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redgoldsparks · 4 months

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My Experience Buying eSIMs for Gaza by Maia Kobabe

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Full transcript below the cut:

Cover:

My Experience Buying eSIMs for Gaza

Project organized by @ connectinghumanity_

by Maia Kobabe @redgoldsparks

Page 1

In Fall 2023, I saw instructions on instagram for how to purchase an eSIM card and submit it to be distributed to someone in Gaza.

Download an eSIM app-> Select Middle East as the region-> Purchase-> Screenshot the QR code-> Do not activate-> send to [email protected]

Image of Maia looking at eir phone. “That sounds easy, I’ll buy one.”

I emailed an Airalo eSIM QR code to gazaesims on Nov 17 2023.

Page 2

By January 2024, it hadn’t been activated yet. I bought a second one from Nomad and sent my new QR code and resubmitted my old one.

Image of Maia looking at eir phone. “How long does this usually take, I wonder?”

By February neither had been activated, but Connecting Humanity kept posting about needing more. I bought a second Nomad and resubmitted all of them on February 15, 2024.

Page 3

The Nomad eSIMs are much cheaper than Airalo, but what I didn’t realize is that they expire even if they haven’t been activated. At the end of February I decided to try a third company, Simly. Here’s a price comparison:

AIRALO: $39 USD for 3GB, never expires

SIMLY: $22 USD for 3GB, never expires

NOMAD: $16 USD for 3GB, expires after 8 weeks even if unused, only offers in-app refunds

Page 4

Connecting Humanity asks folks to wait at least 3 weeks before resending a QR code that hasn’t been activated yet. On March 7 Mirna Elhelbawi posted:

We send EVERY esim we receive. Bear in mind that we are dealing with people at a war zone. They might take it and get killed before activating it, they might take it and their phone gets lost or destroyed. They might take it and search for days for stable internet connection to activate it, and some of them activate it unsuccessfully due to lack of knowledge and the horrific situations they are in. ~Connecting Gaza

By early April, my first Nomad eSIM expired unused. I resubmitted my three remaining eSIMs.

Page 5

Suddenly, two of my eSIMs were activated on the same day! The Airalo I’d purchased 4.5 months earlier and my second Nomad.

Image of Maia looking happy and surprised.

Image of Maia looking very intensely at eir phone. “I have to make sure these don’t run out!”

I began buying top-up packages immediately.

Page 6

I felt like I had planted a seed in the fall and waited all winter for it to sprout. Seeing it activated was like watching the first new leaves break the soil.

Image of Maia with a watering can labeled “data”, sprinkling water on two little sprouts. “Watering my eSIMs!”

Sadly, only .07 GB of data was ever used on my Nomad. It was never used again after that first day.

Page 7

But my Airalo has been in constant use for over a month now. I check on it every day.

I will never know the person I am buying data for and they will never know me. But we are connected by the same strings of hope and grief that connect us all.

Image of two hands holding a phone, which is connected to a flying kite.

Page 8

On April 5, 2024 Connecting Humanity reported they had sent more than 250,000 eSIMs to Gaza, equivalent to approximately $6.3 million donated! You can visit gazaesims.com for more info, instructions, and discounts. Here are my referral codes:

MAIA5367 for $3 off Airalo

MB772 for $3 off Simly

MAIA66GF for $3 off Nomad

If you need more incentive, the Cartoonist Coop is doing art rewards. Visit cartoonist.coop/esims4gaza

Page 9

Image of Maia, weighing two options. “Buying an eSIM is easy and can make a very direct impact. It can also take a lot of patience and could get expensive over time if you commit to keeping the eSIM topped up indefinitely.”

If an immediate one time donation is more your speed, I recommend Operation Olive Branch and Gazafunds, two places to find Gofundmes aiding Palestinian families.

gazafunds.com

@ operationolivebranch on insta

linktr.ee/opolivebranch

-Maia Kobabe 2024

#esims for gaza #esims for palestine #gaza esims #palestine esims #connecting humanity

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poppy-metal · 2 months

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selfish, rotten girl you'd always been and let this caring, fragile, scared little girl you were startin’ to become go - like petals in the wind.

oh and you ATE with that. the hurt/comfort??? i’m literally in awe of your writing and your ability to take the scraps of my ideas and turn it into something beautiful.

i imagine reader feeling so conflicted after the storm because oh my god he was so kind and loving to her but she feels sick because she’s thinking of his girlfriend who has been nothing but kind but also the extremely buried cynical part of her (that thinks no one can love her ever bc she’s sososo awful and rotten) thinks that maybe it’s a ploy. that art was just being loving to her to get her back into his bed, but that thought is easily squashed because it’s art. he has a heart of gold that makes you want to be better than what you thought you could be.

so you do what you have been doing, avoiding him as much as you can. the peach tea being the only moment of connection between you two—the passing brush of fingertips and you ignore the ache that settles in your chest when you feel his warmth. you choke back sobs every night knowing that you’ve ruined that poor boy. and you do what you do best: hate yourself, belittle yourself, break yourself down because you don’t deserve good things or good people. you don’t deserve art donaldson.

it’s the last sunday service you’ll attend before you return home. the plane ticket is booked for friday; your grandma asked if you wanted to stay for longer, and a few weeks earlier, you would’ve said yes. but you need to cleanse this town of you. you need to cleanse art of you. your grandma’s been telling you about that engagement ring he’s been carrying around all month and how he’s thinking of proposing next weekend during the end of summer festivities. “such a shame you can’t stay till then,” she says.

“my parents have found it in them to forgive me,” you respond, “and they found someone who’s willing to marry me.”

ah yes, the big overcast over your summer was the engagement you would find yourself come summer’s end. while your summer was rearing animals, cooking breakfast for the ranch hands, and watching over some of the town’s children while their mamas picked peaches from your grandma’s trees, your parents had been busy schmoozing up and down the east coast, remedying your reputation and finding some brad, chad, or richard the second to marry you off to finally cleanse their hands of you.

you grandma tsked. “you could’ve found love here, dont understand the big fuss over finding you a husband in connecticut. we’ve got some fine honest men here.”

yes you do. in this moment of weakness you steal at art and envision what life would be like with him. would he hold you in the mornings? care for you while sick? play with the children you would bear for him and show them the ropes of ranch life just like he’d done for you many months before. warmth settles in your stomach but quickly curdles when lucy turns around and sends you a wave. you nod in response and focus your attention to the front; the pastor is just beginning his sermon.

atonement. that was the lesson of pastor zweig’s sermon. you rolled the word around in your head as you fried up bacon for the farmhands monday morning. it’s become a ritual. you making breakfast for the 10 folks who help make your grandma’s life just a little bit easier, and while you grumbled the first week, you became a little infamous amongst the town’s women of being the best cook in town: feedin’ their husbands bellies better than they can. at least, that’s what your grandma jokes.

when you place the final plate of buttermilk pancakes down next to the homemade blueberry sauce and the farmhands cheered, you beamed with pride. perhaps you did have the ability to create, to nourish, to be good. art sat at the head of the table, and you caught the little smile on his face, the chuckle that passed his lips at his friends’ antics.

"i will say, your cookin' can make an honest man out of me," patrick jokes. art stills in his seat as you refill his cup. he steals a look at you, but you seem unfazed. no, you seem tired. sick even. but it's quickly replaced with a coy smile that you flash his best friend's way.

"now we all know here nothing can make you an honest man," you joke, "no matter how much your daddy prays and prays." the farmhands break out into a roar.

"and what would you do if i got down on one knee right now? i swear, if it means i get your cookin' for the rest of my life, i'll make you my wife right now, and even give you a few kids too," he says with a wink. you and the farmhands are laughing, but art is gripping his fork.

who does patrick think he is? you're his.

"well it won't do you any good, patrick," you respond breezily, "my parents finally did good on their promise and it looks like i'm getting married by the end of the year." the room falls silent. you let an awkward laugh slip out, "now now, this ain't no funeral. don't people usually congratulate the blushing bride."

art's seeing red. you're getting married?

"well is he nice?" someone asks. art doesn't care if that man won a fucking nobel peace prize; you are his. and he can't believe you. waltzing into his life, ruining him, rendering his emotional state in shambles, only to waltz right out into the arms of someone else? but shouldn't he be relieved? the engagement ring in his pocket burns hot.

"i don't know, haven't met him yet."

"i'm going to go check on the horses," art gruffly says. he leaves behind a whole plate untouched. the farmhands pay him no mind; the youngest taking his plate for himself. patrick smirks into his eggs, well aren’t things getting interesting.

tl:dr art is experiencing emotional constipation! reader is accepting her fate! patrick is,,,meddling? but there’s only 4 days left until reader leaves and allegedly 5 days left until art proposes 🤔 much to simmer, much to cook

originally envisioned patrick as the rich old money new englander who’s equally fucked up and is who reader is engaged then married to and time skip! grandma passes away and leaves behind the ranch to reader and ofc the newly married couple moves there to build a new life away from prying eyes of their families and art is confronted with the fact that you are not his and you have moved on,,,but have you moved on? but there’s smth much more salacious to me (!) about black sheep pastor’s kid!patrick who’s only a ranch hand bc art got him the job as a promise to the pastor to help get patrick on the right track just like he’s been doing since they were kids. patrick who’s aware of the tension between you and art and wants it to bubble over—bc wouldn’t it be fun to corrupt the person in his life whose main job was to make him good? but now both ideas are equally hot and Important to me 🙂‍↕️

also horny thots re: ranch hand!art exist but tbh,,,i’m in my angst, hurt/comfort, plot/character development bag—more to come~

- 🤠

AURRRRR NOT THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE BACK HOME !!

