#smoke tertiary

[fantastic-fr-scries]

Fae Male

Brick / Watermelon / Wine , Tiger / Stripes / Smoke

Arcane Something

[scryingworkshop]

[dissentersrising]

hmm. retainers.

actually, let's first talk about the leylines of sornieth. the network of magic running beneath reality that all magic flows through. the world's natural mechanism for cycling magic.

all magic flows from the leylines, returns to the leylines, and is broken down by the shade within so the cycle can start anew.

(as you might have noticed, the leylines and the shade both are the source of many superstitions and misunderstandings, but this isn't about them.)

near-to-all creatures on sornieth are magical in some way, which means that their magic, too, will return to the leylines upon death.

all that is to say that the leylines are the afterlife. purgatory. whatever. which means that every now and then someone will realize this and try to break out. because that is something people will want to do, because a good few people do not want to be dead and/or do not want to simply fade into oblivion. and because that is something you can do, since magic can, in fact, flow out of the leylines.

(which means that you can, in fact, revive someone if you drag them back out but WE'RE TALKING ABOUT RETAINERS HERE.)

retainers aren't actually dragons. they are just kind of... spawned in by purgatory to keep people from breaking out of the afterlife. luckily, they're usually passive. won't bother you if you're just chilling (or, more likely, dying a second time) in purgatory.

they'll beeline for anyone causing trouble though. this includes people trying to break out, people trying to break in, or people who have already broken in and are running around in the leylines while still being very much alive. they will not pursue people out of purgatory, but they will remember and they will come for your ass once you die again.

physically, they're pretty damn big. about the size of a particularly large imperial. they don't have any limbs by default, but they can grow any number of them so one can absolutely have, i don't know, twenty arms if it needs that many. their wings and haloes (for the ones who do have haloes, at least) are not quite solid, but you'll encounter some resistance if you try to touch them.

they can technically be killed if you fight them hard enough, but so long as they retain a connection to purgatory they simply will not stay dead. "killing" one is a pretty tall order in the first place. they're stupidly big, they can channel lightning (not actually lightning- just raw magic. remember, purgatory is inside the leylines) they're able to teleport, and they can straight-up change the geography of purgatory at will. if you want to get out of purgatory, you're better off trying to avoid these things instead.

they seemingly answer to the employers, despite the employers... not actually having created purgatory. still, some of the employers have taken it upon themselves to watch over purgatory and have managed to intertwine their own magic with that of the leylines. as a result, they have some degree of control over both purgatory and its retainers.

anyways out of universe um. hi it's me i'm being insane about madness combat and making fandragons of the most random things. gabriel ultrakill is here because it makes the most sense. he's a retainer now because it's my lore and i get to pick the writing also i use "the leylines" and "purgatory" pretty interchangeably above because they are interchangeable. two names for the same thing. btw sorry i keep drawing things that are not actual flight rising dragons who are actual flight rising breeds. it Will happen again

[frtools]

New Flash Sale: Tertiary Aether Gene: Smoke

A new flash sale has been discovered for Tertiary Aether Gene: Smoke

A scroll that will change the tertiary gene of one Aether dragon to Smoke. This item can only be used once and will disappear after it has been applied.

Game database: click here Marketplace link: click here

Treasure: 95000 76000

[bonusdragons]

October 11, 2023:

Cottoncandy Tertiary, Snapper, Smoke.

Thyra of scrango's clan!

[ninoxwof]

Scarlet the Skywing (revisited)

[Image Description: A digital drawing of Scarlet from Wings of Fire. She is a bright scarlet feathery chicken like skywing with a large crimson red comb and wattles. She has a light orange underbelly, legs, beak and covert feathers. Her underbelly then transitions into a deep jade green at her chest area, and she also has that same green on her primary, secondary tertiary feathers, as well as her feathery rooster tail. Her claws, eyelids, and sharp two tipped horns are a deep dark blue. She is laying down lavishly with a mean smirk on her face, an arm up like she wants to gain it all, and smoke blowing out of her nostril. In a second drawing she has her adorned rubies over her brow, two horns rings in the shape of crowns, a chest piece with rubies, and an assortment of rings on her fingers. /.End ID]

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Polyphony

Chapter Twenty-Six

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee, Kevin, Charlie, Benny, Jesse, Sam/Madison, Annie/Bobbie, Crowley, Patience, Donna, Jody, Cesar, Nancy and going forward I'm just gonna list the bands as a whole unit and then the tertiary characters there's so many people all of the sudden!

