#the categories were contains sticks contains stones contains bones

[trek-tracks]

When I say I was shouting at the screen when nobody got this...

#star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #only connect #bones mccoy #victoria coren mitchell #missing vowels round #only connect spoilers #i was so mad that nobody got this #the categories were contains sticks contains stones contains bones #the stones one had a curling rink #which shockingly I got before my curler husband #it was designed for us this round

[cassandraclare]

A spooky Lucie flash fiction story for October! Early Halloween. ;)

LONDON, 1897

“There are many kinds of ghosts,” Jessamine said, “but they tend to fall into three categories. You have mostly known ghosts like me, who are kind and beautiful and have wonderful personalities.”

Lucie almost snorted, but luckily Jessamine didn’t seem to notice. They were in the courtyard of the Institute, where Lucie was playing, and avoiding her family. Woolsey Scott was coming over for tea, and they were busy straightening up and putting away the silver — like all werewolves, he was allergic. Lucie didn’t mind Woolsey Scott, except that like most of the adults who visited the Institute he was tremendously boring, and also when he looked at her she felt that he was judging her for her untidiness and her ink-stained fingers. She had snuck off to play in the garden, and when nobody had come to fetch her, she decided she was safe.

Perhaps they assumed the coming rain would drive her back inside. The sky was thick with leaden clouds, and while the rain held off for now, the air contained that particular scent that meant it was inevitable.

She had made up a game to go with a story she had been composing recently. It was about a well-brought up young girl who was forced to become a pirate queen to save her kidnapped parents, and discovered she had quite a knack for it. She ran around the garden, weaving between bushes, imagining the she was a pirate queen whose sailors had whipped up a mutiny. The key was to look deeply distressed, extremely tragic, then spin around fast, stabbing out with the stick she was using as a sword.

She had stopped to decide whether the pirate queen should sport a silver mask or a black one when Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, came floating down from an upper window like a torn page falling in a breeze....

 Lucie had known Jessamine her whole life, and understood that Jessamine had been friends with her parents when she was alive, though none of them had ever told her the full story. Lucie thought of Jessamine mostly as part of the furniture, a drifting presence that seemed content to wander through the halls of the Institute and occasionally criticize the place’s new modern décor and Lucie’s father’s choice of clothes.

“Hullo, Jessamine,” Lucie said now. She was disappointed; she had been enjoying her game. She hoped she would remember all the details of the pirate queen and the mutiny so she could write them down when she was back inside.

“Lucie,” Jessamine said, “I think it is time to speak with you about ghosts.”

“Now?” said Lucie in dismay.

Jessamine looked up at the sky. “It is the right weather for ghosts,” she said. “Now, listen.

“Some ghosts stay among the living because unfinished business holds them here. Some stay to protect those they love. And some stay because of hatred, malice, bitterness.” She ruffled Lucie’s hair; it felt like being brushed by a breeze. “You must learn to ignore that kind of ghost. Turn away from them. They feed off your fear. Without your fear they can do nothing to you.”

“I’ll remember,” Lucie murmured.

Jessamine cocked her head at Lucie. “Mind that you do,” she said, and vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Lucie assumed that Jessamine had become a ghost in order to protect those she loved, but she was very strange regardless. A little more doubtful, she returned to her game. In the distance was a noise that might have been thunder or might have just been the bustle of London.

Her game took her out of the Institute’s courtyard and down the road a bit. The street was almost empty, but at one point Lucie whirled around to confront the boatswain who had pretended loyalty to her, while actually working for the mutinous first mate, and almost stabbed an actual person. She gasped, and took a step back. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The woman who stood before her wore a dark gray Victorian dress that gave her the look of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. In her gloved hand was a battered black valise. Her face was thin and pale and peaked, her hair straggling.

Lucie waited awkwardly, uncertain what to say. She should have remained on the Institute’s grounds, where glamour would have ensured no unexpected encounters with mundane humans. The woman considered her, and Lucie wondered if perhaps she wasn’t a mundane after all. But she had no runes, so she wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Could she be a Downworlder? She showed no outward signs of being a faerie or warlock or werewolf, and though she was pale, she was out in daylight, so she couldn’t be a vampire.

“I must ask something of you, little girl.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Are your parents looking for a governess? I am an excellent governess.”

She held out a paper—her credentials, perhaps, but Lucie’s attention was arrested by the woman’s hand.

It was no longer gloved. Now it was skeletal, the bone white as snow. Dark red blood was dripping from the ends of her fingers, soaking into the paper.

Lucie took a step back, breath catching in her throat. “You’re a ghost,” she said, almost without meaning to. But a ghost had never walked up to her on the street like this, certainly not one with skeletal hands. She looked back up at the ghost’s face. It was gaunt, slightly distorted, and it frightened her. “You can’t trick me,” Lucie said, trying to sound brave. “I can see you for what you are.”

“What a clever little girl,” The ghost’s raspy voice took on an unpleasant tone. “I don’t like clever little girls. I used to look after six of them. They played tricks on me and taunted me. One night I went up to their room and stabbed them, one at a time, all through their clever little hearts.”

Lucie’s blood ran cold. The ghost reached out, as if it were going to touch Lucie’s own heart, and she turned and ran full tilt in the direction of her home. She remembered what Jessamine had said, but how could she not be afraid? She could feel the presence of the ghost behind her, a prickling at the back of her neck. Lucie had just reached the gate when she stumbled over a loose stone and fell, scraping her knee on the path.

The ghost glided forward, reaching as though to help her up. “You could be my new pupil….”

Lucie scrambled away. “Stop! Get back!”

To her surprise, the ghost sprang away, looking startled. Perhaps little girls didn’t ordinarily yell at it. Lucie was about to scream for help, but help had already arrived.

Jessamine descended from the sky and stood between Lucie and the woman. But this was Jessamine as Lucie had never seen her: an avenging angel, looming above both Lucie and the ghost-woman, icy fury on her face. Lucie gasped in shock as Jessamine raised her hands, as if she were about to perform some terrifying incantation.

“No,” the ghost-woman moaned, her mouth yawning open horribly, showing a cavern of blackness. “I did not know this one was guarded. I did not know….”

“You will flee from here,” Jessamine commanded, and even her voice was different, deep and wild, like the crashing of waves. “You will leave this place, foul spirit!”

The ghost cowered for a moment, then vanished into nothingness.

Lucie lay on the garden path, staring up at Jessamine, who had shrunk down to her usual size. “Stop gaping, Lucie, it’ll give you wrinkles. Come on, up with you.” She had returned to her normal mien, pretty and dignified and distant.

“Thank you,” said Lucie faintly.

“Mind how you go,” Jessamine said sternly. “And heed what I’ve told you. There is more than one kind of ghost.” And she drifted up again and vanished.

The lesson stayed with Lucie for a long time. She never blamed Jessamine for not knowing there was a fourth kind of spirit. Even if Jessamine had known, she could not have prepared Lucie for the fact that meeting him would change her life forever.

#cog2 #chain of gold #cassandra jean #cassandra clare #the last hours #tlh #lucie herondale #Jessamine Lovelace

[scottspack]

SO YOU JUST FINISHED THE UNTAMED AND YOU WANT TO READ SOME FIC

Congratulations Jen @jlf23tumble on finishing The Untamed (tomorrow)! Now that you’re done with the show (tomorrow), you can finally dive into the wide and wonderful world of untamed fic!!! I’m ecstatic to be personally curating your reading experience! LET’S BEGIN!

I’ve started off with a list of 5 fics I think you should read in this specific order to 1. get some resolution from the end of the show and 2. get you acclimated to untamed fics! Then, I’ve listed a bunch of fics in different categories for your perusal to read at your leisure! This is an unbelievably long post holy shit brace yourself.

I’m like fairly certain that all of these follow the tv show canon BUT also its very typical for authors to combine many aspects of all of the different forms of canons to their liking. Therefore, I feel like I need to give a quick explanation of a couple things from the novel that show up frequently in fics that idk if you know already or not:

In the book, when Wei Wuxian is resurrected, he is brought back in Mo Xuanyu’s actual body and has his face and everything. Mo Xuanyu was pretty young when he died, I wanna say maybe 17 or 18??? and he was also short and pretty and flamboyantly gay. This is where the references to their crazy height difference come from, but again, I think I tried to include mostly fics that skew more heavily to the tv version where WWX keeps his same body and he and LWJ are more evenly matched physically.

Its novel canon that LWJ smells like sandalwood incense and has golden colored eyes. This is mentioned in like almost every single wangxian fic ive ever read, even if the author said they were strictly adhering to show canon lol

At the end of the novel wangxian run away together and elope! Obviously in the show that’s not how it goes down, but I think a couple of the fics I’ve recced might mention it in passing. (Oh also when they elope they make a pact to fuck “everyday,” a concept that might be mentioned as well.

Obviously, we have to kick it off with some fics that both reunite wangxian and give more resolution to the actual show. If you’re like me, it both took you a while to get all the way through the show AND took 100% of your brain power to remember all of the characters and plot lines. If that’s that case: these fics should be helpful in serving as a kind of emotional refresher for the show to wrap up some loose ends and to dive deeper into some of the things the show glosses over for one reason or another!

1. A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (Wangxian, E, 21k) 

The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

I found this fic on someone’s blog when they said that it was the definitive fic to read directly after finishing the series so i saved it, read it directly after finishing the series, and felt COMPLETE. Beautifully written, seamlessly fits with canon, and has a super fulfilling resolution. The perfect way to kick off reading untamed fic!

2. One Rogue Spark In My Direction by hansbekhart (Lan Wangji/Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan, E, 5k)

He’d thought, in Yueyang, that they’d seen something in each other, something familiar. That maybe they’d recognized something in him. But it’s been many years, and many things have happened since, and he’s guessed wrongly at other people’s hearts before. Lan Wangji looks back down at the table, at his steaming, bitter tea. He’ll beg if he has to.

In “A Lot Of Edges Called Perhaps” Wangji mentions that he has had sex before and this is the in-universe story of that time and WHEW BABY!!!! AHHHHHH!!! While this fic is like, almost pure smut, I think there is a ton of value to it in terms of emotional perspective on how fucked up LWJ was after WWX’s death. Also, it’s very hot.

3. Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Laz Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

This is a fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui from when he rescues Sizhui from the Burial Mounds until they bring WWX back to the Cloud Recesses after he’s resurrected. It made me cry about 18 times and I consider it fully canon in relation to the show. I think this gives a lot of emotional depth to the Wangji/Sizhui family relationship that is very important in most fics, so this acts as a good base since the show doesn’t really talk about it too much.

4. Your Name, Safe In Their Mouth by astrolesbian (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, G, 10k)

“You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned.

“I’m all right,” he croaks.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

or: lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

The Wei Wuxian and Sizhui bonding fic that I so desperately desperately needed to read. Since we got the emotional depth to Wangji/Sizhui in the last fic, here’s some emotional resolution for Sizhui and his other dad!!!!!!!!!! Scratched the very particular itch of “but have they REALLY talked about what it means that they’re reunited after 16 years???”

5. climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng, & Wei Wuxian, T, 15k)

Jin Ling had begun to suspect years ago that there were parts of his family history that had been crossed out; long streaks of black where Wei Wuxian had been. The truth is more like whole books being brought up from their hiding places again.

Or: Jin Ling tries to figure out what family means, now.

OKAY!!!! Last emotional resolution before I send you on your way to explore! This is the emotional resolution for the other half of WWX’s family. Featuring just a FUCK TON of family feels and a lot of TALKING that this fucked up family needs so damn bad. *chefs kiss* muy delicioso! ALSO i think this is a good introduction to a lot of the naming conventions that are used frequently in untamed fic that took me a while to pick up on!

WHEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now that you’ve gotten some post-show catharsis in the form of a few extremely well-written fics, it’s time for a full rec! I’ve divided it up into seven categories: long fics, smutty one-shots, 3zun (lan xichen/nie mingjue/meng yao) fics, fics about the juniors, family fun fics, some miscellaneous fics, and then some yizhan RPF! I wouldn’t have put any of these fics on here if I didn’t think they were worth reading, BUT! I did mark my particular favorites with asterisks to demark the crème de la crème of the bunch. SO! LET’S DIVE IN!

EPIC TALES (LONG AND/OR IMMERSIVE)

My Age Has Never Made Me Wise by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 63k) ***

“We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

“Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Or: The story of a marriage.

I LOVE THIS FIC. YOU MUST PROMISE ME YOU’LL READ THIS FIC. The absolute best kind of slow burn and I think such an extremely accurate representation of the canon material. I’m always surprised by the authors in this fandom’s ability to write shit that is so concretely grounded in the universe. This could and should be a real companion novel. Amazing. I love it. (Also I know you said you’re not into fics that are long just to be long and I think this fic is the exact opposite of that, it’s long but for good reason and has such an insanely satisfying payoff that it’s completely worth dedicating a few hours to!)

The Year of Drought by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 24k)

Wei Ying could not be contained by the walls of the Cloud Recesses, alive again and overflowing with it, bursting like a dam in spring with the force of two lives unspent. And so he had to go. Lan Wangji understands that—he understood it when Wei Ying told him of his plans, looking at Lan Wangji above the rim of his cup with an apologetic smile, like craving freedom was something to apologize for.

Wei Ying would go, and Lan Wangji would see him off; this has always been the only way it could be.

Or: In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji waits.

The previous fic but from Wangji’s perspective. Absolutely required reading if you read the other one. Wangji baby.......i love you.....

further than the grave by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 32k)

There is something about grief that turns Lan Wangji numb. He cannot be certain if it is not some kind of defect inside him that makes him so. But just as he grieved his mother’s passing with dry eyes and a stone in his chest, so he grieves Wei Ying: quietly, frozen inside, without tears. Beyond the Jingshi window it might be spring, but Lan Wangji’s body and mind are still held within the winter’s grasp.

As the anniversary of his leaving seclusion approaches, Lan Wangji ponders the nature of grief and healing.

One last fic from the same verse as the previous two, this talks about Wangji post-WWX’s death and then them dealing with the past post-marriage. Its just as good and immersive and amazing as the previous two parts, but this is the only untamed fic that actually made me gasp out loud and if you read this and can guess what it was we will be best friends forever. (There are two other fics in this verse that are also good but these three in particular are god-tier in my eyes.)

Vagabond by xantissa (Wangxian, E, 66k)

Wei Wuxian comes back to Cloud Recesses after a year of wandering the world, hoping to start a relationship with Lan Zhan. He doesn’t expect to come into the middle of a case of sleeping sickness mysteriously killing people, nor does he expect what follows, putting everything he holds dear on the line once again.

OOOWEE CASE FIC! CASE FIC! This is truly the twisty turny intense and INTERESTING type of fic from this fandom that blows my mind. This could fully be a stand alone novel its that good and there’s that much to it. Another one that isn’t long just to be long, it has so much PLOT!!!!! REAL GOOD SHIT!

Seldom All They Seem by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 25k)

or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

A canon-divergent fic exploring “what if Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were betrothed from when they were young like Yanli and Jin Zixuan?” It’s extremely good and very compelling and also made me cry multiple times. (The confrontation in the rain doesn’t get any easier even if they’re betrothed!)

Half Cloak & Half Dagger by Fahye (Lan Xichen/Meng Yao, E, 13k)

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and smiles. "I'm considering a problem."

"Can I be of any assistance with it?"

He drops a kiss on Lan Xichen's chest. With the nail of one finger he lightly traces the characters for irony on Lan Xichen's side. "Not this one, er-ge."

A follow-up fic set in the “Seldom All They Seem” universe but focused on xiyao. Has hands down the best written characterization of meng yao in any fic ive read so far. I continuously come back to this fic just to read the absolutely genius way this author writes the Head Bitch In Control of the cultivation world.

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (Wangxian, T, 20k)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

I kept avoiding this fic, even though it was really high up on the list of most popular fics in the fandom, bc the premise sounded pretty goofy BUT I finally bit the bullet one day and AHHHHHHHH!!!!! Very very very cute and fun, made me smile like an idiot throughout the entire thing. Heartwarming and very well written!!!

never let me go by yiqie (Wangxian, E, 69k)

Wei Wuxian has certainly hoped so ardently in his two lifetimes, for so many different things, in so many different ways, that he could have summoned the demon to his front door with his bare hands. His eyes wander to Lan Zhan, settle on the back of his head, the blue-black curtain of his hair. Oh, how he has hoped.

Another extremely good and super immersive case fic. If you ever just want to sink really deep into an untamed fic, this is a great one for it.

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (Wangxian, E, 24k)

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian repeats. His heart clenches. He wants—but he’d really meant to have this nightmare stuff down before they met again, so he wouldn’t find himself relying on Lan Wangji’s nearness. He’s not supposed to go back yet. But he’s so tired, and his will crumbles. “Yeah,” he says. “All right. Take me back to Gusu with you.”

You want hurt/comfort? I gotcha hurt/comfort RIGHT HERE!

shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi (Wangxian, E, 25k) ***

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice slow and a pitch too quiet. A second later Wei Wuxian understands why. “I cannot hear.”

Or; Lan Wangji is cursed into internal isolation. Their ability to understand one another remains as unwavering as ever.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I have been thinking about this fic nonstop since I read it. It is…..fucking incredible. One of the best qualities of wangxian is that they’re so in tune with each other and able to work so cohesively with little communication and this fic is like “what if we take that and DIAL IT UP TO ELEVEN” and i was like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I hope that you will come and meet me by feyburner (Wangxian, M, 28k) ***

The second time Lan Zhan said Wei Ying, come back, Wei Wuxian did.

okay so this is literally getting added to the fic rec one day before i send it to you because i just finished it and WHEW BABY!!!!! YES it is just another wangxian post-canon reunion get-together fic, BUT 1. i cant get enough of that specific brand of fic and 2. ITS SO GOOD. ITS. SO. GOOD. achingly tender and incredibly soft but also funny and sweet and very in-character! i love it!

THE BONE ZONE (WANGXIAN SMUT)

Sweet Night by corteae (Wangxian, E, 10k)

It was like coming back to life again, like being restitched into existence, cell by cell, nerve by nerve. From the surface of his skin to the marrow of his bones, everything new and purposeful. Like being pulled back from oblivion into an embrace of pure light. A feeling of absolute asylum.

That’s what it felt like, to realize Lan Wangji was in love with him.

