiting for this day to come since Halloween anyway. So, you go from shop to shop with Zero, buying all the decorations and trinkets on your list that you'll need to dress up the Headquarters. 

“What’s this?” Zero questioned the new bag you have in hand. It was a small, light-looking, brown bag that was sealed neatly with Christmas designed tape-- a standout from the colourful paper bags you carried.

“It’s a secret!” Excitement beaming from you as you began skipping back towards headquarters, looking forward to a certain Christmas tradition you'd surprise Lancelot with. “Come on, Zero!”

-

As huge as the headquarters is, with the help of some of the soldiers and maids, it took you over two weeks to completely decorate the manor from top to bottom, and inside out. It was a winter wonderland.

“One last piece,” you spoke to yourself, clutching the little brown bag you had when you went out with Zero. Where you’d choose to hang this little decor had to be special, not only to you but also to Lancelot, so you walk around the building to scan for viable locations. “Where, oh where can I hang you…”

“Y/N,” Edgar’s chipper voice called out to you just as he left Lancelot’s office with Jonah, wondering why you were walking aimlessly around the halls with a small bag in hand. “Anything the matter?”

“Edgar! Jonah!” You spun in surprise as the two sauntered towards you, Jonah’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bag in your hands, probably thinking that Edgar has given you a part of his stash of contraband sweets.

“I’m just looking for a nice place to hang these…”

Jonah arches a brow questioningly, and Edgar’s smile unwavering, as if asking you what the contents of the bag were. Your words slip out to answer the unspoken question, “... decors.”

Jonah frowned as he held out his hand, asking you to hand the bag over. You promptly hide it behind your back; but as you shift it around you, Edgar snatches it from your grip. His grin reaches from ear to ear as he and Jonah take a peek into the bag.

“Edgar!” You reach out to take the bag back, but he holds it just a little farther back and higher away from you. He may be the shortest among the officers, but he is still a good couple of inches taller than you.

“Now, now, Y/N. Why don’t you leave the hanging of this to us, hm? Besides, you’ve done a wonderful job decorating headquarters. My, you’re even better than Jonah here!” Edgar teases and chuckles at his own statement.

“Hey!” Jonah scowls at the younger man, then pouts as he turns to you, trying to get his composure back. “Anyway, Y/N, mistletoes are poisonous. It’s better to have Edgar poisoned rather than you.”

“You hurt my feelings, Queen.” Edgar banters back, waving a hand as he turns to walk away with the bag. Jonah soon follows in suit, excusing himself from you to head to his troops’ training session.

-

Another week has passed, and the red and white manor now basked in the scarlet rays of the Christmas Eve setting sun. Up until now, there was no sign of the mistletoe Edgar took from you that time. After searching high and low, you finally shrug in defeat, resigning yourself to the idea that the little ornament would never see the light of Christmas that year.

A little mistletoe won’t ruin my Christmas! You commit yourself to that simple idea as you walk back to your room to get dressed for the evening’s party. A red and gold embellished off shoulder cocktail dress laid on your bed, with a small note and a single white rose. Your heart raced at the simple gesture-- Lancelot always knew how to make you smile.

You added a scarf to your ensemble and headed out for the common area. The delicious scents and joyful sounds filled the halls of the Red Army Headquarters. Soldiers and officers alike greeted you with smiles and laughter-- long gone was the Red Army you knew when you first arrived in Cradle.

“You look beautiful.” Lancelot greeted you the moment you arrived in the common room. 

“Who do I have to thank for then?” You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close into a hug of sorts, chuckling into his chest. “Thank you, Lancelot.”

“Well, isn’t it Mr. and Mrs. Claus!” Kyle, clearly tipsy already, raises his voice as he saunters closer to you and Lancelot with a Christmas hat in hand. He swiftly decks it on Lancelot’s head and looks at it as if it were his prized masterpiece. “Perfect.”

To your surprise, Lancelot doesn’t dare move, nor remove the said hat; prompting you to turn to him with a slightly confused look on your face.

“The idiots made me into Santa this year,” Lancelot answered with the straightest face imaginable. You lightly cough to try to hold back your laughter; alas, your shoulders shook, giving you away to the man beside you. He was just too adorable. 

“I’m sorry, it does fit you.” you laugh and fan your face with your hand, fighting back the tears of joy threatening to fall from your eyes. “You’ll make a great Santa, Lancelot.”