I need them to get into a big fight - like I need art to shout at her with veins popping in his neck yelling at her asking her why the hell she got into his head and twisted him all up in knots when she's just gonna go and fuck off at the end of the summer - get hitched to another man. the jealousy hot in his veins, the possessiveness he suddenly feels foreign to him because he's never felt this way before. not for his sweetheart - never got jealous when patrick flirted with her or anything like that. you're making him feel all these bad things - these sinful things - and you aren't even gonna stick around to take accountability for the damage you've done to him??

need that passionate, knocking the cowboy hat off his head kind of kiss with his hands gripping your cheeks - need that kind of dick that feels equal parts making love as it does fucking - he's touching you in more intimate ways than he ever has before - he's branding you, in a way - marking his territory. making you remember him the way he knows he'll never be able to fuckin' forget you. making you watch how his cock slides in and out - making you tell him how good he's gotten at fuckin', the bull you've trained -

aurrrr ranchhand!art drama save me SAVE ME

#ask #🤠 anon #ranchhand!art

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dduane · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday: "Why The Wren is Queen of Birds"

From the upcoming Tales of the Five #3: The Librarian: a fairy tale* of southern Arlen.

***

In the south of our land, in the mountain-wall’s shadow near Dhiil, they tell this tale of the ancient days after the Great Dark was downthrown and destroyed at last.

In that time the Goddess first began to send humankind royal rulers to mediate between the folk of those first realms and the land on which they depended for their lives. And in those days the birds of the world came together in a great parliament and decided they too should have a King or Queen. "For we’re a far older people than the humans are," said some among the birds, "and far more numerous and varied in our kinds. So by rights we ought to have a ruler over us such as the Mistress of the World has given these new young creatures, to show forth our age in the world and our importance in it."

And no sooner had this been agreed than the birds began to squabble over who should be their new King or Queen.

"It should be the strongest of birds," said the great mountain vulture. "It should be the most beautiful of birds," said the rainbow-feathered lyretail. "It should be the bird that sings best, the sweetest-voiced," said the melodious nightingale. "It should be the sharpest-eyed of birds," said the passager-falcon.

A long time the quarrel went on, but no decision could be reached. Finally a hedge-sparrow said, "The owl is said to be wise, and has not spoken. Let us ask the owl." And that seemed a good enough idea that the birds went straight to the great crested owl, who sat in a tree hard by where the parliament had been taking place, dozing the day away.

The birds woke the owl and said, "Wise one, how shall we choose what bird among us shall be our Queen or King?"

And the owl looked south and north, and west and east, and over its own shoulder, seeking the answer. Finally it said, "The deepest truth of being a bird is that one flies. Therefore let the Monarch of Birds be the one who flies the highest."

And this advice seemed good to all the birds gathered there in parliament. So it was agreed and then sung and cried far and wide for every bird to hear, both great and small; from the great dragon-eagle to the tiny wren.

The wren in her holly-bush, when she heard this news, smiled to herself. "There are more truths to being a bird than flight," she said, "and more kinds of wisdom than are owned by owls. I have an idea which bird may yet fly highest!"

So the day came when all the birds of the world assembled, and all flew to see which one might fly the highest. Up and up they went in great waves of flight, so that the sky grew dark with them, and in their dwellings humans looked up in alarm, saying "What devilry is the Shadow planning now?" For the Dark was only a few lives of mankind gone, and humans’ fear of Its malice was greater than their wisdom.

However, the birds cared nothing for the fears of human beings, and only strove to see who would rise highest. The birds of field and hedge dropped away first, and then the birds of the treetops and the tall forests. A while longer the birds of the upper sky rose up together, the hawks and eagles and the mightiest seabirds. But one by one they all fell back and could fly no more through air that was too thin and cold for them; and at last the only one who remained was the greatest of eagles, a Darthene dragon-eagle, grey-pinioned and golden-eyed with a spiky crown of feathers.**

And that dragon-eagle beat his way up and up until it seemed the blue of the sky was starting to go darker and the horizon might to a keen eye be starting to show the shadow of a curve, and even for a bird who was so often neighbor to the great heights, breathing had become hard. And looking around and seeing no other bird had kept pace, the dragon-eagle cried out in triumph and folded his wings to fall back toward the world and his waiting kingship. But as his wings folded down, a tiny grey shape started up from between them and flew, and kept flying upwards. It was the wren, who had hidden herself among the dragon-eagle’s feathers, and now flew higher than he—a tall tree’s worth of higher; two trees’ worth; five.

The dragon-eagle was nigh spent, and could not follow her. He let himself fall back to earth until he knew there would be enough air under his wings for them to bite into. Then he made his way swiftly to the place that had been set aside for the crowning of the ruler of birds. But not too far behind him came the wren, falling as fast as he into the upper airs, and finally to the grove and glade where the representatives of the bird-parliament awaited the winner.

Great was their confusion when the wren came down to perch on a tree-branch in the center of the glade and cry, "I am your ruler, for I flew the highest!" And down in his turn came the dragon-eagle, full of wrath, though he kept his dignity about him. "She flew higher than I," he said. "That much is true. But I flew all the way on my own wings from a treetop perch right up into the great heights where the sky grows dark and the air grows thin. And all that long way the wren hid amidst the down of my back, so that I carried both myself and her all that way. The feat of the highest flight is therefore far more mine than hers, and I am your king by right!"

And hearing these two claims, the birds in parliament began to squabble and argue the merits of each side, until the whole place sounded like a great noisy rookery at sunset. Yet they could find neither answer nor decision; so at last they turned to the Goddess.

As always, where many call upon Her together, there She is, whether She be seen or no. And here, since there was need, swiftly She was seen. To them She looked of course like a bird, mighty and radiant: and all bowed in awe before Her. But the awe lasted only a short while, and in little time the birds began to quarrel before Her over the issue they had begged Her to resolve.

Quite soon, "Peace, my dears, have pity! You’ll deafen me with your noise," the Goddess said, when the commotion had swollen to the point where even a deity might not hear Herself think. "Set out your case, now, so that I may judge."

So they laid it all out before Her, glossing nothing over and leaving nothing out. Then all waited in breathless stillness for Her verdict.

Due consideration She gave their issue; and then spoke and said, "The agreement you all made was that the bird who flew highest should be set as ruler above you. No one said that the bird who flew highest must also fly all the way."

"But that should have been understood!" the dragon-eagle cried in his wrath.

"It may often seem after the fact that many things should have been understood from the start," the Goddess said. "But that is not how it goes. When a game is to be rightly played, all the rules must be agreed first. When the game is begun, and won, it must be judged by what rules were decided before it began: not ones thought of after it’s done." And She looked sorrowful. "I was first to learn that rule. Now, it seems, comes your turn."

And She rose up in Her majesty before them and said, "By the rules of the contest you set for yourselves, the Wren is now your ruler." And as the Wren bowed down before Her, the Goddess reached out a pinion and with one primary-feather brushed the top of the wren’s head, which to this day bears the little gold mark She put there—the sign of its new-made royalty, and the Kingdoms’ first crown.

“Here then behold your Queen,’ said the Goddess to the parliament assembled. And some birds bowed to their new-made ruler, and some did not, grumbling among themselves and glaring at the Wren—as they dared not glare at the Goddess, preferring to think of Her as blameless, and as one who had been befooled, even as the Shadow had befooled Her when the world first began.

And soon enough the Wren began to issue commands to her subjects, telling the ravens, "Your harsh voices were better not lifted in song," and saying to the nightingales, "Your voices are fair but you should be still after dark so that others can sleep," and to the sparrowhawks, "You must cease your preying on small birds and confine yourselves to rats and conies and other such vermin." In short, she put forth many edicts that either seemed to favor her own tribe of birds, or were made to show that she by her fledgling royalty might command what she liked whether there was much sense in it or not.

It was not long before the birds began to chafe at this. And one day the Wren saw a carrion-crow swoop down on a pond, where it snapped up a duckling and swallowed it whole; and the Wren became wroth and cried out, "I pronounce you cast out from among your kind for devouring the living instead of the dead!" And no sooner had the scaldcrow gobbled the duckling down than he stared at the Wren on the willow-branch where she sat, and cawed, "Pronounce what you like, cheating little hedge-peeper; you have no power to make me pay you any mind!"

“I am your Queen, made so by the Goddess, and you must obey me!" the Wren shouted in a fury. But the carrion-crow laughed at her and said, "The only thing I need obey is my stomach, which says you will make a good end to my nunch!" And he flew at the Wren, so that only hardly did she escape from him by diving into a hole in a nearby hedge-bank.

Soon word got about that the Wren had no power to enforce her decrees, and that they only had force when the will of those she commanded allowed it. And quickly she found herself being mocked or ignored, and sometimes attacked and pursued by other birds who hated her and tried to kill her. Some of these said "What fools thought a ruler over us would be a good idea? Let’s have no more of this nonsense, but be free!", and others, "Once this monarch is gone, who knows, the next one may be better."

In no long time the Wren wearied of this strife. At last she took her grievance to the Goddess. "Great Mistress and Queen of the World," the Wren cried to Her, "the birds will not acknowledge me to be their ruler! They hate me because I was cleverer than they."

“It is a hard thing to learn," said the Goddess, “that sometimes cleverness is not enough… or too much.” And She looked sorrowful. “I grieve that you have had to learn it so.”