An in-show au of “what if they just admitted they’re in love and fucked during episode 43?” Soft and romantic and hot!

the crucial point by dissembler (Wangxian, E, 7k) ***

Months after parting on the mountain, Lan Wangji makes up his mind, plots his course on a map, and has faith.

I LOVE THIS FIC! Very realistic and sweet wangxian reunion fic from wangji’s perspective. Has so many good little details and is very true to their characters. Good shit. Great.

Stainless by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"I'm starting to feel," says Lan Xichen, "that this was a counterproductive suggestion."

Wei Wuxian looks down onto the pristine, tranquil cold springs of the Cloud Recesses. Sitting in the water, their bare shoulders rising like dumplings carefully spaced in a steaming-basket, are a large number of Lan disciples.

"They seem to be doing better," he says, encouragingly. "If they--oh, no, I see what you mean."

At the near bank, someone has pressed someone else against the rocks and is kissing them frantically.

What is getting into a new pairing if not an excuse to read sex pollen in new and exciting ways!

To Recklessly Confess by la_dissonance (Wangxian, E, 8k)

Lan Wangji has a fantasy. Wei Wuxian gets several clues.

The “what if they just fucked in episode 43” au but from a different angle.

all the depths of me, real by northofallmusic (Wangxian, E, 15k)

Wei Wuxian is dealing with a curse a little worse than he'd like to let on, and Lan Zhan is a little less than willing to let it slide.

Another “what if they just fucked in the show” fic, this time set when WWX has the curse on his leg and Wangji has to carry him back to the inn. 

Every Day, Learning More by phnelt (Wangxian, E, 6k)

The pink was high on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. “I mean I haven’t been able to… that I can’t. Not without you.”

Lan Wangji stared. “In this body, the whole time you’ve had it -- you’ve never…”

Wei Wuxian kicked his heels into Lan Wangji’s back. “I just said that!”

I knew at least one of these was more book verse than show! WWX hasn’t been able to jerk off in his new body, LWJ helps him out :-)

the meaning of the ritual by newamsterdam (Wangxian, E, 8k)

“Lan Zhan… wants to bed me?”

The hand on his chest is shaking, slightly. “Mn.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian breaths out.

There’s something— something powerful, about that. Lan Wangji wants to bed him. Lan Wangji wants to sleep with him. Lan Wangji wants to touch him, and kiss him. The immovable, implacable Second Master of Lan, with a face and principles both carved from jade, wants him.

“Is this a fantasy of yours?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Forcing all the demonic energy out of me with your—”

Lan Wangji claps a hand over his mouth. “Silence, now.”

When the entire cultivation world turns against the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian makes a risky gamble— he'll agree to participate in an ancient ritual for cleansing the spirit, so that his character can no longer be called into question. The catch? He has no idea who his partner for the ritual will be.

This is also book-verse! As the tag says “Let Lan Wangji Fuck the Yiling Patriarch”!!!!!!!!!!!

Hurricane by gdgdbaby (Wangxian, E, 6k) ***

"Haven't you heard?" Nie Huaisang replied, clicking his tongue, though he was clearly pleased that he could be the one to break the news. He leaned in to announce with a dramatic flourish: "Lan Wangji just took emergency family leave this past weekend."

WANGXIAN AS SPIRK STAR TREK PON FAR AU!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEWOO WEEWOO WEEWOO!!!!!!!! This was actually recced to ME by CHI and I have not stopped thinking about this fic for a full month. It’s like author gdgdbaby sat down one day and was like “Tumblr user Liv Scottspack deserves everything she wants in this life.” and then wrote this fic. Thank you author gdgdbaby, I love you.

WORLD’S WORST THROUPLE (3ZUN)

The body is a blade by rheawrites (3zun, E, 2k) ***

In which Lan Xichen is taken by surprise, Nie Mingjue takes what he can get, and Meng Yao gets what he wants.

This was the first 3zun fic I ever read and whew baby, got it in one! It’s actually a slight AU but it gets their characterization so right and is a very fun read. One of those fics I go back to frequently because it does so much with so few words.

shang tiantang by fuckwarlock (3zun, E, 4k)

They wanted so much, and with the way A-Yao gasps at the saber-calloused hand unfastening his belts, he does, too. The night air twirls with the scents of osmanthus and cinnamon and melon. Lan Xichen smiles, leans in, and ghosts his lips over the crook of A-Yao’s neck. What kind of brother would he be if he didn’t give A-Yao what he wanted? “I think it’s your turn to ascend, A-Yao.”

The Venerated Triad celebrates the Mid-Autumn Festival the best way they know how.

Truly the only way the venerated triad works is if meng yao gets Destroyed :-)

Favour and Fate by soulgusttheguardian (3zun, E, 8k)

There have been times in Meng Yao’s life when he couldn’t help but wonder how he came to be in his current situation. Found himself reflecting on the choices leading up to whatever misfortune had befallen him that day, and pondering why fate hated him so.

Granted, there had also been times when he couldn't help but wonder just what he had done to earn the favour necessary to be rewarded with certain things...

The current situation he found himself to be in, however, was definitely the latter.

More of the same! Truly I personally can never get enough of the 3zun dynamic in smut fics its just too goddamn motherfucking GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

the stars do not take sides by everyearning (3zun, E, 4k)

Mingjue isn’t sure he’s ever seen Xichen do anything other than treat the boy like a porcelain doll and it’s laughable to him, to think of Meng Yao as something breakable, instead of the sharp, deadly object he is.

Okay one last “Destroy Meng Yao” 3zun fic! Enjoy!

never as alive as we are right now by ThirtySixSaveFiles (3zun, E, 12k)

Three perspectives on three sworn brothers, at three different times in their relationship.

(Or, three times 3zun got it on and some of the feelings they had along the way.)

Wait actually I want to end the 3zun fics on this one because it has true Emotional Resolution at the end and I think they deserve a little healing.

BABY BOYS. BABIES. (THE JUNIORS)

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui, T, 20k) ***

“And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

A MUST-FUCKING-READ!!! Jin Ling gets it in his head that as sect leader he should get married and sets his sights on Lan Sizhui. I cannot stress enough how FUCKING CUTE this fic is!!! Sizhui being the best boy! Jin Ling having more uncles than he knows what to do with! Jiang Cheng being the worst at relationship advice! It’s so fucking good it love it so much.

Anyway, Here’s Wuji by kakikaeru (Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, T, 18k)

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Lan Jingyi comes of age.

A Jingyi-central fic about Jingyi growing up and falling in love and being a hero and being the second best boy of my heart right after Sizhui. Not only is this fic sweet and romantic but it’s another one that explores a lot of interesting things within canon and all of the supporting characters are written very well and are just as interesting as second best boy Jingyi.

Ok, JiuJiu by kakikaeru (Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen, T, 16k)

Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials.

"I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl.

Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

A follow up fic to “Anyways, Here’s Wuji.” I LOVE the Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen dynamic of Jin Ling having been raised by Jiang “I keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die” Cheng AND being hopelessly charmed and smitten with Ouyang “President of the I Love Love Romance Novel Book Club” Zizhen! I LOVE IT! EXTREMELY CUTE!

Lan Sizhui's Guide to Courtship by Kimblydot (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, T, 23k)

In which Jingyi is a little oblivious, Sizhui is patient (and should have said something in the beginning), and everyone else is resigned to watching them dance around each other for far longer than necessary.

(Or: five things Sizhui tries to do in his courtship, and the one time Jingyi realizes there was one happening in the first place.)

I’ll stop describing fics about the juniors as being “cute” when they stop being SO FUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

His Merit All My Fear by violettressed (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, G, 16k)

It’s too late for any of Hanguang-Jun’s rabbits to be awake -- one of the sundown chores for young disciples is to herd them back into their hutch -- but the rabbit field is as good a spot as any for quality sulking, so Lan Jingyi makes his way there.

Someone has beat him to it.

Lan Jingyi stares at Hanguang-Jun. Hanguang-Jun stares passively back.

When Lan Sizhui is swept away with the Ghost General, off on a new adventure, Lan Jingyi is the one who returns to Cloud Recesses alone.

Not only another extremely cute Sizhui/Jingyi fic BUT one that includes a Wangji/Jingyi friendship??? Incroyable! *chefs kiss*

spirit running wild by idrilka (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, E, 17k)

He doesn’t know, exactly, when the friendship he shared with Sizhui over the years has changed into something that’s made Jingyi finally understand why Hanguang-Jun always wears that expression whenever he looks at Senior Wei. There hasn’t been one single moment that he can point to and say, yes, this is where it started, because the thing about falling in love with your best friend is that it happens gradually, until it’s impossible to tell which step has been the deciding one.

Jingyi goes to Baling with a crush.

Written by the same genius that wrote the first three fics I made you read so you know it’s good. Its truly the childhood best friends to lovers of it all! Sizhui is adorable and Jingyi is a mess! *muah!*

FAMILY FUN TIME (NO ROMANCE, JUST FEELS)

Grow by cafecliche (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 14k)

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

What I expected to be a goofy, silly fic turned out to be extremely emotional and made me FULLY CRY! It’s a very moving fic about Sizhui coming to understand himself and Wei Wuxian a lot better AND features all of the juniors arguing over who’s turn it is to hold 6 year old Wei Wuxian. A true win/win of a fic.

To The Act of Making Noise by words-writ-in-starlight (Lan Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

Another very moving and heartwarming fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui and Sizhui figuring out Wangji’s past and then eventually reconnecting with Wei Wuxian. It’s cute and soft and Sizhui is my best boy!

History (Proud To Call Your Own) by words-writ-in-starlight (Wen Ning, G, 5k)

“A-Yuan? Um—Lan-gongzi,” Wen Ning corrects, trying to set a good example. The children are young, seven and eight, exactly a dozen of them lined up in two crisp lines of tiny blue and white robes. Wen Ning can feel them staring at him, even though most of them have already mastered that Lan trick of neutrality. The smallest, a little girl with liquid dark eyes, is clinging to her nearest shijie’s sleeve and half-hiding. “Can I—what can I do for you?”

Wen Ning gets himself recruited for services, while he and Sizhui are visiting Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian gets a fan club.

Set in the same universe as “To The Act of Making Noise,” a very cute fic about Wen Ning finding his place in the post-canon world and being proud of Sizhui and being the world’s best substitute teacher. As the official Wen Ning Fan Club President, I had to include this.

the stone-filled sea by yukla (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 9k) ***

He forgets how quickly Wei-qianbei changes faces, sometimes. Like pulling a theater mask over a bruise—color over color, a diversion with the swipe of his hand.

Lan Sizhui navigates a world that hates his father, one endless wave at a time.

Oh man oh man. I will never get enough of the fics where Sizhui (and the rest of the juniors) get ANGRY on Wei Wuxian’s behalf!! That’s their dad and their teacher and their friend and they will DEFEND HIM!!! YEAH BAYBEEEEEEEEEE!!!

PICK & MIX (MISCELLANEOUS)

This Side of Paradise by greenfionn (Wei Wuxian/Wen Qing, E, 3k)

Wei Wuxian does some very quick math in his head that goes something like this: He is pretty sure he’s in love with Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan is not here and likely never will be here - Wen Qing is here, not to mention very hot and let us not forget, actually interested in sex with him - there’s a solid chance he goes genuinely crazy or dies, or both, in the next few months and really, who wants to die a virgin?

Listen.......the fic premise is “Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, noted bisexuals, figure life sucks enough at the Burial Mounds, they might as well have any fun they can before they die” and........I Am Looking Directly At It. It features Wen Qing bossing Wei Wuxian around and Wei Wuxian’s canon he-wants-to-be-pregnant kink. It’s........I liked it.

palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, M, 15k) ***

The realization strikes Song Lan like a bolt of lightning: Xiao Xingchen laughs, and he wants with a sudden, stunning desperation to kiss the mirth from his beautiful mouth. How, precisely, he is meant to manage that—that, he has no idea at all.

Or: introspective meditations on touch, trust, and the problem of desire.

I Am Baby and for some reason cannot handle how sad the entire Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen storyline ended up so I rarely read songchen fics, and when I do they’re always soft pre-canon fics like this one. Luckily there are some very beautiful and moving pre-canon songchen fics!!! I love you fandom!!

purpose and ritual by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 8k)

Song Zichen has beautiful hands. He's a powerful swordsman, strong and skilled, unfairly impressive and unreasonably handsome. He is devoted and self-disciplined and he takes direction like a dream. And he doesn't touch people—no one at all, if he can help it, except for Xiao Xingchen.

The poets might call him a saint, but Xiao Xingchen is so very, very human.

More of the same :-)

born to sweet delight by la_dissonance (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 10k)

Xiao Xingchen lightly jumps into the center of the pool, the water a shock that cools his sticky, heated skin, and does nothing for the heat building inside him. When he surfaces, pushing the hair out of his face, he finds Song Lan's gaze and meets it. Between them, everything goes both ways. What Song Lan will offer, Xiao Xingchen will freely give too.

Or, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan meet, pledge their lives to each other, and then fall in love.

This is about the angstiest I will go for songchen and its still absolutely Baby Soft lmfao!!!!!!

Pin it down by rheawrites (Jiang Yanli/Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixuan/Nie Mingjue, E, 2k)

“Yanli, I did not lie on our wedding night. You are the only woman I have gone to bed with. But… there was a man.”

“Oh?” Yanli blinks up at him. She does not appear horrified, or betrayed, which is surely a good sign.

Jin Zixuan swallows. “It was Sect Leader Nie,” he says quickly, as though that will make it easier.

“…Oh,” says Yanli, and her eyes are dark.

-

Jin Zixuan tells his wife a war story. Or, two thousand words of Jin Zixuan getting railed.

Have you ever looked at Jin Zixuan and been like “I bet that mf likes getting PEGGED!!!!!!!!” Well here’s the fic for you. 

*YIBO VOICE* DIDI LOVES YOU! (YIZHAN RPF)

never really over by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

The thing is: it would be good to see Xiao Zhan again — if Yibo could just trust himself to be normal.

Author gdgdbaby is the yizhan master, so here are five of my personal favorites of their fics, starting with this post-filming reunion fic that was the first yizhan fic I ever read and HIT real good after having just finished the show myself.

pedagogy by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 17k) ***

Yibo opens his mouth and says, "I want to learn," barreling past the rapid rise of Xiao Zhan's eyebrows. "To last longer. Will you teach me?"

Quick-fire Yibo comes too easily and Xiao Zhan helps train him to last longer :-)

you’re the reason that i just can’t concentrate by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

Xiao Zhan hears about it from Yu Bin, which probably should've been the first warning sign.

Yibo was only 20 when they filmed the untamed, which lends itself perfectly to fics like this.

a truth so loud you can’t ignore by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 5k)

It's their last day of filming in Hengdian when the secret comes out.

If yibo has to be a fictional virgin than SO DOES XIAO ZHAN!

if you would only let you by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 32k) ***

"Well?" Yibo demands. Past the severe frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, a flicker of the old him slips through, the persistent boy who shoved his way into Xiao Zhan's space without a second thought and made a home for himself there. "Are you coming or not?"

Xiao Zhan's heart twists. He forcibly settles it back in his chest. He's only told Yibo no once in his entire life, and it was already the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Okay," Xiao Zhan murmurs, quiet but decisive, and thumbs his phone off. "Let's go."

Like I said, all gdgdbaby fics are incredibly good, super well written, and very hot, but this one does stand out from the bunch for being a Full Epic Romance! This is one of Chi’s favorite fics so that should speak to it’s quality!

baby, who’s counting by nobirdstofly (Yizhan, E, 12k)

Xiao Zhan gasps, trying to rein in another peal of giggles. “What do I owe you anyway?”

Yibo shrugs one shoulder, and his smirk deepens. “Haven’t decided.”

Xiao Zhan’s still staring at him, laughter gone in his dry throat, when he hears someone yell for a reset. Yibo’s eyes are so, so dark, and he hasn’t stopped watching Xiao Zhan this whole time. Xiao Zhan swallows, nods, and pushes every dirty thought out of his head.

(Or: Yibo bets Xiao Zhan he'll break first during a take, Xiao Zhan loses, and it's all downhill from there.)

Ah sex bets, who doesn’t love sex bets!

Mystery Dance by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 16k)

"That? That's your confession?" Yibo's toppled onto Xiao Zhan's side and is clutching his shoulder, trying not to fall over. "That's pathetic!"

"Oh, what, you can do better?" Zhuocheng is pretty flushed and there's a challenge in his voice that Yibo just can't walk away from.

"Hell yeah, I can. Hit me, Yu Bin." Yu Bin cheers and refills Yibo's shot glass. "All right!" Yibo downs the shot, gags only slightly, and says, "Everyone! I'm a fucking virgin!"

WHAT’S better than a Yibo virgin fic? A SECOND YIBO VIRGIN FIC!

This author also writes extremely good yizhan threesomes so here’s three of them!

Some Nights by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Xuan Lu (Jiang Yanli), E, 2k)

Xuan Lu opened her legs to him and Xiao Zhan wasted no time diving in. He pressed his mouth against her pussy, licking her out steadily as her thighs trembled around him. She was nestled between Yibo's legs and if Xiao Zhan looked up, not only could he see the planes of her body, her small breasts going up and down with her breathing, ribs expanding, her tipped back head and open mouth, but Yibo, gaze boring into Xiao Zhan's as he ate Xuan Lu out.

The entire cast is hot and there is no reason they shouldn’t ALL fuck! Not one reason!!!!!!

gege loves you by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Wang Zhuocheng (Jiang Cheng)), E, 7k)

"We are very sorry," Xiao Zhan murmured as he unbuttoned Zhuocheng's jeans while Yibo kissed his ear, "for how we've been acting."

"Is this how you apologize to everyone," Zhuocheng panted, hands already going for his zipper to help Xiao Zhan along, "or am I special?"

WHEW LORD!!!!!!!!! WHEW!!!!!!!

Talking in the Dark by mrsronweasley (Yizhan (Side Xiao Zhan/M/F), E, 14k)

Xiao Zhan has a light-hearted romp of a threeway with some friends, then makes the mistake of telling Yibo. It goes down.

A non-yizhan threesome BUT features jealous!yibo which is a ton of fun.

Finally, a couple AUs!

With Joy and Purpose by feenwitch (Yizhan, E, 30k) ***

Yibo has been alone for approximately five Earth years when Xiao Zhan crash lands on his planet.

YIZHAN ANDROID AU!!!!!!!! This is a very star trek-esque universe which is fun, but the fic itself is also CRAZY interesting and moving and beautiful!!!!!!!!! It’s A LOT! This was a rec from Nina, so thank you Nina!