A smile graced his features as the events of the night started. Overflowing food and drinks were served, music and chatter filled the air, and gifts were exchanged. You scan the room, burning the scene before you into memory-- Kyle, already on his umpteenth bottle of beer, started challenging soldiers to an arm-wrestling challenge, while Edgar and Zero stood by to watch and further insight until the whole thing goes down in flames; Jonah was receiving gifts from the soldier members of ‘Jonah's Heart Defenders’ at the other end with a fresh plate of mille-feuille before him; and, Lancelot… You strained your eyes to look for him in the busy crowd, and finally, find him alone by the Christmas tree, tinkering with one of the hung ornaments.

You saunter to him, bringing two flutes of champagne for each of you. He turns to you just as you arrive. With a clink of your flutes, you greet each other just as the grandfather clock struck 12 in the main hall.

“Merry Christmas, Lancelot.” 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” 

Lancelot cupped your cheek in his hand and gently pulled you close to meet your lips with his-- a soft and delicate kiss that started to heat up with every passing second.

“Ahem- King Lancelot,” Jonah interjected, prompting you to cut your quick make-out session with Lancelot. The Queen’s brows furrowed and his eyes looked away, yet his cheeks contradicted his expression as he blushed a light shade of pink, “Your speech.”

Lancelot gave Jonah a curt nod before facing back to you. You smile at him and lightly squeeze his hand, “Go get ‘em, Santa.”

His hand never left yours for the duration of the party-- through the officer’s speeches, to the farewell greetings. He only let you go as you both stopped in front of your bedroom door, twirling you in the hall and straight into his arms. 

Hands to the small of your back, Lancelot pulls you in closer for another kiss. 

“Mm- What was that for?” you look up to him, only now noticing that his eyes were red, and not their usual blue. "Hey!" 

He chuckles and points a finger up towards a floating mistletoe over your heads, the mistletoe you've been looking for the past week. 

"Oh- Why is that with you?!" Your cheeks warm up from the thought of Edgar handing the little bag to his King. 

Drat. Edgar.

You wanted to surprise Lancelot by kissing him under the mistletoe, but now, the complete opposite seemed to happen. 

"I’ve always wanted to try that." Lancelot suddenly confesses, eyes locked onto the floating mistletoe above. 

"You know you have to ask first, right?" you chuckle at his innocence.

"I suppose." he straightens up and holds you closer, tilting your head up with a finger to meet his gaze. He starts again, "Y/N, may I kiss you under this mistletoe?"

"Of course." 

You meet his lips in a fervent kiss, and when you break, Lancelot's lips travel down, leaving a wet trail to your neck as he rids the scarf off your skin. His warm hands make their way down to the curve of your sides, eliciting a sigh from you as you call his name.

"Mistletoe kisses don't always have to be on the lips, you know." He says between nips, breath blowing against your heated skin; sending shivers straight down to your core.

"Mhmm," you hum at the feeling of his fingers brushing the underside of your clothed breast, and you lightly tug at the front of his uniform before reaching up to run a hand through his blonde locks.  

Lancelot bites down and sucks onto your flesh as he pushes you flush against the door. A soft moan escapes your lips at the sudden mix of pain and pleasure;  "Lance-" 

"Yes?" he drags his sultry reply as slowly as his hand travels down to the front of your skirt, raking the clothing up until his fingers could skim across your skin. 

"We're in the hall." You shudder in his hold as the heat between your legs started to grow more intolerable, throbbing at the need for more.

"So?" he teases, bringing his lips up to your ear to nibble on your lobe while his hand continuously skims across your inner thighs, purposefully missing your clothed womanhood.

Words won't get to him, so you reply in kind-- hand skimming over his uniform before resting over the growing tent of his pants. He growls and slightly bucks his hips against your hand at the faint touch, chasing the friction his body longs for. 

He catches your grin in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans as he presses his fingers against your clothed sex, coaxing agonizingly slow circles against the little bundle of nerves. You tremble in his grasp, panting heavily from every shock sent throughout your body.

"Lancelot," you whine, instinctively grinding against his hand. He doesn't stop, nor does he speed up. His clear blue eyes lock into yours for a moment, heavy and full of lust. 

He strains his ears to hear the approaching sound of company-- muffled footsteps and faint chatter coming from the west wing. Your eyes widen once the sound reaches your ears. 

Lancelot quickly wraps an arm around your waist and opens the door behind you, causing you to both stumble gracelessly onto the carpets of your room with a thud.