“All this could be put right,” said the Wren, “if only You would simply give me the power to make them do what I command.”

“That would be a change to the agreement that, unchanged, made you Queen in the first place,” the Goddess said. “My sorrow that your change cannot be made so after the fact any more than the Dragon-eagle’s could be. You’ve built yourself this nest, dear one. Now you must lodge in it and hatch out what chicks you can.” And She vanished away.

And so it is that the Wren is yet held to be Queen of Birds, for though she was never deposed, no other bird was afterward ever found wise (or foolish) enough to hold the office, not even the owl. The only court the Wren Queen holds is hidden away in holes and hedges, to avoid her enemies’ sight, and there she raises her chicks on worms and bugs in a nest no bigger than a child’s goblet. Her only state is the flash of gold on her crest, and in all other ways she goes as quietly as she may—in all ways the smallest and plainest of all birds. Whether she ever came to understand that royalty rightly exercised needs far more than mere cleverness, and needs the heart at as much as the mind, if not more, no one can say. For in this making of the world, even the Goddess who made all things has no power to make even the smallest creature wise against its will. In Her next making, may all things run more smoothly!

So they tell the tale in the high South; and in the low North, where folly resides, who knows what tale they tell? But now this one is done.

*Using the class-name here as the closest match to this kind of story in the Kingdoms, which lacks beings corresponding to fairies.

**On our Earth, Harpia harpyja, the harpy eagle.

#WIP Wednesday #Middle Kingdoms meta #Tales of the Five Book 3: The Librarian

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thatmaxcontent · 5 months

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East Blue Polycule, yeah? Let me headcanon-dump onto you, stranger who didn't ask for it!

They overall love one another equally (in their own unique ways), but they do have favorites (keep it a secret though 🤭🤫🫡).

Luffy doesn't favor anyone in particular, but he has the most fun with Usopp and the most 'emotional' (big quotes on that) times with Zoro.

Speaking of the Lettuce Demon, his favorite is obviously Luffy, I need not elaborate on this point. He was the first and he will be the last.

Sanji's favorites are Nami and Usopp, Nami in the more silly yet beloving sense. She'll often tease him for being such a simpy simp, but will happily give him some love every now and then. Usopp is constantly around, not just Sanji but the whole crew, and through that Nicotine Kicker kind of just got used to him being THE first one he'd go to (aside captainly stuff and such). They behave more like married folks who've been together for around 10 years most of the time, but this doesn't take away from Sanji's simpyness. Sanji simps for all his partners, but he only visibly does it with Nami and semi-visibly with Usopp. The other two are far more casual.

Nami's favorite is Vivi (surprise! I got this idea from another post, I don't remember the poster, but aaaugh I love it!!!), but out of the crew it's Usopp. Vivi and Nami are one-to-one, the blue gurl isn't dating anyone else. They keep in contact by constantly sending each other letters and SNÄILIN'!!! Usopp is Nami's crew-favorite because... well... they're besties. They bond over so much, and they're the most open in the relationship with one another (close second being Luffy and Zoro tied with Sanji and Usopp, followed by Luffy and Nami, ect ect).

Usopp's favorites are Nami (because of stated bonding) and Sanji (because of their incredible connection), but Luffy deserves an honorable mention as Usopp spends a lot of time and has a blast with him!! Sometimes they also take two-on-two time, rarely it can turn into a little bit of a quiet session, but usually they rave about future adventures and plans. Sometimes Luffy makes Usopp come up with a 'bedtime story', but it's just an excuse to see the sniper get so passionate and think about another adventure!

(This is also from that other poster, aaaaa thank you for infecting my brain with this incredible rot) Aside Vivi, Kaya is dating both Nami and Usopp! They rarely manage to talk, but when they do their sessions are long and if someone disturbs them it's game over for them!

Now onto the funsy headcanons!

Nami and Usopp browse magazines together on a daily basis (sometimes Robin joins them as the cool mother of the group), and they plan some cool and absolutely ✨️SLAY✨️ outfits none of them can ever wear.

Zoro and Sanji have a little bit of a play-competition going on constantly. They get genuinely pissed off by the other often times, but sometimes they make something a competition as an excuse to angrily make out against the kitchen wall (they definitely 'sword'fight about who tops)

Luffy doesn't completely process the relationship as a, well, romantic relationship. He's more in it for the good times, and because he loves the peeps! He's overall fine with more strictly romantically-viewed things, but sometimes he just doesn't want to. One second he will say "Zoro, crush me with your arms", the next he sees Franky and Robin (the cool parents) kissing and he goes "BLEUGH I'm going to need a shovel to transport this bullshit out of my mouth BLEHHHHHH"

Usopp is the most insecure and unstable in the relationship. He's very people-pleasery, while also trying to keep up a persona. If he ever emotionally talks it's usually to Nami, sometimes to Sanji within the relationship, but outside of it he confides in Franky (the awesome dadster) and Jinbe (the ultimately best grandpops). He tries to get better, but fails to realise how. He has fun with everyone, seeks to be around them at all times, but sometimes he can't help but disappear. If you don't see him at breakfast give him until lunch, at that point it's suitable to check-in. Who knows what the thoughts in his head have made him do.

Sanji has a dedicated notebook/ramblebook about each one of the peeps. Sometimes when he can't sleep, or someone just did something he found notable, he whips out a book and starts going "September 1st, 1989, dear diary-" oh shit, wrong fandom.

Zoro is the one that has to be dragged into things the most, he does go willingly as well but his solitude is important to him. This being said he usually doesn't mind Luffy or Usopp chilling around if he's laying back, sometimes they can ramble and do their own thing as well. A lot of the time it's just sitting and silently contemplating on things, with Usopp at least. If Luffy doesn't have stimulation for five seconds he'll gomu-gomu the ship.

Nami absolutely loves physical contact, but sometimes feels bad that she can't see her girlfriends and feel them around. In these cases she'll request some physical space until things have settled, but sometimes that can make her even more clingy. She usually seeks out Usopp, but will cling onto someone else if he isn't to be seen.

Luffy found a new appreciation for various relationship through the polycule. This also helped him think more healthily about his past, those who are gone and those who are alive. He's managed to settle some feelings, but a lot of experiences still hinder his head. He doesn't think about those things that much, and besides if he feels down he will quite literally start deflating. A quick munch of food, mention of stories or a good song will always cheer him right up.

Usopp actively leaves gifts for everyone around the ship (to the ones outside the relationship as well, but extra for the peeps). They're handmade, and they range from silly notes/drawings with cheesy jokes to actual equipment/tools and sometimes even clothing and jewelry.

I COULD GO ON FOR SO LONG, BUT IF YOU READ THIS FAR THANK YOU FOR BEING AN ENJOYER!!!! And drink some water, you're dehydrated you fucking amazing dewdrop angel baby

HAVE A GOOD TIMEZONE!!!

#one piece #god usopp #black leg sanji #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #usopp one piece #vinsmoke sanji #one piece luffy #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #text post #east blue polycule #headcanon #shipping #long post

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psycheflame · 2 years

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Aemond Targaryen Fanfics

(GIFs not mine)

- I've been reading way too many fanfics about Aemond lately, so here is a list to all the fics I’ve read here on tumblr and ao3. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Some fics listed have dark themes.

✦ - smut

♡ - personal fav

Aemond x Reader (one shot)

Cherry (modern au) by slayhousehightower | ♡ ✦

The Missing Piece by heartysworld

Your beauty never scared me by heartysworld

Just like you by heartysworld

The Northener who tamed the dragon by heartysworld | ♡

A woman’s power by heartysworld | ♡ ✦ (?)

Strong Words by osferth

The Sweetest Betrayal by ladyviserra

Pretty Thing by aemondtargaryenswhore

Sleepily in love by thestoryden

A family divided by osferth

Family Dinner by afro-hispwriter | ✦

The Next Morning by thestoryden

Jealous Tendency by aemondtargaryenswhore

Old World Blues by tinfairies

Act Fool by cullenswife | ♡

Amusement by theficthatwaspromised | ♡

You Belong To Me by mybeautifuldelirium

To Have and To Hold by lilibethwrites | ♡ ✦

I like me better when I’m with you (modern au) by humongouscatfan | ♡

A Precious Language by aemonds-wifey | ♡

Multi-chaptered fics

Blood of the Dragon by jmjoneswriter | ♡

That one-eyed bastard by cullenswife

Savior by thestoryden

The Wildflower from The East by mybeautifuldelirium

Little Secrets by qarl-grimes

Living with the Green (modern au) by syzrina

Striving by mllemarianne

Aemond x original character

Blood of the Dragon - alternate scene by shootingthroughthemoon

Aemons x reader x other HOTD characters

Not a one time thing (Aemond + reader + Jace) by justanotherkpopstanlol | ✦

Headcanon/Imagine

Aemond with a shy s/o by cullenswife | ♡

Modern University AU by stargirlstudio | ♡

Feel free to send me a message on my ask if you want a fanfic that isn’t on this list to be added so everyone can check it out. Sharing is caring, folks!

#I’m adding more don’t worry!#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #house of the dragon hbo #aemond x reader #hotd fanfics #aemond targaryen x reader

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kaitsawamura · 4 months

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FICS FOR GAZA

I am proud to announce I will be joining the initiative created over at @ficsforgaza! They, along with all the other incredibly talented participants, are doing some really great work. Thank you to FFG for creating a tangible way for us to help those suffering in Palestine, even if some of us can't afford to offer monetary assistance <3

THIS POST WAS LAST UPDATED 6/25/24

I might open requests in the future but for now, I am accepting proof of donation to sponsor current WIPs only.