Bound With a Same-Heart Knot by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 59k)

London, 1892. Xiao Zhan, a promising young attache at the Chinese embassy is tasked with showing the new ambassador's son Wang Yibo around London. The inevitable happens.

Victorian AU! I actually think you already read this, but included for posterity.

AND SCENE! This is the result of two months of daily fic reading, having 50 tabs of fic open at any given time, reading truly anything and everything, and Loving The Untamed. I’m SO EXCITED you’re diving into fic for this show and I can’t wait to talk to you about all of them and to have someone to scream with! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

#the untamed #fic #the untamed fic rec #holy gosh diddly darn moly #this is long as hell and has approximately 950k words of fic in it #my magnum opus!!!! #what's even more wild is that this literally doesnt even scratch the surface #i am constantly reading more #from the time i started putting this rec together until now #i added two new fics that i read and thought were amazing #there is no dearth of good shit to read in this fandom #ANYWAYS congrats on finishing (tomorrow)! #i cant wait to talk fic! #i hope you enjoy this list! #sorry it is genuinely absurdly long!

[tlhnetwork]

OCTOBER’s Chain of Gold Flash Fiction by Cassandra Clare

Lucie and Ghosts

LONDON, 1897

“There are many kinds of ghosts,” Jessamine said, “but they tend to fall into three categories. You have mostly known ghosts like me, who are kind and beautiful and have wonderful personalities.”

Lucie almost snorted, but luckily Jessamine didn’t seem to notice. They were in the courtyard of the Institute, where Lucie was playing, and avoiding her family. Woolsey Scott was coming over for tea, and they were busy straightening up and putting away the silver — like all werewolves, he was allergic. Lucie didn’t mind Woolsey Scott, except that like most of the adults who visited the Institute he was tremendously boring, and also when he looked at her she felt that he was judging her for her untidiness and her ink-stained fingers. She had snuck off to play in the garden, and when nobody had come to fetch her, she decided she was safe.

Perhaps they assumed the coming rain would drive her back inside. The sky was thick with leaden clouds, and while the rain held off for now, the air contained that particular scent that meant it was inevitable.

She had made up a game to go with a story she had been composing recently. It was about a well-brought up young girl who was forced to become a pirate queen to save her kidnapped parents, and discovered she had quite a knack for it. She ran around the garden, weaving between bushes, imagining the she was a pirate queen whose sailors had whipped up a mutiny. The key was to look deeply distressed, extremely tragic, then spin around fast, stabbing out with the stick she was using as a sword.

She had stopped to decide whether the pirate queen should sport a silver mask or a black one when Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, came floating down from an upper window like a torn page falling in a breeze. Lucie had known Jessamine her whole life, and understood that Jessamine had been friends with her parents when she was alive, though none of them had ever told her the full story. Lucie thought of Jessamine mostly as part of the furniture, a drifting presence that seemed content to wander through the halls of the Institute and occasionally criticize the place’s new modern décor and Lucie’s father’s choice of clothes.

“Hullo, Jessamine,” Lucie said now. She was disappointed; she had been enjoying her game. She hoped she would remember all the details of the pirate queen and the mutiny so she could write them down when she was back inside.

“Lucie,” Jessamine said, “I think it is time to speak with you about ghosts.”

“Now?” said Lucie in dismay.

Jessamine looked up at the sky. “It is the right weather for ghosts,” she said. “Now, listen.

“Some ghosts stay among the living because unfinished business holds them here. Some stay to protect those they love. And some stay because of hatred, malice, bitterness.” She ruffled Lucie’s hair; it felt like being brushed by a breeze. “You must learn to ignore that kind of ghost. Turn away from them. They feed off your fear. Without your fear they can do nothing to you.”

“I’ll remember,” Lucie murmured.

Jessamine cocked her head at Lucie. “Mind that you do,” she said, and vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Lucie assumed that Jessamine had become a ghost in order to protect those she loved, but she was very strange regardless. A little more doubtful, she returned to her game. In the distance was a noise that might have been thunder or might have just been the bustle of London.

Her game took her out of the Institute’s courtyard and down the road a bit. The street was almost empty, but at one point Lucie whirled around to confront the boatswain who had pretended loyalty to her, while actually working for the mutinous first mate, and almost stabbed an actual person. She gasped, and took a step back. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The woman who stood before her wore a dark gray Victorian dress that gave her the look of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. In her gloved hand was a battered black valise. Her face was thin and pale and peaked, her hair straggling.

Lucie waited awkwardly, uncertain what to say. She should have remained on the Institute’s grounds, where glamour would have ensured no unexpected encounters with mundane humans. The woman considered her, and Lucie wondered if perhaps she wasn’t a mundane after all. But she had no runes, so she wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Could she be a Downworlder? She showed no outward signs of being a faerie or warlock or werewolf, and though she was pale, she was out in daylight, so she couldn’t be a vampire.

“I must ask something of you, little girl.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Are your parents looking for a governess? I am an excellent governess.”

She held out a paper—her credentials, perhaps, but Lucie’s attention was arrested by the woman’s hand.

It was no longer gloved. Now it was skeletal, the bone white as snow. Dark red blood was dripping from the ends of her fingers, soaking into the paper.

Lucie took a step back, breath catching in her throat. “You’re a ghost,” she said, almost without meaning to. But a ghost had never walked up to her on the street like this, certainly not one with skeletal hands. She looked back up at the ghost’s face. It was gaunt, slightly distorted, and it frightened her. “You can’t trick me,” Lucie said, trying to sound brave. “I can see you for what you are.”

“What a clever little girl,” The ghost’s raspy voice took on an unpleasant tone. “I don’t like clever little girls. I used to look after six of them. They played tricks on me and taunted me. One night I went up to their room and stabbed them, one at a time, all through their clever little hearts.”

Lucie’s blood ran cold. The ghost reached out, as if it were going to touch Lucie’s own heart, and she turned and ran full tilt in the direction of her home. She remembered what Jessamine had said, but how could she not be afraid? She could feel the presence of the ghost behind her, a prickling at the back of her neck. Lucie had just reached the gate when she stumbled over a loose stone and fell, scraping her knee on the path.

The ghost glided forward, reaching as though to help her up. “You could be my new pupil….”

Lucie scrambled away. “Stop! Get back!”

To her surprise, the ghost sprang away, looking startled. Perhaps little girls didn’t ordinarily yell at it. Lucie was about to scream for help, but help had already arrived.

Jessamine descended from the sky and stood between Lucie and the woman. But this was Jessamine as Lucie had never seen her: an avenging angel, looming above both Lucie and the ghost-woman, icy fury on her face. Lucie gasped in shock as Jessamine raised her hands, as if she were about to perform some terrifying incantation.

“No,” the ghost-woman moaned, her mouth yawning open horribly, showing a cavern of blackness. “I did not know this one was guarded. I did not know….”

“You will flee from here,” Jessamine commanded, and even her voice was different, deep and wild, like the crashing of waves. “You will leave this place, foul spirit!”

The ghost cowered for a moment, then vanished into nothingness.

Lucie lay on the garden path, staring up at Jessamine, who had shrunk down to her usual size. “Stop gaping, Lucie, it’ll give you wrinkles. Come on, up with you.” She had returned to her normal mien, pretty and dignified and distant.

“Thank you,” said Lucie faintly.

“Mind how you go,” Jessamine said sternly. “And heed what I’ve told you. There is more than one kind of ghost.” And she drifted up again and vanished.

The lesson stayed with Lucie for a long time. She never blamed Jessamine for not knowing there was a fourth kind of spirit. Even if Jessamine had known, she could not have prepared Lucie for the fact that meeting him would change her life forever.

#the last hours #the infernal devices #chain of gold #the shadowhunter chronicles #lucie herondale #jessamine lovelace #cassandra clare #tid #tlh #tsc

[queenhelenblackthorn]

Chain of Gold October Flash Fiction

London, 1897 

“There are many kinds of ghosts,” Jessamine said, “but they tend to fall into three categories. You have mostly known ghosts like me, who are kind and beautiful and have wonderful personalities.”

Lucie almost snorted, but luckily Jessamine didn’t seem to notice. They were in the courtyard of the Institute, where Lucie was playing, and avoiding her family. Woolsey Scott was coming over for tea, and they were busy straightening up and putting away the silver — like all werewolves, he was allergic. Lucie didn’t mind Woolsey Scott, except that like most of the adults who visited the Institute he was tremendously boring, and also when he looked at her she felt that he was judging her for her untidiness and her ink-stained fingers. She had snuck off to play in the garden, and when nobody had come to fetch her, she decided she was safe.

Perhaps they assumed the coming rain would drive her back inside. The sky was thick with leaden clouds, and while the rain held off for now, the air contained that particular scent that meant it was inevitable.

She had made up a game to go with a story she had been composing recently. It was about a well-brought up young girl who was forced to become a pirate queen to save her kidnapped parents, and discovered she had quite a knack for it. She ran around the garden, weaving between bushes, imagining the she was a pirate queen whose sailors had whipped up a mutiny. The key was to look deeply distressed, extremely tragic, then spin around fast, stabbing out with the stick she was using as a sword.

She had stopped to decide whether the pirate queen should sport a silver mask or a black one when Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, came floating down from an upper window like a torn page falling in a breeze. Lucie had known Jessamine her whole life, and understood that Jessamine had been friends with her parents when she was alive, though none of them had ever told her the full story. Lucie thought of Jessamine mostly as part of the furniture, a drifting presence that seemed content to wander through the halls of the Institute and occasionally criticize the place’s new modern décor and Lucie’s father’s choice of clothes.

“Hullo, Jessamine,” Lucie said now. She was disappointed; she had been enjoying her game. She hoped she would remember all the details of the pirate queen and the mutiny so she could write them down when she was back inside.

“Lucie,” Jessamine said, “I think it is time to speak with you about ghosts.”

“Now?” said Lucie in dismay.

Jessamine looked up at the sky. “It is the right weather for ghosts,” she said. “Now, listen.

“Some ghosts stay among the living because unfinished business holds them here. Some stay to protect those they love. And some stay because of hatred, malice, bitterness.” She ruffled Lucie’s hair; it felt like being brushed by a breeze. “You must learn to ignore that kind of ghost. Turn away from them. They feed off your fear. Without your fear they can do nothing to you.”

“I’ll remember,” Lucie murmured.

Jessamine cocked her head at Lucie. “Mind that you do,” she said, and vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Lucie assumed that Jessamine had become a ghost in order to protect those she loved, but she was very strange regardless. A little more doubtful, she returned to her game. In the distance was a noise that might have been thunder or might have just been the bustle of London.

Her game took her out of the Institute’s courtyard and down the road a bit. The street was almost empty, but at one point Lucie whirled around to confront the boatswain who had pretended loyalty to her, while actually working for the mutinous first mate, and almost stabbed an actual person. She gasped, and took a step back. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The woman who stood before her wore a dark gray Victorian dress that gave her the look of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. In her gloved hand was a battered black valise. Her face was thin and pale and peaked, her hair straggling.

Lucie waited awkwardly, uncertain what to say. She should have remained on the Institute’s grounds, where glamour would have ensured no unexpected encounters with mundane humans. The woman considered her, and Lucie wondered if perhaps she wasn’t a mundane after all. But she had no runes, so she wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Could she be a Downworlder? She showed no outward signs of being a faerie or warlock or werewolf, and though she was pale, she was out in daylight, so she couldn’t be a vampire.

“I must ask something of you, little girl.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Are your parents looking for a governess? I am an excellent governess.”

She held out a paper—her credentials, perhaps, but Lucie’s attention was arrested by the woman’s hand.

It was no longer gloved. Now it was skeletal, the bone white as snow. Dark red blood was dripping from the ends of her fingers, soaking into the paper.

Lucie took a step back, breath catching in her throat. “You’re a ghost,” she said, almost without meaning to. But a ghost had never walked up to her on the street like this, certainly not one with skeletal hands. She looked back up at the ghost’s face. It was gaunt, slightly distorted, and it frightened her. “You can’t trick me,” Lucie said, trying to sound brave. “I can see you for what you are.”

“What a clever little girl,” The ghost’s raspy voice took on an unpleasant tone. “I don’t like clever little girls. I used to look after six of them. They played tricks on me and taunted me. One night I went up to their room and stabbed them, one at a time, all through their clever little hearts.”

Lucie’s blood ran cold. The ghost reached out, as if it were going to touch Lucie’s own heart, and she turned and ran full tilt in the direction of her home. She remembered what Jessamine had said, but how could she not be afraid? She could feel the presence of the ghost behind her, a prickling at the back of her neck. Lucie had just reached the gate when she stumbled over a loose stone and fell, scraping her knee on the path.

The ghost glided forward, reaching as though to help her up. “You could be my new pupil….”

Lucie scrambled away. “Stop! Get back!”

To her surprise, the ghost sprang away, looking startled. Perhaps little girls didn’t ordinarily yell at it. Lucie was about to scream for help, but help had already arrived.

Jessamine descended from the sky and stood between Lucie and the woman. But this was Jessamine as Lucie had never seen her: an avenging angel, looming above both Lucie and the ghost-woman, icy fury on her face. Lucie gasped in shock as Jessamine raised her hands, as if she were about to perform some terrifying incantation.

“No,” the ghost-woman moaned, her mouth yawning open horribly, showing a cavern of blackness. “I did not know this one was guarded. I did not know….”

“You will flee from here,” Jessamine commanded, and even her voice was different, deep and wild, like the crashing of waves. “You will leave this place, foul spirit!”

The ghost cowered for a moment, then vanished into nothingness.

Lucie lay on the garden path, staring up at Jessamine, who had shrunk down to her usual size. “Stop gaping, Lucie, it’ll give you wrinkles. Come on, up with you.” She had returned to her normal mien, pretty and dignified and distant.

“Thank you,” said Lucie faintly.

“Mind how you go,” Jessamine said sternly. “And heed what I’ve told you. There is more than one kind of ghost.” And she drifted up again and vanished.

The lesson stayed with Lucie for a long time. She never blamed Jessamine for not knowing there was a fourth kind of spirit. Even if Jessamine had known, she could not have prepared Lucie for the fact that meeting him would change her life forever.

#lucie herondale #jessamine lovelace #the last hours #the infernal devices #the shadowhunter chronicles #flash fiction

[underground-monarch]

aight so after spending 3 full days tidying my room and re-sorting the storage in search of my DS charger (didn't find it - ended up buying a new one off ebay), i have some advice for anyone else whose room/house is in need of a tidy:

if you are a hoarder, like me, and you find yourself saying "i'll keep this just in case" as an excuse to not get rid of stuff, try finishing the sentence as a way to get around that. And i don't mean just "in case i need it"; think about what specifically you might need it for. As an exanple, i had a lot of used wrapping paper that i saved from various past birthdays and christmases; "i'll keep this in case i want to use it for iris folding" i said to myself, and then stored it neatly in a box that i had emptied of all its random crap and re-dedicated to just art and craft supplies. Among the stuff that was emptied out of that box was the leftover skeleton of the panels from one of those wooden sculptures of animals that you punch out the pieces and slot them together, which i had so far kept because i thought i might want to use it to trace out and make another one from cardboard or something like that. Realistically, though, i'm never gonna do that; it had been in that box for a good half a decade or more, right next to some appropriately-sized pieces of cardboard, and not been used. So i got rid of them.

I'm not saying get rid of everything - as with the Marie Kondo formula, 'if it sparks joy, keep it'. But having a real reason for keeping things ("it's sentimental" is a real reason) is a good filter to stop yourself from ending up with boxes and boxes overflowing with miscellaneous crap.

As i mentioned earlier, also having a reason behind how and where things are stored is another bit of good advice. It may seem redundant to say it, but for me, all of the 6 boxes that i went through were just full of whatever random stuff would fit (hence why i thought they would be reasonable places to look for my DS charger, even though i have looked for it in those boxes multiple times sporadically over the last few years), and the way i dealt with that was to just empty them all out onto my bed (i had to sleep downstairs in the guest room for 2 nights) and then divide them into categories and re-store them in different boxes based on those categories. For example, i had various containers filled with rocks and fossils and stuff, so i amalgamated them into one box along with a few other things, and that became the 'sticks, stones, feathers and bones' box. Another box became the "toys" box (yes i am an adult, and get your mind out of the gutter if it found itself there), and i put toys in quotes because while i have bags and drawers filled with stuffed toys, this box has stuff like my spare Build-a-Bear clothes and the leather collars that i took off plush dogs and stuff like that. A third box became dedicated to notebooks, both empty and in-progress, as a way to get them off my already overflowing bookshelves. (Linking back to the 'have a reason to keep things' point, i put out a lot of unused notebooks out to go because they were A. unused, and B. were formatted in a way i didn't like, e.g. the line spacing was too big for my small handwriting and preference for tetris-ing as much as possible into a space, or they were sectioned off by tabs like a folder.)

This post came out a lot longer than i meant it to, but i hope at least some of it migjt be helpful to someone :)

#ky makes word noises #tidying tips #idk how to tag this

[maxidentally]

Chain of Gold flash fiction

LONDON, 1897

“There are many kinds of ghosts,” Jessamine said, “but they tend to fall into three categories. You have mostly known ghosts like me, who are kind and beautiful and have wonderful personalities.”

Lucie almost snorted, but luckily Jessamine didn’t seem to notice. They were in the courtyard of the Institute, where Lucie was playing, and avoiding her family. Woolsey Scott was coming over for tea, and they were busy straightening up and putting away the silver — like all werewolves, he was allergic. Lucie didn’t mind Woolsey Scott, except that like most of the adults who visited the Institute he was tremendously boring, and also when he looked at her she felt that he was judging her for her untidiness and her ink-stained fingers. She had snuck off to play in the garden, and when nobody had come to fetch her, she decided she was safe.

Perhaps they assumed the coming rain would drive her back inside. The sky was thick with leaden clouds, and while the rain held off for now, the air contained that particular scent that meant it was inevitable.

She had made up a game to go with a story she had been composing recently. It was about a well-brought up young girl who was forced to become a pirate queen to save her kidnapped parents, and discovered she had quite a knack for it. She ran around the garden, weaving between bushes, imagining the she was a pirate queen whose sailors had whipped up a mutiny. The key was to look deeply distressed, extremely tragic, then spin around fast, stabbing out with the stick she was using as a sword.