You find yourself laying on top of Lancelot, with his arm still wrapped around your waist protectively. Both of you were still caught in a daze from the last minute's incident. 

You break into a smile, then burst into a laugh; prompting the man beneath you to laugh as well. 

"So?" you spoke, trying your best to impersonate Lancelot's earlier reply despite your intense laughter.

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks from the laughter, and Lancelot wiped them with the pads of his thumbs before pulling you into another kiss.

A Merry Christmas indeed. 

[silent-era-of-cinema]

Hans Walter Conrad Veidt (22 January 1893 – 3 April 1943) was a German actor best remembered for his roles in the films Different from the Others (1919), The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), and The Man Who Laughs (1928). After a successful career in German silent films, where he was one of the best-paid stars of UFA, he and his new Jewish wife Ilona Prager were forced to leave Germany in 1933 after the Nazis came to power. The couple settled in Britain, where he took British citizenship in 1939. He appeared in many British films, including The Thief of Bagdad (1940), before emigrating to the United States around 1941, which led to his being cast as Major Strasser in Casablanca (1942).

Hans Walter Conrad Veidt was born in his parents' home at Tieckstraße 39 in Berlin to Amalie Marie (née Gohtz) and Philipp Heinrich Veidt, a former military man turned civil servant. Veidt would later recall, “Like many fathers, he was affectionately autocratic in his home life, strict, idealistic. He was almost fanatically conservative.” By contrast, Amalie was sensitive and nurturing. Veidt was nicknamed 'Connie' by his family and friends. His family was Lutheran, and Veidt was confirmed in a ceremony at the Protestant Evangelical Church in Alt-Schöneberg, Berlin on 5 March 1908. Veidt's only sibling, an older brother named Karl, died in 1900 of scarlet fever at the age of 9. The family spent their summers in Potsdam.

Two years after Karl's death, Veidt's father fell ill and required heart surgery. Knowing that the family could not afford to pay the lofty fee that accompanied the surgery, the doctor charged only what the family could comfortably pay. Impressed by the surgeon's skill and kindness, Veidt vowed to "model my life on the man that saved my father's life" and he wished to become a surgeon. His hopes for a medical career were thwarted, though, when in 1912 he graduated without a diploma and ranked 13th out of 13 pupils and became discouraged over the amount of study necessary for him to qualify for medical school.

A new career path for Veidt opened up in 1911 during a school Christmas play in which he delivered a long prologue before the curtain rose. The play was badly received, and the audience was heard to mutter, "Too bad the others didn't do as well as Veidt." Veidt began to study all of the actors he could and wanted to pursue a career in acting, much to the disappointment of his father, who called actors 'gypsys' and 'outcasts'.

With the money he raised from odd jobs and the allowance his mother gave him, Veidt began attending Berlin's many theaters. He loitered outside of the Deutsches Theater after every performance, waiting for the actors and hoping to be mistaken for one. In the late summer of 1912 he met a theater porter who introduced him to actor Albert Blumenreich, who agreed to give Veidt acting lessons for six marks. He took ten lessons from him before auditioning for Max Reinhardt, reciting Goethe's Faust. During Veidt's audition, Reinhardt looked out of the window the entire time. He offered Veidt a contract as an extra for one season's work, from September 1913 to August 1914 with a pay of 50 marks a month. During this time, he played bit parts as spear carriers and soldiers. His mother attended almost every performance. His contract with the Deutsches Theater was renewed for a second season, but by this time World War I had begun, and on 28 December 1914, Veidt enlisted in the army.

In 1915, he was sent to the Eastern Front as a non-commissioned officer and took part in the Battle of Warsaw. He contracted jaundice and pneumonia, and had to be evacuated to a hospital on the Baltic Sea. While recuperating, he received a letter from his girlfriend Lucie Mannheim, telling him that she had found work at the Front Theatre in Libau. Intrigued, Veidt applied for the theatre as well. As his condition had not improved, the army allowed him to join the theatre so that he could entertain the troops. While performing at the theatre, his relationship with Mannheim ended. In late 1916, he was re-examined by the Army and deemed unfit for service; he was given a full discharge on 10 January 1917. Veidt returned to Berlin where he was readmitted to the Deutsches Theater. There, he played a small part as a priest that got him his first rave review, the reviewer hoping that "God would keep Veidt from the films." or "God save him from the cinema!"

