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decembermidnight · 2 months

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Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin.

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him.

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

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undiscovered-horizon · 11 months

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Sparring - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[suggestive themes, nothing explicit + vulgar language + awful descriptions of fight scenes]

SUMMARY: To train and relieve some of the tension, First Army soldiers organize sparring matches. When Nikolai decides to take part in the tradition, the infantry throws their best at him. Who knew that a king can be such an inappropriate flirt?

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

A/N: I'm replaying Mass Effect (for the millionth time) and that one conversation with Garrus has so much potential.

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

Everyone’s been in an awful mood for the past couple of days. Shoving and bad-mouthing always happened but rarely to this extent. A mere misstep could end with a broken nose and fractured ribs. Something is stirring like a maddening poison hanging in the air. There’s only so much time until frustrated scowls turn into a friendly-fire bloodbath.

But the First Army, or rather Dominik Vertov himself, is ready for such instances. For itchy fists the best remedy is to give in to the violent urges, although not without certain rules being put in place first, rendering the name “Lawless Night” more of a pseudonym rather than a visualization of what takes place. No one ever misses the sparring matches. Even those unable to fight, wounded and sick, find some way to be part of the tradition. Their friends would often help them stand up for the entirety of the violent matches.

The one thing that is different about tonight is the presence of the king. If Nikolai just stood somewhere to the side or even spent the night elsewhere, pretending that he’s oblivious to the custom, the soldiers would still feel unsure about indulging in this ‘bonding activity’. The Lantsov boy, to the dread of the infantry, decided to take part in the “Lawless Night”. As he said it himself: he’s their brother in arms. That means, he should be allowed to be involved in the sparring but on the other hand - who in their right mind would try to tell the king he can’t?

For the longest time, Vertov’s been against that. He appreciates Nikolai presenting himself as someone relatable - a man and a soldier before a king - but getting thrown into the mud by some roach is a little too far. As much as befriending soldiers on a personal level increases the army’s morale, seeing their king and leader losing to one of them would cause collective depression and should Kirigan strike them, the Ravkans will simply give their land away to him.

But Vertov also knows Nikolai a little too well and so after he had voiced his doubts, he knew there’s not much else to be done - the Lantsov boy will do whatever he pleases. As always.

“So,” Dominik sighs in defeat, only partially prepared for what he will have to witness, “Who wants to face king Nikolai?”

The crowd falls silent but only for a second. Energetic whispering erupts between soldiers, necks crane in search of someone particular - there is but one person in the infantry that’s reckless enough to actually get into fisticuffs with a nobleman and not spare him.

Your friends begin nudging you, pushing you out of the crowd. There’s no point in lying that you’re surprised by the collective search for the one corporal who’s yet to lose a sparring match.

A sigh leaves your lips but your friends recognize that it’s not irritation - it’s compliance. Your raise a fist over your head. “I will!”

The soldiers surrounding you take a step back, letting you comfortably enter the marked arena. Wolf whistles cut through the night air. “Зайка!” someone yells from the crowd.

With a scoff, you shout back: “Иди на хуй!”

Rumbling laughter erupts from the infantrymen. They’re a ‘tough love’ kind of bunch but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Some say “there’s no love like soldiers’ hate” and you find it hard to disagree with the sentiment.

Dominik chuckles to himself. He pats Nikolai on his shoulder before leaning in and whispering:

“Good luck winning with that one.”

Lantsov looks at his friend with pretend offence. “That’s an astounding lack of faith in me on your part.”

“See that behemoth with a hare lip?” Dominik nods his head towards the soldiers standing in a half-circle. The man in question is hard to miss: he towers over the others by at least a head, a deep scar running across his face. “He sparred her once. The fight ended with a draw when both of them collapsed, too tired to continue. You may have the reach and strength but she has speed and flexibility.”

But Nikolai is not looking at the so-called behemoth. Instead, he’s watching you from afar as you’re tightly wrapping bandages around your knuckles and wrist. “And here I thought the strategy was to distract me with her face,” he slowly says in an inattentive voice. Tactic or not, it seems to be working.

Dominik nudges Nikolai and the king, willingly demoted for this one evening, enters the circle marked by bags of sand meant for floods. He feels the nervous and thrilled stares following him but he enjoys that. Even overlooking the attention aspect of his decision to mingle with the little people, for a moment he can pretend that he’s back in the army or sailing the seas as Sturmhond; for one evening, he can drop the noble weight from his shoulders.

The cold, night air is tugging on your cotton shirt. In warmer months you’d be standing inside the circle without it but perhaps it’s better that summer is still long weeks away - meeting the king for the first time half-naked just doesn’t sound like great idea in any way, shape or form. There is courage, even stupid bravery that brought you into the army, but that would just be distasteful.

Up close you’re even prettier than he previously thought. You’re looking at him with a cocky half-smile, silently challenging Nikolai to do his worst, maybe even expecting him to lose after the first round. The fire from the torches placed around the make-shift arena reflect inside your eyes, painting you more of a temptress or a demon rather than a corporal.

"I won't go easy on you, moy tsar,” you warn him.

Although it’s a word of caution, Nikolai seems to read it as encouragement.

"I'm counting on that.” He scrunches his nose jokingly. “I like it a little rough."

His words make you scoff but you find yourself thoroughly amused with him. Despite his noble titles, regal clothing and head-spinning responsibilities, there’s a refreshing hint of dreariness to him - brass that balances out marble and gold.

Sergei, the seargent making sure that all sparrs are kept civil, raises the flag, although it should be noted that ‘the flag’ is an old shirt tied to a stick. It’s a sign to prepare for the upcoming fight, share pleasantries with the opponent and fix the protective wrapping around your hands.

Despite Nikolai being physically well-built, you don’t expect much from him. You’ve heard that he had served in the army but his noble aura makes you put your guard down - after all, what good in a fight could a spoiled prince be? You can give a baby a knife but that won’t make it a soldier.

“May the best one win,” you say shaking his hand.

Nikolai winks at you. “Oh, I will.”

Both of you turn around and walk a few steps away. You look at your friends, crouched right at the border of the circle and shaking their fists in an encouraging gesture. Whether you win or lose, they’re still going to make fun of you at breakfast, critisizing all the chances you didn’t take. After all those years of facing death by their side, you’ve learned to see unimaganble amount of love in their teasing and jests - each mistake you’re aware of increases your chance of survival in the battlefield. And that, in turn, makes retirement with them a little more probable.

As a good luck charm, you blow softly on your clenched fists. Sergei’s voice resounds in your head: “Tooth and nail, tie a noose around your fate.” He never did disclose that but being a rather simple man, you’ve just assumed he read that quote in a book rather than coming up with it on his own. In any event, it always works, getting you into the ‘die kicking and screaming’ mindset. Not that you’re expecting anyone to actually pass on tonight. No, the “Lawless Night” is about relentless survival.

You turn around to face Nikolai standing just a few meters away from you. Both of you are fixed on Sergei and his provisory flag. The sergeant looks between you, checking whether your ready. Then, he swings the stick downwards and deafening cheers immediately fill your ears. Your eyes study Nikolai’s posture - his guard is high and knees are bent but not in the way one would expect from a soldier. He remembers his training, although visibly lacks practice.

He does the first move, throwing a half-hearted punch that you know is more of a reconnaissance than an honest strike. You only lean to the side. From then on, the offence only gets more bitter.