Select a vetted donation link. You can find a good list -> HERE <-

Send me a screenshot of your donation through my inbox or in a DM. Due to these factors, donations cannot be anonymous at this time. I will also be sharing screenshots/proof of donation with @ficsforgaza for their records and verification. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU COVER/BLUR ANY PERSONAL INFORMATION ON YOUR PROOF OF DONATION.

I would hope this wouldn't need to be stated but please do not reuse donation screenshots. Make a new donation for each request.

Once you have sent proof of donation and chosen your WIP, you can opt in or out to be listed as a tagged sponsor on the WIP's masterlist. Some of the available WIPs have masterlists already live (I would tag you and repost) and some are oneshots that have yet to be posted (you would be tagged as a sponsor at the time that it is finished and live).

I will label each work individually, but please assume that everything I write will be 18+ MDNI/N*FW at one point or another.

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For every $1 donated, I will write 100 words towards your chosen WIP. I.E: If you donate $5, I will write 500 words.

Current Word Count Cap Per One Request: 1000 Words (You can show proof of a larger donation, but this is currently the most words that can be requested per person ☺︎ )

Current Total Word Cap: 500/5000 words (This is currently the point at which I will pause proof of donations until I catch up ☺︎ )

MONEY RAISED: $15.75

Thank you for reading and respecting my rules!

THIS IS CURRENTLY A PLACEHOLDER

SERIES

Donations Made to Sponsor This WIP: 1

SUMMARY: Your life is one that is abundant with family and the magic in small things. But when a great white bear comes rumbling at your family’s cottage door one winter’s night, you are obviously taken aback. Even more so when he speaks to you in a language you can understand and asks for your help. Come away with him, live with him in the ice castle he calls home for a year and day and release him from the curse that blights him. You agree to go with him even if as time goes along, it is very apparent that there is more to this polar bear than meets the eye. There is more to a lot of different things as you learn to love the polar bear as friend and companion during the day but are visited by a mysterious man who insists on sleeping in your bed every night. Can you last a year and a day to save the bear from this strange enchantment? Will you learn the true identity of the man you’ve come to care so deeply for? Will you find yourself (and maybe love) along the way?

Donations Made to Sponsor This WIP: 1

SUMMARY: You need a change, a big one. When your estranged grandfather passes away and bequeaths you his farm in a little town just south of the middle of nowhere, you take it as the sign you needed to make a change instead of waiting for one. The farm, while having fallen into a state of disrepair, is just the thing to cure your modern-world ailments. The people are kind and always ready to offer help, if a bit unusual. They have old superstitions, a haunted community center, and a resident wizard. Spoiler alert: those last two on the list take some getting used to. Yes, things are different here but you have a sneaking suspicion that the slow pace and a certain alchemical practitioner are going to remind you that sometimes, all you need is time and a little bit of magic.

that's just wasteland, baby | Estimated WC: 15K | Current WC: 2.2K | BotW/TotK!Link and Zelda x Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: Calamity Ganon has finally been vanquished for good, Link and Zelda have finally managed to break the wheel. But things are not as either of them had hoped they would be. Zelda is soon to be Queen with all the duties of such a position. Link would remain her knight and yet, he is restless. When he hears of the restoration efforts in Lurelin Village, he decides that he must go. He can’t stay cooped up within the castle walls, not after so long in the wild. Zelda and Link are unsure of the new direction their lives are taking but maybe they’ll find that their true north is you.

ONESHOTS

a shrike and a thorn | Estimated WC: 3K | Current WC: 1.2K | Priest!Kento Nanami x Congregant!Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: You save everyone but who saves you? You don’t know what makes you step foot in that church. But you do and you spend the next year a dutiful congregant to Father Nanami. Devoted and kind, he’s exactly the kind of man you would expect to be a priest. And none of this would be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to see him lose his religion between your legs. Unbeknownst to you, the good Father is having the same kind of thoughts. Will the two of you build a new altar at which you might worship?

They Say It's Your Birthday | Estimated WC: 3K | Current WC: 1.6K | Pro Hero!Eijiro Kirishima x Reader | 18+ MDNI

SUMMARY: Strangers to lovers (they meet in the club), birthday smut for the Birthday Boy, I've had this in my drafts for literally three years to post on Eiji's birthday.

The Indomitable Human Spirit | Estimated WC: 2-3K | Current WC: 366 | Modern!Sukuna x Reader | 18+ MDNI

Donations Made to Sponsor This WIP: 1

SUMMARY: No description for this yet either, just wanted to explore the idea of Sukuna putting his claim on you but not in the way you'd think he would, more in like the thing about how a warring alien race comes to earth and is baffled and fascinated by the enduring human spirit.

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#fics for gaza #kait writes #fic recs #bnha #jujutsu kaisen #stardew valley #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #tears of the kingdom #kaits fics for gaza #signal boost #important!

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thatmexisaurusrex · 2 months

Note

If you're still doing 1-2 word Bucktommy prompts, how about blizzard conditions 🙂

Hey! Sorry it took a bit of time to get to this. I'm on and off overwhelmed by asks 😅 I love them and I love writing ficlets and microfics and answering questions and thanking folks for kind words, but at the same time, I get a little overwhelmed sometimes. Great prompt! I hope you enjoy this 🥰

Blizzard Conditions

Tommy had never been on the East Coast before. He hadn't really been north of San Fran. So, going along with Maddie, Evan, Chimney, and Jee-Yun to visit some old friends of theirs in the New England area had been a bit of an adventure, to say the least.

Well.

An adventure he enjoyed until he and Evan found themselves on a snow-covered road.

"Shit. The car really isn't moving anymore," said Evan as he tried a fourth time to drive with no real results.

"9-1-1 did say they were sending someone," offered Tommy.

Evan sighed as he slumped back into his seat.

"This really isn't going the way I wanted it to go."

"Oh, you hadn't visited specifically for the blizzard conditions?"

Evan snorted.

"I visited specifically for them," said Evan sarcastically.

"It's really not that big of a deal," Tommy said, but Evan didn't look all that convinced.

"This weekend. It was supposed to be - I don't know. Perusing Newbury Street. Taking goofy historical walking tours around Boston. Not blizzard conditions. Not getting stuck in the snow after turning around from trying to head to Salem. We didn't even get to Salem."

Tommy wrapped his arms around Evan, pulling him close.

"I'm going to tell you something I didn't know before we came," whispered Tommy into Evan's hair, "I hate the fucking snow."

Evan.

Let out a laugh.

"What?"

"I hate the fucking snow. I hate the snow. I hate how cold it is. I don't like how it keeps fucking up every wonderful plan you try to enact. I hate how you just look so sad when the snow ruins another thing. I hate it. If I could punch it in the face, I would."

Evan.

Evan just kept laughing.

"You don't need to hate the snow on my behalf," wheezed Evan.

"Too bad. I hated it already," laughed Tommy, "This has just solidified my hatred. I'm going to be the Kendrick Lamar of hating snow."

"Not the Kendrick Lamar of hating snow," laughed Evan.

Just.

Just grinning.

And looking at Tommy.

And.

"Next time, less snow. Okay?" said Evan, as if he could promise that.

"Yeah. We'll come in the summer or something," said Tommy as he gave Evan a peck on the lips.

Which.

Turned into more.

Maybe a little more than more.

Until.

They sprang away from each other at the sound of tapping on the car window.

"9-1-1 first responders!" called someone from outside, "Heard you might need some help?"

And.

Okay.

They could continue that later.

"Yes, we do!" called Evan, and Tommy snorted at how Evan had to clear his throat.

#911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tooth rotting fluff #bucktommy ficlet #tevan #kinley #the ally and the beast #my fics #blizzard conditions #asks

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blairstales · 1 year

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The Fairy Queen of Scottish Folklore

Perhaps thanks to the terms seelie court and unseelie court, or maybe because of fiction, there is now modern folklore that there are two opposing fairy kingdoms. One is good, and the other is bad. However, the Seelie/Unseelie Court terms were historically just ways to categorize typically good fairies and typically bad fairies.

There is only one queen and king of the fairies mentioned in Scottish folklore.

"The Fairy Queen" by Arthur Rackham(1914)

The queen rarely has a name(though is sometimes called Nicneven), and is more often simply called The Fairy Queen, or The Queen of Elphame, which is within the Otherworld. She is described as being clothed in green, as having otherworldly beauty, and having great power.

Within church lore, she must send a human soul to hell every 7 years, otherwise hell will take a fairy soul. This is also related to the changeling folklore, where those souls are sometimes swapped out with something (or someone) enchanted to look like the missing.

However, there are even more stories that contrast this dark side by painting her in a kinder light. In those, the queen will remove curses off people and give gifts. Even The Silver Chanter is sometimes said to be given by the fairy queen to Ian Maccrimmon, after she was impressed with his musical talent (and good looks). In his hands only, it would play the sweetest music.

There is sometimes a fairy king also mentioned in folklore, but the queen seems to hold the most power.

“There was also a king of elf land. From the accounts extracted from or volunteered by witches, etc., preserved to us in judiciary and Presbyterian records he appears to have been a peaceable, luxurious, indolent personage who entrusted the whole business, including the recruiting department, to his wife.” “Folk Lore in Lowland Scotland” by Evelyn Blantyre Simpson (1908)

Not only does the king take a background roll, but there are more stories of her taking human lovers than there are with even mention of the king. The most famous of these human lovers might be “Thomas the Rhymer.” He was said to be an amazing singer, but what instrument accompanied him can change depending on the tales; some times he is a famous lute player, other times a harp, and sometimes another instrument.