From 1917 until his death, Veidt appeared in more than 100 films. One of his earliest performances was as the murderous somnambulist Cesare in director Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), a classic of German Expressionist cinema, with Werner Krauss and Lil Dagover. His starring role in The Man Who Laughs (1928), as a disfigured circus performer whose face is cut into a permanent grin, provided the (visual) inspiration for the Batman villain the Joker. Veidt starred in other silent horror films such as The Hands of Orlac (1924), also directed by Robert Wiene, The Student of Prague (1926) and Waxworks (1924), in which he played Ivan the Terrible. Veidt also appeared in Magnus Hirschfeld's film Anders als die Andern (Different from the Others, 1919), one of the earliest films to sympathetically portray homosexuality, although the characters in it do not end up happily. He had a leading role in Germany's first talking picture, Das Land ohne Frauen (Land Without Women, 1929).

He moved to Hollywood in the late 1920s and made a few films there, but the advent of talking pictures and his difficulty with speaking English led him to return to Germany. During this period, he lent his expertise to tutoring aspiring performers, one of whom was the later American character actress Lisa Golm.

Veidt fervently opposed the Nazi regime and later donated a major portion of his personal fortune to Britain to assist in the war effort. Soon after the Nazi Party took power in Germany, by March 1933, Joseph Goebbels was purging the film industry of anti-Nazi sympathizers and Jews, and so in April 1933, a week after Veidt's marriage to Ilona Prager, a Jewish woman, the couple emigrated to Britain before any action could be taken against either of them.

Goebbels had imposed a "racial questionnaire" in which everyone employed in the German film industry had to declare their "race" to continue to work. When Veidt was filling in the questionnaire, he answered the question about what his Rasse (race) was by writing that he was a Jude (Jew). Veidt was not Jewish, but his wife was Jewish, and Veidt would not renounce the woman he loved. Additionally, Veidt, who was opposed to antisemitism, wanted to show solidarity with the German Jewish community, who were in the process of being stripped of their rights as German citizens in the spring of 1933. As one of Germany's most prominent actors, Veidt had been informed that if he were prepared to divorce his wife and declare his support for the new regime, he could continue to act in Germany. Several other leading actors who had been opposed to the Nazis before 1933 switched allegiances. In answering the questionnaire by stating he was a Jew, Veidt rendered himself unemployable in Germany, but stated this sacrifice was worth it as there was nothing in the world that would compel him to break with his wife. Upon hearing about what Veidt had done, Goebbels remarked that he would never act in Germany again.

After arriving in Britain, Veidt perfected his English and starred in the title roles of the original anti-Nazi versions of The Wandering Jew (1933) and Jew Süss (1934), the latter film was directed by the exiled German-born director Lothar Mendes and produced by Michael Balcon for Gaumont-British. He naturalised as a British subject on 25 February 1939. By this point multi-lingual, Veidt made films both in French with expatriate French directors and in English, including three of his best-known roles for British director Michael Powell in The Spy in Black (1939), Contraband (1940) and The Thief of Bagdad (1940).

By 1941, he and Ilona had settled in Hollywood to assist in the British effort in making American films that might persuade the then-neutral and still isolationist US to join the war against the Nazis, who at that time controlled all of continental Europe and were bombing the United Kingdom. Before leaving the United Kingdom, Veidt gave his life savings to the British government to help finance the war effort. Realizing that Hollywood would most likely typecast him in Nazi roles, he had his contract mandate that they must always be villains.

He starred in a few films, such as George Cukor's A Woman's Face (1941) where he received billing under Joan Crawford's and Nazi Agent (1942), in which he had a dual role as both an aristocratic German Nazi spy and the man's twin brother, an anti-Nazi American. His best-known Hollywood role was as the sinister Major Heinrich Strasser in Casablanca (1942), a film which began pre-production before the United States entered World War II. Commenting about this well-received role, Veidt noted that it was an ironical twist of that that he was praised "for portraying the kind of character who had forced him to leave his homeland".

Veidt enjoyed sports, gardening, swimming, golfing, classical music, and reading fiction and nonfiction (including occultism; Veidt once considered himself a powerful medium). He was afraid of heights and flying, and disliked interviews and wearing ties.