She had stopped to decide whether the pirate queen should sport a silver mask or a black one when Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, came floating down from an upper window like a torn page falling in a breeze. Lucie had known Jessamine her whole life, and understood that Jessamine had been friends with her parents when she was alive, though none of them had ever told her the full story. Lucie thought of Jessamine mostly as part of the furniture, a drifting presence that seemed content to wander through the halls of the Institute and occasionally criticize the place’s new modern décor and Lucie’s father’s choice of clothes.

“Hullo, Jessamine,” Lucie said now. She was disappointed; she had been enjoying her game. She hoped she would remember all the details of the pirate queen and the mutiny so she could write them down when she was back inside.

“Lucie,” Jessamine said, “I think it is time to speak with you about ghosts.”

“Now?” said Lucie in dismay.

Jessamine looked up at the sky. “It is the right weather for ghosts,” she said. “Now, listen.

“Some ghosts stay among the living because unfinished business holds them here. Some stay to protect those they love. And some stay because of hatred, malice, bitterness.” She ruffled Lucie’s hair; it felt like being brushed by a breeze. “You must learn to ignore that kind of ghost. Turn away from them. They feed off your fear. Without your fear they can do nothing to you.”

“I’ll remember,” Lucie murmured.

Jessamine cocked her head at Lucie. “Mind that you do,” she said, and vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Lucie assumed that Jessamine had become a ghost in order to protect those she loved, but she was very strange regardless. A little more doubtful, she returned to her game. In the distance was a noise that might have been thunder or might have just been the bustle of London.

Her game took her out of the Institute’s courtyard and down the road a bit. The street was almost empty, but at one point Lucie whirled around to confront the boatswain who had pretended loyalty to her, while actually working for the mutinous first mate, and almost stabbed an actual person. She gasped, and took a step back. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The woman who stood before her wore a dark gray Victorian dress that gave her the look of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. In her gloved hand was a battered black valise. Her face was thin and pale and peaked, her hair straggling.

Lucie waited awkwardly, uncertain what to say. She should have remained on the Institute’s grounds, where glamour would have ensured no unexpected encounters with mundane humans. The woman considered her, and Lucie wondered if perhaps she wasn’t a mundane after all. But she had no runes, so she wasn’t a Shadowhunter. Could she be a Downworlder? She showed no outward signs of being a faerie or warlock or werewolf, and though she was pale, she was out in daylight, so she couldn’t be a vampire.

“I must ask something of you, little girl.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Are your parents looking for a governess? I am an excellent governess.”

She held out a paper—her credentials, perhaps, but Lucie’s attention was arrested by the woman’s hand.

It was no longer gloved. Now it was skeletal, the bone white as snow. Dark red blood was dripping from the ends of her fingers, soaking into the paper.

Lucie took a step back, breath catching in her throat. “You’re a ghost,” she said, almost without meaning to. But a ghost had never walked up to her on the street like this, certainly not one with skeletal hands. She looked back up at the ghost’s face. It was gaunt, slightly distorted, and it frightened her. “You can’t trick me,” Lucie said, trying to sound brave. “I can see you for what you are.”

“What a clever little girl,” The ghost’s raspy voice took on an unpleasant tone. “I don’t like clever little girls. I used to look after six of them. They played tricks on me and taunted me. One night I went up to their room and stabbed them, one at a time, all through their clever little hearts.”

Lucie’s blood ran cold. The ghost reached out, as if it were going to touch Lucie’s own heart, and she turned and ran full tilt in the direction of her home. She remembered what Jessamine had said, but how could she not be afraid? She could feel the presence of the ghost behind her, a prickling at the back of her neck. Lucie had just reached the gate when she stumbled over a loose stone and fell, scraping her knee on the path.

The ghost glided forward, reaching as though to help her up. “You could be my new pupil….”

Lucie scrambled away. “Stop! Get back!”

To her surprise, the ghost sprang away, looking startled. Perhaps little girls didn’t ordinarily yell at it. Lucie was about to scream for help, but help had already arrived.

Jessamine descended from the sky and stood between Lucie and the woman. But this was Jessamine as Lucie had never seen her: an avenging angel, looming above both Lucie and the ghost-woman, icy fury on her face. Lucie gasped in shock as Jessamine raised her hands, as if she were about to perform some terrifying incantation.

“No,” the ghost-woman moaned, her mouth yawning open horribly, showing a cavern of blackness. “I did not know this one was guarded. I did not know….”

“You will flee from here,” Jessamine commanded, and even her voice was different, deep and wild, like the crashing of waves. “You will leave this place, foul spirit!”

The ghost cowered for a moment, then vanished into nothingness.

Lucie lay on the garden path, staring up at Jessamine, who had shrunk down to her usual size. “Stop gaping, Lucie, it’ll give you wrinkles. Come on, up with you.” She had returned to her normal mien, pretty and dignified and distant.

“Thank you,” said Lucie faintly.

“Mind how you go,” Jessamine said sternly. “And heed what I’ve told you. There is more than one kind of ghost.” And she drifted up again and vanished.

The lesson stayed with Lucie for a long time. She never blamed Jessamine for not knowing there was a fourth kind of spirit. Even if Jessamine had known, she could not have prepared Lucie for the fact that meeting him would change her life forever.

#chain of gold #chain of gold flash fiction #cassandra clare #the last hours

[akshayyj]

The History & significance of Earthen Pottery

The earthen pots can be dated back to the start of human civilisation & existed since time immemorial.

Various shapes & sizes of earthen pots were discovered from the excavation of Harappan & Mohenjedaro sites in Indian sub-continent, which are one of the oldest civilisation found till date. The earthen Pots are also found to be used by Mayans civilisation in Egypt & by Greek & Roman civilisations in Europe.

The fact that the earthen pots are found from the excavation of thousands of year old civilisations proves not just their durability but also their rich heritage. Pottery is found to be the oldest form of handicraft which has   proved its mettle for thousands of years now & which has evolved over a period of time & can largely be classified in to 3 types:

1. Earthenware: It is the oldest form of pottery which has largely maintained its originality & stood the test of time. It follows the simple but laborious process wherein after giving the desired shape to the clay, the potter heats it into relatively high temperature (around 900 celsius). This heating causes the change of the colour to brown, black & reddish-brown depending on the type of clay used. The iron content present in the clay causes the change in colour to reddish-brown & this reddish-brown earthen pot is also known as Terracotta.

2. Stoneware: Around 2600 BC there was drastic evolution in the pottery, it was found that when the clay pot is heated between 1100 Celsius  to 1300 Celsius, it makes it non-porous & makes it hard like stone.

3. Porcelain: This is relatively modern form of pottery, which can be dated back to 1600 BC. Porcelain is made if inorganic compound of metalloid & non-metal with ionic bonds heated upto the temperature of 1400 celsius. Porcelain can be divided into 3 categories, namely:            a) Hard Paste            b) Soft Pate            c) Bone China (Which also bone ashes of animals)

Benefits of Earthenware: 1. Retains Nutrition of Food: As earthen/clay pots are porous in nature, it allows both moisture & heat to circulate through the food which retains the nutrition of the food & for the meat lovers, cooking meat in clay pots keeps it soft & tender. 2. Retains Minerals of the food & neutralises the pH balance: Once the acidity present in the foods reacts with the Alkaline present in the clay, the pH balance gets neutralises which makes the food tastes better & healthier too. Various studies have found that cooking in clay pots provides the many beneficial minerals to the human body like calcium, magnesium, iron, phosphorus & sulphur. 3. Good for heart: The cooking in clay pot requires No or very little oil, as it is naturally resistant to the heat which slows down the speed of cooking, hence it helps in retaining the the natural oil & moisture of the food. 4. Enhances the natural aroma of the food: Because of the slow cooking & porous nature of the clay, the pot retains the natural moisture & aroma of the food which gets further enhanced by the earthen flavour of the clay. 5. Economical & Environment Friendly: Earthen pots are light, both on pocket & environment, which is of extreme importance for the time & age we are living in. The clay pots are 100% biodegradable & if handled well can last really long.

Harmful effects of modern day utensils: 1. Harmful effects of Melamine crockery/utensils: Melamine is a chemical used to make plastic products harder & durable. Various Food safety organisations globally have ascertained that Melamine crockery/utensils should not be used for infants, young kids and it should be refrained for using for highly acidic food & for hot food too. 2. Harmful effects of Aluminium crockery/utensils: It is always advisable to avoid cooking in Aluminium, as it heats up very fast & reacts easily with acidic food which can be harmful for the human body. 3. Harmful effects of Stainless Steel utensils: Stainless Steel is a metal alloy made of mixture of Nickel, Silicon, Chromium & Carbon and even the slightest disbalance of this mixture can proved to be harmful for the body. 4. Harmful effects of Non-stick cookwares: Non-stick cookwares are coated with Teflon, containing cadmium & mercury which can create serious heath issues like cancer, heart disease & longer usage of the same can also result in mental & nerve disorder.

The Best way to use Earthen Pots: 1. The new earthenware should be dipped in water for 3-4 hours before the first usage.

2. Later it should be dipped in water for 15-20 minutes before every use.

3. Maintain same temperature while cooking, preferably the temperature not more then 190 Celsius to 250 Celsius

4. Cook the food in earthenware for 15-20 minutes longer then the regular utensil.

5. Never add cold water or vegetables in between the cooking.

6. As with all the utensils be careful while the clay pot is hot.

Drawback of using the Earthenware: 1. They being fragile in nature, needs little extra care while handling like the glassware.

2. It takes longer to cook in clay pots.

But it is a sure shot way for healthy life both for the human body & Mother Earth.

[meetthetank]

Peccatum Chapters 11-13

Sooooo I am booboo the fool and kept forgetting to post the new chapters here when I updated them on Ao3. On that note, enjoy a 3 for 1 mass posting

Ao3 Links: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454675/chapters/47532154 https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454675/chapters/48310690#workskin https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454675/chapters/49764506#workskin Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata), Jackass/The Commander (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), 6O (NieR: Automata), 21O, Jackass (NieR: Automata), The Commander (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, genre typical violence, long fic, Slow Burn, War, Chapter 13 is rated E Language: English 

Chapter 11: Vigo

It’s both a blessing and a curse being surrounded by droves of people. 9S likes the ability to disappear into a crowd, but the more people means the more likely he is to be discovered. At least, marching in line with the other scouts in the midst of the rest of the army, strangers wouldn’t be inspecting him too closely. That being said, he can’t shake the feeling that the eyes of the displaced and terrified citizens of Vigo were staring straight into his soul.

What was once a bustling port city is now a vacant array of buildings surrounded by hundreds of hastily pitched tents and camps. The situation is clearly much worse than White had anticipated, seeing as most if not all of the population camps about a mile away from the actual city and there seem to be no signs of protection or higher authority. They pass by several groups of people who almost swarm the march with their hands out desperately asking for things like food, water, and medicine. As much as the sight hurts 9S to watch, he had to march boldly, ignoring the cries of the suffering.

There’s multiple times where 9S has to scan the crowd. He’s certain he senses the presence of other half-demons here, though with so many in the crowd it’s hard to pick out exactly where they are. For a split second his hopes soar at the possibility that he won’t have to hide as badly here, but the tension and fear that hangs in the air quells that hope as quickly as it rises.

The city itself, vacant as it is, is one of the more opulent ones 9S has visited. Well maintained cobblestone streets, every building decorated with white marble columns contrasted by rich red brickwork and flanked by grand statues of what he assumes to be commissioning senators. He had heard the port town was wealthy, but he supposed he had to see it to believe it. If only he could take the time to actually enjoy the place.

White leads the army through the center of the practically abandoned city towards the barracks belonging to the city guard, right past a structure that chills 9S to the bone. An execution block, complete with gallows, cages, stockades, and other cruel methods of death. The dark wood and the cobblestone around it is stained dark and decorated with graffitied slurs and crude depictions of half-demons. 9S makes sure his glamor charm is hidden away under his coat and tries to not look at the grim sight for too long.

So far the only other people they pass by in Vigo are stubborn vagrants who refuse to abandon their homes, or volunteer soldiers bringing food and what little water they can find to the tent city. White commands the army to halt while she and Jackass enter the sparsely guarded judicial building, however they return with scowls. White snaps at a nearby city guard who sprints away as if he had seen a demon. 9S wonders if the Commander is the highest authority still left in the city…

Without the need to announce their arrival, since there were no authority figures besides White, the army files into the barracks and prepares themselves to settle in for a long time. There was no way to tell when they would be called into battle, so most of the soldiers believed they would be assigned to assist with moving people and ferrying supplies to and from the camps. 9S isn’t sure if he agrees with that, but he didn’t anticipate the cowardice of the ruling class, so at this point, anything could happen.

He also doesn’t expect just how cramped the city’s barracks would be. Everyone regardless of station, with the exception of Commander White herself, are nearly shoulder to shoulder as they unpack and claim beds. The scouts all congregate at the back of the bunk room, and though the tension between 9S and 801S is still palpable, they both help each other and the rest of the scouts get situated in their small spaces. 9S wonders if he should apologize for how he acted a few days back, after all, 801S was in the right. Wandering away from the group was incredibly dangerous, even if it really wasn’t his fault.

“Hey...Nines?” 32S quietly says to him once most of the others are sprawled out on their beds for a moment of rest.

“Hm? Everything okay?”

32S fidgets with a simple charm on his bracelet, “Yeah, um… Did you see-”

“The town center? Yeah…” a grim look crosses 9S’ face.

“I didn’t know Vigo was so dangerous to...us.”

“I didn’t either. According to 42S’ report, it seemed more tolerant than most towns…”

“What changed?”

“Demon attacks,” 801S muttered, shuffling past the two, “I’d imagine between regular demon sieges and whatever the thing in the bay is only fueled tensions.”

“Oh…” 32S’ head drops, “Right.”

801S sighs and places a hand on his companion’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine if you just stick with the squad. Not even an angry mob would dare attack a group of uniformed soldiers.”

9S jabs 801S in the side, perhaps a little too roughly, “Ssh. Not so loud.”

He almost snaps at 9S but shuts up once he sees the small troop of city guards and Republic soldiers shuffle through the crowd of White’s soldiers. One gives the scouts an odd look before continuing onward.

“Odds are they’ve got orders to apprehend anyone they suspect of being half breeds,” 9S whispers, “If they hear any of us it won’t matter what army we’re a part of and it would get the Commander in serious trouble.”

“Why don’t you get 2B to protect you.” says 801S with a scowl.

9S is about to snap back at him, but Jackass looming just a few beds down forces him to keep quiet. For now at least.

“Okay boys listen up,” she grumbles in a low tone, just barely loud enough for the scouts to hear, “White and I suspect something’s wrong. No Senator, no Mayor, no Councilors, not even a Merchant Lord. You lot and I are gonna do some snooping around the camps, see if any of the civilians know what’s going on. Be geared up and at the front of the barracks in an hour.”

The moment Jackass is out of earshot, the scouts let out a collective groan.

“I know it isn’t a Senator’s estate, but it’ll be a lot more comfortable than the barracks,” 6O says with a playful wink.

2B stands awkwardly in the small bedroom that her friend had rented at a steep discount through a mix of feminine charms and a flash of military affiliation. A free place to stay required her to be an official part of White’s army after all.

“All this is...for me?” she asks.

“Yep! Well, at least until we move out again. After that either you stick with us or you pay on your own.”

“Thank you,” 2B bows her head to her friend, “What do I owe you in repayment?”

“Nothing, you dumb chicken!” 6O jabs her in the rib lightly, “This is me repaying you for that stunt you got me out of during the Equinox Festival?”

“If I hadn’t covered for that mess you made with the Elder’s granddaughter and that botched wedding you would have been eaten alive. Literally.”

“I know! That’s why I’m repaying you! Besides, that innkeeper would do anything for a pretty lady.”

“Oh really?” she crosses her arms across her chest and allows for a coy smirk, “Do you know any?”

“Hey watch it, Featherbrain, I can still let you sleep in the streets.”

2B puts her hands up defensively, “I kid, I kid. Though all this does seem a bit...unnecessary. I hope that doesn’t sound ungrateful.”

“Huh? Why, are you planning on exploring the city?” a smirk of her own plays across 6O’s lips, “Ooor….are you planning on fooling around with a certain scout? Hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” 6O is taken aback by her honesty and bluntness, “...You two are really hitting it off, huh?”

2B nods, “He’s interesting and…” she shakes her to let the downy feathers beneath her hair settle before they puff out too much, “...Cute.”

“Interesting and cute, huh? Is that all it takes to win the heart of a Coatyl?”

“Please,” 2B huffs, “I’m not that easy to woo. But…”

“Buuuut….?”

“I was thinking about...um,” she turns away and tries to smooth down her hair, “...Going out to find a...stone.”

6O gasps and bounces on her heels with barely contained excitement, “Are you serious?! Oh, 2B!! When are you gonna give it to him?! You have to tell me! As your best friend and self-appointed emotional guardian, I have a right to know!”

“I don’t know. I have to find one first…”

“You come to me the moment you do! Promise?!”

“I promise, 6O.”

In hindsight, it probably would have been safer for 9S to stick with the other scouts while investigating the refugee camps, but he needed to get away from 801S and his constant jabs at his closeness to 2B. Every single time he thinks about maybe apologizing, that guy always ends up pushing back. It’s like he has mind-reading powers or something. It all just makes 9S’ blood boil.

Just thinking about 2B makes his head spin. It’s such a bizarre situation he never thought he’d find himself in, and there’s no easy solution to it. Cutting her loose wouldn’t work, she wouldn’t leave the only real lead to her sibling. That and 9S gets the feeling she’s become...attached to him, which is a whole other wheelbarrow of manure for him to sift through and possibly the reason for all the conflict between him and the other scouts.

He’d be an idiot if he denied having feelings for her. She’s strong, mysterious, and sweet beneath the abrasive personality. There were glimmers of genuine kindness that every time he gets a peek, he wants to see more and more…

God, he’s got it bad for her.

Stupid lousy goddamn sexy dragoness…

Then there was the whole issue of his bloodline and the danger that put him and 2B in, which is just...Great.

At least he could lose himself in his work. A good puzzle always kept his mind off of distressing things.