Left hook. Knee kick. Duck. Low punch on the ribs. Grabbing wrist and hitting the underarm. Right hook. Straight punch. Lean to the side. Slide under his swinging arm. Back kick. Fall. A handful of dirt thrown in the king’s face.

The crowd roars. Sergei rings a cowbell - round break.

Nikolai spits out soil between coughs and you can’t help the cocky smile creeping back unto your face. He looks at you with a hint of both amusement and disbelief in his eyes. Soon, his own grin is matching yours - he just got a mouthful of dirt from some girl and he’s liking it.

“A dirty trick,” he says in awe.

You only give him a shrug of faux innocence. “What can I say, I’m a dirty girl.”

The king laughs in response. This is something he’s definitely missed about being in the army. Or, perhaps, he’s enjoying this moment of tame humiliation because it’s coming from you.

Sergei lifts his flag once more but this time around he’s not waiting for you to create proper distance between each other. Nikolai is within your arms’ reach. That self-assured expression he wears is simply begging you to push some boundaries.

“Whenever you’re ready, батюшка,” you coax him.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Батюшка?” he repeats with amusement. It’s obvious he likes your choice of words. “Will you kneel for me?”

You shrug, giving him a lopsided grin. “If you ask nicely.”

The sergeant once again drops the flag and the night air fills with cheers even louder and livelier than before.

“I’m begging,” Nikolai answers you before pulling the first punch.

But you’re swift and quickly push his arm away. Then, he bends slightly, directing his fist at your ribs but you manage to kick his exposed thigh. Lantsov loses his balance for a second. His arm swings at your head. Ducking, you get the perfect angle to punch his abdomen. Grunt.

Nikolai suddenly recalls Dominik’s words - he should go hard rather than fast. Before you’re able to get out of his way, he lunges at you, pinning you to the ground. The sudden impact renders you breathless for a moment, giving Nikolai a chance to settle on top of your pelvis.

He grabs a fistful of your shirt. “Lovely view, don’t you think?”

A strangely exciting tension appears in your abdomen, something you’ve never felt for a man of his kind. The arousal, however, is quickly dismissed - he’s a king, you’re corporal.

You loop your leg around his arm and straighten your knee, forcing his head away. With all the power you can gather, you punch his ribs. Nikolai grunts again, rolling off of you.

Cowbell resounds once again.

Panting, you get up from the ground. To be honest, you’re quite surprised that he’s not completely useless in combat. You ran your hand up and down your back, still feeling the impact with the cold, hard ground on your spine. He’s got some strength, you have to give him that.

Sergei, busier with putting the audience back in line rather than keeping his eye on the fight, raises the shirt on the stick and drops it immediately after, never checking whether the participants are ready.

Nikolai and you are eyeing each other like famished wolves, strolling in circles in anticipation for the opponent’s first strike. Something primal has awakened inside you and, looking into Nikolai’s clouded eyes, you know he’s feeling the same thing - a wholly devouring, yet uncomfortable itch that pushes people to conquer, to dominate. Head on a spike or a head between legs, all of it is quite the same to this ravenous instinct.

“I must admit, sweat and exhaustion looks marvelous on you,” Nikolai says between pants.

You entertain him with a chuckle. “You should see me in the morning.”

“Now that’s an invitation I simply can’t turn down,” he answers in a low tone. Your breath hitches, no matter how much you don’t want to admit that.

When he’s preparing to strike, you grab his underarm and roll him over your shoulder but Nikolai is smart enough to hold on to you, causing both of you to hit the ground once more. Quickly, you get back up on your feet.

He’s barely standing up when you attempt a high kick, your foot almost hitting the side of his head but Lantsov is fast enough to grab your ankle. His other hand grabs your shirt and soon you’re the one being tossed. Your sore spine hits the hard ground for the third time, the pain great enough to render you unable to stifle a loud groan.

Then come the fisticuffs - measured blows at anything your arms can reach. You may be nimble enough to duck them most of the time but Nikolai’s limbs are significantly longer than yours, forcing you to make bigger dodges that expose you to more of his strikes.

Your hand is about to make contact with his side when the cowbell resounds for the third time. But now Sergei is ringing it in short intervals - end of match.

An impressive draw. Yet the audience is unsatisfied as the excited cheers turn to grumbles and booing. Between winning and losing, ties are the worst - bland results that only prove someone met their equal. No fun in that, is there? It doesn’t affect the inner hierarchy or morale. It’s just… dull.

Breathing heavily, you leave the ring, passing by another participant bravely getting themself into a few minutes of subsisting. Your evening of tossing the king around is done, so it’s better to get over it immediately and definitely not ponder the suggestive remarks he was so eager to share. I’m a corporal, you remind yourself, I have to act like it.

You’re unwrapping the bandages around your wrists when you feel someone’s chest touching your shoulderblades, an unnamed hand hesitantly resting on your hip. The stranger smells like sweat, dirt and soap - Nikolai, without a doubt. You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath.

"How about a private rematch?" he whispers in your ear. You feel his finger dragging up your arm. "I have reach, you have flexibility…" he ponders aloud.

A shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps sprout on your skin but disappear shortly after. You turn your head to look at him. Nikolai’s face is a lot closer to yours than you had expected, making you gasp quietly at the obscene lack of space. "You like getting manhandled, don't you?"

"I may be a king but I'm definitely not a saint.” His breathy whisper brushes against your flushed face.

Your eyes drop to his lips, as you’re saying those fateful words: "I won't go easy on you this time either."

Nikolai’s mouth curves into a grin. "By the Saints, please don't."

#shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone x you #nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov #nikolai imagines #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you

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myhauntedsalem · 2 months

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Dingess Tunnel

Hidden deep within the coal filled Appalachian Mountains of Southern West Virginia rests a forgotten land that is older than time itself. Its valleys are deep, its waters polluted and its terrain is as rough as the rugged men and women who have occupied these centuries old plats for thousands of years.

The region is known as “Bloody Mingo” and for decades the area has been regarded as one of the most murderous areas in all of American history.

The haunted mountains of this territory have been the stage of blood baths too numerous to number, including those of the famed Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, Matewan Massacre and the Battle of Blair Mountain. Even the county’s sheriff was murdered this past spring, while eating lunch in his vehicle.

Tucked away in a dark corner of this remote area is an even greater anomaly – a town, whose primary entrance is a deserted one lane train tunnel nearly 4/5 of a mile long.

The story of this town’s unique entrance dates back nearly a century and a half ago, back to an era when coal mining in West Virginia was first becoming profitable.

For generations, the people of what is now Mingo County, West Virginia, had lived quiet and peaceable lives, enjoying the fruits of the land, living secluded within the tall and unforgiving mountains surrounding them.

All of this changed, however, with the industrial revolution, as the demand for coal soared to record highs.

Soon outside capital began flowing into “Bloody Mingo” and within a decade railroads had linked the previously isolated communities of southern West Virginia to the outside world.

The most notorious of these new railways was Norfolk & Western’s line between Lenore and Wayne County – a railroad that split through the hazardous and lawless region known as “Twelve Pole Creek.”

At the heart of Twelve Pole Creek, railroad workers forged a 3,300 foot long railroad tunnel just south of the community of Dingess.

As new mines began to open, destitute families poured into Mingo County in search of labor in the coal mines. Among the population of workers were large numbers of both African-Americans and Chinese emigrants.