Word Count: 3443

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, jealousy, Dean/Bela blow job, he's trying his best okay?, after party shenanigans, mild drug use

A/N: I am so sorry this update has taken me so long. It's been a weird couple of months. And with that I quickly duck away from all the tomatoes you will want to virtually throw at me over this chapter. xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Dean stepped off the side of the stage into the pit like a madman. He’d just played an entire show and finished with three encores. He didn’t want to be caught, it wasn’t an attempt at crowd surfing. It was submitting to the tide, merging with his audience.

They loved it, he was immediately met with open arms and cheers and more than one pinch on the ass.

The fog of smoke from the stage mixed with the stink of alcohol, decent weed and drying sweat then hovered over the entire crowd as Dean laughed and joked and hugged his way toward the barricade. Lee was still shouting his thank yous and Kevin was continuing to jam on the keys as the lights came back up.

Charlie cut all audio and the sudden lack of background noise was deafening. Everyone’s focus zeroed in on Dean among the chaos.

“Alright, c’mon brother,” Benny’s voice wrangled Dean out of the throes of fans more than anything. “Time to go home, folks! Let the man through!”

Dean waved and threw kisses backwards to the fans. Damn, his cheeks ached with the length of his grin, but he just couldn’t stop it. And apparently it was contagious, from Benny to Jesse, and all the way back to the dressing room, everyone who met his eye beamed back at him, followed by a cacophony of praise and congratulations that came by too fast to appreciate.

“There he is!” Lee shouted over all the laughing and cheering. The band and SPS had apparently started the after party the moment the show ended. Lee grabbed Dean around the neck, kissed his temple, and bowed him over for a noogie in the blink of an eye. Dean could have punched him in the dick, but took the high road and elbowed him in the gut instead. “Sonuvabitch—- let’s get you a drink.”

Lee dragged Dean towards the wall of booze they requested by the neck.

Someone smacked Dean’s hip as he waddled past, probably Donna, but it was too rowdy to be sure.

“Uh-oh!” Lee teased and then finally let Dean go. 

He popped up just in time for Bela to swoop in and kiss his speaking mouth. “Heh!” And okay, he closed his eyes a little late, but he was not expecting that. Lee whistled in his ear, but Dean had finally caught up with her and didn’t want to be ungrateful, so he deepened the kiss, got a hold of her hips and made it dirty, for the audience.

“Okay! Okay! Christ,” you swore. “Shots? I’m ready. Who else?”

Dean pulled back from Bela’s lips, suddenly self-conscious. She smirked, but Dean couldn’t quite match her mischief.

“Trouble’s startin’!” Pam hollered and Kevin practically shrieked as he rushed over to join you.

“You want in?” Dean asked Bela out of the side of his mouth.

“Definitely,” she agreed. They shuffled over and lined up for Cesar to drop another two disposable shot glasses onto the row before overfilling them all straight down the line.

“Salud!” He bid them imbibe.

“SALUD!” They shouted back in a choppy chorus.

The tequila without lime rolled down his throat more than stung, but Dean liked the way it felt on his tongue, an entirely different mouthfeel than his usual whiskey.

“Gah!”

Cesar eyed Dean knowingly, dark eyes bright and proud. “More?”

Dean nodded and looked around, seeing Patience sitting on the minifridge. “Hey Psychic chic, lay one on me?!”

She rolled her eyes but hopped down and got Dean a beer chaser as Cesar poured another row. “You’re a goddamn saint, thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice job out there,” Patience almost looked impressed.

Dean cranked the cap off his bottle and held it up. “Just gettin’ started.”

“That we are,” she agreed and then leaned over and reached behind Dean, waving and then holding out her hand. “Hey! Sorry, we haven’t met. I’m Patience— I’m the bass player for the opener.”

“Bela! I’m with him,” Bela replied, diligently shaking Patience’s hand. Dean couldn’t see it, but he felt it as Bela braced against his back to reach.

“You poor thing!” Patience teased.

“I’m right here you know!” Dean griped playfully and took his and Bela’s shot in the meantime, winking at Cesar.

“Eh, it’s not all bad,” Bela heavily implied something.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Patience said in a way like she’d be following up.

Dean groaned and took a long pull off his beer before finally turning around and joining the conversation about him. Bela practically draped herself against him, her spangly bracelets rattled down her forearm as she got comfortable.

“What is that bad?” Dean stage whispered to Bela.

“I’ll tell you later, dear,” Bela said diplomatically, patting his chest.