It was a dreadfully hot day when Thomas had set out walking, so he decided to take shade under a tree — called the Eildon(or Eldyn) tree — to catch his breath. There, on the slope of the east-most of the three Eildon hills, he found the spot so pleasant that he decided to stay and play a song on his instrument.

As he played, he began to hear a twinkle of bells on the wind. The source of the bells turned out to be a gorgeous woman who rode out of the woods on a white horse.

“Her skirt was o ‘ the grass green silk , Her mantle o ‘ the velvet fine ; At ilka tett of her horse’s mane hung fifty silver bells and nine.” "Folk Lore in Lowland Scotland" by Eve Blantyre Simpson(1908)

After much talking between the two, the woman admitted to being the fairy queen, and asked if he would go with her to the fairy realm. Awestruck by her beauty, he readily agreed. There, he enjoyed himself so thoroughly, he had no idea how much time was passing.

"They came at last to the fairy kingdom where revelry and dancing were the order of the day . Thomas passed so delectable a time that when the queen asked him how long he thought he had been there , he calculated some seven days had been passed chasing the golden hours with flying feet . He could scarce believe the beautiful sovereign when she assured him he had been gone from earth five years and two." "Folk Lore in Lowland Scotland" by Eve Blantyre Simpson(1908)

This marks another crossroads in how the tale (and the perception of the fairy queen) differs. As per the church lore, Thomas was supposed to be one of the souls given to hell, but the queen had grown a soft-spot for Thomas and advised him to run.

In other stories, he simply returned to the human realm and remained there for some time.

In both versions, before they parted, she charmed him to have a tongue that could not lie, as well as a gift of prophecy. He had thought the truthfulness would be a hindrance, but back in the human realm, his honesty earned him the name “True Thomas.”

There are many prophecies said to originate from Thomas, some of which people claim came true. If you are interested in a list, there is a lengthy one in the book “Popular Rhymes, Fireside Stories, and Amusement of Scotland” by Robert Chambers(1842).

After many years, he abruptly stated “I have been here long enough,” and simply left our world, never to be seen again. Some say the queen reclaimed him and he is now forever trapped in the Otherworld, while others say it was his own choice to return to the woman he loved.

Note: If you want to research further, I have more quotes and sources on my website.

#fairy #folklore #fairies #mythology #scottishfolklore #scottish folklore #scottish mythology #fae #scottish #faeries #scottish fae #the fairy queen #scottish fairies #myths #scotland #faery #ScottishFolkoreBasics #MiscScottishFairies

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mariacallous · 2 months

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U.S. Vice President and Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris has reportedly selected Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz as her running mate in a move aimed at energizing the Democratic Party’s progressive base in Midwestern battleground states ahead of a tight presidential election in November.

Walz, a 60-year-old second-term governor as well as a former high school teacher and congressman, was relatively unknown on the national stage before U.S. President Joe Biden abruptly withdrew from the presidential race and endorsed Harris as his successor on July 21.

Since then, Walz has emerged a leading voice in Democratic lines of attack on Republicans, repeatedly referring to former President Donald Trump and his running mate, Ohio Sen. J.D. Vance, as “weird.”

Walz now faces an uphill battle of expanding his national visibility in a fledgling presidential campaign with less than 100 days to go until Election Day. The rival Democratic and Republican tickets reflect vastly different views on the United States’ role in the world, though it’s unclear how much foreign policy will be a factor for voters in the upcoming elections.

Trump and Vance have expressed skepticism toward U.S. alliance systems, and Vance in particular has become a vocal critic of continued U.S. aid to Ukraine as it fights its war against Russia, arguing that the United States should instead direct its military resources to countering China. Harris is expected to continue the Biden administration’s policy of supporting Ukraine. On the Middle East, however, Harris is facing mounting pressure from the progressive flank of the Democratic Party to reassess the U.S. relationship with Israel as it carries out its controversial war in Gaza—a driving issue for Arab American voting constituencies in battleground states such as Michigan.

Some progressive groups proactively campaigned to keep Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro—whom Harris was also considering as a potential vice presidential choice—off the Democratic ticket because they opposed his support for Israel.

Walz has hewed to the mainstream Democratic position of supporting Israel, but he has criticized Israel’s handling of the war in Gaza and called in March for the United States to push for a cease-fire. “I’ve asked for these humanitarian pauses to get folks out. … I want this thing to end; I don’t want a cease-fire to last for a week or something like that. We need a permanent solution,” he told Minnesota Public Radio at the time.

Walz grew up in Nebraska and worked as a teacher first in China, then in Nebraska, and finally in Minnesota. He also served for 24 years in the U.S. Army National Guard, rising to the rank of command sergeant major. During his time in Congress from 2007 to 2019, Walz served on the House Armed Services Committee, overseeing U.S. military policy and spending, where early on he became a sharp critic of the Iraq War and opposed sending additional U.S. troops there.

In 2009, Walz visited Syria and met with Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad as part of a congressional delegation that unsuccessfully tried to pressure Syria to stop the flow of arms to militant groups in Iraq, where Minnesota National Guard troops were deployed at the time.

He later opposed then-President Barack Obama’s plan to order military strikes on Syria in 2013 in response to Assad’s use of chemical weapons, citing opposition from constituents to further involving the U.S. military in conflicts in the Middle East. “This man [Assad] is a monster and the situation is horrific, but that is not compelling enough to come up with a plan that is not well thought out and in the best interest of this nation,” Walz said at the time.

Walz won his seat five more times before stepping down to run for governor in 2018.

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years

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The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 3

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~2000 Summary: Playing house with Joel is not all it's cracked up to be. As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut

Content Notes & Warnings: mentions of assault, depression, p-in-v sex, & violence.

I consider my personal brand to be "All your faves want to fuck fat chicks" but the post-apocalyptic setting makes that harder to convey. Given that the diet culture of the 90s and early 2000s fucked us all, be on the lookout for body talk and mentions of disordered eating.

Atlanta 2007

It was a miracle you were alive. That was what the doctors said when Joel and Tommy managed to find a FEMA clinic nearly 48 hours later. The bullet had hit Joel first, just grazing him, but slowed down enough that when it struck you the impact didn’t send you into cardiac arrest. It entered a few inches below your right shoulder, missing the lung, the subclavian artery, and the bundle of nerves controlling your arm, and exited the top of your chest before lodging in Sarah’s stomach where it tore her apart from the inside. Some miracle.

The clinic doctors decided to send you to Dallas by helicopter, where there was supposed to be a working trauma center. Of course, by the time you got there everything had gone to shit. But the fluids and antibiotics they had already pumped into you kept you stable. You hunkered down for a few weeks until Joel and Tommy decided it was safe to move you.

From there you headed east, eventually making your way to a refugee camp in Atlanta. It was a fucking mess–most folks had fled their homes without gathering important documents, but the bureaucrats were still insisting on trying to verify peoples’ identities. The people outside were begging and bribing for someone to vouch for them.

With Tommy being military, the government knew everything down to what underwear he had on; Joel managed to hang on to his wallet so thankfully he still had photo ID.

“This is my daughter,” he said, pushing you in front of him at the gate. “Sarah.”

The powers that be immediately pressed Tommy into service helping to control the crowds and guard supplies, leaving you and Joel to get settled into one of the canvas tents on site. It wasn’t much, but you had a cot, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap, which was quite a bit more than you had arrived with.

“Why’d you tell them I was your daughter?” you asked.

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s still frowned upon for grown men to be traveling with a random teenage girl,” Joel replied gruffly. “It’s just temporary.”

But after four years this temporary stopover looked more and more like home and you felt more like a mother than daughter: washing, mending, cooking when there was food which there usually wasn’t. You had lost more weight than was probably safe, but you weren’t quite as rail-thin and sallow as most of the other evacuees haunting the camp.

Still, you regretted all the time you had spent starving yourself when there was plenty of food around, desperate to shrink down to nothing. Your body had kept you alive in impossible circumstances and you had promised yourself you would do what you had to to take care of it.

With Joel, it was a different story. About a month into your stay at the camp, a man whistled at you in the breadline for weekly rations of beans and government cheese. It was so strange and unexpected that you didn’t even realize it had happened until Joel had jumped the guy.

“Stop it!”” you screamed, helping two other guys pull him off. “You’ll kill him! Daddy!”

Even after one of the guards slammed his rifle into the back of Joel’s neck, he still wasn’t satisfied.

“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch! She’s mine! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The guards probably would have hanged them both if not for Tommy running interference, but that didn’t keep Joel from picking fights wherever he could. He had a death wish and that made him dangerous.

Losing Sarah had broken something inside of him, how could it not. Keeping you and Tommy safe had kept him grounded for a while, but now that things were (relatively) stable, he had no reason to keep going. You sympathized, of course, with the unfathomable grief of losing a child. That didn’t mean you were content to stand by while he self-destructed.

It was past noon and Joel was asleep, passed out, you realized as your toe connected with the bottle that had rolled under his cot.

“Get up,” you said, pushing on his back. “Laundry day. Get up.”

Joel grunted, balling up under the blanket.

“Well that’s just great,” you said. “You want to drink a week’s worth of rations in one afternoon, fine. But if you think I’m gonna let you get a staph infection from sleeping in the same filthy clothes for weeks, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled with all your might. Joel fought you, growling and thrashing, but ultimately you managed to wrestle it away. Joel harumphed and turned over in bed. You threw the blanket into the laundry basket and stormed out of the tent.