Despising outsiders, and particularly the thought of dark skinned people moving into what had long been viewed as a region exclusively all their own, residents of Dingess, West Virginia, are said to have hid along the hillsides just outside of the tunnel’s entrance, shooting any dark skinned travelers riding aboard the train.

Though no official numbers were ever kept, it has been estimated that hundreds of black and Chinese workers were killed at the entrance and exits of this tunnel.

Norfolk & Western soon afterward abandonment the Twelve Pole line. Within months two forces of workmen began removing the tracks, ties, and accessory facilities.

#Dingess Tunnel #haunted tunnels #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #paranormal phenomena

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drakaripykiros130ac · 6 months

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Fact: Daemon annihilated Otto at the Council Meeting in episode 1 and the poor guy couldn’t handle it

I love the Council meeting in episode 1, just as much as the one in episode 6. Because in pretty much both of them, Daemon and Rhaenyra manage to outplay Otto and Alicent. Having already analyzed how Rhaenyra’s perfect arguments led to Alicent self-pitting herself and drinking, let’s move on to a Council meeting that took place many years before that.

The meeting was called (no doubt by Otto) to debate Daemon’s abilities and choices as Commander of the City Watch. As far as we have seen, Daemon has done an incredible job with the Gold Cloaks. He was skilled and trained the men himself. With him in charge, the smallfolk were safe, and they named him “Prince of the City”. Once he left, and the City Watch remained in the control of the Hightowers (because they were ruling in Viserys’ stead), and the streets became unsafe once more (confirmed by Mysaria in episode 9).

In episode 1, following a night in which Daemon “cleaned” the streets of thieves, murderers and rapists before Viserys’ tourney, he was questioned by the Council in relation to his manner of doing things. And he explained himself pretty well.

While his manner may be perceived as cruel and exaggerated by lords who sit on their asses in the comforts of the Red Keep (*cough* Otto *cough*), it was a necessary evil. Daemon knows the people. He stayed among the smallfolk and understands the streets perfectly. He practically ruled them.

Daemon’s night of terror eliminated dangerous criminals, while also creating just the right amount of fear to keep the rest of the people in line. As such, no one on the streets of King’s Landing would dare put a toe out of line with the Gold Cloaks in perfect shape.

The justice system of the Crown was clearly failing, if the smallfolk were starting to perceive King’s Landing as lawless and terrifying. Action had to be taken. Which is not to say that what Daemon did should be the exact way to enforce law and order on a daily basis. No. It was a one time thing - a reminder. In his own way, Daemon got the job done.

And he explained it so well, that Otto didn’t have any counter argument.

What irritated the Hand even more was that he was slowly becoming the outsider, other Lords at the table slowly starting to show their support for Daemon’s manner of enforcing the laws. Even Viserys saw his brother’s point and agreed to it, as long as Daemon did not make a habit out of it.

So, what did Otto do when he realized he was losing?

He changed the subject, of course. He changed it to one which he knew would irritate his adversary: Daemon’s horrible marriage to Rhea Royce.

How exactly was Daemon’s marriage to Rhea Royce any of Otto’s business and how did it have anything to do with Daemon’s excellent capability to lead the City Watch? It wasn’t and it didn’t. Otto’s only intention here was to get a rise out of Daemon and taunt him with a subject he knew would be upsetting to him.

And it worked, if only temporarily. Daemon was getting angrier by the minute, and rightfully so, at the way Otto was butting into his personal life. Because when logic and facts fail you, you move to something personal, right Otto?

Unfortunately for him, Otto miscalculated. He thought he would be able to win some points by hitting below the belt, since the whole point of why he called the Council meeting backfired on him. Otto made a mistake and messed with the wrong person. Clearly provoked, Daemon turned things around and put Otto in his place by bringing up his dead wife. He could hit below the belt too. No problem. And then…

The expression on Otto’s face, like “How dare he bring up my dead wife even though I started it by changing the subject of this precise Council meeting and taunting him with his own marriage problems?”

Game. Set. Match. He taunts a dragon and then is surprised when he gets burned (kind of like his own daughter). His greed, hunger for power, terrible reasoning and betrayal of the ruling House are what will get his head chopped off.

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schraubd · 1 year

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The Lawlessness is the Point, Part II

The panel of Fifth Circuit judges who will hear the appeal of the bonkers Texas decision that purported to outlaw mifepristone has been announced. Judges Jennifer Walker Elrod, James Ho, and Cory Wilson will hear the case. (In case you're a bit confused: the Supreme Court put the district court decision on hold while the appeals process played out, but did not issue a final ruling; hence why we're still getting a stage before the Fifth Circuit).

From the vantage point of reproductive rights defenders, it's tough to imagine a worse panel draw than this -- and that's saying something, given that there aren't a lot of good panels to be drawn on the Fifth Circuit. But Judges Elrod, Ho, and Wilson are all right-wing reactionaries and anti-abortion extremists who made no pretenses at respecting rule of law in this subject even when Roe still was the law of the land. And without even the presence of a more moderate voice on the panel who could act as a break, we're likely to see a runaway train of ideological one-ups-manship where all three judges push each other to be as aggressive and extreme as possible.

So what will happen here? One possibility is that the panel will accept the signal offered by the Supreme Court in its stay, and reverse the decision (that is, preserve mifepristone's legality). This strikes me as highly unlikely. One enduring quality of the Fifth Circuit in general and these judges in particular is that they do not hesitate to shoot their shot. Their philosophy has consistently been to throw up the most radical, results-oriented conservative fantasy decisions they possibly can, and then dare the Supreme Court to reverse them. Given the composition of the Supreme Court, after all, it's hardly a bad bet. And hey -- you miss 100% of the shots you don't take!

Okay, so "dutifully obeying the law" is probably out. What else? Basically, I think there are two realistic options for what we might see. Possibility one is that the judges try to "write the brief" to the Supreme Court to convince (at least five of) them to ban mifepristone. This could include filing off some of the rougher edges of Judge Kacsmaryk's original opinion, maybe soft-playing some of the more radical insinuations (like with the Comstock Act), purport to address the lower court ruling's disdain for administrative law or standing principles while functionally just replanting it, and basically try to create a fig leaf that, with time and distance, five members of the right-wing supermajority on the Court think will be large enough to shield the obvious fact that they're imposing their policy preferences and calling it law.

Possibility two is that the judges will not even try to reframe the issues in a way that looks more palatable or reasonable. Forget the fig leaf; they're let it all hang out in naked splendor -- a "eugenics" references here, a twee comparison of President Biden and/or the FDA to King George III there -- and just completely bulldoze any semblance of adherence to the governing legal rules and precedents that govern this case. Wild theories of standing or administrative law review will be asserted with not a care in the world for how they interact with past precedents or the judges' own putatively-held legal principles. The opinion will be a flat "because we can" declaration of unfettered judicial might.

One might think the former choice is more likely. There's a real opportunity here for conservative judges to further shear off the rights of women over their own bodies -- a huge priority for them -- that's more likely to meet with success if they don't let their eyes get bigger than their stomachs. Don't oversell, trim the sails back a bit, and take what would still be a huge W for them (and a huge L for women).