Patience chuckled. “How long?”

Dean looked at Bela before he could fuck that one up. “Couple of months.”

“Six.”

“Six?!” Dean balked.

“Yes, six months since we met for brunch at that place with the frittatas.”

“It’s March— that was November,” Dean countered.

“It’s still new, though,” Patience suggested, clearly amused.

“Basically,” Dean agreed.

“Not too new,” Bela tacked on.

Dean sipped his beer and looked around the room as Bela asked Patience about her band, things Dean heard but already knew. Lee and Kevin were geeking about something or another as they talked to Donna whose smirk told Dean that she was baiting them for something. Sam was spread back on the couch with Madison draped against his side while Annie sat across from them sealing a joint. Bobby and Victor were talking shop with the Sera chick from the venue just outside the door, making peace or demands, Dean couldn’t be sure.

He wondered if Charlie was still making notes for the show tomorrow or if she was here somewhere he hadn’t clocked.

“Alright folks, time to go make nice with the civilians. SPS let’s get you ladies first— Sam, grab your brother.” Bobby bellowed through the dressing room before heading out to the meet and greet area. Lots of bands did this stuff before the show, but Dean always preferred it after. Plus enough booze tended to put everyone, fan or band member, at ease.

Dean gave Patience a knowing look, rolled his eyes, and then pulled his arm off of Bela’s shoulders. “Duty calls.”

Seeing fans face-to-face was a mixed bag. Dean was never immune to the ego boost, it meant a lot that someone enjoyed something he helped make and that they were able to give them a good show in return. But there were the absolute nutbags too. And then everyone else in the middle who were either way too excited and forgot he was essentially a stranger or that he was a person at all, or trying so hard to be cool and aloof that he left feeling bad for them.

Generally it was fun, if exhausting. But after he had crashed and burned, he had this nagging urge to hang back and let the rest of the band do the heavy lifting for once. The guilt of entertaining that thought weighed on him as he followed Sam, Pam and Bobby while being flanked by Kevin and Lee. Dean Winchester didn’t pass the buck, he picked up the slack and so he walked into the repurposed rehearsal room with a big grin and his arms wide above his head.

“How’s it going everybody?!”

Screams and cheers hit them in a solid wave of sound. Carefully, you escorted them to the signing tables while everyone was still corralled behind the snap-bracelet dividers while Bobby watched the exit and the crowd. The venue’s security managed the line, ensuring everyone generally kept their clothes on and hands to themselves for this part.

SPS took up the first two tables, forcing PT’s diehards to play nice and give the openers some love. Though Dean was pleasantly surprised to see some folks decked out in their gear too, especially as a transplant band it made him proud of his friends. He cracked open the water bottle that was set in front of his assigned seat and chugged half of it. Suddenly hoping he didn’t smell too rank, from breath or sweat, he hadn’t stopped long enough to remember to grab some gum or more deodorant. He did a sniff check and felt a warm palm on his shoulder.

“Sure or unsure?” You teased, leaning in to hear him over the hustle and bustle of approaching fans.

“Passable. Got any gum?”

You rolled your eyes and stood back up to spin your compact cross-body bag around to dig through for him.

“Thanks,” Dean said while popping the piece into his mouth.

“‘’Course— anybody else?” You held out your pack and it got passed down the line from Lee to Sam, Pam was already covered, but Kevin took two, unabashedly pocketing the spare for later.

Then it was go-time and autographs passed in a blur.

The venue staff broke down the tables and slowly the people who hung around were able to mingle with the bands. Dean felt the urgency of a few groups pressing in on him, but he just grabbed his nearest bandmate, Kevin, and made the circle of conversation bigger. 

“So you’re the new Cas— how’s that going?” A woman who was old enough to know better asked behind hipster glasses.

“Weren’t you out there?!” Dean pushed back. “Dude killed tonight.”

“Ah, thanks, Dean.” Kevin said like the asshole he is. “And to think the last eight months felt like a fever dream.”

“Yeah, yeah, pipsqueak, we’re keeping you around.”

The small crowd around them laughed nervously, not yet getting Kevin’s humor.

Dean posed for selfies and gave out hugs and even had a thumb war with someone’s eight-year-old (who should not have been hanging out so late, but he wasn’t their parent). By the time the rest of the band had slipped away to the official afterparty, which included more of their friends and family and the rest of VIP, Dean was beat. 

So he headed back to the dressing room for a quick pitstop, Benny at his side now that the stage was secured for tomorrow night’s show.