Tommy was on rounds and you passed him on your way to the little stream that ran through the east side of camp.

“You need to talk to him,” you said. “Cause I am at the end of my rope.”

Joel had been shutting down for weeks and things seemed to be getting worse and worse. You knew he wished you had died instead of Sarah. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you'd always be left to wonder if you hadn’t turned around when you did, would that bullet have passed through Sarah and killed you. You would have taken her place if you could. This wasn’t the life any of you would have wished for, but this was the life you had.

“Cut him some slack,” Tommy said. “Birthdays and anniversaries are always rough.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, as Tommy walked with you toward the edge of camp. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you–I know how much you loved Sarah and we can’t even talk about her.”

Tommy shrugged. “You compartmentalize. Deal with it when it’s safe.”

“So never?”

“That’s the job,” Tommy said.

You shook your head. “The job sucks. And we still need to figure out what we’re going to eat this week. I already traded my last tampon for the month.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Tommy chuckled. “I don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah, well, I figured your back was getting tired from carrying us,” you teased.

Tommy waved you off, jogging back to his post before his C.O. noticed he was gone.

You sat down by the river, sprinkling your weekly allotment of laundry powder onto the stones. Having to do all the scrubbing manually certainly gave you time to think. When weekly assignments came around, you usually asked to be on the cleaning crew–it wasn’t a desirable chore, but you liked knowing that the communal showers and horrible pit latrines you had to use were as sanitary as possible. Besides, as long as you weren’t greedy you could get away with pocketing extra hand sanitizer and disinfectant–that shit was better than gold around camp.

But FEDRA was trying to get a factory up and running about a mile outside camp, hard work, double shifts, and shit pay. But there were fringe benefits for those willing to take the risk. This dude called Axel had a pot farm on the other side of the fence. He was always looking for people dumb enough or desperate enough to move his product–they were always getting caught at the gate.

So you wrung out and hung the laundry and marched down to the big house to sign up for the next truckload of workers leaving camp.

You worked the graveyard shift, and made it back through the gate the next afternoon with half a kilo of weed in the hidden pocket you had sewed into the lining of your jacket. As you suspected, the guards were more interested in groping your breasts and between your legs during their pat-down. You headed back to your tent with the most money you had ever held in your hands–before the outbreak or after.

Your euphoria at your success was only somewhat diminished by the realization that Joel and Tommy had spent the morning tearing the camp apart looking for you.

“Where the hell have you been?” Joel said. He looked frantic, disheveled, cold sweat, the works.

“Working,” you said, digging the wad of ration cards out of your bra and handing it over to Tommy. “Maybe you can find us some real food now.”

“Jesus, kid,” Tommy said, flipping through the cards. “Where’d you get this?”

“Why? They’re good, aren’t they?”

You toed off your shoes and pulled off your sweatshirt as you came into the tent.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel followed after you, wiping a hand across his forehead. “We’ve been worried sick–thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere, or worse–and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Can we have this conversation later,” you groaned, shimmying out of your bluejeans and collapsing on your cot. “I’m exhausted.”

When you finally woke, Joel was sitting on the folding chair beside your cot.

“So what are you a whore now?”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you groaned, sitting up, pulling the thin blankets up around you. “Does it fucking matter?”

You had considered sex work, but the truth was there wasn’t much of a market for it. Assault was more common than toilet paper in the camp–there was hardly a woman who hadn’t been groped (or worse) or a man that hadn’t been mugged for that matter. You figured the only reason you had been spared so far was that Tommy and Joel were so fucking scary.

“Yeah, it fucking matters, Sweetpea,” he growled. You had never seen him angry before, not like this. You would have been terrified if you weren’t so goddamn tired.

“I am responsible for you.”

“Oh, spare me the sanctimonious bullshit,” you said. “I’m not a child. I am grown. I’m certainly not your daughter.”

“You think I don’t know that!” Joel grabbed you by the chin. You met his gaze; for a moment, you weren’t sure if he wanted to hurt you or something else.

“Prove it,” you said, the corner of your mouth lifting into a sneer. “I fucking dare you.”

In the space of a breath, Joel had crushed his mouth against yours. You moaned against his lips, leaning back in bed, but Joel held the back of your neck, keeping you close. You put your hands on his face, running your fingers into his hair.

Joel climbed on top of you in bed, the thin mattress sagging under your combined weights. He sat up long enough to unbuckle his belt and paused.

“Say yes,” he instructed, leaning down, planting his lips in the space where your jaw met your neck.

You sighed, gripping his shoulder, turning your face to expose your neck to him.

“You have to say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathed, pulling your ratty t-shirt off over your head and dropping it on the floor.

Joel pulled down his jeans and ran his hands down your back, looping them into your panties, pulling them down. You kicked them off to hook your ankles behind Joel’s thighs as he kissed your throat.

He pressed into you all at once; you were so exhilarated you hardly felt anything. Then pressure and a sharp tug behind your pelvic bone as he withdrew and pushed deeper. You gripped his arms and squeezed your knees into his sides.

“Good?” he asked, kissing and sucking a trail down your chest, grazing the mounds of your breasts with his teeth.

You took a few deep breaths and relaxed your face which had tightened into a grimace.

“It’s a lot,” you said, running your hands down his back.

“I know,” Joel breathed. “I know, Sweetpea. I got you.”

Joel moved one hand between your legs, to the bundle of nerves at the peak of the wishbone where your bodies met, massaging in circles with his rough fingers. You felt something coiling inside you, hot and tight. You arched into him.

“That’s better?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, relaxing your thighs. “That’s nice.”

Joel moved against you, hips flicking up into the bowl of your pelvis as he massaged you. He cupped one breast with his spare hand, pressing his mouth over the other, tongue circling the sensitive nipple.

“That’s nice.”

He bucked into you harder; you bit your lip to stifle a cry. You could feel the knot in your belly spreading, unfolding. Your body stiffened and relaxed and with a low moan, Joel dropped his weight onto you, tired and spent.

You felt your heart rate slow and your breath grew deeper. Joel rested his head on your chest and you ran your fingers through his hair. You noticed it was damp and smelled faintly of mint.

“Did you shower?”

Joel nodded, his beard rubbing against your skin. You smiled.

“You do listen to me.”

“Mmhm.” You ran your hands over Joel’s shoulder girdle; felt the tight knots of muscle relax under your touch.

Joel’s lips found the ragged scar under your collarbone where the bullet had left your body. He kissed the scar gently, running his fingertips over it. For an instant you felt like he was worshiping you, in awe of you. And you marveled at your own sweet self for being able to give such pleasure.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Joel said. You pressed your eyes closed.

“I may not have a choice,” you sighed. “Axel wants me to do another run at the end of the week–I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

After a moment, Joel rose from the bed, pulling on his pants as you pulled the blankets up over you.

“What are you going to do?” you said.

“I said I’d take care of it,” he repeated.

“Joel,” you warned. “You can’t narc on him…you can’t kill him. Don’t kill him, Joel. Please.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Eat something. Tommy brought you peanut butter.”

You had half a mind to try and stop him from leaving, but who could resist peanut butter.

Baby's First Taglist: @stilllivindue2spite, @amethystwonders11 & @teacupcollector

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo

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shut-up-rabert · 1 year

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I read the recent post and I hope no hate anon is approaching you because I will bring my steel tupperware bottle

Anyway I am really glad that people like you and @lil-stark didi exist. I do not have much knowledge about the political power and parties and especially about the kashmiri pandit issue who was ruling who belonged to which party so I don't speak about this but people who downplay the atrocities that happenes with those pandits deserve a special place in hell. Like think you are moved away from your land by force, by brutal killing and rapes only after some years to hear a random person on the internet say yaar utna bhayankar bhi nahi hua tha and it's a propaganda

The amount of misinformation these so called modern radical folks have is hilarious. Ghanta ramayan mahabharat padhi kahin koyi translation chipka. Not so sweet61 posted that ss of ram following manu, if they really did Vashishtha wouldn't have asked for sita to be the commander of ayodhya instead of leaving with ram.

And Manusmriti itself contradicts the vedas and upanishads. We have had a culture that promoted women scholars, encouraged debate and questioning, and lol as if one could be a brahmin just because they were born in a family. You had to have those qualities to be that and then can you be one. It's as similar to a person being a warrior. Not everybody can be one. You need to train and practice for it. It's good that if you are born in one that way you have an exposure to the respective field just like today if I am born in a house full of doctors, I would have much knowledge about the study, expenses and related stuff to medicine.

Just like every culture every community has good and bad things, sees its rise and fall, we Hindus have seen too. From an era where it was encouraged for a woman to be a brahmavadini, we became resentful at the thought of sending girls to school. We forgot how the texts told to respect each and every person irrespective of their social status to discriminating them on basis of caste and there are all so many issues that we need to address too.

But majal hai that I will sit quietly and see these random people on the internet speak about my culture and insult it. From North to south east to west, Rama and Krishna have been worshipped and always will be. We will always look upto them and learn from them.

In the recent years, the youth of today apart from some dumb idiots who have bhagwan rama in their pfp and comment women tea on every post, I am happy to see that teens are taking interest to read and learn our own Indian history and scriptures. I am not seeing them blindly accept everything. I have seen them ask questions which might be considered 'blasphemous' by the elders but the vedas themselves promote curiousity, questioning and debate as the best way to gain knowledge. And I hope the younger gen keeps going in this path.