9S spends an hour or so mingling with those civilians that were involved in higher government before it all disappeared. Most declined to speak at first, but nothing a bit of wine couldn’t fix seeing as how luxuries were hard to come by. According to one tax collector, the Senator had fled the town the moment the demon first surfaced, and his assistants soon after. One by one the mayor, councilors, even treasurers secured passage out of Vigo before any of the civilians knew what was happening. Of course, 9S shouldn’t be surprised at this, but it still makes him sick to his stomach that they would just leave their people to die like this? Maybe growing up with authority figures like White, Jackass, and his mother made him less tolerant of this sort of behavior.

The last real authority figure still lingering around is an old wharfmaster, who shut down all ship traffic in the harbor after the second demon sighting. He’s much more forthcoming with information than the others, telling 9S about how shutting the harbor down was a very unpopular decision. With demon attacks on the rise, many civilians from all over flocked to the port city for passage to the blessed grounds of the Theocracy. Even with a massive mystery demon in the bay the water is still the safest option, with the other two being a vast desert and an even larger primordial bog, both filled with creatures far worse than whatever was lurking in the depths.

Unfortunately, that’s the extent of what he’s able to learn. No one seems to know where the nobles went or how long they planned on staying away. Their houses and most of their belongings were left behind and promptly ransacked once word spread, though 9S doubts if anything terribly valuable was taken.

He begins making his way back to the barracks to compile his report when he runs into his mother and the other supply wagons. On either side of the caravan are several city guards that escort them through the camps and into the city proper. 21O leads the horses pulling the raven wagon and gives a brief wave to 9S as she passes by. He sprints up to her while shoving his notebook into his satchel.

“Hey, what took you guys so long?” he says after catching his breath.

“Customs officers needed to inspect the wagons before letting us into the city.”

“Really?”

21O gives him an odd look, “Is that so hard to believe? It’s a large city important to the Republic.”

“Well, the city government is all but gone aside from a few tax collectors and a wharfmaster. Everyone else fled after the first sighting.”

She sighs, “We should have expected this.”

“At least we don’t have to pander to some stuffy aristocrat while we’re here, right?”

“In a sense, yes, but there is a good chance that those stuffy aristocrats will be sending messengers to make sure we adhere to their rules.”

“Yeah, yeah…” 9S grumbles.

“One affirmation is enough.”

“Fiiiiine.”

9S hops onto the wagon so he can finish getting all of his notes for his report written down, stopping occasionally to calm the squawking birds. It isn’t long before city hall comes into view, as well as an ornate carriage. Two nearly identical white haired men walk with White and Jackass. Something about the two of them gives 9S a...strange feeling.

“Who are they?” he asks.

21O stares at the two men for a much longer time than 9S thought necessary, “...I don’t know. They could be envoys.”

“Well,” mutters 9S, “...I have to turn my report into Jack-...The Lieutenant.” he hops off the wagon just as it passes the city hall.

“You’re not going to eavesdrop on the commander again, are you?” his mother chastises, “Remember how long you were stuck on latrine duty the last time they caught you?”

“I’m gonna catch her before their meeting, don’t worry.” he groans, but a smirk crosses his face just as 21O gets out of earshot, “...And I won’t get caught this time.”

Slipping into the city hall is easy enough. 9S is small enough his footsteps barely make a sound even on marble floors, and there’s plenty of statues, columns, and furniture of obscure him from view. The real problem is finding which of the hundreds of offices and council chambers his superior officers are using. Door after door of empty rooms, storage closets, and baffling fake doors, he finally hears the muffled grumbling of Jackass.

“...is why they had to send the two of you. Why not meet us personally.”

9S crouches near the door and eases it open just a tad so he can hear better.

“Again,” the man with long white hair says, his voice smooth and almost velvet like, “We apologize that the Senator could not be here to meet you and your army in person, but he does send his thanks for coming to his city’s aid.”

“I see,” White says, tapping her chin.

“Now, the reason for our visit,” he motions to what appears to be his twin, a man with short wild white hair, to lay a series of parchments in front of White and Jackass, “The Senator and the city councilors have compiled their plans for evacuating civilians.”

“And enlisting a Theocratic battalion is part of these evacuations?” Jackass snaps and gestures to the packet in her hands.

“Yes,” the long haired man remains calm, “They are the most effective legion to dispose of the demonic threat, and seeing as your troops are not prepared to handle an evacuation or the demon in the harbor-”

White holds up her hand, “Incorrect. My lieutenant has been devising a countermeasure of our own for some time. As for the civilians, our troops are more than capable of handling evacuations.”

The long haired man is silent for a moment while his short haired companion childishly slumps over the table, “...Very well. Under your discretion we will leave the tasks outlined in these documents to you and your army. I am...curious of this...countermeasure you mentioned. Would it be enough to eliminate the demon in the water?”

Jackass produces some documents of her own and arranges them on the table. Oh how 9S’ wishes he could see them.

“It requires two ships to carry it, but there’s enough power in cannon to level a small city. Unless this demon is immune to half a ton of solid metal flying at it at about ...three hundred miles per hour, we’re fine.”

“This contraption is...experimental, yes?”

Jackass tenses up, “Yes, but I’ve overseen every part of its design. It will work.”

He nods, “Very well. If the beast surfaces again we will prepare your...cannon. The Senator’s provisions and supplies are at your disposal.”

White bows, “Thank you. We will begin preparations for the evacuations immediately.”

The two white haired men return the bow and turn to the door. For the briefest of moments, the one with long hair locks eyes with 9S and an unnatural chill runs through his body. He’s frozen in place by the man’s hypnotic red eyes, and 9S swears he smiles at him. As they move towards him, 9S scrambles away as quickly and as quietly as he can. They don’t shout or follow or chase after, they just leave.

When they pass by him, that same chill makes 9S shudder and the hideous whispering of the girls in red begin to creep into his mind. The long haired man smirks idly as he stares in his general direction.

His inhuman, red eyes bore into 9S’ soul...

Chapter 12: Cherry Boy

With little over a week and no sign of the strange demon in the bay, 9S beings to wonder if maybe this is all just a big hoax. Perhaps the Senator and Councilors fabricated this all as a ploy to interrupt the mass evacuation, or simply to have a stronger military presence at their disposal. He’s sure that Commander White and Jackass are suspicious as well, considering they waste no time putting him and the other scouts to work. It’s mostly busy work and assisting the refugees on the outskirts of the city, but there are a number of times where they have the ulterior motive of watching Adam and Eve, the twin messengers of the Senator.

Simply looking at the twins sends shivers down his spine. Their eyes, demeanor, stark white hair, even the way they speak sets off something within him. Not to mention the fact that whenever they’re nearby, he hears the nauseating whispers of...whatever those girls in red are. He knows they’re demons, but he’s not sure which kind or if they’re full blooded or not.

Of course, 9S told Jackass of his suspicions, which were met with solemn nods and promises of “working on it”. As much as it frustrates him that there isn’t immediate action, it is a delicate situation. Those twins hold themselves in a position of power over the entire army, one false move and White would end up in a mess of trouble. Jackass needs irrefutable proof that those two aren’t human to make a proper case against them.

However, there’s only so much he can do in one day.

His entire morning and afternoon is spent assisting his mother with care of the ravens and sorting incoming mail, as well as keeping tabs on the twin messengers under the guise of simple errands for the wharfmaster. With the added bonus of 801S being assigned to assist, 9S pushes himself and 801S to complete all of their tasks as quickly as possible. Luckily, 801S agrees with him, albeit sullenly.

9S sighs to himself as he walks with 801S. Their little feud has been going on for quite some time, and frankly the whole thing exhausts him.

“Hey...801S?” he begins.

“Yeah?”

He sounds genuine at least, that’s a good sign, “I...Look I know I’ve been a jerk to you and the others recently.”

801S says nothing, but regards his friend with wary but patient eyes.

“I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve been acting recently. We’re supposed to be a team, but I’ve just been thinking of myself.”

Again, 801S says nothing for a long time, only staring at 9S while he frets with the hem of his sleeve.

“...I can hardly blame you. She is very pretty,” he says finally, a small grin creeping on his face.

9S’ face flushes red, “Y-...She is. But that doesn’t excuse the way I’ve treated everyone.”

He shrugs, “By this point it’s just me who’s still holding a grudge. But...Maybe I’m still bitter.”

“About?”

“You know…” 801S gives his friend a sad look and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh...Yeah. Listen, I know that we didn’t, um...work well as a couple, but you’re still my friend. No matter what.”

“I know that it’s just...It makes me feel weird seeing you go after someone else, especially a woman. I know I don’t have any right to feel that way but that’s the truth.”

9S rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah…”

“I owe you an apology as much as you do. So...I’m sorry for being such a jealous dunce.”

9S laughs a bit, “We really are a mess aren’t we.”

“No, just you. Mr. I’m gonna fall for a dragoness.”

“W- Wait hang on!” he sputters, “I did not fall for her!”

“Oh really?” 801S teases, and for the first time in a while, his coy smirk appears, “Then once we get back to the barracks, where were you gonna go?”

“N-None of your business!”

9S self-consciously pulls his scarf over his face and dashes away, leaving behind a laughing 801S.

“Good luck, moron!”

2B sits on 6O’s bed, legs folded beneath her. She turns a smooth, blue-ish pebble over and over in her hand while 6O combs her thin fingers through the downy undercoat of 2B’s hair.

“Soooo...Is this the one?” 6O asks, twisting a few strands into a loose braid.

“I think so, the sheen and color of this stone is much better.”

“When are you gonna give it to him?”

2B hums in thought, “I’m not sure, there isn’t very often where the two of us are alone…Perhaps I’ll ask him if he wants to go on a walk?”

“That might work, but…” she mutters, “Sorry, Toobie, but I can’t help but wonder what would happen if he doesn’t accept?”

“Well, it wouldn’t change much really,” 2B responds, “It’s merely a statement of intention.”

“You can say that all you like, but you and I both know what the common meaning of one of those stones is.”

She huffs and attempts to smooth down her hair before it becomes too fluffed up, “Hush.”

6O giggles and returns her attention to the simple pattern of plaits and braids she’s weaving through her friend’s hair. Through some of the braiding she places small colorful flowers. Some purple and blue, others bright red like drops of blood.

“Still, I can’t help but think the meaning and symbolism might be lost on him. He’s never had exposure to Coatyl culture beyond what you’ve explained to him.”

2B can’t help but agree. Without knowledge of what this stone means, it’s just a simple rock. She turns it in her hands, running her thumb over the smooth peaks and troughs of the little blue stone.

“...I’m still going to do it.”

“I know,” 6O says with a giggle, “I know better than to try and stop you once you’ve made up your mind. Oh, but you...Um, has your uh ...time, passed?” she mumbles, fidgeting with a small, hair-like feather.

“Yes, my yearly heat ended several months ago.”

6O lets out an audible sigh of relief which earns her a pointed glare from 2B, “Oh quiet, I’m allowed to fret.”

“I am not some wanton teenager. I know what I’m doing.”

“You could have fooled me.” 6O teases.

“Listen-”

Just as 2B is about to scold her dearest friend for her overbearing behavior, she spots 9S waving from just down the hall. Hastily, she stuffs the stone in one of her pockets before he gets too close.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” 6O greets as 9S lets out an annoyed groan.

“Ha ha,” he says with a deadpan tone, “I’ve never heard that one a million times.”

2B shuffles slightly as she waves to 9S, who plops down on the bed next to her.

“Wow, your hair looks really pretty with all these flowers in it!” he says while running the tips of his fingers along one of her braids, “Like a...like a snow field with little flowers poking out of it.” He knows his face is bright red, but he doesn’t feel the telltale flutters of his heart or shaking of his hands. He just smiles and runs his fingers over the patterns of braids and flowers.

6O snickers and teases him for being a budding poet, but 2B can’t help but notice how her heart skips a beat.

“Thank you…”

“Aww,” 6O coos, “Look, when she gets flustered her hair gets all poofy. Like an angry bird!”

2B shoves her friend playfully as 9S giggles next to her. Suddenly the stone in her pocket feels twice as heavy, “Ahem...Anyway, 9S, what are you doing here? I thought you were loaded with tasks?”

“Ugh, yeah,” he groans, “But 801S and I managed to finish everything more quickly than I thought, so now I have the rest of the day to myself.”

“Ooo,” 6O says, leaning in close to the two of them, “What are you gonna do with all your free time?”

“Um,” 9S looks to the floor, his face suddenly heating up, “Well, 2B, if you’re also free, I was thinking maybe we could explore the city? It’s really quiet since everyone is trying to leave. Usually places like this are swarming with tons of people all the time. It can get pretty overwhelming.”

2B and 6O exchange glances with each other. 6O sports a wide grin and excited eyes, while 2B’s face remains as neutral as ever, aside from the slight shifting of the flowers in her hair.

“Sure,” says 2B, “I’ve never been to a human city before, at least not one as big as this. I’d appreciate a tour.”

“Great!” 9S nearly bounces to his feet, taking 2B’s hand in his and pulling her up as well, “I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes! I’m gonna change out of my uniform!”

Before 2B can respond he’s already out the door, his excited footsteps echoing through the barracks. She feels her heart flutter like the wings of a fledgling and thinks herself rather silly.

6O leans close to her, a wicked grin spreading across her face, “Soooo….”

“Hush.”

“Come on Two Beeeeee! This is the perfect opportunity!”

“Hush.”

She grabs 2B’s shoulders and rocks them back and forth, “You gotta!! 2B you have to!”

“Hush,” 2B shuffles herself away from 6O and rises to her feet. She lifts her scabbard and slings the strap across her shoulders, then makes her way towards the barrack’s exit, “....Maybe I will. Depending on how things go.”

The excited shouting of 6O is the last thing 2B hears before she shuts the door behind her.

Even 2B, someone who had never set foot in a city this size, couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the vacant streets and silent buildings. The comparisons to a forest of stone trees were not lost on her. A forest with no life in it whatsoever, aside from the handful of stubborn folks who seem determined to die in the place they were born. Such devotion to their homeland sends a pang of guilt through her heart, and reminds her of where she can never return to…

Yet those melancholy thoughts are quickly swept away by 9S’ enthusiasm. He gleefully leads her through the maze of streets and buildings, plazas and squares, pointing out the unique history of each statue or piece of architecture. While his wealth of knowledge is staggering, 2B finds herself more interested in feeling the different wind currents shift and waver, and imagining how to successfully fly on such currents. Even though she isn’t exactly listening to him, 9S’ cheerful chattering does make her feel more at ease in this foreign and claustrophobic environment.

Even the local fauna seem to have fled, aside from the street cats that peek out from their hiding places to watch 9S. One skinny orange cat even follows them for a few blocks, its tail held high the entire time. A low growl from 2B sends it scurrying away.

“Aw...that one was cute,” 9S pouts.

2B huffs, “Don’t like cats.”

“How come?” he asks, pacing a bit in front of her.

“Back in my homeland, we had to always be on guard for shadowcats. They make your...what are they called,” she mutters, “Lions? Yes, lions. They make lions look like harmless kittens.”

“Okay...that’s terrifying,” 9S muses and falling back in step besides 2B.

“Quite. They are far too silent for something as large as they are.”

9S shudders at the image his mind conjures of predators the size of the buildings that surround them, lurking just out of sight. Desperate to change the subject, he grabs hold of 2B’s hand and pulls her forward with a nervous grin plastered on his face.

“Come on, let’s find something to eat! There’s bound to be someone still running a stand or two around here. What are you in the mood for?”

The existence of a choice catches her off guard, “Hm…”

“We could see if there’s someone making sweetbreads! Or something hearty and warm, like soup or meat pies!” his eyes light up at the thought of these foods, but suddenly his face falls, “Oh...wait I don’t have a whole lot of money right now…”

The last thing 2B wants is to quash his enthusiasm, but she doubts that anyone with something to live for would be anywhere near this town. In fact the only humans she’s seen in the city besides those affiliated with White’s army were a small group of vagrants idlying by a run down pier. They huddle around a small fire surrounded by shields, which protect it from the salty wind blowing off of the water.

She stops suddenly as an idea comes to her.

“Hm? What’s wrong, 2B?”

“Why not go to the harbor?” she asks, pointing towards the pier, “It is free food, after all.”

While she does have a point 9S can’t help but remember the state he found her the first time they met. Floundering around like a crippled seagull, barely able to keep her head above water. Looking back on it now, he'd consider it funny if it wasn’t a threat to her life, and even then it was still pretty funny. Still, he would rather not have to dive into the murky, possibly demon infested waters of the harbor to rescue her once again.

“Alright,” 9S says, “But only if you let me teach you how us weak humans fish. You know, without almost drowning.”

“Hmph.” 2B crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at him, “The techniques of my people have been honed for millenia. Do not insult the proud dragon species.”

He holds back a laugh, “Only if you promise not to make me jump in the water after you.”

A low growl is the only response he gets, which only serves to make him smile more. She really is cute when she’s flustered.

2B doesn’t agree to his proposal out right, but she does follow behind him while he looks through the abandoned merchant stalls for loose equipment. Most if not all of the stands are void of anything useful, whether it was packed up when the owner left or picked clean by vagrants was impossible to tell, but there were a handful that still contained hidden treasures.

9S wasn’t about to expect to find a full fishing set and box of tackle, but he did find a worn rod and a spool of wire. In another he found an old box of hardtack and cheese. Not as ideal a bait as worms or insects, but it would do in a pinch. 2B just stares, bewildered by the seemingly random tools he collects, but makes no comment. She only watches him with those bright, curious eyes. He can’t help but smile at her.

“Come on, let’s go find a good spot,” he says, nodding his head towards the bay, “Or-...Hey can you pick out where there’s the most fish?”

With a nod, 2B wanders over to the edge of the dock and peers into the water. She stands there, unmoving and silent aside from the occasional turn of her head. Sometimes she prowls across the edge, stalking some unseen movement. Unable to contain his curiosity, 9S leans over, dangerously close to the water, to get a look at her face and what she’s looking at. Her eyes, wide and darkend, dart across the surface. It’s mesmerizing to watch her, so mesmerizing that when she suddenly turns to speak to him, he nearly jumps out of his skin and loses his balance.

“This spot seems to be a spawning ground,” 2B says, fixing her hair, “There are plentiful fish here.”

“R-..right. Okay,” he inwardly curses how easy it is to get him to blush, as he can already feel his face heating up, “Here, lemme show you how to bait the line.”

Careful not to stab his fingers, 9S hooks a piece of cheese onto the end of the line, “You want the barb at the end to be poking through enough so that it hooks into the fish’s mouth when it tries to get the bait, but not so much that it can just take it without hooking themselves.”