Waiting for him, sprawled out on the couch like the epitome of seduction, was Bela, slowly smoking a joint through an antique cigarette holder. Who the fuck even had one of those? But damn, it stopped him well and good.

“Hey.”

“Hi there, is it time for the next round?” She slowly pulled herself up and slinked into his space. Behind him, he heard the door close. Fucking Benny.

“Yeah, I was just coming in here to— uh, freshen up a bit.”

Bela took another hit. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you from all that, but I might tempt you to stick around a bit before bumping more elbows.”

Dean eyed the couch she had crawled off of and the whole expanse of their suddenly empty dressing room. “Uh, yeah, I could use something to take the edge off.”

There was an actual shower stall nestled in the back of the ensuite bathroom of the dressing room. Dean was not brave enough to tackle that series of possibilities at the moment. But he ddid a quick scrub down of his junk and pits at the sinks, because nobody deserved a whiff of stale ball sack even if they only did this half clothed and dirty. He was a gentleman, okay?

He made sure to pull a condom out of his wallet and moved it to his front pocket instead. With one final glance in the mirror, Dean stepped back out into the dressing room proper, to see Bela now sipping something clear and fizzy out of one of the small plastic cups the venue sold cocktails in, legs crossed and eyes wicked.

“Hey.”

This thing with Bela had been growing tedious the longer it went on, but with the tour and all the publicity it wasn’t like either of them could get their rocks off with randos anymore. Dean liked Bela, in a get under-your-skin way with a perpetual need to one up one another flare that felt very high school yet with more varying levels of stakes attached. 

But she was gorgeous and more than interested. So he indulged again.

Dean sank down onto the couch beside her and finished the roach she had left in the tip of her cigarette holder, propped up on an ugly brown glass ashtray that was potentially older than both of them.

Who knew where half the shit in the dressing room came from.

Once he was good and relaxed, Bela set down her drink.

“You know New Kids on the Block was my first concert. I got to meet them and pose for pictures before they took the stage at Whitley Bay. Nobody knew who I was, we had just finished filming the first season of Red Sky at Dawn, but they still made me feel like a princess.”

Dean didn’t quite know what to say. “Well I hope we rocked a little harder than a boy band.”

Bela nodded and considered. “I was wondering if you’d mind making me feel a little more grown up—- a little more wild.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You got some sort of fantasy I need to know about here?”

Bela huffed a laugh, more to herself, she wasn’t quite looking at him.

“All this, backstage at a rock concert— sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. I guess I always wanted to be the teenage bad girl. But I was never allowed, my “reputation” always came first.”

“Okay, well, I’m not exactly into PYTs anymore, so if you want to play pretend, let's keep our own ages— I’m game, just tell me what you wanna do.”

Bela kissed him in response and creeped onto his lap.

Dean’s hands found her hips and dragged her closer, while his tongue turned the kiss sloppy. She hummed into his mouth and rubbed the warmth between her legs against his hardening dick. They really didn’t have time for a whole scenario here, but he wanted to make her happy.

“You like it a little dirty? Fucking groupie just need to get a piece of me to brag about to all your friends? Huh?”

Her voice came out accentless and needy, always a performer and goddamn pro too. “Please, Dean, I just want to touch it. To feel you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you can do more than that. How about you get on your knees and show me how much you want it?”

“I can do that— I love doing that,” Bela emphasized the last word, like it was too dirty to call by its name. 

“Yeah?” Dean leaned back and unbuttoned his jeans. “Show me.”

Bela eagerly dug him out of his boxers and fly, stroking him to his full glory. Her eyes sparkled conspiratorially. Dean tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before she took him deep inside her mouth.

Fucking hell was she warm and sucked him like she was pulling a golf ball through a garden hose.

“That’s it, take me deep. Show me how much you want me to come down that tight little throat of yours,” Dean growled, nearly spitting the words out until he closed his eyes. 

         He was transported back into his shower at home, the thoughts of you on your knees, of you teasing him, and running your bottom lip over the ridge of his tip. You lapping up the bead of precum you coaxed out of his slit. Dean wanted it to be you more than he should. But more than that, he wanted you anyway he could have you. And the thought of all the ways he would make you scream was what sent him over.

“FUCK!” Dean shouted, biting his bottom lip and holding Bela’s head in place as his dick finished twitching through his orgasm.

Bela purred and licked him clean. 