In a September 1941 interview with Silver Screen, Veidt said,

I see a man who was once for years studying occult things. The science of occult things. I had the feeling there must be – something else. There are things in our world we cannot trace. I wanted to trace them. The power we have to think, to move, to speak, to feel – is it electricity, I wanted to know? Is it magnetism? Is it the heart? Is it the blood? When the body dies, where is all that? Where is the power that made the body live? No one can tell me it is not somewhere. If you believe in waves, which you must believe after you have the radio, why couldn't human beings contact the wave lengths of someone who is dead? ... this is the kind of thing with which I was, for many years, preoccupied. This is what I tried to find, the answer. I did not find it. But in looking for it there was etched, perhaps, on my face, some hint of the strange cabals I kept with unseen and unknown powers. I did not find it, I say. But I found something else. Something better. I found –faith. I found the ability, very peaceful, to accept that which I could neither see, nor hear nor touch. I am a religious man. My belief is that if we could help to make all people a little more religious, we would do a great lot. If we would pray more ... we forget to pray except when we are in a mess. That is too bad. I believe in prayer. Because when we pray, we always pray for something good.

He went on:

I must tell you something that will disappoint you ... far from being one engaged in strangle rituals of thought or action, what I like best to do is sit in this small garden, on this terrace, and – just sit. Sometimes, I confess, I think a lot; about my past. About my parents who are dead. I like to dream, to go away ... At other times, I sit and read. I read, often, a whole day through. I play golf. I used to be a golf fiend. Now I am not a fiend even on the links. Now I play because it is relaxation. I like the beach very much, the sea. I go to the films often, to the neighborhood theater, my wife and I. Sometimes we go to the Palladium, where there is dancing. It is an amazing sight to me to see young people, how they are like they were thirty years ago, how they hold hands, how they enjoy their lives. To me, the most beautiful thing in California is the Hollywood Bowl, the Concerts Under the Stars. For me, it is a terrific experience. I have never seen an audience in my life like that. 30,000 people, simple people, most of them, listening to music under the stars. I have never seen 30,000 people, simple people, so quiet. I like to think of them as a symbol that one day there may be that oneness for all mankind....

On 18 June 1918, Veidt married Gussy Holl, a cabaret entertainer. They had first met at a party in March 1918, and Conrad described her to friends as "very lovely, tall, dignified and somewhat aloof". They separated in 1919 but attempted to reconcile multiple times. Holl and Veidt divorced in 1922.

Veidt said of Holl, "She was as perfect as any wife could be. But I had not learnt how to be a proper husband." and, "I was elated by my success in my work, but shattered over my mother's death, and miserable about the way my marriage seemed to be foundering. And one day when my wife was away, I walked out of the house, and out of her life, trying to escape from something I could put no name to."

After his separation and eventual divorce from Holl, Veidt allegedly dated his co-star Anita Berber.

Veidt's second wife Felizitas Radke was from an aristocratic Austrian family. They met at a party in December 1922 or at a Charleston dance competition in 1923. Radke divorced her husband for him, and they married in April 1923. Their daughter, Vera Viola Maria, nicknamed "Kiki", was born on 10 August 1925. He was not present at her birth due to being in Italy working on The Fiddler of Florence, but upon hearing of her birth, he took the first train to Berlin and flailed and wept as he first met mother and child at the hospital; he was so hysterical from joy they had to sedate him and keep him in the hospital overnight.

Emil Jannings was Viola's godfather and Elisabeth Bergner was her godmother. She was named after one of Bergner's signature characters, Shakespeare's Viola. The birth of his daughter helped Veidt move on from the death of his dearly loved mother, who had died of a heart condition in January 1922.

From September 1926 to 1929 Veidt lived with his wife and daughter in a Spanish-style house in Beverly Hills.

Veidt enjoyed relaxing and playing with his daughter in their home, and enjoyed the company of the immigrant community, including F. W. Murnau, Carl Laemmle, and Greta Garbo, as well as the American Gary Cooper. The family returned to Germany in 1929, and moved several times afterwards, including a temporary relocation to Vienna, Austria, while Veidt participated in a theatrical tour of the continent.

Radke and Veidt divorced in 1932, with Radke citing that the frequent relocations and the separations necessitated by Veidt's acting schedule frayed their marriage. Radke at first granted custody of their daughter to Veidt, but after further consideration he decided that their daughter needed the full-time parent that his work would not allow him to be. Conrad received generous visitation rights, and Viola called her summer vacations with her father "The Happy Times". She stayed with him three or four months of the year until the outbreak of World War II.