(You can respond to this ask in private varna tere piche hate anons aa skte hai)

Seriously, why did Ram, who supposedly followed Manusmriti marry a woman who was a scholar, a warrior, capable of lifting Shiva’s Dhanush and encouraged her to remain her brave, outspoken self because that’s who she was? Why request her to stay in the palace when Manu says that a woman should always be observed? Why give in to all her requests and respect her decisions when Manu says that a woman is mentally incapable of making sound decisions? Why be happy and praise her when she slays Sahastra Raavan?

If Manusmriti was truly being followed, why did the biggest scholar in that entire story, Janak, have his daughters educated, that too by a scholar woman like mata Gargi? Why train them in warfare? Why Did Dashrath bring Kekayi to war with him? Why did Dashrath request the hands of women, who impressed him by thier knowledge, for his sons? And like you pointed out, why offer a woman the position of commander??

If caste was the way Manusmriti says, why was Shabri, a lower caste woman, visited by the lord and sent to heaven? Why did he make a big show of letting the arrogant priests who looked at Shabri with scorn know that she is purer than them by making her touch clean the pond?

Why did Shri Krishna say that a true pandit (knowledgeable person) would see a Brahmin and a Chandala equally? Why did he say he resides in everyone equally, women and Shudras included? Why did the Vedas that are supposedly off limit for Shudras say this?

Manusmriti is not a scripture, it condradicts the Vedas themselves, when it comes to women’s education, the position of women (there is an exceprt where a warrior queen is mentioned), and being for everyone. Apparently women cannot read Vedas even though the Vedas speak to them directly in multiple excerpts? (Oh men and women, oh women etc,) Shudras Cannot read Vedas even though the Vedas say they are for everyone, Shudras included?

Even if you look at other works of the time, like Kamasutra, which technically is somewhat of a scripture in some parts where it discusses philosophy, because its prologue says it was first written by lord Nandi. Manusmriti thorughly contradicts that aswell.

Oh, and Kamasutra was written after Manusmiriti, And Ramayan and Vedas before it, and all of these except Manusmriti are now engraved on temple walls, so you can clearly see which ones of the restrictive and liberating philosophy was preffered by Hindus at large throughout.

If Casteism was so prominent and rigid, how did a shudra become the partriarch of the biggest empire in mainland India?

Chandragupta Maurya was either clanless or a Shudra, and the current existence of Maurya tribe in Bihar enforces the second one. How did he make it to the top, that too with the help of a Brahmin, if things were as dire? Same can be said for

How was Queen Durgavati’s Father in Law able to change himself into a Rajput despite being a tribal?

How was Vishwamitra, a born Kshatriya able to be a Rishi? How was Lord Parshuram, a born Brahmin revered on a higher level than most Kshatriyas in warfare and was able to put the fear of lord in their hearts?

How was rishi Matang able to be a brahmin despite being born a Shudra?

How was Mātang blessed with goddess Saraswati as a daughter?

How did Lord Gorakhnath become such a prominent saint?

How was VedVyas, son of a Fisherwoman, able to be a sage? How were children of Satyavati able to be kings?

How did the founder of Raghukul become a Kshatriya after becoming a king when he was born a Brahmin?

How was Lord Krishna happily doing the physical labour of a cowkeeper, like a shudra, while living in a vaishya community, despite being born a kshatriya?

I honestly have no more questions to ask that I can think of right now, and I honestly cannot agree more with everything you say. Slay girl💅🏻

I think its better if I make the answer public, simply because I ranted in public so the follow up doesn’t change much, and this is something people should see. But girl, thankyou so much for being worried <3

#💅🏻#asks #sukh samriddhi ghar aave #desi asks #desiblr #hindublr

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jeanjauthor · 14 days

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Okay, gonna send this one out and ask you folks to reblog it, because it's an important area to consider when trying to practice a second language.

If you've been studying a second language, and have at least some proficiency, but want to learn that second language...have you considered translating webcomics & webnovels?

It's not going to be for the brand-new language-learner, but it will help you to immerse yourself in the culture (or cultural assumptions), and learn how to translate from "how they say things in Language X" to "how they say things in Language Y."

While some are free "for the love of it," many of these are paid positions, especially if you can prove you do have some translation chops. There are a LOT of manga, manhua, manhwa, however you want to spell it or say it, etc, that are coming out of East Asia, so you'd be dealing with Japanese, Korean, Chinese, etc.

There are also a lot of these webcomics coming out of South America, which would involve Spanish, Portuguese, and even Dutch (Suriname).

And there are webcomics being produced in many other areas of the world, various European countries/languages, various ones in the many nations of Africa, etc, etc, and there are a lot of folks who would love to read these stories, but cannot due to language barriers. ou can also try your hand at translating from English to another language.

The things I would strongly recommend is to first read a lot of these stories, both in their original language and in the translated versions. Then, when you feel confident you can give it a go, try to either contact the creators directly to ask if you can do it (often something you'll need to offer to do for free; creators rarely make any money themselves), or you will want contact the translation teams doing it (many have Discord chats). I recommend the latter, to ask how to get into this sort of thing. They already the have the experience, and hopefully can give you good advice.

Now, being paid would be nice, but what you want here is to practice the other language, and practice translating into or out of the other language. Webcomics in particular are a fantastic medium because you can often see what is going on, and infer the intended meaning...though sometimes cultural uniqueness may trip up a person.

Either way, it's fantastic practice. Plus, it can add positively to your list of work resumé skills.

(And yes, I freely admit this gets me even more stories to read, in the long run, lol...but then that counts for a lot of us out there!)

#translators #translation work #how to improve your second language skills

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lorelune · 1 year

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(scaramouche/wanderer is referred to by the name zerah, modern au, hurt/comfort, reference to trauma, codependency, spirals/panic attacks, zerah threatens to spank the reader (once), self deprecation, abandonment issues)

you and zerah exchange comfort like the way a cat chases a sunbeam from east to west. slowly, sleepily, and with warmth that waxes high and wanes low. you both cherish moonlight.

the first time zerah crawl into your bed, it's late. early morning, perhaps, though the city light has hidden the stars. only neon spills through the slits in the blinds. you toss and turn, half-awake, a bit too cold with the winter chill.

a knock on your bedroom door startles you, pushes you to rise and regard zerah in your doorway.

"can I sleep with you?" he asks, abruptly, not looking at you but instead examining your floorboards with rapt curiosity.

the questions sends heat to your cheeks, "... just sleep?"

"yeah."

you like to think you know his moods well, and you're too tired to parse this one. zerah is a mildly avoidant, somewhat foul-tempered folk with a personality befitting a recently captured feral kitten, rather than someone of his title, stature, and lineage. you find it cute, really. his lack of eye contact, the shifting from foot to foot— his nervousness is almost charming.

you scoot to one side of the bed and pat the other. "you can."

zerah visibly deflates, slipping under the sheets with you. he fusses with the duvet and you turn to face him. watch the shadows that slope with his nose and cheekbones. you link your pinky with his, hidden under layers of bed linen. something secret, just for you and him.

you trust zerah in a way you don't anyone else. it's hard to admit, sticky and honeyed in your mouth in a way that makes your teeth feel glued together. so thick on your tongue, that you couldn't possible form a proper verbal statement about it. to him. you try show him in little ways.

(linked fingers. the way you linger closer to him than anyone else. meals in the fridge. allowing him in your bed at all. the occasional kiss you'll press to his forehead. leaning against his shoulder during sleepy movie nights.)

you face each other and zerah frowns, "come closer."

"why?"

"i need to hold you. come. on." he knows better than grab you and pull you close. you're easy to spook, in that way.

you shimmy over yourself, hovering an inch or two away. the heat of him radiates into your skin, better than a sunbeam. zerah wraps an arm around your waist, becomes you a bit closer with it. your head tucks just below his chin, lips against his sternum through his worn sleepshirt.

he rubs little circles on your back, let's you relax against him (it's just me. it's only me. no need to be wound up.) it takes you some time, to loosen up as he wants you too. to roll forward to press your weight into his own, and he meets you.

"are you okay?" you ask zerah.

he grumbles, pressing his face into your hair. digs his nails into the small of your back. you refrain from asking him further.

(he's not fine. clearly. you don't mention how he shakes against you. he's fragile, really. precious thing.)

it takes bravery, fighting through a screaming thing in your chest to press closer. your palms lays against his back, under his shirt, skin-to-skin so he knows you won't waver. you rub into the muscles.

"we can sleep in tomorrow." you tell him, tilt your face against from his neck and racing pulse so your breath can mingle with his. "go get pastries from that cafe i like. you'd like their matcha."

"would i?" zerah asks, an edge to his voice. you wish he was sleepier.

"yeah, and if you don't, i'll drink it. you can have mine instead."

it's the assurance. the thing in zerah that throbs and aches and fears that you'll slip away, turn your back and leave him to shatter like a porcelain doll. he used to shove you away so violently, you couldn't have imagined his truer nature was so needy. grabby. you'd say possessive if you weren't intimidated by the word.

he squeezes you, hard enough that it hurts but you revel in it. the tips of his toes trace the top of your foot beneath the duvet. you chew your lip.

"fine."

...

the first time you seek zerah out past sunset, it's in desperation.

religions worship society, they say. that's why the old desert religions worship thirst, hold starvation and suffering as the pinnacle of faith. if all you have is scraps and the dredges of a drying well— you will make it your god.

you suppose, that's what happened to you. lesser than religion, but a exhalation all the same. when it happened is harder to place. you can't recall when you started to white-knuckle your hardships so fiercely on your own. reaching out became a last resort. something to do if you could sense yourself on the ledge of 'doing something really fucking stupid' (as zerah would say.)

you clung to your own suffering because it made things make sense. however painful. however truly awful and probably wrong it was. in your worst moments, you dug your fingers into your own wounds and pulled until you saw blood.