“You’re a fucking menace, I’ll have you know.” Dean said exasperated. And then pulled her face to his for a final kiss. “UGH! I have to go to at least another two parties now.”

Bela chuckled. “You can do it. You’re the lead singer of Phantom Traveler! You can’t be made useless from a single blow job.”

“Yeah, well, it was a killer bj.”

Bela rolled her eyes. “Stop bragging and help me fix my hair.”

Dean did as he was told.

Crowley was waiting at the after party. Which, fucking figured, but Dean and Bela showed up fashionably late had the snarky asshole smugger than a grandma who just gave her grandson his fifth cookie before sending him home for nap time.

Dean looked around the club, keeping quick tabs on the rest of the band and SPS. Jody and Donna were talking to Pam in the corner and he wouldn’t be surprised if somebody swapped hotel rooms that night. Those women knew how to have fun.

Patience and Kevin were talking to some more dressed up fans that might actually be family of someone or another at the label. Dean couldn’t remember what Crowley’s son looked like the last time he saw him, besides having an early Beatles ‘do.

Nancy and Sam were talking animatedly about something nerdy, Dean was certain. It even looked like Sam had found himself a triple red eye somewhere tonight, because there was no way that moose was that awake this late naturally.

Lee was sweet talking a group of ladies along the half wall near the bar, as Cesar watched from the corner amused. All of their people were there it seemed, he just hadn't spotted Charlie yet until he got a solid knuckle to the bicep.

“Took you long enough!” 

“A wizard is never late, he arrives precisely when he means to,” Dean quoted in his best Ian McKellan voice.

“Dude! Stop, you can’t do a good Gandalf and you know it!” Charlie begged. “So? Good night so far?”

She eyed Bela knowingly. “See anybody on my team? Besides the openers? I’m not touching that kind of drama again. Though Pam looks like she may be—?”

Dean chuckled. “Pam does what Pam wants— too late to stop her now. But, uh, I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

Charlie held up her fist and Dean met it with a solid bump. “See you ‘round, Red.”

Bela waved at her as she left, comfortable at Dean’s side and smug as ever.

Dean made his way to the hor'dourves table and Bela went to find them fresh drinks. As far as afterparties went, it was a little more high brow than they usually were, but it wasn’t bad. 

Dean just wasn’t feeling it.

Or maybe it was the way Victor was leaning in to hear you better as you discussed something or another with him and Bobby and Annie across the bar. They ate and they drank and they got rowdier once everyone made it to the hotel. Lee had two girls heading up to his room, but he and Pam were arguing over who got to use their room for the night and who was picking up their luggage to make getting ready in the morning easier.

Sam and Madison kept stopping every five feet to kiss or grope one another. While Charlie and some curly haired girl with cat ears sticking out of her head were almost as gross.

SPS were riding into the hotel on the roadies’ backs, little Nancy on Jesse and Donna on Benny like they were jockeys or cowgirls. Kevin and Patience were carrying their bags and shoes, apparently, behind them, amused and begrudgingly helpful. Dean, Bela, you and Cesar all rode up on an elevator together, leaving behind most of the mayhem for a blissful stretch of two minutes of quiet.

You actually may have fallen asleep standing up.

Dean nudged you and you quickly snapped out of it, fumbling for your room key and dragging Bela with you.

“Uh, Y/N? I’m going to Dean’s— I’ll just get my stuff in the morning.”

“What? Oh! Yeah, of course.” You yawned so hard, Dean had to take a deep one himself. It didn’t lessen the heat that crept up his neck as you watched Bela walk the opposite way down the hall from your room. “See you guys— see you guys at breakfast.”

Dean wanted to say something, to be reassuring, you looked so sullen all of the sudden. His mouth wouldn’t work and his feet didn’t either until Bela tugged on his elbow and marched towards his penthouse suite.

He really wanted to shoot her in that moment.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

Chapter 27: Molto

[solanj]

His radiant lordship Xavier van Mirren in the flesh Unrivaled in the high art of infuriating every living being (un)lucky enough to be in his presence. And most non-living beings too, for that matter, daemons are not immune, we've checked. Employs that honed skill of his, alongside his abilities as an Astropath, in his official work as an Explicator and the leader of our warband. It's super effective. Once someone (no one important, really, just a Halo device user in the tertiary phase...) dared to infuriate him back. There is now a smoking crater where that halo user used to stand. Do not infuriate Xavier, for your own good.

[phoenixyfriend]

[Personal rambling about my relationship with an event of recent history. This is not meant to reflect anyone else's feelings on the subject, just my own. If you reblog, please engage in good faith.]