But I think the latter is more probable, and it goes back to the theme I've been hitting on in prior posts: the lawlessness is the point. Critical to the practice of conservative judges in this era is openly asserting and living out the proposition that they are unbound by law. That a given judicial opinion reads as lawless is not a problem, it is a feature; it is a means of demonstrating this freedom from constraint. It is precisely because Judge Kacsmaryk's decision was so universally panned by legal experts that it needs to be affirmed and, if anything, expanded upon -- judges (or at least these judges) assert their power and legitimacy as far as they demonstrate they are not bound by the strictures of professional norms or public commentary. The more one deviates from the professional consensus, the more one demonstrates judicial supremacy. And bizarrely, I don't think being reversed by the Supreme Court really upsets them. What matters, oddly enough, isn't the tangible outcome of the case. What matters is showing that they, personally, have flamboyantly demonstrated how they soar above the mewlings of their lessers.

Judges Elrod, Ho, and Wilson are among the prime instigators of this style of judging on the Fifth Circuit -- jurists completely drunk on their own power, who revel in demonstrating that what was thought to be law will in no way binds them from imposing their will. I predict that their decision in the mifepristone case will be another venue for them to make this point. Yes, it will be lawless. And yes, that's the point.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/T5Y89Pa

#abortion #judiciary #law #reproductive rights

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cee-grice · 1 year

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Another Worldbuilding Wednesday, another post about the world of WWCC :))

The topic of today:

🧚Venemagiks🧚

DEFINITION

Venemagik - a person who was born part human, part magical creature. This happens due to impure magia (see the previous post) that their parent breathes in during their pregnancy. To a born person, this impure magia is relatively harmless. As a baby is developing in the womb, however it is much more susceptible to outside influences. Because of this, impure magia may cause mutations that result in non-human traits. The majority of the time they're not inheritable. The intensity of these traits can vary wildly. What kind of magical creature parts get mixed in depends on the kind of impure magia most prominent in the area. Impure magia is produced by magical creatures, and so it's tainted with their essence. Thus, the more dominant a specific type of creature is in a given place, the more likely that the venemagiks born there will have its traits.

HISTORY

As people started settling in the continent, it didn't take long for venemagiks to start being born. At first, this caused a panic, especially since many children with adverse traits died early or led difficult lives as people hadn't yet known how to handle them. At the time, only a number of priests had emerged as magic was first granted to the people by the deities, becoming a science much later. They were the ones that could give any sort of reprieve. They also tried to explain the phenomenon, claiming these children were either cursed or blessed by the deities, depending on the kind of traits they were born with. When a group of scholars began studying magic, however, and discovered it was an element that existed outside the deities, with its own physicality and laws, the explanations began shifting. In the present, the venemagik phenomenon is well-researched and understood. Many countries have taken precautions against it, such as driving out magical creatures whose traits would be the most adverse from their territories into the Wilderness. Pregnant people are also strongly advised against travelling anywhere outside their city until birth to minimize the risk. As such, most venemagiks are born in the Wilderness—a lawless land in the middle of the continent, scattered with independent settlements, and with the highest population of most magical creatures.

RELATION TO MAGIA USAGE

All venemagiks have a higher concentration of magia in their bodies than regular people, making them less susceptible to the negative effects of using magia. Because of this, they can make for excellent mages whose specializations require them to use larger amounts of magia, such as area-wise illusions or abjuration. Sometimes, however, a venemagik can be born as a freecaster. These are people who have traits of a magical creature that's able to cast at will. In short, freecasters don't require a conduit to command magia. The extent to which they can do that varies person to person, as it does with creatures. Some can even be more adept at specific types of magic if their creature is. For example, if we have a water creature that can command water with frightening precision, a venemagik of it may be gifted at elemental magic. The emergence of freecasters signified a huge shift in the perception of magic as a whole. Before, it was believed that only priests were able to perform magic through their deities, but this was undeniable evidence that it is possible to use it without being a priest. After that, interest in magia as a study field skyrocketed. The one issue that freecasters present to the wider mage community is that, since they don't need a conduit, they may not apply for a license and get official training. Because of this, a registry of freecasters is trying to be enforced, just to at least keep an eye on them, but some still slip through the cracks.

SOCIETAL PERCEPTION

How venemagiks are viewed by the larger population varies by area. In Quil's home country, for example, Merridie, they're no different than anyone else. There, they're generally able to get most accommodations for their traits, if they're something that can be accommodated for. Merridie, however, is the most magia-wise advanced country in the continent, so this isn't the case everywhere else. In places where magia in general is more looked down upon, viewed as a pollution and unnatural, venemagiks may have a tougher time getting by. Some still view this phenomenon as either a blessing or a curse from the deities, as they did in the old days, and treat their venemagiks accordingly. Some venemagiks, however, have traits that may pose a danger not only to themselves but also those around them. A touch that freezes the skin, for example. A look that melts. These people are lucky if they're born in a place that not only understands the reasons but can also help them live with these traits. If they're born somewhere else, however, well. It's undeniable that there's a number of venemagiks that face persecution for one reason or the other. Because of this, there are entirely or semi-isolated societies that function as a refuge for them.

EXAMPLE

To take Miriam as an example, she is a venemagik of a creature called Vaidekel. They reside in the south of the Wilderness where her family had been living for many years. They're isolate creatures that are said to be neither dead nor alive, but rather somewhere in between, and are most distinguished by their translucent reptilian-like bodies. While Miriam is very much alive, the line between life and death for her is much thinner, too, as she's able to sense spirits and death, to an extent. Here's an illustration of how her skin looks like:

next time we're gonna look at magia conduits, so stay tuned for that:))

taglist (let me know if you wanna be added or removed): @writerfae, @tate-lin, @iriswords, @sternenmeerkind, @thecrookedwriterspath, @pure-solomon, @moonshinemagpie, @arowanaprincess, @scribe-of-stories, @thesorcerersapprentice, @stuffaboutwriting, @doriians

#writeblr #worldbuilding #writers on tumblr #wbw #writing community #wwcc wip #wwcc worldbuilding #wwcc art #<- aee new tag #all art that you're gonna see is gonna be done by me btw btw #c: miriam #i wanted to draw more but ahhhhh gonna be for next time ig lol #oof this got long

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

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Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day

Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day commemorates the start of the California Gold Rush, which began on January 24, 1848, when James Marshall discovered gold while building a saw mill for John Sutter, near what is now Coloma, California. The day has its roots in International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and was inspired by Prospectors Day, which was once held at Knott's Berry Farm each year on January 24. It also was inspired by an episode of the Simpsons with the following exchange:

Bart: That ain't been popular since aught-six, dagnabbit. Homer: Bart, what did I tell you? Bart: No talking like a grizzled 1890's prospector, consarn it.

Common examples of characters talking like grizzled prospectors in popular culture include Dallas McKennon narrating Disneyland's Mine Train Thru Nature's Wonderland and Big Thunder Mountain, Gabby Hayes—both drunk and sober—in many Western films, Gabby Johnson in Blazing Saddles, Will Ferrell as Gus Chiggins on Saturday Night Live, and Walter Huston in The Treasure of Sierra Madre.

Prospectors first came to the Sacramento Valley after Marshall found flakes of gold in the American River near Sutter's Mill, at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. At the time there were less than 1,000 non-native inhabitants in California. Newspapers began reporting the discovery of gold, and by August, 4,000 miners had descended on the area. The first people that came from outside of the territory came by boat, and arrived from Oregon, the Sandwich Islands—soon to be called the Hawaiian Islands, Mexico, Peru, China, and Chili.