2B’s brow furrows as he casts the line into the harbor and sits on the edge, his feet dangling above the water, “Now what?”

“Now we wait for a fish to bite. Once you feel the line start to tug and pull away, you reel it in. That’s really all there is to it.”

“Seems...Boring,” she says, yet sits beside him anyway.

“That depends on how hungry the fish are,” he answers, “If they are, we should have a bite within-...!”

As if on cue, the rod dips into the water, then whatever is on the other end nearly rips it from 9S’ hands. With a quick yelp, he grabs hold of the fishing rod and yanks backward with all of his might. Something small breaks the surface of the water and with practiced movements, 9S reels in a fish about the size of his hand.

“See? Easy!” He holds up the wriggling fish to 2B with a bright smile, “You wanna give it a shot?”

2B eyes the fish, “...What are you going to do with that?”

“Oh, usually I toss them back. Why?” he asks, working the hook out of the fish’s mouth.

The moment the fish is free, 2B snatches it away with a lightning quick swipe of her clawed hand.

“I’m hungry,” she says and bites the head clean off of its body.

“Urgh…,” 9S fights back the nauseous churning of his gut, “Fine, but if you want to eat more you have to catch your own.”

She swallows the still-thrashing tail in one gulp, “...Okay, deal.”

9S hands her the rod and some bait then takes a step back. Just in case. She fumbles with the hook and ends up stabbing her fingers more than once before the bit of bread is through the barb. It’s worth the sideways glares he gets from her to laugh at her stubbornness.

“Need any help?” he teases.

She lets out a growl before tossing the line into the harbor and kneeling down next to him, “Quiet.”

Watching 2B fish is far from the relaxing and meditative activity 9S expects it to be. It’s more akin to watching a hawk stalk its prey from its perch. Each movement of the fish swimming just out of his sight, each ripple of the water is something 2B can decipher and track with precision he could only dream of. Her shoulders tense each time the line moves, whether by the currents or by a curious fish. She looks so poised he’s half worried that she might leap into the water at any given moment.

A few of the civilians who chose to stay in the city wander over to watch this strange woman in strange robes fish in her bizarre manner. 2B doesn’t seem to notice, as her concentration is locked solely on the water and what lies beneath.

“Try moving the rod a little. Fish tend to like things that move like prey,” he whispers directly in her ear so as not to disturb her too much.

The very tip of the rod dips once, twice, then in a flash of movement too fast for 9S to even see 2B leaps back and rips a large trout out of the water with a magnificent splash. The civilians cheer as the fish struggles against the rod and 2B’s strength, floundering on the ground pathetically. She grins at her catch, flashing the pointed teeth of a predator. 9S can’t help but feel...something...as she bites into its flesh and severs its spine clean in half. Not fear, at least not entirely fear. Awe perhaps? Whatever the feeling is, it certainly makes his stomach do strange flips and his heart beat just a bit faster.

The civilians disperse quickly amidst worried murmuring and fearful stares. Some part of 9S feels as though he should be offended, but then again, as he glances at 2B eating a live fish nearly whole he can see why strangers would flee from her. After all, he almost did.

But he knows she is not some monster, despite her outward appearance and current actions. She is kind, gentle, and strong beyond compare. She is a peerless warrior, and someone he considers to be a dear friend. He…

“I…” 2B’s voice jolts 9S out of his thoughts, “I would offer to share, but…” she looks down at the remains of the trout in her hands, “Well, you said before humans can’t eat raw meats.”

“Well, not often. But I hear there are some places that think it’s a delicacy.”

Her eyes widen a bit and she tilts her head to the side in the way that makes 9S’ heart skip, “Really?”

“Mhm,” he says as he takes the fishing rod and casts it into the harbor, “Even just on our continent, there’s a lot of kinds of food specific to one area. Like on the border of the Theocracy and the Great Bog they make this special kind of sweet bread with honey that supposedly tastes like angel tears.”

“I’m not sure I see the point in all this...variation.” 2B admits after tossing the scraps of inedible fish back into the water.

9S gives her a quizzical look, “Do Coatlys not have different ways of preparing meals? Like different mixes of spices?”

“Preparing food seems to be a…human practice. We simply hunt prey or gather plants from the forest, clean, dress, and give thanks. That’s it.”

He chuckles, “I guess you must think all the effort humans put into cooking pretty silly, huh?”

“Hardly,” 2B says, shaking her head, “It’s....interesting. I’d like for you to cook for me sometime, should the occasion arise.”

9S’ face lights up like the sun, “Really?! I know tons of recipes from all over! Maybe once we’re done here, I’ll be able to go on leave for a bit, then we can try all kinds of new foods together!”

2B folds her hands into her pockets and fumbles with something unseen by 9S, “I’d like that, I think.”

Though the conversation ends, 9S finds himself enjoying their silence. More often than not he feels a bit awkward if there’s little to no banter, but this is...comfortable. He doesn’t feel the need to speak to 2B for her to know he’s enjoying her company. And the soft smile on her lips lets him know that she feels the same.

They fish together in silence, passing the rod back and forth every so often, 2B eating whatever fish looks the tastiest to her, until the sun begins to set.

“It’s gonna be dark soon, we should start heading-...” 9S begins, but as he stands up he cuts himself short, “Oh! I just remembered something!”

“Hm?” 2B hums, standing up with him.

“While I was helping the refugees earlier, I happened upon a traveling merchant who was selling something I’ve never tried before. Want to come with me?”

2B barely has the chance to nod before he grabs her hand and starts pulling her along. They jog together through the empty streets, and though she is more than capable of keeping pace beside him, 9S does not let go of her hand.

She thinks she doesn’t want him to.

It isn’t long before the sprawling complex of tents comes into view, just past the unkempt walls of Vigo. Many civilians are settling in for the night, but many more are huddled around small fires chatting with one another. The air is tense, apprehensive, but not as much as when they first arrived. 2B wrinkles her nose at the sharp scent of alcohol that hangs around certain groups, but 9S seems too focused on his destination to notice.

“Oh, good!” he says and points towards a man in holy vestments casting a blue hued spell, “He’s still here!”

A strange scent hangs in the air around this holy man. Sweet and fruity, it reminds 2B of a tree bearing bountiful fruits, but the chill in the air makes her scales itch. She watches as the holy man stir several large pots of what looks like cream while casting that chilling magic and pouring a bowl of fruit paste into the mixtures.

“Ah, the young soldier from earlier!” the holy man greets 9S as they approach, “And who is this? Another soldier?”

“Hello again!” 9S replies and waves, “No, this is my friend 2B. I convinced her to try your...cold cream?”

“Iced cream,” he says with a chuckle.

“Iced cream. I convinced her to try some with me.”

2B doesn’t speak, but nods and eyes the priest warrily.

“No need to be so wary, young one. This treat is a favorite among even the folks of the northern Theocracy,” the holy man smiles warmly at her, “Now, what flavor would you two like?”

“Flavor?” 9S blinks for a moment, “Is that what that fruit was for?”

“Exactly, my boy. I have strawberries, caramel, elderberries, cherries, dragonfruit-...”

“Cherry!” 9S yelps, then immediately shrinks down sheepishly, “Er, cherry please.”

“Of course. And for you, miss?”

2B looks back and forth between the priest and 9S, eyes wide with confusion, “Um...I don’t know. These are all new to-”

“Caramel for her. Can you put a bit of salt in it as well? She’s not a fan of too sweet food,” 9S says, stepping in front of her a bit.

A short huff comes from 2B, but her irritation is quelled by 9S simply placing his hand on hers. She makes a mental note to snap at him later for speaking for her.

“Of course of course. It will be just a moment, now.”

9S places some gold coins into a little pan of collections sitting just in front of the priest and steps back to watch his process. With one hand he stirs the thickening mixture of milk, sugar, and respective flavorings, and with another he sprinkles in a bit of salt. He casts a basic ice spell at the base of the jug till the cream becomes so thick that he must use both hands to stir. Once satisfied with the product, the holy man uses the stirring spoon to fill two simple ceramic bowls with the different flavors requested.

“There you go, enjoy you two!”

“Thank you very much,” 9S says, taking the bowls from the priest and handing 2B hers, “Come on, let’s eat on the way back.”

2B stares at the bowl as she follows after him. The cold of this frozen cream bites into the thin scales of her hands, and the scent it gives off is unlike anything she had smelled before. It’s not entirely unpleasant, just strange to her. She dares to lick it, if only a bit, and gasps loud enough to startle 9S.

“You okay? Too cold?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “No...It’s-...” her brow furrows, “I don’t understand.”

“Huh? What don’t you get?”

“How does this golden sugar taste different from the white sugar?”

9S can’t help but laugh, “It’s caramel. Boiling the sugar with water and then letting it cool changes the way it tastes.”

“How? What kind of spell is that?”

“It’s not a spell,” he swallows a small mouthful of his reddish ice cream, “Just chemistry. Though in a way, it is kind of like magic.”

“Strange…” 2B mutters, and licks at the ice cream some more.

“Indeed,” 9S says with a small giggle, “Oh, hey 32S told me about a side entrance that puts us closer to the barracks than going through the main gate. It takes us through the woods for a bit but with the two of us we should be okay.”

“Why were you worried in the first place?”

“Well there’s wolves, bears, and demons of course.” he grumbles, “Remember, I’m not as strong as you.”

“Yes, but I’m the most dangerous thing here. Aside from whatever’s in the water.”

“Oh hush, and just follow me.”

True to his word, 9S leads her through the thick forest that sprawls along the eastern side of Vigo’s walls. A small, untended road winds through the trees but patches of vegetation grow over segments of the glorified dirt path. Without a sign of human activity along with the fading light, 9S feels safe enough near 2B to deactivate his concealing spell. He taps the jewel in his pendant twice and the air around him shimmers briefly. Little stubby horns emerge from his forehead and a thin barbed tail whips sways back and forth with his stride. He feels 2B’s eyes on him, but when he turns to meet her gaze there’s no fear or malice in her eyes. He...isn’t sure what emotion he sees in her dark eyes but it makes his chest feel warm.

9S smiles and holds up his bowl of ice cream, “Hey, 2B. Check out what I can do.”

2B tilts her head. She isn’t sure what to expect from him anymore. He’s surprised her at nearly every turn. She prepares for him to toss the bowl in the air, or spin it on the tip of his tail.

No amount of preparation could save her from the shock of watching a long, pointed tongue unfurl from his mouth and lap up the frozen treat.

Her whole body simultaneously feels frozen, and unbearably hot at the same time. Either he has no idea what he’s doing to her, or he knows very, very well. His tongue coils around the ice cream like a serpent, bending and twisting and writhing in ways that make 2B’s mind conjure all manner of sinful acts.

Resolve shattered and stone burning in her pocket, she can’t fight the words that rise in her throat like acid.

“I want that inside me.”

9S stops. Everything stops. He’s fairly certain his heart stops beating too.

Did she...say…

Heat and pressure coil in his gut and suddenly his pants feel very tight. Panic and shame mix together in a horrid slurry, tearing at his insides with such fervor that he almost doubles over. He has to get out of here. He has to find a way out right now...

“I…” 9S stammers, “I have to go take care of something.”

Chapter 13: A Minor Distraction This chapter is Rated E

2B comes to the conclusion that humans are stupid.

Well, not stupid. 9S is far too intelligent for her to consider truly stupid. Rather, he seems so bound by human expectations and conventions that he acts as if he is stupid. 2B knows full well what he’s run off to “take care of”. Anyone with a functioning mind could figure that out. What she can’t figure out is why.

They are both attracted to each other in a sexual manner, why draw out this period of tension? Why not simply get it over with? He can’t enjoy this, can he?

She leans against a tree, mulling over her own frustrations. Yes, perhaps she was a bit too blunt with him and yes perhaps she forgot to present him with the stone, but if his current behavior is anything to go by it would have lead to the same conclusion.

Something 6O told her years ago comes back into her mind, something about how humans had strange rituals and societal limitations around sexual relations. The details escape her, but even the vague idea is enough to cause her frustration. Sure her own culture has its own behavior and conventions but those existed for mated pairs, not for casual sexual encounters.

She lets out a huff and smooths back her ruffled hair. It’s foolish of her to get so worked up over this. It should have been obvious to her from the start. 9S has demonic blood in him, and incubus blood at that.

A pang of guilt hits her like an arrowhead. Yes, his incubus heritage has...unfortunate connotations to it if she remembers correctly. 6O told her stories of human women visited in the dead of night by unnaturally beautiful men, only to give birth to a monster nine months later. Of course he would feel ashamed of any sort of sexual desire. Perhaps he feared losing control of himself and hurting her in some way, not that he could.

Still, agitation crept through 2B’s gut, mingling with guilt into a nauseating slurry. A part of her wants to track 9S down and just have her way with him, a very large part. At least she still has enough sense about her to keep those kinds of thoughts down. Now if only there was something she could do about the heat coiling in her gut. She needs to distract herself, it seems like a decent idea to give 9S some space at the moment. He doesn’t need to be more overwhelmed than he already is.

The little blue stone burns in her pocket. Maybe if she had explained herself thoroughly and gone through with her original plan, things would have played out differently. Or at least 9S wouldn’t be terrified of her… She hopes she hasn’t ruined her relationship with him because of her own desires.

Ugh...she needs to clear her head.

2B stretches out her arms, takes a deep breath, prepares to transform and take to the skies. 9S can defile whatever foliage he decides to. She has much cleaner means of relieving tension like this. However, a strange scent piques her interest just enough to keep her grounded for a moment, and a moment is all it takes.

It hits her full force, hard enough to throw her off balance. She reaches out to a tree to steady herself as her whole world spins. Every thought in her head leaves her, only to be replaced by carnal thoughts.

Of course. Of course someone with his heritage would have such powerful pheromones.

Uneven breaths make her chest heave. She can’t think of anything else, not unless she focuses all of her energy on simple concentration. Her face feels hot, no...her whole body feels hot. Especially the coiling pressure in her lower abdomen. It isn’t a new feeling, but it’s the first time she’s felt it this strong and outside the safety of the Elder’s Sanctum.

It’s the first time she can act on it…

Just the thought makes her mouth go dry. She could easily overpower him, make him submit to her and-...

No. Her willpower is stronger than these base urges. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she ever brought harm to 9S. She brings her sleeve to her face which mitigates some of the smell. If she can calm herself she can get through this through sheer will alone. This is nothing compared to the days confined to the Elder’s with the other unmarried women in heat. All of those hungry women in one home… It still makes her shudder to think about sometimes. Those meditation drills were nightmarish, though useful in this situation.

Don’t focus on the tightness in the stomach. Don’t think about the twitching of the muscles. Pay no mind to the dryness of the throat, or how the mind swims with carnal intentions. Focus on the self and the connection to the living world. Each breath, each beat of the heart is deliberate and strong. Do not waver to the will of the base self; command the body as if it were a warrior.

Slowly her body begins to calm and her mind clears. A brief sense of pride fills her as she inwardly praises herself and Coatyl practices. Perhaps all that isolative training wasn’t for nothing, even after leaving her people.

That all comes crashing down once she hears the sounds.

Rapid, heavy breathing, the faint echoes of flesh against flesh. Hell, she could almost hear his heart beating.

In the back of 2B’s mind, it’s funny to her how easily her resolve shatters. All it took was some lewd sounds and she’s storming through the forest. It’s not like she’s going to hurt him or scold him. She just wants to talk, if anything to tell him he’s being stupid. They were both adults, surely they could have a conversation about this sort of thing. Though...perhaps humans didn’t have the level of education on sex and sexuality that she and her kind received.

As she trudged through the forest it became clear that 9S would be in massive danger if there were any large predators lurking nearby. Anything on the hunt for easy prey would be drawn to the scent and sounds of the distracted half-breed. He probably doesn’t hear her footsteps or the shuffling of plant life around her. What an idiot. If she were someone else, she could have easily killed him.

Following 9S’ scent and sounds is an easy task for 2B. She’s used to prey being silent and unseen aside from flickering shadows and the rustle of leaves. With all the noise he makes he might as well have laid a stonework path for her directly to him. Even so, the closer she gets, the harder it becomes for her to think of anything beyond tearing the clothes from his body and-

The sight of a shock of white hair in the brush, rocking back and forth against a tree halts her line of thought. As she approaches, more and more of the lewd scene is revealed to her. With one arm propping himself up against the tree, 9S’ other hand is obscured by his body. His arm shudders, moving in time with the rest of his body, his hips bucking into his hand every so often. A desperate growl reaches 2B’s ears and stirs something inside her. It’s similar to the feeling she gets when about to strike an unsuspecting fish, something primal and predatory. It makes her stomach churn with disgust.

She moves closer, drawn in by his overpowering scent once again. A part of her hopes that he’ll become aware of her, that he’ll turn around and reprimand her for sneaking up on him, but he remains trapped in his hedonistic fantasies. His head tilts to the side slightly and for a moment 2B thinks he’s heard her, only for him to roll his neck and dip his head back against the trunk of the tree.

Frustration over different kinds boils over. She can’t stand by any longer. She must act, and put an end to this stupidity.

“Enough of this,” 2B commands and takes a step forward. Her voice is strong, echoing off the surrounding trees.

9S whips around, his face crimson red, “T- 2B?! What are you- !!”

He scrambles to cover himself with his discarded coat as 2B strides forward. Only a yard or so and a few shrubs separate them now. 2B can feel her mind hazing over once again.

“The way you acting. The hiding, the shame. It’s ridiculous.”

“I’m- 2B you-...,” he stammers and stumbles over his words.

2B can almost hear the blood surging through his body. It makes her mouth dry. She licks her lips before taking another step closer, “Are you afraid?”

“I…”

He looks like a prey animal, eyes wide and fearful, hands grasping at anything they can hold on to. 2B feels something tighten in her chest.

“Why bother to hide yourself. It’s no secret what you were doing.”

She reaches out to him, to the hand that holds his coat over his legs. As she takes his wrist in her hand she can feel the shivers wracking his whole body, and for a moment she thinks she may have made a mistake.

Suddenly, 9S’ body goes stiff with panic, “W- STOP!” he shouts and rips his arm away from 2B. He cowers against the tree, his fingers digging into the bark as if it would tether him to the earth.

2B finds herself without words, shocked by his sudden outburst.

“You can’t just...just do that! You don’t barge in on someone when-...” 9S’ face flushes a deep red as he shouts at her. His brow furrows and he even bares his teeth at her for a split second.