[TW: discussions of 9/11 and its effects]

One of the side-effects of watching a lot of videos on the topic of architecture, especially in NYC, is getting really strong, complicated feelings rising back up about 9/11.

I was living in Queens when it happened, and not yet six years old. I was young, but a few moments of the day it happened is pretty clear in my memory. I was too young and not connected directly enough to the event to really understand what was going on at the time, but it was very nearby and had very strong impacts on my life both immediately, and going forward.

(After all, I had to fly inter-continentally just to see my grandparents, and I had younger siblings. Any family from Serbia needed to apply for a visa to come over to visit us, and most of them didn't speak English. Imagine how difficult airports are, right after that, if you hadn't experienced it yourself. This doesn't apply to just New York, but it does apply to me.)

Anyway, the memories are pretty shaky but definitely there for me. I was lucky enough to not have anyone who died in the event or the aftermath, but my surroundings were pretty heavily impacted due to proximity, and I imagine there's a lot that happened that I don't remember because my parents shielded me from it.

The thing is... I was still there. I still remember it, and I feel a sense of connection to the way NYC chose to rebuild after, the ways it worked to commemorate the dead, etc. I was too young to be involved and, for a time, too distant--I lived in Colorado for six years, starting '07.

It's still the city that's defined much of my life, either while living in it or living on LI, which isn't NYC but is in its shadow in all ways. I've lived in or near NYC for over half my life.

So when I look at New Yorkers reacting to the event or commemorations of it, I get it. New Yorkers erecting monuments and having strong feelings about 9/11 makes sense. Of course the people who live here and were directly hit by it have strong opinions! It was a major event! Of course city residents went feral with anger when a random luxury housing unity tried to build higher than One World Trade Center. You don't just... choose to be larger than a building that was designed to commemorate one of the greatest tragedies in the city's recent history, especially not when that building's height is already symbolic, being exactly 1776ft tall at the spire.

It might seem stupid, but I get it. I understand why NYC residents were furious at the idea, given how contentious the supertalls already are.

I understand why, over twenty years on, the rebuilding is still ongoing. I understand why 2, 5, and the Perelman Performing Arts Center have taken so long, and are still years away from completion. Nobody wants to get this wrong.

And the reason it gets so complicated is because there's this stark difference to my feelings on how the average American, and also some New Yorkers, it's true, might use 9/11 as a tragedy to fuel their racism and xenophobia and jingoistic warmongering.

This isn't my tragedy, for all that I was in its shadow, saw the smoke rising and felt the echoes of it across my childhood. I didn't lose anyone in the attack or the aftermath, and I wasn't part of a minority group targeted in its wake. I was only ever on the fringes... but it was still my city, you know?

When I was in high school, I lived in Colorado. We were discussing the difference between primary, secondary, and tertiary sources in class. The teacher used 9/11 as an example, saying that everyone in the room was a secondary source, because we were alive and saw the events unfolding on television, but we weren't there, just getting the information secondhand from the news.

I raised my hand, and said I lived in New York at the time, just across the river, and the teacher acknowledged that I was significantly closer as a source than most of the class.

I don't call myself a primary source on this. I wasn't even six, yet. My memories have faded with time, and I wasn't as close as many were.

But there's still a pride in NYC and in the rebuilding, in the way that the city bounced back. It's not so much about the architecture and rebuilding, for all that its symbolism is important and meaningful in its own right. It's more about the smaller businesses that were impacted by the destruction of a large section of the financial district, the local delis and bodegas, the hot dog carts at Bowling Green, and the wider economy hit by the ripples of the event, which definitely did affect everything in the metro area, not just the immediate surroundings.

So it's not my tragedy, really, but it is New York's.

And there's a specific kind of distaste and rage in me when I see it co-opted. When I see the average American call it 'our' tragedy. 'The nation's' tragedy.

It's not. It's not yours to use for your violence and hate for what you call Other.

I don't feel suspicion when New Yorkers hold on to the symbolism of the event, and snap back at corporate interests that try to disrespect the memory of it. This is New York's tragedy, and it makes sense for New Yorkers to feel strongly about it.

I sure as hell suspect everyone else that tries to claim it, though.

[knightpetrichor]

can you plsss reccomend your fav kuni backstory fics?

YES OF COURSE :D

The Solitary Reaper by BraveHyde

Ranpo is sent by the President to recruit someone for the agency: a math teacher who insists on not writing anything, for fear of it becoming reality.