He last married Ilona "Lilli" Barta Prager (or Preger), a Hungarian Jew, in Berlin on 30 March 1933; they remained together until his death. The two had met at a club in Berlin. Veidt said of Lilli in an October 1934 interview with The Sunday Dispatch,

Lilli was the woman I had been seeking all my life. For her I was the man. In Lilli I found the miracle of a woman who had all to give that I sought, the perfect crystallisation in one lovely human being, of all my years of searching. Lilli had the mother complex too. But in the reverse ratio to mine. In her, the mother instinct was so powerful that she poured it out, indiscriminately almost, on everyone she knew. She mothers her own mother. Meeting Lilli was like coming home to an enchanted place one had always dreamed of, but never thought to reach. For her it was the same. Our marriage is not only flawless, it is a complete and logical union, as inevitable as daybreak after night, as harmonious and right as the words that exactly fit the music. My search is finished. The picture in my mind of my mother is of a woman great and holy. But it is a picture clear and. distinct, a deep and humble memory of a woman no one could replace; but now it is not blurred by the complex which before had harassed my mind.

Veidt and Lilli arrived from London at Los Angeles on 13 June 1940 and resided in Beverly Hills, where they lived at 617 North Camden Drive.

Even after leaving England, Veidt was concerned over the plight of children cooped up in London air raid shelters, and he decided to try to cheer up their holiday. Through his attorneys in London, Veidt donated enough money to purchase 2,000 one-pound tins of candy, 2,000 large packets of chocolate, and 1,000 wrapped envelopes containing presents of British currency. The gifts went to children of needy families in various air raid shelters in the London area during Christmas 1940. The air raid shelter marshal wrote back to Veidt thanking him for the gifts. Noting Veidt's unusual kindness, he stated in his letter to him, "It is significant to note that, as far as is known to me, you are the only member of the Theatrical Profession who had the thought to send Christmas presents to the London children."

Veidt smuggled his parents-in-law from Austria to neutral Switzerland, and in 1935 he managed to get the Nazi government to let his ex-wife Radke and their daughter move to Switzerland. He also offered to help Felizita's mother, Frau Radke, of whom he was fond, leave Germany. However, she declined. A proud, strong-willed woman who was attached to her home country, she declared that "no damned little Austrian Nazi corporal" was going to make her leave her home. She reportedly survived the war, but none of the Veidts ever saw her again.

Veidt was bisexual and a feminist. In a 1941 interview he said,

There are two different kinds of men. There are the men men, what do you call them, the man's man, who likes men around, who prefers to talk with men, who says the female can never be impersonal, who takes the female lightly, as playthings. I do not see a man like that in my mirror. Perhaps, it is because I think the female and the male attract better than two men, that I prefer to talk with females. I do. I find it quite as stimulating and distinctly more comfortable. I have a theory about this – it all goes back to the mother complex. In every woman, the man who looks may find – his mother. The primary source of all his comfort. I think also that females have become too important just to play with. When men say the female cannot discuss impersonally, that is no longer so. When it is said that females cannot be geniuses, that is no longer so, either. The female is different from the male. Because she was born to be a mother. There is no doubt about that. But that does not mean that, in some cases, she is not also born a genius. Not all males are geniuses either. And among females today there are some very fine actresses, very fine; fine doctors, lawyers, even scientists and industrialists. I see no fault in any female when she wears slacks, smokes (unless it is on the street, one thing, the only thing, which I don't like), when she drives a car ... when men say things like "I bet it is a woman driving" if something is wrong with the car ahead – no, no. These are old, worn out prejudices, they do not belong in today.

In the 1930s, Veidt discovered that he had the same heart condition that his mother had died from. The condition was further aggravated by chain smoking, and Veidt took nitroglycerin tablets.

Veidt died of a massive heart attack on 3 April 1943 while playing golf at the Riviera Country Club in Los Angeles with singer Arthur Fields and his personal physician, Dr. Bergman, who pronounced him dead at the scene. He had suddenly gasped and fallen over after getting to the eighth hole. He was 50 years old. His ex-wife Felizitas and his daughter Viola found out about his death via a radio broadcast in Switzerland.

In 1998, his ashes, along with his wife Lilli's, were placed in a niche of the columbarium at the Golders Green Crematorium in north London.

[nyotasaimiri]

[New scene: Elliott gets a friend]

After ensuring that the rest of the ramshackle camp didn’t hold anything else of interest and adding a little more durasteel to Nyota’s growing collection, the three headed further east. Bone-strewn dirt turned into dry shrubland, dotted with the occasional scraggly bush. Compared to the hemogoblins, the few balloon-like paratails that harassed them were child’s play to deal with. Namina proved to be almost as good with a rifle as he was with a sword after Nyota warned him not to get too close to the monsters. They had an unpleasant tendency to explode

‘I think Mother Nature had a bit too much of the ol’ moonshine when she made these varmints,’ Lumen said as he sniped at one and watched it blow up.