(there's something wrong with you. you're cursed. cursed. something's wrong with you. something is not right with you. that's why it keeps happening. it's the only answer, isn't it? that something is intrinsically amiss with you. it leads to the same conclusion, over and over, unescapable like a song you know the melody and harmony too, but forget its a canon. the song cannot exist without both parts layered.)

you muffle a scream into your palm. drag your nails over your scalp. your nail beds are bloody and picked raw. you shove the meat of your thumb into your mouth and bite hard enough to leave indentations.

(why try? you know how it ends. you'll be left bloody with only your own hands to pick up the pieces.)

tears dribble from water line and paint your cheeks sticky.

you should get zerah. you don't want to, you don't, but you probably should. the tv hums from the living room, and you know he's posted up or dozing off by this point in the evening. he'd help. he'd ground you better than tearing at your own flesh.

(but, what if you bother him? what if he hates you? what if you trouble him so much he leaves? he'll leave you. he'll do something awful and leave you. everyone will. you should go. hide. bite any hand—)

you're already up, stumbling, tripping into the living room.

"zerah."

he turns to you with a pinched brow and a scowl deep enough to show the dimple that carves his cheeks. a documentary plays, bathing the room in fluorescent light that burns your eyes. the sound of it turns into white noise as his expression hits you.

(bad. you bothered him. he's going to leave. he hates you—)

he says your name sharply, pulling you from your thoughts, "what the fuck is up with you? you there?"

you open your mouth and all that comes out is a gasping wince. no words bounce around between your eyes. you can't feel right. numbness echoes from your fingertips, and the world looks blurry. glassy.

you vaguely hear zerah curse before he rises drags you to the couch, tugging you down into the cushions and up to him.

"fuck, what happened?" he asks. you don't have an answer for him so you just shake your head.

(you're bothering him—)

the thought makes an apology burst from your lips, then another, and a few more. you start blubbering out half-baked 'sorry's for things you don't need to apologize for. taking up space, time, air.

zerah grabs you by the waist. hauls you closer and into his lap. his hand claps over your mouth and your eyes go wide.

"stop talking. you have nothing to apologize for." zerah placates. his expression hardens. "i'm not letting you go until you calm the fuck down and talk to me. get comfortable."

it's demanding. rude. maybe in a normal circumstance it would've scared you off. instead you pitch forward, bury your face against the side of his neck and clutch at the back of his shirt.

"'m sorry," you tell him again and he nearly growls, pulling you back by your hair.

"if you apologize one more time, i will put you over my knee until i see bruises. and stop. i don't know what the fuck is up with you but i know it's nothing you need to be sorry for." says zerah. it's an edge you need, he opts for threats of pain and you grasp at it.

"... 'kay." you slur. you feel woozy. nauseous.

when you stop talking, he lets out of a sigh of relief. you both relax, him into the cushions and you into his chest. your lips brush his throat, make it warm and moist with your breath.

zerah's hands run up and down your back, squeezing your hips and thighs, up to your shoulder. he tugs on the hair at the base of your skull when he feels you get too slack and close to sleep. he wants you there, with him, as present as your state will allow. you swear you feel his lips brush your temple and forehead a few times.

it's an overwhelmingly safe feeling.

safety as a concept isn't one you dance with often. you never feel safe, no matter how much deep breathing and coping you do, you never feel truly safe.

but this— this—

it's close. it's as close as it gets and that sets off alarms bells in your skull that are loud and violent. you struggle against zerah suddenly, but he holds you chest. he spits a curse or two at you, demanding you hold still while he squeezes you to his chest until the air is forced out of your lungs.

"i d-don't wanna be bad and fuck this up." your words crack. shatter with your lack of breath. you suck in air when zerah lets up. you holds you tighter, but less restricting. you ball your fist in the front of his shirt.

"you're not bad. you're not fucking this up." zerah tells you, blunt and a bit abrasive. "it's fucked that you think that to begin with. how the fuck could you think you're bad? what does that even mean to you?"

"it- because—" you bite your own tongue. the flood of panic driven reasons stay locked up by your sheer will.

zerah pokes at your side. "tell me why."

"no."

"tell me."

you hesitate. zerah coaxes your face up to his and leans so your foreheads touch.

"not right n-now." you tell him. meet his eyes even though its like pulling teeth. "another time, when i'm not so unwell. please? you feel good. please let me be close to you."

zerah considers, sharp-eyed, then relents.

(you're not aware you're tugging at his most tender chords. more lucidly, you could've identified it, perhaps. but then you're too foggy. you don't put together that begging for zerah is the easiest way to make him melt. he wants nothing more than to be wanted, and you're nothing if not earnest in your state.)

he tugs you back into his neck and you adjust yourself in his lap to sit comfortably. even just saying the root of your spiral helps release some of the tension. you're exhausted by the time you lap your cheek against his chest, and he clicks around for something to new watch.

he presses a firm kiss to your forehead.

it's zerah, so you accept. it's zerah, so you let him pull and poke and prod you because you trust he would leave you broken. despite all of your instincts and traumatic conditioning, you believe zerah won't obliterate you. his bed will be just a bed, not grave or a mattress to be thrown away.

"can i sleep in your bed tonight? with you?" you ask.

zerah freezes, then squeezes you so hard, it hurts. you like that it does.

"yeah, you can."

#lore writes #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #mind that i used the name i gave him which is zerah!!#ive got a few wips for these au asldfkj its the mutual need for each other in that like #grabby sticky way <3

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decafdino · 6 months

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Wip Wednesday

thanks @sanjuwrites @heartstringsduet and @lemonlyman-dotcom for the tags! I don't remember if I've posted this snippet before, so whoops if I have!

Dread pools in Carlos' stomach as TK is escorted into the hall by Marjan. He looks utterly exhausted, which mirrors how Carlos is feeling on the inside. It was foolish of them to stay up so late, but Carlos isn't about to complain when he sees TK shoot him a small smile.

"Welcome, Your Highness. I'll get right to it," Rayburn says, standing up to lean over the table. He takes military markers and places them strategically on the map spread across the table. "We have border patrols currently here, here, and here," he points, "though we've had reports of increased bandit strikes along this eastern path."

"Are they organized? Or are these separate incidents?" Pauls asks.

"From what we've seen, there are multiple groups, though they all seem to bear the same allegiance." Rayburn pulls out a scrap of parchment with a crude drawing of wings on it.

Mateo tilts his head. "Is that a butterfly?"

Almost imperceptibly, Rayburn glances at TK. "No. It's pixie wings." He clears his throat. "The majority of the people they've stolen from report this symbol somewhere on the mens' armor or belongings."

Carlos finds himself shifting slightly in front of TK, as if to shield his gaze. The wings, upon further inspection, have tendrils of blood running down the sides and tears along the edges. "Have we determined their motives yet?"

The priest TK was arranged to greet a few days prior, Father Walters, barks a laugh. "Isn't it obvious? They've been sent to do the Lords' work."

"And that would be?" Carlos asks.

Rayburn steps in. "We haven't confirmed anything at this point, but they seem to be trafficking the magical." This time, he pointedly does not look at the prince. "They mostly target peddlers with exotic merchandise and the wealthy. They take anything even slightly magical, things the victims themselves aren't even aware hold magic."

"Do we know what they're doing with these items?" Marjan asks.

"Who cares?" Father Walters says. "They're getting rid of it, Lords and Ladies thank them—"

"We don't know that for sure, Father," Rayburn points out. "Now, we have a plan to increase patrolling along the east, but that would mean deriving manpower from the north and west areas around the town. That's where you come in, Your Highness," he says, turning to TK. "These bandits are smarter than we'd like to give them credit for. They're quick to pick up on our weak spots and exploit them, and shifting our patrols never fixes the issue for long. Frankly, we don't have the manpower needed to handle this mess. I'd like to put in a request for the King to send some of his men, so that we can properly protect our citizens and round up these criminals."

TK nods, and Carlos feels a surge of pride over how far he has come and the professionalism TK now exudes. "I'll send word to my father and let him know. Is there anything else?"

When Rayburn hesitates, Father Walters jumps in. "Come on, Lieutenant. You're so forthcoming about the bandits, you might as well tell them about the disappearances, too."

"Disappearances?" Carlos questions. His mind flickers to Maria. A number of terrible images appear in his imagination of Maria lost and starving and bloody.

Rayburn shifts uncomfortably. "There have been…a few people that have disappeared. Only a small number over the last several months, and spread out enough that we only noticed until recently. Mostly oddballs, folks that many didn't even know were gone." He turns to Carlos. "General Reyes was the one who put it together, alongside the generals of neighboring cities. The more we ask, the larger the scope of the disappearances."

"Why did no one think to alert us?" Marjan pushes. "This seems serious, especially if it's across such a large landscape."

"We didn't want to raise a false alarm in the case that it truly was nothing, and honestly, it was Gabriel's intention to discuss the matter here today."

Carlos squints. "Then why do you seem so hesitant?"

"Because the people going missing are magical," says Father Walters. He sneers in Carlos' direction, "Which would seem to include your fiancée, Sir Reyes."

I am currently way more focused on my wips for class, which has not lent itself much to writing fic like I want :( boo. at least there's spring break!

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #floggyfics #fanfic #wip challenge #wip wednesday #medieval!au

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