Not by Accident by endlessiterationsofthesamefoolishness

Fukuzawa meets a boy along his daily walk to work that becomes his student. Title from this quote: “We don’t meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason.”

starbound (we'll meet again) by cherrior

When Doppo Kunikida is seventeen, he goes out for a smoke on the pier and finds himself in the midst of a strange conversation with a Port Mafia-affiliated red-head with exhaustion as evident as beauty. _ Or, Doppo and Chuuya meet far before Doppo's employment at the Armed Detective Agency. Doppo's simply never put the pieces together of the two - the red-head with a flair for the dramatic and existentialism - being the same as the Executive of the Port Mafia.

Green by Wildroserogue

Kunikida-sensei wasn't dressed in any way that was memorable - he wore a neutral brown blazer and slacks over a white shirt, and a green tie. His eyes were protected by a pair of very proper, rectangular-framed glasses, and he didn't wear any accessories besides the tie. Simple, reserved, not flashy in the slightest. Even at 14 years old, Toshiyuki knows that this teacher will be eaten alive by his classmates.

haha wouldn't it be funny if you and i were like built from the same dirt, wouldn't that be crazy by saffrond (jubileedeeznuts)

Before they even met for the first time, Yosano deemed Kunikida a tragedy waiting to happen. When Fukuzawa announced to Ranpo and her that the newest potential member he had his eye on had surpassed his test and observations and that he was going to offer him a place in the agency, Yosano hadn’t thought much of it. The agency was getting more popular, and with demand came a need for supply. It only made sense. But then Fukuzawa kept talking. His name was Kunikida Doppo, he was 19, enrolled in a tertiary degree of mathematics and science, a part time teacher at a cram school for disadvantaged students, and now, a soon to be detective. On paper it was noble, a fresh eyed kid wishing with childlike naivety to help ‘make the world a better place,’ and there had been a light to Fukuzawa’s eyes, his usual stoicism just the smallest bit brighter, and she trusted that. She trusted him. Quietly, her mind betrayed her as she wondered how long Kunikida would last. or Yosano and Kunikida's relationship throughout the course of time, spanning from pre-canon to post-canon.

[fantastic-fr-scries]

Obelisk Male

Cream / Peach / Orange , Tiger / Stripes / Smoke

Fire Pastel

[scryingworkshop]

[internet-girl-friend]

Do You Believe In Masochism?

12:45pm

In November 2023 I flew down to Los Angeles to meet an internet friend irl for the first time. The plan was that he'd pick me up from the airport and we'd drive directly to Pioneertown together.

"Hey so can I borrow your phone to let my family know I arrived?" "You got into a stranger's car and drove out to the desert with no service?"

I did. But my trust wasn't misplaced, and anyway, how else was I going to see the elusive, cult pop sensation Sky Ferreira?

She played Pappy and Harriet's and came on an hour late in a cloud of weed smoke, and the show was perfect... despite that and the fact that a veggie burger I'd had at the venue before made me throw up during her set.

While nothing could ever really compare to seeing her with my long-distance friend in a small desert dive, tonight I will see her again and I won't have to listen to I Blame Myself from my knees in a bathroom stall (at least not because I'm sick).

1:44am

I just got home and my ratio of Food I've Eaten to Beers I've Had is not in favour of me waking up feeling ready to move on Saturday (the Uhaul is booked).

We all met at Fringe Café right across from the venue -- me, Braydon, Grace, Brandon, and Allison. I had a hot dog served in a Bahn Mi bun and it gave me fear that I might meet the same fate as I did during I Blame Myself (it didn't).

People were lined up at 6:00pm, all of them no older than 19. I laughed to Allison "she's going to be late, they don't need to be waiting." Doors were at 7.

We arrived in the venue around 8 hoping to catch the opening act; once again, too early. The opener simply did not exist and we waited until 9:45 for her to get on stage, paying $8 for a goddamn PBR.

Before she came on, I heard two girls in the bathroom say "my 12 year old self is quaking," and another girl one-upped by saying that her 11 year old self was quaking. I was quaking as I was and I felt as though I might not be changing as much as I should be, and if I have been, I might be changing so much I was comin' back around.

I don't want all of these posts to seem as though I am complaining about being old when in reality I am quite young, but it just seems like being 20 is in trend right now or something. I don't think that I am caring for my inner child by liking music for over a decade; I think it is just good music.