In December 1848, President James K. Polk announced a report by Colonel Richard Mason which spoke of the abundance of gold in California; this prompted more prospectors to travel to the territory. Throughout 1849, thousands arrived, either traveling by sea or over land, and became known as '49ers. Mining towns popped up in the area, and with them came shops, saloons, and brothels. Many mining towns became lawless, and San Francisco became an important city in the territory. By the end of 1849, the non-native population had swelled to 100,000. The Gold Rush helped California gain statehood in 1850, and gold discovery peaked in the state in 1852. In all, more than 750,000 pounds of gold were extracted during the Gold Rush.

The implication of a grizzled prospector is of one who has stayed so long searching for gold that their hair has turned gray. Some prospectors refused to quit the profession and continued to live in the Western territories. So, when Bart Simpson mentioned a grizzled prospector from the 1890s, he was referring to a prospector that had stayed more than forty years after the Gold Rush happened, still trying to find gold, or other commodities such as silver, oil, radium, and uranium. Besides a gray beard, the stereotypical grizzled prospector had faded clothes, missing teeth, a pickaxe, and a mule. They had bouts of gold fever, and were suspicious of whoever came close to their claim.

How to Observe Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day

Celebrate the day talking like a grizzled prospector. Here are a few words prospectors commonly used, that you could use today:

Dadburn: to curse; e.g.: "Dadburned boll weevil done 'et my crop!"

Hornswoggle: to embarrass, disconcert, or confuse; e.g.: "I'll be hornswaggled!"

Consarn: the entirety of something, also a curse word.

Dumbfungled: all used up; e.g.: "This claim is dumbfungled! There's no gold left!"

Bonanza: a mine with lots of gold.

Borrasca: a mine with no gold.

Baby buggy: wheel barrow.

Muck: to dig with a shovel.

Powder monkey: a miner who used dynamite to make holes.

Johnny Newcome: a miner new to camp.

Blackjack and saw bosom: coffee and bacon.

Paydirt: land rich in gold.

Panned out: if they had found gold while sifting through dirt with a mining pan, then things had "panned out."

Flash in the pan: something shiny in pan that turned out to be nothing, or just a small piece of gold.

Stake a claim: claim a piece of land as your own as a place to search for gold, must stake the land with wooden stakes when you arrive.

The day could also be spent watching films such as The Treasure of Sierra Madre, or old Western films starring Gabby Hayes. A visit to the Sutter's Mill replica and the Gold Discovery and Visitor Center in Marshall Gold Discovery State Park could also be planned. The days' Facebook page could also be explored.

Source

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it-begins-with-rain · 2 years

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TV Recommendation: Handsome Siblings // The Legendary Siblings

**On Netflix

Eighteen years ago, in a lawless no-man’s land known as the Villain’s Valley, something unexpected appeared.

A famous hero with a newborn baby.

After the hero was dealt with, the Ten Great Villains- legendary for their darkness and cruelty- were left with just the newborn. Rather than kill (or eat) the child, the Ten Great Villains decided to raise the boy, named Xiao Yu, as their heir. Into Xiao Yu they poured all of their dark crafts, malice, and cruelty before unleashing him upon the world.

Well... by “unleashing” they mean more like convincing him to get the hell out so he’d stop playing nasty little pranks on them and just generally causing mischief.

At the same time Xiao Yu is sent to go bother someone else terrorize humanity, a handsome young hero named Hua Wu Que also enters the picture. The only male disciple of the mighty Yi Hua Palace, Hua Wu Que was raised specifically to counter the evil of Xiao Yu.

Wu Que’s mission is simple: Find the despicable Jiang Xiao Yu and kill him at any cost. Yi Hua Palace raised him for this mission, trained him for it, and made sure he damn well understood that for the cruel and wicked Xiao Yu there could be NO exception.

As the two journey in the world, they cross paths time and again. But one always has the upper hand on the other, and Xiao Yu slips through Hua Wu Que’s clutches over and over again until the two... actually become friends.

But Yi Hua Palace is unrelenting in their demand, Hua Wu Que MUST kill Xiao Yu.

As the two become the very definition of best-frienemies, they must figure out why Yi Hua Palace wants Hua Wu Que to kill Xiao Yu so badly. Why was Wu Que raised to destroy the evil that is Xiao Yu- if Xiao Yu himself has never harmed anyone and at best is a little mischevious?

The missing piece of the puzzle is held by Yi Hua Palace’s mistresses and them alone:

Xiao Yu and Hua Wu Que are (fraternal) twin brothers. Sons of the mighty hero Jiang Feng who, along with his young wife Hua Yue Na, were slaughtered as punishment by Yi Hua Palace. Jiang Feng defied the Palace leader by refusing to return her affections and instead falling in love with a lowly Palace maid.

The leader of Yi Hua Palace brutally killed Hua Yue Na, Jiang Feng killed himself out of grief, and so she concocted this scheme to ensure the doomed couple could never rest in peace.

Force Hua Wu Que to kill his brother Xiao Yu, reveal the truth to the survivor, and watch him be driven mad by grief and regret.

But will their shared blood bring the brothers together and reveal the darkness of the past? Or will they be forced to act out Yi Hua Palace’s twisted revenge?

TW: The B-Storyline contains multiple instances of on-camera attempted sexual assault as well as off-camera sexual assault.

#handsome siblings #the legendary siblings #tv recommendation #tv recommendations #recommendation #recommendations

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is-solarpunk · 1 year

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Solarpunk Writing Prompts #2

Here you can listen to original podcast

Here is the source of the podcast's transcript you can read below

Solarpunk Prompts - The Refugee Camp

Hello world. I'm Tomasino.

This is Solarpunk Prompts, a series for writers where we discuss Solarpunk as a literary, artistic, and activist movement.

Or, as RoAnna Sylva describes it: Solarpunk is a genre of ecologically-oriented speculative fiction characterized both by its aesthetic and its underlying socio-political vision.

In each episode we look at one story prompt using that genre lens, offering commentary on the prompt, some inspirations from the world today, and some considerations for writers.

Most importantly, we consider how that story might help us to better envision a sustainable civilization.

If this is your first time here, I'd recommend checking out our introduction episode first, where we talk about what Solarpunk is, why you should care, and why this series came into being.

This episode's prompt is titled: "The Refugee Camp".

There is a full-fledged town built from a refugee camp which was set up there two decades ago. The inhabitants speak their own creole, a mix of more than five languages, and have very shaky relationships with their neighboring communities or states, each of which considers it a lawless territory and might be plotting to take over.

I think the refugee camp is a fitting place to start our prompts. They are the standard setting in our world for communities just coming through tragedy. When there is war, famine, flooding, or any number of challenges to a people they often find shelters in foreign lands, sometimes thrown together with other groups fleeing their own hardships.

Refugee stories are also plentiful in science-fiction: Superman is a refugee from Krypton, The Doctor is a refugee from Gallifrey, or Arthur Dent, a refugee from Cottington in the West Country. These are all individual stories, though, and not the camp and community we are striving for. Instead we might look to Battlestar Gallactica, or Babylon 5, or the Nantucket trilogy for examples of entire communities of refugees. And, indeed, those are vibrant and capture a bit of the colorful characters and internal conflicts that arise in such places. But Solarpunk can depart from this view of refugee camps as places of despair.

In our prompt the camp has grown into a full-fledged town. That suggests a thriving regrowth emerging from this mixed culture and reflected in their creole dialect.

Is that a realistic vision to take, though? Is this just Solarpunk being naïve and blindly optimistic?