She bristles at his displays of aggression, but she can’t help but think, somewhere in the back of her mind, that he’s cute.

“I’m sorry,” she says dipping her head slightly yet grinding her fangs together.

“Well-...” he can’t hide his surprise but manages to maintain his outward anger, “Good.”

“I…” though the scents still cloud her mind, her better judgement resurfaces along with just a touch of shame, “I’m still learning these human customs. Your aversion to sexuality seemed useless to me. I thought...I thought if we could...fix this problem...you might be better off.”

“Fix...Did you mean-”

“I’ll leave you to your business, then.”

Before 9S can protest, she turns on her heels and steps over the small bushes that surround the tree he leans on.

“Wait! 2B hold on!” he yells and grabs at her arm.

His strength startles 2B, who stumbles backward.

“I...2B, listen…,” he says, bowing his head, “This...kind of thing with me...It’s complicated.”

“How?”

9S sighs, “It’s hard to explain. Since I don’t have...control...over certain abilities, I’m never sure. I don’t know if this is something I’m...making you feel, or if you're...if this is real.”

“I don’t understand.” 2B thought she made her intentions clear enough. Was there something she was missing? Some human courting ritual she never learned about?

“It’s got to do with...how I am,” he groans, “My incubus blood.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“Are you aware of what that means?” He huffs, “What can I do?”

2B shakes her head, “What, does it make you dangerous?” She finds it hard to believe that someone as non threatening as he is could be a threat to her.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of. It’s...I can make people...feel things. I guess you could say I can influence their minds, but I can’t...control it very well,” his head dips low, “There have been times before where people...have gotten too close and…”

There’s worrying hesitation in his voice. He curls into himself slightly before looking up at 2B with tired eyes.

“They weren't in their right mind when...when things almost went too far. I don’t want that to happen with you.”

Ah, now she understands.

“I am aware of what I am doing,” she says, her shoulders squared proudly, “And I am aware of what I want. But…” she sighs, “If you wish to be left alone, I will leave.”

9S bites his lip and in that moment of deliberation 2B feels her gut twist in a way she had never felt before. Could she be...afraid of rejection? No, that’s silly. It must be the arousal.

“You sure?” 9S asks in a meek voice 2B nearly misses, “What you want...it’s not something I’m...making you feel?”

“Yes,” she lies.

A heavy silence passes between them. 9S stares at her, piercing near-white eyes searching hers for something she can’t place. 2B waits for him to move. She thinks it’s best to allow him to lead, at least to start. He still seems frightened by her, so she will hold herself back. How long that lasts, though, she isn’t sure.

9S reaches out to her, cupping her cheek with his free hand. His thumbs idly traces the patterns of her scales as he studies her face intently. She feels his breath, heavy against her face, just before he leans in and presses his lips against hers.

It’s a surprisingly chaste kiss at first, both of them testing the waters so to speak. He applies a little pressure which 2B matches. He savors the closeness, weaving his fingers through her hair. A low rumble echoes in her chest, almost like a purr.

“Your hair is so soft…” 9S mumbles against her lips.

Frustration with his slow progression draws another low growl from 2B. She presses her body against his, feeling his heartbeat speed up and something twitch against her thigh. He bumps against the tree he hid behind, his breath hitching slightly with tangible panic. Not wanting to scare him 2B backs off of him a bit and allows him to pull away from the tree. She draws 9S back into her by forcing his lips to part and biting gently on his lower lip.

9S shudders at the sudden addition of teeth, a tiny sound escaping him like the mewl of a kitten. It only fuels 2B’s own building desires. She cups his cheeks in her hands, her thumbs rolling over his jawline, chin, and halting over his throat. The lump in his throat bobs with each trembling breath, his blood surges through his veins. Something in the back of her mind wants it...needs it, to open. 2B presses her thumb against one large vein in his neck and wonders how the blood that pulses through it would taste.

Her wish is granted not moments later, as her sharp teeth pierce the thin skin of his lower lip. 9S whimpers a bit but a quick swipe of her tongue soothes the pain quickly. Unfortunately, the moment his blood hits her tongue it sets off a terrifying reaction within her. She rips herself away from him and stares down at a very bewildered 9S.

“2B? What- !!”

With a fierce snarl, 2B slams him back against the tree so forcefully that for a moment his vision blurs. Her mouth is on his mere seconds later, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth. His pathetic mewls and body squirming against her own urges her to show more of her strength, to make him completely and utterly helpless, unable to put up any kind of fight. She wants total submission, and something tells her 9S will be more than happy to give it to her.

9S’ hands grab onto whatever part of her they can reach; one tugs at her hair, the other fumbling with her cloak and undershirt. Meanwhile her hands tear away his shirt with such frantic motions that her claws tear into his flesh. She breaks their kiss to scrape her teeth against his neck, revealing at the feeling of his blood thundering through his veins. It nearly drives her mad. His tail thrashes like an excited cat’s in response.

Once 9S recovers enough to retaliate, he worms his hands up 2B’s shirt. She shudders at his feather light touches as he traces the outlines of her muscles and scales. His touches are so reverent, a stark comparison to the way she manhandles him. Her hands twitch, aching to rip and tear him apart. She rakes her claws down his chest and begins to tug on the hem of his pants impatiently. Dimly she registers a wetness that coats the tip of her fingers but she pays it no mind, in fact it makes them tingle, as if they want more.

His hips rut against hers, desperately seeking relief, and 2B responds to it by crushing his body against the tree with her own. One hand dives beneath the hem of his smallclothes, gripping at his pronounced hip bones and teasing just above the base of his cock. The other hand pins his head back against the tree trunk, her claws digging into his scalp, marking him further.

“M-...ooore...please…” he begs.

Relenting to his touch, 2B shuffles out of her robes, leaving only her unbuttoned shirt, pants, and boots still on. 9S’ hands immediately move to her breasts and begin massaging them.

“Wh-...” 9S mumbles as he stares down at 2B’s body.

Her chest resembles a grown woman’s, but the hard scales remind him of her inhuman nature. With a curious glint in her eyes, 2B touches his chest, her clawed fingers lingering on a nipple. 9S’ breath hitches in his chest, betraying his sensitivity, so 2B ghosts the tip of her finger over it again. She remembers something 6O told her relating to these organs that female coatyls replicate in their human forms. Something to do with feeding their young. It isn’t important to getting what she wants from 9S, so she quickly abandons that train of thought.

“Down,” 2B commands, forcing 9S to sit in the dirt beneath her. Like an obedient pet he sits there, looking up at her with an expectant and exhausted look. Smears of blood cover his face and chest, but he doesn’t appear bothered by it at all. He doesn’t even look in pain. In fact, he looks just as hungry as she does.

Unable and unwilling to draw this out any further, 2B kicks off her boots and unceremoniously removes both her pants and 9S’ smallclothes. His cock twitches lewdly in the sudden cool air of the fast approaching night, and 2B feels her stomach tighten at the sight. In a show of courage that throws her off guard, 9S wraps his arms around her waist and presses soft kisses and vicious bites to her hips. Similar to her mimic breasts, the scales between her legs are thick, almost leathery to the touch. Even with his two pointed fangs, 9S’ bites barely pierce her skin, yet she lets out a low groan of approval and holds on to the nub-like horns that jut from his forehead.

Answering her demand from earlier in the day, the offhand comment that lead to this, 9S lets his unnaturally long tongue slide across her hips and dips between her legs. She instinctively parts her legs for him and tugs his head closer, urging him onward. Like an eager kitten he laps at her folds and occasionally slides his tongue inside her, just a bit. The sudden contact makes 2B dig her claws into the side of 9S’ head, staining his white hair with streaks of crimson. Though his motions are sloppy and frantic, 2B pulls his face closer and lifts one leg up to rest on his shoulder. Each time 9S hits a particularly sensitive spot with the tip of his tongue, the claws on her toes slice open his skin. Each spasm of muscle brings her leg down his shoulder, drawing more blood along the way. At one point her balance falters, and she accidentally drags her claws down his shoulder and chest, leaving deep gashes in their wake. To regain her balance she pushes forward on his chest, forcing him back against the tree and crushing her claws deeper into his chest. He bites his bloody lip to keep back a particularly loud moan.

9S looks up at her with dark, lustful eyes that mirror 2B’s. His mouth hangs open, breaths heavy on his lips as he begs wordlessly for her touch. She hastily kneels down, straddling his hips and positioning herself just over his aching cock. His bravery returns again, this time in the form of him bucking up to her. The tip of his cock just barely touches her wet folds, but the brief taste alone isn’t nearly enough for 2B. She slams his head back against the tree, pinning him to the bark, and slams herself down onto him.

They both cry out in surprise and pain. 9S writhes beneath her, his hands scrambling for any sort of purchase on her muscular body. His tail flicks wildly back and forth before winding around her waist.

“I don’t think…,” he wheezes, his voice hoarse and raspy, “You’re supposed to go that...fast.”

“Have you done this before?” 2B asks with a hint of a growl in her throat.

“N...No,” he admits. If he weren’t streaked with blood he might have been blushing, “Have you?”

“Not with a man.”

9S pushes himself up into her, using his hands as leverage. Taking the hint, 2B places her hands underneath his rear and holds him up. For a moment she takes notice of the heavy scarring near the base of his tail and wonders how those scars could have come to be.

They let instinct take over, which seems to counteract the awkward angle of their bodies. 2B grinds down onto his cock while 9S tries to thrust up into her despite being held in her iron grip. He finally moves in earnest when 2B’s hands grip onto his shoulders. Occasionally her claws rake down his back, causing him to cry out and arch his back into her nails. Each time his cock hits the same sensitive areas his tongue did mere minutes ago, she muffles her own cries by sinking her predatory teeth into his neck. Of course, he bites at her chest and shoulders as well, but her scales protect her from the little damage he can do.

“T-...I’m-!!”

Whatever 9S was going to say is cut off by a sharp whimper. He quickly buries his face in her breasts and clings to her, his hips bucking wildly and tail tightening its grip around her waist. Feeling the same tension and heat that she assumes 9S must be feeling, 2B draws one hand down between their bodies and hastens her own orgasm by furiously rubbing at the sensitive (and frankly neglected) nub. Just as she does, she feels 9S’ cock twitch inside her once, twice, and with a drawn out moan he comes. His entire body spasms in her grip and soon loses the tension that had built up within, but she isn’t done with him yet.

She slams him down into the dirt and pins him against the tree, the back of his head smacking into the bark. Her teeth sink into his neck again, marking him as hers over and over. The hand that isn’t between her legs digs into whatever flesh it can grab and marks him there as well. 2B rides his fast softening cock with the same ferocity as she would display in a fight to the death, and when the waves of pleasure finally wash over her, she clamps her teeth around the spot where his neck and chest meet. They will all know he is hers, that she is strong and has made him hers. She hisses as those waves disperse far too quickly, even though her muscles still spasm.

As the lustful haze disperses from her mind, 2B slowly rises from the ground. Even still, a wave of dizziness threatens to topple her. It’s only through willpower that she manages to remain standing.

With a deep and contented sigh, she turns to the rising moon and stars beginning to show themselves for the night, “We should hurry back. Don’t want you to get into trouble…”

As she looks down at 9S while hastily dressing herself, her eyes widen at the sight beneath her. It’s as if he had been attacked by some animal. Hideous jagged wounds cover his body, seeping blood onto the clothes he struggles to put on. His eyes are heavy, as is his breathing, and he looks far paler than normal. He looks up at her with glassy eyes and offers a smile of all things.

“Heh...Yeah…Don’t want-...” he groans as he pulls on his pants, covering the blooming purple bruises on his thighs and hips, “Jackass to...yell…”

The quivering waver in his voice sets 2B on edge. Something is wrong with him, he sounds weak. Too weak. As she reaches her hand out to help him stand, she recoils at the sight of her own blood stained fingers. In fact, nearly the entirety of her arms and even up to her chest is caked in fast drying blood.

Oh gods...what has she done?

9S rises to his feet, takes two shaky steps forward, and collapses onto the ground in a bloody heap.

“Tw...I don’t...feel good….” he wheezes.

2B believes herself to be unflinching in the face of any trail. It was what was instilled in her through years of rigorous training and studies. But the sight of 9S, crumpled and broken by her hands sends her into a panic. Her thoughts come and go faster than she can handle, all of her field aid knowledge seems to slip from her mind the instant she begins to wrap her robe around his body. It’s a crude way to protect his wounds from grievous infection, but it will do till she can get him to someone who knows what they’re doing.

And 2B knows just the person.

Luckily, most townsfolk are smart enough to stay inside at night, so 2B only ends up scaring the daylights out of the few guards and soldiers posted for the evening patrols. One of them calls out to her, but their cries fall on deaf ears, as she has only one focus at the moment.

As soon as 2B finds it, one solid kick to the infirmary door nearly breaks it off the hinges.

“6O!” she shouts, cradling 9S’ body close to her.

A chorus of grumbles from sleeping, bedridden soldiers answers her, followed by the sound of an annoyed druid storming up to her.

“What in the world do you need at this hour-...Is that Nines?!” 6O shouts, rushing over to his shivering body, “Good gods what happened to him?! To both of you?! You’re covered in blood!!”

“He-...I-...” 2B’s brain races to come up with some sort of explanation. She doesn’t want to get 9S into trouble, so she settles on the first lie that isn’t obviously stupid, “Bear. There was a bear.”

A strange look crosses 6O’s face for a moment, “...Okay. Follow me, quickly. Let’s get him down over here.”

2B follows 6O to a section of the infirmary closed off with a few curtains, possibly for more grievous injuries to be tended to. She sets 9S onto the small bed as instructed to by 6O, who immediately begins working. She removes the robe 2B wrapped him in, followed by his shirt and pants. Her hands alight with green energy as she prepares some healing spells to soothe his pain and help speed up recovery. 2B leans in close beside her, watching every movement 9S makes with hawk-like intensity.

“Is there anything I can do?” 2B asks.

“I need space right now,” 6O responds with a low, professional tone, “Go wait in my room, I’ll talk to you when he’s stable.”

“But-”

“Now, 2B. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

She’s known 6O long enough to know that when she speaks like that, there’s no arguing with her. Dutifully she exits the infirmary and silently makes her way to 6O’s quarters. A small washbasin sits near the druid’s bed, already filled. 2B cleans the blood from her hands and arms with a small rag that sits on the edge of the basin, then scrubs at her face. She lets her bloodstained clothes soak in the tub while she paces the room like a caged animal, waiting for 6O to return with news of 9S.

Each time she glances at the tub of murky red water, her stomach churns. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… She wasn’t supposed to hurt him. Yet she lost control of herself so easily…

Maybe she was a beast...just as they said…

2B isn’t sure how long it is before 6O returns to her, but it feels like days. She immediately rushes up to the Druid, who cleans her hands of blood on a wet rag.

“Is he okay?” 2B asks.

6O sighs and tosses the rag into the basin with 2B’s clothes, “He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s dehydrated on top of that. But Nines is tough, despite his size. He should be back on his feet in a few days.”

2B let’s put a long sigh of relief, “Oh thank the gods…”

“However,” 6O shoots a piercing look at her, “Those wounds looked nothing like a bear attack.” She turns to 2B and crosses her arms over her chest, “Want to tell me what actually happened?”

“I…” 2B never noticed how intimidating those green eyes of hers could be. There’s no use lying to her now, but…”You won’t get him in trouble, will you?”

“2B…”

She huffs at 6O’s scolding mother-like tone, “We had a...little rendezvous in the woods outside the city.”

6O’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head, “You-...Those are from sex?!”

“...Yes.” 2B says, flinching away from her.

“Good gods, 2B! If I didn’t know better I would have thought he was maimed by a demon! He could have died!”

She stays silent, eyes cast down to the stone floor. In other circumstances, she might have snapped back at 6O, but she deserves every bit of this for what she’s done to 9S.

“2B.” 6O calls, “Did you hear me?”

“Huh?”

“I said,” she repeats, “Did he ask you to stop?”

“No…”

“Idiot boy.” She mutters under her breath.

“I...I lost control of myself. I don’t know what came over me…it was like I just...I had to be...like that with him…”

Immediately, 6O’s expression softens, “Oh, 2B…”

Her pity makes 2B’s stomach flip. It’s the last thing she wants from anyone at this point.

“Look,” 6O says, sitting on the edge of her bed and motioning for 2B to do the same, “Even though he’s a bit more resilient than other humans, he’s still just as...squishy.”

“I know that. It’s just...I thought I had better self control. I didn’t mean to hurt him…”

6O wraps her arms around her dejected friend’s shoulders, “Hey, I told you he’s gonna be okay. Besides, if I know that weirdo, he probably enjoyed all of...that a little too much.”

2B lets out a breathy chuckle, “Probably.”

She drifts into her thoughts while 6O continues talking. The Druid might have her faults, but she is an expert at calming 2B down when she gets lost in her own mistakes. Gods know where all this patience came from. She idly plays with the hem of her undershirt until-

“Oh shit, I forgot to give him the rock.”

#nier atuomata #nier fanfiction #fantasy au #Tanks fics #2B #9S #6O #21O #The Commander #2B9S

[teamblogspotph-blog]

Cirilo F. Bautista

A poet, fictionist and essayist. He was acknowledged by peers and critics with exceptional achievements and significant contributions to the development of the country's literary arts. He was known as the nation’s large foremost writer of his generation.

He was born in Commonwealth Manila, July 1941 and died on 6 May 2018. In elementary Cirilo Bautista studied at Legarda Elementary School and was awarded as 1st honorable student in the year 1954. For his secondary level, he studied at Victorino Mapa High School and graduated as the Valedictorian in his batch year 1959. He received his degrees in AB Literature from the University of Sto.Tomas, Magna Cum laude, the year 1963. MA Literature from St. Louis University, Baguio, magna cum laude year 1968. Cirilo has proven himself that he deserved as one of the National Artist of Literature. He continued his education at De La Salle University in Manila, Doctor of Arts in Language and Literature year 1990. He received a fellowship to attend the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa (1968–1969).

He won First Prize in Epic Writing English Category, of the National Centennial Commission's Literary Contests, 1998, sponsored by the Philippine Government. The judges in this prestigious contest, held to commemorate the Centennial of our freedom, gave the prize to Bautista's Sunlight on Broken Stones, the last volume in his The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus. This epic of 3,050 lines concludes his monumental work on Philippine history. And was published by De La Salle University-Manila Press garnered the National Book Award given by the Manila Critics Circle in 1999 and the Gintong Aklat Award was given by the Book Development Association of the Philippines.