‘Remind me to never try Novakid moonshine. Hold up—stay quiet. There’s a light over there,’ Nyota said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

‘Ain’t much good sneakin’ now. Even if they missed my shootin’, them paratails make an awful bang.’

‘I know. Just trust me on this. You two stay here.’ Nyota traded her sword for her pistol and dropped into a crouch, using the sparse foliage for cover as she crept closer. Namina grinned and dragged Lumen over behind a few rocks. He knew an ambush when he saw one.

A few minutes passed. ‘Where is she?’ Lumen muttered.

Nyota was confused. Light meant people, probably bandits here. She should have heard their voices by now. Something rustled up ahead and she froze, holding as still as possible as it got closer. It wasn’t a bandit. It was some sort of scarlet fox. Its eyes gleamed ember-bright, and it carried a scent of wood-smoke in its fur as it gathered twigs into a small pile and set them alight with a little puff of fiery breath.

Nyota smiled. Fennix. This was better than bandits. The clever little creatures were found on arid planets across the galaxy; they had been tamed a long time ago by some distant, forgotten ancestor of the modern spacefaring peoples, and still kept up their ancient masters’ controlled bushfires, protecting the worlds they were left on in their own small ways. Normally, she would have been content to just watch the little animal for a while, and go around it. But she could see something around its neck, something leathery, and not normal for wild or feral fennix. Concern pricked at her, and Nyota knew she had to get a closer look.

Of course, approaching it unannounced was a quick way to earn some nasty burns. She had to earn its interest another way. Nyota fished a biscuit out of her pocket, leftovers from breakfast, and tossed a piece over.

The fennix pricked its ears up. Another unusual behaviour: a wild one might have run from her. They were carnivores, but small, occupying a little uncomfortable place between predator and prey. But it just sniffed the biscuit and found it edible instead of showing more cautious behaviour. Nyota rolled another piece over to it, and the fennix approached without fear, eating the biscuit and looking around for more. Definitely not wild. Nyota shifted in the grass to let it see her, watched as it stared back without fear, and offered the biscuit. The fennix followed without question.

Lumen jumped slightly as Nyota reappeared from the underbrush. ‘Comets ‘n horseshoes, Captain, but ya gave me a scare. What’d ya find?’

Namina perked up. ‘Time for ambusssh?’

‘Not this time,’ Nyota said, shaking her head. A few loose leaves tumbled out of her thick mane. ‘Look.’

Lumen looked down with a curious hum, just in time to see the crimson fox follow her out of the brush. His glow brightened. ‘Ain’t seen one of these lil’ fellas in a few years. And a friendly one at that!’

Namina recoiled as the Fennix approached with a surprisingly whine-like hiss. ‘Why? Fox that ssspits fire!’

‘Relax, Namina, it listens to me well enough not to spit fire at you,’ Nyota reassured him. As if to prove her point, the Fennix sat down and pawed at her boot. Nyota knelt down and fed it a small morsel of meat from her rations, rubbing its ears after it finished eating. ‘It’s clearly friendly with people. It was not at all afraid of me.’

‘Even if it wasn’t friendly, hidin’ behind me ain’t gonna do ya any good,’ Lumen told the Floran. ‘I’m smaller’n you. …I ain’t never gotten close enough to pet one like this. It’s a right special thing.’ Nyota could hear the smile in his voice as he crouched down to ruffle the Fennix’s fur.

Namina just whined again and backed up, standing near a low boulder. ‘Floran doess not like. Lotsss of fire, when Floran was ssprout… Floran does not like.’

Nyota looked up, concerned, but he didn’t elaborate and just shook his head, foliage rustling.

‘I can’t leave it here,’ she said slowly. Her fingers parted the fur at the base of the Fennix’s neck to reveal a worn, damaged collar. ‘Someone tried to tame this one, and at least part of that stuck. …Fennix are popular in the pet trade, legal and otherwise. There were courses about live contraband, back at the Protectorate. I remember reading…’

She shook her head and ignored the curious look Lumen was giving her. ‘Back to the matter at hand. People often buy Fennix because they’re cute, but overlook the small matter of them breathing fire. In their natural habitat, that’s fine, but bring it into a house and people start to object when it gathers their paperwork as ‘brush’ to burn.’