Let's take a look to real refugee camps in South Sudan and Uganda, where the r0g_agency, a Berlin-based nonprofit, has been working with communities to help them develop innovation hubs. Five of these communities have linked together to form #ASKnet, a program that offers training in open-source hardware and software, entrepreneurship, media production, gender equality, and financial literacy. They also run repair cafes, giving hands-on experience and learning, and reducing waste and preserving natural resources.

This is just one program that is built and run by small community organizations.

How about Communitere? It was founded by individuals who saw the amazing rebuilding efforts after natural disasters like the 2004 earthquake in the Indian Ocean which caused the deadliest tsunami in history. The world responded with one of the greatest relief efforts in record time, all at once. But then medicines spoiled before they could reach the sick. Food rotted before it could find the hungry. This failure of local logistics is what inspired the organization.

What do they do? Well, they don' “intervene”. Instead, they provide spaces where communities can implement their own plans and choose from a variety of tools and models that Communitere makes available. They provide training, processes, toolkits, and space. They empower the communities to build their own futures. And now they're up and running in Haiti, Nepal, Greece, and the Philippines.

These are both stories of information sharing and empowering local communities. They succeed by building together both local talent and infrastructure and focus on sustainability.

And they mean sustainability in many forms:

environmental sustainability - processes that work with the unique local environment

economic sustainability - processes that can continue without ongoing external funding

and cultural sustainability - respecting and empowering local cultures

When you start thinking of these refugee camps as places where people are building new things, new homes, new lives, new opportunities, then the writing opportunities open up for you as well. Gone are the two dimensional sketches of a dirty camp full of broken people. These people are alive and empowered!

In a different genre setting we might lean into the shantytown aesthetic, or the lawlessness of the area might become an easy setting for crime stories. I challenge you, with this prompt, to steer clear of those well trodden paths, and focus on the community as a vibrant, living thing.

Speaking of shantytowns, I'm reminded of Cory Doctorow's setting in the book, Makers, with it's unique community of hackers, and the unique way they used language… Which brings us to the next aspect of this writing prompt: Creole.

According to Collins English Dictionary: A Creole is a language that has developed from a mixture of different languages and has become the main language in a particular place.

These are fascinating growths of blending cultures and can powerfully illustrate the fundamental aspects of a community:

who they are

what they believe in

and how they respond to a changing world

Think of the unique flavor of the Belter language in the Expanse. Every odd word choice, or word borrowed from Chinese or Indic or Slavic, is a reminder of what these people are. In some cases this unique language use even extends to meaningful gestures.

The way these languages develop is so interesting in its own right that there is an indy card game where you collaboratively create one with friends. It's called Dialect, and it won IGDN's Game of the Year in 2019 along with a host of other awards. In that game you 2-4 of your friends will create what's called an Isolation, basically a community set apart from others for some interesting reason, and then play out their history across three different ages. The game then ends with the Isolation no longer being isolated, whether for good or for bad.

As the game descriptions says: "Dialect is a game about an isolated community, their language, and what it means for that language to be lost."

It's a fascinating way to spend 3-4 hours with friends, and incredibly insightful into this exact process.

Now, before we go let's take a look at that prompt one more time:

"The Refugee Camp"

Okay.

It's time to wrap up, but before we go, lets review our guidelines for Solarpunk writing one more time:

Community as Protagonist (No "Chosen One")

Infrastructure is Sexy (No simple solution)

Human/Environmental Context (Not Man vs Nature)

Thanks for staying with me today. I hope you'll join me for the next Solarpunk Prompt.

Links mentioned:

r0g_agency

Communitere

Dialect

Music from:

ExMemory - Solar Grid

#solarpunk #writing prompt #solarpunk writing prompts #solarpunk loredumps #solarpunk here and now #solarpunk real stories #community as a protagonist #infrastructure is sexy #but there is no easy solutions #human/environmental context

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erythromanc3r · 1 year

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Yeehaw has me curious!

Yay! Yeehaw also has me curious, as I’ve spent hours researching the social and cultural history of the American west, particularly wrt outlaws and bandits like Billy the Kid. I’ve learned so much and I’m really looking forward to actually WRITING this thing.

In the meantime — here’s the basic rundown/summary of the outline:

Christine Carver (née Cunningham) takes a train from Indiana to New Mexico to come settle with her husband, Jason, who spent the past year building a reputation in finance. When she arrives in town, she comes to find that Jason has disappeared without a trace months ago. As his wife, has claim to the home he had built for them, beyond that, she is close to penniless and friendless in a strange, lawless land filled with both danger and abundance.

Edward Munson (Eddie the Banished) is the leader of the infamous Hellfire Gang, a group of bandits known for terrorizing the wealthy and powerful in the new American West. He’s been using the Carver home as a base just outside town on account of the property being newly abandoned — until Mrs. Carver shows up one day.

Once they earn each others’ trust, they come to an agreement — Eddie the Banished teaches her how to fend for herself, and Chrissy offers him shelter when he’s on the run.

#thank you :D #hellcheer #answered #wip ask game #justhere4thevibez

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theharpermovieblog · 10 months

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#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

MOVIES I HATE

I watched Rambo: Last Blood (2019)

As far as Rambo movies go, I like the first one and that's it, so I'm not overly excited to sit through this.

John Rambo seeks revenge against a Mexican human trafficking ring.

The original First Blood film, which is the first John Rambo movie, is an action film about a broken veteran being pushed beyond his limit and waging a war against the cops who pushed him. It's a good movie and it gave us a character with depth and purpose. Every Rambo film from there on out was about nothing but a well trained guy murdering a bunch of people with lots of bullets and big knives. Low brow stuff.

This time around it seems some producer had the grand idea, "What if Instead of Liam Nelson in Taken, it was Rambo?!" And off we go to the land of mediocre old man action movies.

Director Adrian Grunberg seems to view Mexico as a corrupt trash heap, full of dirty evil men. Another film I've seen by him, Get The Gringo, starring Mel Gibson imagines Mexico as a place full of gang members and evil general-esque crime lords. This movie is really no different. The only "good" people in mexico are some of the women of course. Especially the pretty ones. Lucky for those women, there is a badass white guy with a heart of gold to save them from all the evil of their home country. It'd be possibly even forgivable had this been a part of one of Grunberg's films, but the fact that the evils and dangers of Mexico are the full plots of two of his films is incredibly suspect. Especially in an era where people who come from Latin America are demonized on the political stage.

Mexico and many foreign countries are easy to sell as lawless wastelands in films like this, because their audience of Fox News Americans buys into this shit. But, I'll get off my soapbox and talk about the film itself.

I was surprised when this film opened up and I saw some very pretty shots of wide open country and a nice ranch. I thought for a second this movie was going to look good throughout. I got the sense that maybe this movie would examine Rambo in his later years, dealing with a life of hardship and facing new limitations when danger comes to meet him. Sadly, those shots and that imagined story arc were me lying to myself. The camera work and style quickly turns to the typical mid-budget action look. There's a driving scene with such bad green screen that I was actually shocked by it. The writing cares nothing for the character. If you told me this was an already written script that they just plugged Rambo into to sell more tickets, I'd believe you without hesitation. It's very by the numbers and it can be so generic that it can become rather tedious. The dullness of this script is so miserable to sit through. The attempts at emotional connection are as dead as Rambo's niece. Yes, she dies. Do we care? No. Are you upset that I told you? I don't give a shit.

Let's just move on to what I suppose this movie was made for, the violence and action.