Last time I saw Sky she played an encore -- Red Lips. This time she did not no matter how badly we begged. Both times she seemed decidedly shy. She wore huge sun glasses and a reflective jacket probably meant to keep people like me from getting the shots they wanted -- fair. Her vocals get better and better; she hit every note and has adapted the melodies so beautifully since she released Night Time My Time in 2013. I imagine that for me, seeing Sky is what Swifties feel like. She is such a significant part of my music and identity development and NTMT is an album I simply have not and will not outgrow.

I danced the entire time -- too enthusiastically to really see what the crowd was all about but I could sense from the space that I had to dance that the show wasn't close to sold out. They actually downsized the venue. It was supposed to be at Vogue which has about a 1200 person cap to Hollywood which has about a 700 person cap. To me, this is insane. Seeing her live is like seeing an ethereal cryptid.

I always want her to play the Ghost EP but it's wishful thinking in the same way that truly believing Masochism will ever actually come out is. Brandon and I joked that if we spent the $80 she was asking on her long sleeve that one day it will sell for $2000, which won't matter because we didn't buy it anyway, and if we did, we'd never part with it. Masochism was slated to come out this year. She's got three months and I am waited with bated breath. I fear I might suffocate.

COST OF THE NIGHT:

We got guest list for the show so it was free.

Food & beer: $15.00

Beer x 2 @ venue: $17.00

Beer @ tertiary venue which I didn't even write about: $9.00

Money sent to me by a Mystery Man <3: +$10.00

Total spent: $31.00

I will tell you right now, I cannot afford to be doing any of this, but I sure am having fun.

Must pack. Until next time (Saturday when I have another show).

[frtools]

New Flash Sale: Tertiary Dusthide Gene: Smoke

A new flash sale has been discovered for Tertiary Dusthide Gene: Smoke

A scroll that will change the tertiary gene of one Dusthide dragon to Smoke. This item can only be used once and will disappear after it has been applied.

Game database: click here Marketplace link: click here

Treasure: 95000 76000

[bonusdragons]

March 24, 2024:

Clay Tertiary, Guardian, Smoke.

Riviel of Seeker85's clan!

[downtofragglerock]

Let's talk about Spiriah

Yeah, I'm pumping out another one of these

So Spiriah am I right?

Despite being a tertiary makuta, we actually know quite a bit about him

Namely his defining trait: he's a complete fuckup

Spiriah is a character defined by failure, to the point where is name became an in universe slang term for cringefail loser

While Bitil feels like a weak link in the brotherhood, Spiriah is the weak link

This can even be seen in a meta sense as well, since Spiriah's combo model is really weak and lazy, not to Gaardus levels, but close

When it comes to rahi making, all bs01 has to say is that he "lacked the skill to do so", he most certainly tried in the beginning, probably came up with hundreds of rahi ideas, but nearly all of them probably melted or broke down immediately after creation, leaving a small handful of actually successful creations that were still probably pretty weak and flimsy

But there was a canon rahi that I took interest of for its potential connection to Spiriah

Namely in "How has this rahi not outright confirmed to have been made by him?"

So Spiriah's big defining fuckup took place on Zakaz, home of the Skakdi, who at the time were a peaceful people. Spiriah had been put in charge of Zakaz after all the makuta got their own territories. Spiriah, presumably fancying himself a ruler, saw potential in making the Skakdi his own personal army. Possibly for his own motivations, possibly because the brotherhood told him too, Spiriah began experimenting on the Skakdi, resulting in them developing new abilities. Unfortunately, there was an itty-bitty little side effect of basically driving all the Skakdi crazy and violence hungry and they engaged an eternal war with themselves, rendering Zakaz a wasteland

Because of his colossal fuckup (and also to probably cover up the rest of the unethical experiments the brotherhood was doing at the time) Spiriah was exiled, with a presumed execution order on him, should he ever show his face again

The question though, is how? How did a makuta who was utter crap at the science aspect of the brotherhood even accomplish this?

I believe I may have the answer

The Spine Slug is a parasitic rahi that was known to inhabit Zakaz, where they established a "relationship" with the Skakdi.

bs01 has this to say about their abilities: "Although Spine Slugs are parasitical, they are harmless to their Skakdi victims. Spine Slugs latch onto the spines of a Skakdi, and seem to be nourished by the Skakdi's battle rage. Some believe that the slugs actually feed that rage, causing the Skakdi to continue fighting and providing more nourishment"

Harmless, you sure about that?

I think I may have found the smoking gun, and the most "successful" rahi Spiriah ever made