‘We can’t take it with us if it scares Fern-fangs so bad,’ Lumen said, watching Namina. ‘Did ya have a plan?’

Nyota considered the question for a few moments, then switched her earpiece on. ‘SAIL, mark this location for teleport. I’ll take the Fennix to the Outpost. Most stations like that have some manner of rehabilitation or readoption.’ She rubbed the Fennix’s ears again, a little sadly, and picked it up. It nibbled at the fur along her jaw. ‘They’ll be able to find a safe place for this little one, either with someone who knows their care, or on an uninhabited planet were it won’t wander into settlements and find trouble.’

‘Best luck, lil’ fella,’ Lumen told it, stepping back out of the way. Namina clicked his teeth together, then swallowed hard, stepped forward, and patted the Fennix once. He all but jumped back to hide behind Lumen again as Nyota’s surprised laughter vanished with her.

She felt less like laughing as she arrived at the Outpost. The Fennix behaved well for her, tucking itself into the crook of her arm, but Nyota barely felt that as her vision blurred white. It cleared again in a moment; she held to the side of the teleporter booth for a few moments more, not ready to trust gravity after that.

‘Oh, are you al—ah, Nyota.’ A sympathetic voice stopped short. ‘We do make a bad habit of this.’

Nyota looked up and managed a dizzy smile. ‘Hello, Doctor Elliott. You didn’t stick a bug in my fur, did you? Seems you always know when I’m warp-sick.’

‘Just luck, I think.’ Elliott waited for her to steady herself this time. ‘And an addiction to the market’s marvellous coffee.

‘It’s the only thing that gets him to leave his lab some days,’ a nearby local remarked drily, without looking up from her book.

‘So she says,’ Elliott agreed with a nervous smile. ‘But did you need help today, Nyota?’

Nyota straightened up properly as the dizzy spell faded at last. ‘Not with the warp-sickness, no. But you might be able to help me with something else.’

She held out the little Fennix. It blinked at Elliott and spat a little plume of smoke in greeting.

Elliott’s eyes went wide in surprise and he raised his goggles for a better look. ‘Oh my, is that what I think? Not a wild one either, if it hasn’t set either of us alight yet.’

 ‘I think someone tried making it into a pet,’ Nyota explained. She gently pulled the Fennix’s collar up a little so he could see it. ‘But the owner’s name has been removed, and this collar is quite worn. It must have been turned loose.’

Elliott sighed. ‘Probably burned the wrong paperwork… I don’t think it would be a good fit for a spaceship, though. Am I right? But it’s far too friendly and docile to do well in the wild…’

She nodded. ‘From what I have heard, illegal pet trade is a widespread problem, so most Outposts have a way to handle this.’

‘More or less.’ Elliott held out his hands, offering to take the Fennix. ‘Ours isn’t really an official way, but we tend to be good at finding them homes. My lab is pretty fireproof these days.’

Nyota gave him a look. ‘These days, you say. If you’re sure, though… I do not want to take advantage of your generosity.’

Elliott chuckled. ‘Do not worry about it. And besides… I do owe you.’

He made eye contact.

Nyota held his gaze, then handed the Fennix to him. ‘So you do remember.’

He stroked the fiery little fox as it snuggled into the crook of his arm and looked away. ‘It is hard to forget with your eyes right here to remind me. Oh, no offense meant. They’re my fault too. And, if I may be so bold, they do suit you. Ah, but…’ He touched a finger to his lips. ‘We can reminisce properly somewhere else, I think?’

Cautious Elliott. Strange, strange, but still himself… Cold, cold fear stung in her throat, knowing he knew her, but really… he was in the same situation, wasn’t he? And he had been gone even longer. ‘I think so,’ Nyota agreed. ‘Be kind to the little one. I’ll come back when I can.’

Elliott smiled and nodded. ‘Do be safe out there. I doubt the years have cured your recklessness.’

Nyota actually laughed, fear melting fully as she warmed up the teleporter again. ‘Guess.’

As the Outpost faded into the warp light, she saw his free hand move in a familiar gesture. A salute, but not Miniknog or Protectorate. The Resistance? But he vanished, and his gesture with him.

[sterina-sims]

The next day, Gallagher and Scarlet visit Pirate’s Cove, a port that pirates used to smuggle contraband to Simtikki Jungle in the good ole days. 🏴‍☠️ 

They spend their time goofing around on a pirate’s ship, arrr!