The action in this film is fine, I guess. It's definitely violent, but we don't really feel the glory of revenge these movies usually pay off with. By the time the real war broke out, I didn't care enough, I just wanted it to be over.

We find ourselves in these winding underground tunnels that Rambo has built over the years. Guys get caught in traps, Rambo is always in the right place at the right time to finish them off.

This has the feeling of the diminishing returns of other cheap sequels. Like watching the worst of the Death Wish series.

Solidly a movie I hate because of its mediocrity, awful use of a character, cheap use of Mexico as a land of bad guys and just the sheer waste of time and resources that went into making it.

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ongole · 1 year

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DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 GROUP, Tue Nov 08th, 2022...Tuesday of the Thirty-Second Week in Ordinary Time, Year C

Reading 1

---------

Ti 2:1-8, 11-14

Beloved:

You must say what is consistent with sound doctrine,

namely, that older men should be temperate, dignified,

self-controlled, sound in faith, love, and endurance.

Similarly, older women should be reverent in their behavior,

not slanderers, not addicted to drink,

teaching what is good, so that they may train younger women

to love their husbands and children,

to be self-controlled, chaste, good homemakers,

under the control of their husbands,

so that the word of God may not be discredited.

Urge the younger men, similarly, to control themselves,

showing yourself as a model of good deeds in every respect,

with integrity in your teaching, dignity, and sound speech

that cannot be criticized,

so that the opponent will be put to shame

without anything bad to say about us.

For the grace of God has appeared, saving all

and training us to reject godless ways and worldly desires

and to live temperately, justly, and devoutly in this age,

as we await the blessed hope,

the appearance of the glory of the great God

and of our savior Jesus Christ,

who gave himself for us to deliver us from all lawlessness

and to cleanse for himself a people as his own,

eager to do what is good.

Responsorial Psalm

----------------

37:3-4, 18 and 23, 27 and 29

R. (39a) The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.

Trust in the LORD and do good,

that you may dwell in the land and be fed in security.

Take delight in the LORD,

and he will grant you your heart’s requests.

R. The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.

The LORD watches over the lives of the wholehearted;

their inheritance lasts forever.

By the LORD are the steps of a man made firm,

and he approves his way.

R. The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.

Turn from evil and do good,

that you may abide forever;

The just shall possess the land

and dwell in it forever.

R. The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.

Alleluia

-------

Jn 14:23

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Whoever loves me will keep my word,

and my Father will love him,

and we will come to him.

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

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Lk 17:7-10

Jesus said to the Apostles:

“Who among you would say to your servant

who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field,

‘Come here immediately and take your place at table’?

Would he not rather say to him,

‘Prepare something for me to eat.

Put on your apron and wait on me while I eat and drink.

You may eat and drink when I am finished’?

Is he grateful to that servant because he did what was commanded?

So should it be with you.

When you have done all you have been commanded, say,

‘We are unprofitable servants;

we have done what we were obliged to do.’”

***

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 GROUP, Tue Nov 08th, 2022...Tuesday of the Thirty-Second Week in Ordinary Time, Year C

FOCUS AND LITURGY OF THE WORD

The just shall possess the land / and dwell in it forever.

During the last weeks of the Church year—which more or less correspond with the month of November—the Church asks us to turn our attention to what she calls the “Last Things”. Each Christian needs to focus his or her attention upon Heaven and Hell, death and judgment.

A lot of people like to think, and lead their lives, believing that only one of these four things even exists. Of course there is a Heaven. Heaven is the place where everyone goes when they die: this is what some people believe. This is what some people teach. But this is not what Jesus taught.

Jesus taught that people, if they do not follow Him, will go—not to Heaven, but to that other place, called Hell. King David, in composing today’s psalm, puts it this way: “The salvation of the just comes from the Lord.” Salvation—being saved, which is another way of saying, “getting to Heaven”—does not come from ourselves, but only from the Lord. If we try to get to Heaven by ourselves, or if we try to make our own Heaven, we will fail, and end up forever without God. We are responsible for doing many things, and at the end of our lives, we should be able to give an account of what we have done. Still, none of those things are what get us into Heaven.

***

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 GROUP, Tue Nov 08th, 2022...Tuesday of the Thirty-Second Week in Ordinary Time, Year C...SAINT OF THE DAY

Blessed John Duns Scotus

(c. 1266 – Nov 8, 1308)

Blessed John Duns Scotus’ Story

A humble man, John Duns Scotus has been one of the most influential Franciscans through the centuries. Born at Duns in the county of Berwick, Scotland, John was descended from a wealthy farming family. In later years, he was identified as John Duns Scotus to indicate the land of his birth; Scotia is the Latin name for Scotland.

John received the habit of the Friars Minor at Dumfries, where his uncle Elias Duns was superior. After novitiate, John studied at Oxford and Paris and was ordained in 1291. More studies in Paris followed until 1297, when he returned to lecture at Oxford and Cambridge. Four years later, he returned to Paris to teach and complete the requirements for the doctorate.

In an age when many people adopted whole systems of thought without qualification, John pointed out the richness of the Augustinian-Franciscan tradition, appreciated the wisdom of Aquinas, Aristotle, and the Muslim philosophers—and still managed to be an independent thinker. That quality was proven in 1303, when King Philip the Fair tried to enlist the University of Paris on his side in a dispute with Pope Boniface VIII. John Duns Scotus dissented, and was given three days to leave France.

In Scotus’s time, some philosophers held that people are basically determined by forces outside themselves. Free will is an illusion, they argued. An ever-practical man, Scotus said that if he started beating someone who denied free will, the person would immediately tell him to stop. But if Scotus didn’t really have a free will, how could he stop? John had a knack for finding illustrations his students could remember!

After a short stay in Oxford, Scotus returned to Paris, where he received the doctorate in 1305. He continued teaching there and in 1307 so ably defended the Immaculate Conception of Mary that the university officially adopted his position. That same year the minister general assigned him to the Franciscan school in Cologne where John died in 1308. He is buried in the Franciscan church near the famous Cologne cathedral.

Drawing on the work of John Duns Scotus, Pope Pius IX solemnly defined the Immaculate Conception of Mary in 1854. John Duns Scotus, the “Subtle Doctor,” was beatified in 1993.

Reflection

----------

Father Charles Balic, O.F.M., the foremost 20th-century authority on Scotus, has written: “The whole of Scotus’s theology is dominated by the notion of love. The characteristic note of this love is its absolute freedom. As love becomes more perfect and intense, freedom becomes more noble and integral both in God and in man” (New Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. 4, p. 1105).

***

▪︎【Read God's Word daily on "Daily Scripture Readings (DSR) 📚 groups"' WhatsApp Tel. +256751540524】

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calamitys-child · 2 years

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Shoutout to the lawless land of public transport someone just watched me drop half my meds and spill most of a bottle of water in my lap in the train and barely even blinked. Also I am only ~70% confident I know which ones I dropped cause my antihistamines and antidepressants look REALLY similar so I simply guessed which one I should pick up the bottle for again but I don't Think it'll do me too much damage either way? Other than possibly leaving me temporarily very sad or very sneezy. I'll live with those consequences

#Ask to tag

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lightningdamned · 2 years

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Mentions:

@infernal-general

Ghost mention of @winters-club 's Leviathan and Captain Jack Sparrow

Striker - @strikers-saloon

𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

“ 'Right of Retaliation'; do you have any idea of how fucking stupid you sound?” Raia commented casually, not missing the helpless fury flashing through her descendant's face, almost proving her right, but not yet. The Véghvárys shared stubbornness, the almost inability to yield, even when doing so would have spared them more agony.

“One of us is not a lawless escape artist, gnawing through anyone just to stay alive.” Rozália fired back almost immediately and it didn't offend her distant sister. However, those words coming from someone else's mouth would've been their last.

“Don't tell me you envy my freedom. But I wouldn't be surprised. How long have you been Lucifer's perfect toy soldier, doing your utmost to take all blows meant for your family and still failing?” the lightning demon fluidly, elegantly ducked the anticipated spinning kick

“Do you want to fight again, sister ?” oh that word was spat with a surprising amount of venom; she was indeed the Viper as well along with the Hellfire and the Hussar.

“No.” Raia shrugged nonchalantly “I want you to see. To acknowledge the inevitable.” she knew how the General's heart ached when she gazed into her eyes; the same color she possessed as a human before the infernal red ruination.

“That I can't hold back Heaven forever? I am well aware of that, along with what will happen after.” Rozália replied with a scoff and a borderline eyeroll. She is destined to lose everyone and when she does, her second death will leave a larger impact anyone could predict. Yet her answer only drew a low chuckle and a small shake of head from her sister.

“You are willingly protecting the scum of Earth landed here for the price of your family's lives. Are you even a Véghváry or just a mindless pawn-” unable to finish the train of thought since her top was fisted in a merciless grip of ashen hands with pulsing orange veins as she was yanked down to Rozália's eye level.

“Who said I'm willing? I never wanted this, never signed anything, never asked for this.” alright, the last part stung a little but Raia allowed it for now, eerily calm about the motion. Easier to study her emotions shifting in those serpent eyes, which cannot be concealed by armor

“But you are still being used.” As nasty as it was, Raia pointed out with a sharp grin. The grip tightened.

“And what happens when an upper class demon snatches one of your warriors for fun? Do you run to Lucifer for permission for a rescue mission?” her tone borderline mocking but genuinely curious at the same time

“My graveyard is full of Overlords, demons of every species and class, even a few members of the Ars Goetia itself. My army is untouchable.” the General growled and Raia felt the incredible power pulsing beneath her skin, power rivaling almost anything in this realm, many would kill for it, try and tried to kill her for it; not knowing she was bound by unseen chains.

Well…if not her warriors…

“And what about the imp hybrid? Striker, if I'm correct.” oh she was correct, judging by the brief flash of terror and the incredible strength shoving her away.

“It will be only a matter of time until someone else notices how you look at him.” and the sincerity of Raia's tone halted Rozália's hands in drawing her swords. She took the pause as encouragement and continued to widen the crack in her shield.

“You feel like someone else when you're with him, aren't you? Even if you don't see wings rising from his back,” a brief moment of her own vulnerability before the flow of poisonous truth continued dripping into the opened wound “you feel different. Maybe not someone else, but someone who you were, perhaps.” for once, the General was silent, no remarks but jaw set in stone with vividly glowing crimson eyes staring ahead, refusing to risk a glance at her.

“You love him.” Raia's brutal riposte was flawless

“He is capable, skilled and prepared, I give that to him. But those holy bullets run out fast once your enemies sense how important he is to you.” the lightning demon slowly began to circle around Rozália, her steps careful and calculated

“He's not protected by that silly Right of Retaliation; is he?” a cruelly soft whisper which had the power of a full force blow judging by her silent shudder and breathless cry upon it

“What happens when a nobody Overlord manages to capture him? If they torture him because they know you cannot do anything. If demon royalty places the clues together and sentences him to the most gruesome death? If they dump his mangled, broken body at your feet with a leering face?” Raia has come to a full circle, even though she probably should have been, she was not afraid by the rapidly increasing heat, the clenched, trembling fingers and the crimson bleeding into the General's sclera at the possibility too real to brush off. Raia was right about him being extraordinarily skilled, but he couldn't possibly be at alert in every second nor can she.

“What if you saw his emerald ringed golden eyes flicker up to you one last time before life leaves his body? Do you choose stalling your family's ultimate demise further or burst free from your bounds for the man you love so deeply? What will it be, General?” Raia stood in front of the still silent woman shaking from the unsaid emotions crawling to surface; unbearably close which proved to be rewarding when she saw it.

“ I̵ W̷I̷L̸L̸ ̴TE̸A̸R̷ ̸A̴P̸A̵R̸T A̵N̵Y̸O̴N̸E̵,̶ ̸E̶V̴E̸RY̵O̴NE̵ N̸O̵ MA̸TTE̸R̴ W̷H̵O̶ ̸T̴H̶E̸Y̸ A̵R̴E̸,̷ W̴HAT̸ AR̵E̵ T̷H̴E̵ ̸C̶O̶N̵S̴E̷Q̷U̴E̸NC̵ES̵.̴ I W̴I̵L̵L̷ B̸U̵R̶N̵ ̸T̵H̶I̸S̸ C̷U̷R̸SE̵D̴ P̴L̶A̵C̵E̴ T̸O̴ ̶T̷H̶E̴ ̶G̷R̸O̷U̸N̷D̴ IF̶ A̶N̷Y̶O̴N̷E̷ D̴A̶R̵E̵S̴ T̵O̶ ̷L̵A̶Y̴ A HA̸N̴D̷ O̵N̸ O̸R̴ TA̷K̷E HI̵M̸ ̶A̷W̸A̵Y̴ F̴R̸OM̵ M̷E̵. I̴ D̸O̵N̶'T ̸C̶A̵R̵E̷ WH̷ER̵E̶ T̸HE̸Y̴ R̷U̵N̶,̷ I̴ ̵W̴I̴L̴L̵ B̸E̸ ALR̸E̵A̴D̶Y̶ T̷H̶E̵R̷E̵, ̶E̴V̸E̷N̴ IF̶ L̸UC̸I̷F̴ER̸ H̴IM̶SE̷L̸F̷ ̸T̸R̶I̴ES̵ ̴TO̷ S̵H̸IE̵L̴D̷ T̴HEM̵ F̴R̵O̶M̷ ̷TH̸E̴ R̵EC̵K̵O̵N̴I̶N̷G̵!̶ H̵E̴ W̷I̷L̶L ̵B̵U̵R̷N̶ W̸I̷TH̷ T̶H̶E̷M̸. ”

And the General was undone with that howl that could shatter Heaven, scorch Hell itself. Raw and cracked open like a fresh cut on flesh, the torrent of her agony like spilt blood from an artery. Dissolving skin in places revealed the wild Hellfire underneath, cursed magma tears of fury spilling from unified blood red viper eyes, monstrous fangs bared viciously.

“There is my blood. My legacy. My sister.” Raia smiled, this time without malice or false intentions, her tone surprisingly tender after the destruction she caused. She has gotten the answers she wanted and needed. Her bloodline wasn't dead, only forced to be dormant by unsaid threats and by the duty to protect. But not for long ; she could sense it.

#⚡ stories 🗡 | the same circle of privilige; captivity and escaping started; but this time it feels different #⚡ alright/encouraged to like and reblog 🗡 | all eyes on me in the grand finale; blink and you might miss it #🌊winter's club / leviathan ⛓ | while you were busy playing me; 𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.#🧭 winter's-club / jack sparrow 🌊 | witty trickster with black pearl eyes; l still see your wings #striker's saloon #(I will find a tag for you!!!)

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