An author of several books of poetry, fiction, criticism and translation, Bautista proves in The House of True Desire that he can also handle the genre of short composition with expertise and style. Many of his works got a lot of attention from the people that make him and his works well known Locally and Internationally. And because of his great works, he was awarded and achieve many great things for his works and ideas. 

Hall of Fame of the Palanca Awards Foundation for achievements in the field of literature, 1995. This is given to Filipino writers who have distinguished themselves by winning at least five First Prizes in the Palanca Literary Contests. Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature nine (9) times for poetry, fiction, and essay. His prize-winning works include: Philippine Poetics: The Past Eight Years (essay), 1981; Crossworks (collected poems), 1979; Charts (collected poems), 1973; The Archipelago (an epic poem), 1970; Telex Moon (epic poem), 1975; The Cave and Other Poems (collected poems), 1968; and the short stories Ritual and The Man Who Made a Covenant with the Wind.National Book Award given by the Manila Critics Circle five (5) times, for The Archipelago, Sugat ng Salita, Sunlight on Broken Stones, The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus and Tinik Sa Dila. Diwa ng Lahi, Gawad Antonio Villegas at Patnubay ng Sining at Kalinangan in the field of literature by the City of Manila. This award is given to outstanding Manila artists who have contributed to the advancement of arts and culture. 430th Araw ng Maynila, June 22, 2001, Bulwagang Villegas, Manila City Hall. Gawad Balagtas in 1997 by the Unyon ng mga manunulat ng Pilipinas for Bautista's achievements as a poet, fictionist, and critic. Included in Who’s Who in the World, 1996, New Providence, New Jersey, U.S. Makata ng Taon 1993, sponsored by the Komisyon ng mga Wikang Pilipinas with the poem Ulat Buhat Sa Bulkan. With this and his Palanca award for Tagalog poetry and his winning the First Prize in the Poetry contest sponsored by the Dyaryo Filipino with his poem, Ilang Aeta Mula Sa Botolan, Bautista affirmed his importance as a bilingual writer. Included in The Oxford Companion to the English Language, edited by Tom MacArthur, Oxford University Press, 1992. Included The Travelers’ Guide to Asian Literature, 1993. Knight Commander of Rizal by the Order of the Knights of Rizal, December 1998, in recognition of Bautista's literary works that helped propagate the ideas and achievements of the national hero. His The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus has the national hero as the main character and focal point in the author's poetic recreation of the development of the Filipino soul from the beginning of our history to the present. Adopted Son of Iligan City, 1997, by virtue of Executive Order #98 signed by Mayor Alejo Yanes, for his contribution “in the development of creative writing in Mindanao, for serving as a role model among young writers, as well as his tireless promotion of Iligan City as a center for literary arts in The Philippines.” Bautista was instrumental in the founding of the Iligan Writers Workshop and was its primary mover in attracting young writers to congregate in Mindanao and learn the craft of writing. Gawad Manuel L. Quezon in 1996 by the Quezon City Government in connection with the Quezon Day Celebrations for Bautista's outstanding achievement as a writer, editor, and teacher.

Certificate of appreciation from the Benigno Aquino, Jr., Foundation for his literary works that helped perpetuate the memory of the late senator St. Miguel Febres Cordero Research Award, SY2002-03 given by De La Salle University-Manila, 2002. This award was given to Bautista in recognition of his achievements in research and creative writing. First Annual Dove Award by the College of Liberal Arts, De La Salle University-Manila, February 14, 2001. An alumnus of the Graduate School of the University, Bautista was honored for the contributions he had in energizing the writing life on the campus through his co-founding of the creative writing programs in the University and activities as Writer-in-Residence for fifteen years. Most Outstanding Achievement Award in Literature by the Philets-Artlets Centennial Alumni Association of the University of Santo Tomas, 1996. Most Outstanding Alumnus Award for Literature, Mapa High School Alumni Association, 1982. Pablo Roman Prize for his Novel-in-Progress entitled Reconstruction, 1982. Most Outstanding Alumnus Award for Literature from the Alumni Association of the College of Arts and Letters, University of Santo Tomas, 1982. Fernando Maria Guerrero Award for Literature, University of Santo Tomas Alumni Association, 1980. Most Outstanding Alumnus Award for Lite.

Here is an Excerpt from Sunlight on Broken Stones The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus                    4 “Do What? Chimes I never heard, or halos wore, the stone upon whose sheen I swore to shackle the sharks, the barks I blew across cinnamon and thyme in lieu of lupercals, lunes for lakes, rice-cakes, bullets, parapets, donjons: of these my bones sing like a book, beyond indigenes and ultimatums: white in the solid dream yet not contained in the plastic tide, wide brides side by side move these islands whose chamber of wisdom is the tomb, whose head of telex ticks jigsaw jungles in jasmine clouds and parrots in pine trees: whines the breeze, rankles the mind, march the rues—the fat-bellied nothing does not lose: of these my bones sing like a book, all these I remember: I walk on a strand of cobwebbed memory, I bring out my tools to incise the sounds in history, and I remember: him:: the cricket tree called to him with vultures in his eyes: he shut the gates of sunlight and propped epistles on the grass: the first spoke of a terribel war between shifting mirrors whose rage mathematic, technique pure, prevent waterclerks from clipping the revenue: a war of blood and brain cutting its own wound like a diamond, a hooded abstract in twenty carats: the second was a parable dressed in lemon and turpentine; its line, printed on sable, trumpeted tonsure as torture— an experiment in cancer and royal jigs: to invent what in the mind is optic or midget is to grease contumely, is to seal the concordat between pirates and papal henchmen: the words hissed like flame against metal: the terrible collusion that brought ignorance to these Islands: and the third, O the third was bantam, the third was brother to the ox, the third stuck its feathers in gum and broke the spine of priesthood: its intestines were solid gold: it cackled the monasteries to ruins: I walk on a strand of cobwebbed memory and I remember: metal wings beating conundrums in cathedral domes: that doomed warrior Magellan, rusting with metals in Mactan: that fruity sailor Legaspi, drowning in his fever while in his thick eyes Manila rose up on sticks and stones: that pale Rizal, pinned like a butterfly to his texts, Impotent as the alphabet he rode on: “offerings of gold and silver and brass, and blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine linen, and goat’s hair and ram’s skin dyed red, and badger’s skin’s, and shittim wood, oil for the light, spices for anointing oil, andd for sweet incense, and onyx stones, and also stones to be set in blue ephod, and in blue breastplate”: the death with their dryads and decimals, their spirit like rubber mannequin—how long can they hold to the letters of tombs? The pen sprouts their flesh and numbers numb their bony solitude. So lost the ghost they bought with their last gold, desiring the warmth of womb, cursing the papers that etched their sins: I remember: like glass, or a blade of grass, I bend to the wind, throw the papers to the wind, hoping the rustle will cover the sound of ache in my heart for souls seeking new homestead for their head. But more it is for the world I weep to sweep away the decay of warfare and darkness, and I am old and childless, my words cannot shoot: The lotus moon hands maximum on my lute—its pluck has dry throats on the grass: alas! the lack the lutist laments liks the art in my tongue which cannot live long: my blood throbs with the wounds of ages— Lapulapu, Humabon, Sikatuna, Sulayman, Matanda, Mabini, Rizal, Bonifacio—they clog the arteries of my soul till I am aflame and through the heat I see my people’s corpses piled high inside th Walled City, their brains staining the streets, the children’s limbs scattered like garbage upon the mud, and the black words flapping like banners in the wind, “Death to the Infidels!”: my blood boils and I remember: the parables they strung around our necks as amulets against the unknown in the hope that catholic spells would expel the voodoo in our speech, as each to each we passed our sorrow: place the thumbs so, on the temples, and hear my words, “for what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him?” Very like a kite I am, cackling for a piece of the moon: touch my words and my biography falls aparts: dig into my breast and I have no heart: all my patrimony burned with the fruit boats in the Pasig when we abandoned the brown gods for gunpowder and Paradise: whos eyes shape the picture of our sin?: whose dagger shall draw the poison from our blood?: what shall link our tongue to the silent speech of the grave so that brave words be quicker, be full, as I sing of things?”

In the past few years, many young poets have enlivened our literature with their fresh voices and unique interpretation of the human condition. Mostly products of the various writing workshops in the country, they respond to social and personal realities with the exciting and well-informed facility. Their reflections vibrate with a taut understanding of common virtues and falsities, with deft handling of poetic surfaces and undertows. His best-known work is the epic poetry trilogy “The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus,” made up of the “The Archipelago (1970), “Telex Moon” (1981) and “Sunlight on Broken Stones” (1999). 

His works were;  Sugat sa Salita was published in De La Salle University Press, 1987 Kirot ng Kataga was published in De La Salle University Press, 1995. Galaw ng Asoge was published in UST Press, 2004. Tinik sa Dila was published in The University of the Philippines Press, 2003; and more. 

#CiriloBautista #literature #AMAstudentsBlog

[aaronbrill01-blog]

Spear

A spear may be a pole weapon consisting of a shaft, sometimes of wood, with a pointed head. The pinnacle could also be merely the sharpened finish of the shaft itself, as is that the case with hearth hardened spears, or it should be made from an additional sturdy material mounted to the shaft, like flint, obsidian, and iron, steel or bronze. The foremost common style for looking or combat spears since history has incorporated a metal spearhead formed sort of a triangle, lozenge, or leaf. The heads of fishing spears sometimes feature barbs or saw-toothed edges.

The word spear comes from the English spere, from the Proto-Germanic speri, from a Proto-Indo-European root *sper- "spear, pole". Spears are often divided into 2 broad categories: those designed for poke in scrimmage combat and people designed for throwing (usually brought up as javelins).

The spear has been used throughout human history each as a looking and fishing tool and as a weapon. Alongside the axes, knife and club, it's one in all the earliest and most vital tools developed by early humans. As a weapon, it should be wielded with either one hand or 2. It absolutely was employed in just about each conflict up till the fashionable era, wherever even then it continues on within the type of the bayonet, and is perhaps the foremost ordinarily used weapon in history.

Spear manufacture and use isn't confined to humans. It’s additionally practiced by the Pan Troglodytes verus. Chimpanzees close to Kédougou, African nation are determined to form spears by breaking straight limbs off trees, remotion them of their bark and facet branches, and sharpening one finish with their teeth. They then used the weapons to hunt galagos sleeping in hollows.

Archaeological proof found in current Germany documents that wood spears are used for looking since a minimum of four hundred thousand years past, and a 2012 study suggests that Heidelberg man could have developed the technology regarding five hundred thousand years past. Wood doesn't preserve well, however, and Craig Stanford, a primatologist and academician of social science at the University of Southern Calif., has recommended that the invention of spear use by chimpanzee’s most likely means early humans used wood spears still, perhaps, 5 million years past.

Neanderthals were constructing stone spear heads from as early as three hundred thousand BP and by 250,000 years past, wood spears were created with fire-hardened points.

From circa two hundred thousand B.C. ahead, time period humans began to create complicated stone blades with flaked edges that were used as spear heads. These stone heads may well be mounted to the spear shaft by gum or organic compound or by bindings made from animal sinew, animal skin strips or matter. Throughout this era, a transparent distinction remained between spears designed to be thrown and people designed to be employed in close combat. By the Magdalenian amount (c. 15000-9500 BC), spear-throwers almost like the later atlatl were in use.

 Modern history

The development of each the long, two-handed pike associate in Nursingd explosive in Renaissance Europe saw an ever-increasing concentrate on integrated army unit ways. Those army unit not armed with these weapons carried variations on the pole-arm, together with the pike and therefore the bill. Ultimately, the spear correct was rendered obsolete on the battleground. Its last flowering was the half-pike or spontoon, a shortened version of the pike carried by officers and NCOs. Whereas originally a weapon, this came to be seen additional as a badge of workplace, or leading workers by that troops were directed. The half-pike, typically called a boarding pike, was additionally used as a weapon on board ships till the nineteenth century.

At the beginning of the Renaissance, cavalry remained preponderantly lance-armed; gendarmes with the serious knightly lance and lighter cavalry with a spread of lighter lances. By the 1540s, however, pistol-armed cavalry known as reiters were commencing to create their mark. Cavalry armed with pistols and alternative lighter firearms, alongside a steel, had just about replaced lance armed cavalry in Western Europe by the start of the seventeenth century.

 Native American

Typically, most spears created by Native Americans were created with materials enclosed by their communities. Usually, the shaft of the spears were created with a wood stick whereas the pinnacle of the spear was designed from arrowheads, items of metal like copper, or a bone that had been sharpened. Spears were a most popular weapon by several since it absolutely was cheap to form, might additional simply be educated to others, and will be created quickly and in massive quantities.

Native Americans used the Buffalo Pound methodology to kill buffalo that needed a hunter to decorate as a buffalo and lure one into a valley wherever alternative hunters were activity. Once the buffalo appeared, the opposite hunters would kill him with spears. A variation of this system, known as the Buffalo Jump was once a runner would lead the animals towards a drop. Because the buffalo got on the point of the drop, alternative members of the tribe would seem from behind rocks or trees and scare the buffalo over the drop. Alternative hunters would be waiting at very cheap of the drop to spear the animal to death.

Cavalry spears were originally identical as army unit spears and were typically used with 2 hands or command with one hand overhead. Within the twelfth century, when the adoption of stirrups and a high-cantled saddle, the spear became an in spades additional powerful weapon. A mounted knight would secure the lance by holding it with one hand and tucking it below the axilla (the couched lance technique) this allowed all the momentum of the horse and knight to be targeted on the weapon's tip, while still retentive accuracy and management. This use of the spear spurred the event of the lance as a definite weapon that was formed within the medieval sport of jousting.

In the fourteenth century, plan of action developments meant that knights and men-at-arms typically fought on foot. This crystal rectifier to the follow of shortening the lance to regarding five foot. (1.5 m) to create it additional manageable. As dismounting became commonplace, specialist pole weapons like the poll axe were adopted by knights and this follow ceased.

 Hunting

One of the earliest varieties of killing prey for humans, looking game with a spear and spear fishing continues to the present day as each a way of catching food and as a cultural activity. A number of the foremost common prey for early humans were mega fauna like mammoths that were afraid with varied styles of spear. One theory for the Quaternary extinction event was that the majority of those animals were afraid to extinction by humans with spears. 

Even when the invention of alternative looking weapons like the bow the spear continuing to be used, either as a projectile weapon or employed in the hand as was common in boar looking. Though there are Fishing Lures for Fishermen around the world which are pretty handy and also low in cost and made with durable, finest materials. 

 Types

Barred spears: A barred spear incorporates a crossbar to a lower place the blade, to forestall too deep a penetration of the spear into Associate in nursing animal. The bar could also be solid as a part of the spearhead or could also be additional loosely tied by suggests that of loops below the blade. Barred spears area unit better-known from the Bronze Age, however the primary story of their use in Europe is found within the writings of historian within the fifth century B.C. Examples are also shown in Roman art. Within the middle Ages, a winged or lugged war-spear was developed (see above), however the later middle Ages saw the event of specialized sorts, like the boar-spear and therefore the bear-spear. The boar-spear may well be used each on foot or horseback.

Javelin

Harpoon

Trident

 Modern revival

Spear looking fell out of favor in most of Europe within the eighteenth century, however continuing in Germany, enjoying a revival within the Thirties. Spear looking continues to be practiced within the USA. Animals taken area unit primarily Sus scrofa and cervid, though trophy animals like cats and massive game as large as a Synercus caffer area unit afraid with spears. Alligator area unit afraid in Sunshine State with a kind of harpoon.

Symbolism

Like several weapons, a spear can also be a logo of power. Within the Chinese martial arts community, the Chinese spear is popularly called the "king of weapons". The Celts would symbolically destroy a dead warrior's spear either to forestall its use by another or as a killing providing.

In Classical Greek mythology Zeus' bolts of lightning could also be understood as a symbolic spear. Some would carry that interpretation to the spear that regularly is related to Pallas, decoding her spear as a symbolic affiliation to a number of Zeus' power on the far side the Aegis once he rose to replacement alternative deities within the pantheon. Pallas was represented with a spear before that modification in myths, however. Chiron's wedding-gift to mythical being once he married the nymph Thetis in Classical Greek mythology, was Associate in nursing ashen spear because the nature of ashwood with its straight grain created it a perfect selection of wood for a spear.

The Romans and their early enemies would force prisoners to steer beneath a 'yoke of spears', that humiliated them. The yoke would contains 3 spears, 2 upright with a 3rd tied between them at a height that created the prisoners stoop. It’s been surmised that this was as a result of such a ritual concerned the prisoners' somebody standing being detached. Instead, it's been recommended that the arrangement incorporates a witching origin, the simplest way to lure evil spirits. The word subjugate has its origins during this follow (from Latin sub = below, jugum=a yoke).

In Norse mythology, the God Odin's spear (named Gungnir) was created by the sons of Ivaldi. It had the special property that it ne'er lost its mark. Throughout the War with the Norse deity, Odin symbolically threw Gungnir into the Norse deity host. This follow of symbolically casting a spear into the enemy ranks at the beginning of a fight was typically employed in historic clashes, to hunt Odin's support within the coming back battle. In Wagner's opera Siegfried, the hold of Gungnir is claimed to be from the "World-Tree" ash.

Other spears of non-secular significance area unit the Holy Lance and therefore the Lúin of Celtchar, believed by some to own huge mystical powers.

Sir James Saint George Frazer within the Golden limb noted the phallic nature of the spear and recommended that within the Arthurian Legends the spear or lance functioned as a logo of male fertility, paired with the Holy Grail (as a logo of feminine fertility).

The Hindu god Murugan, called "God of war" is idolized by Tamils within the type of the spear known as Vel, which is that the primary weapon of the God.

The term spear is additionally used (in a somewhat archaic manner) to explain the male line of a family, as opposition the distaff or feminine line.

[jaeminlore]

six hours until dawn εïз nct

group: nct hyung line category: thriller warnings: blood, gore (minor)

Yuta peeked over a short wall, towards where the man was walking into the sanatorium, a wolf by his side. He climbed up onto the wall and crouched, looking down. "Alright, Yuta, you can do this. C'mon." He jumped over the wall and rolled in the snow, the wet substance sticking to his shirt. From somewhere inside of the sanatorium, a wolf howled. Yuta shivered and ran a hand through his hair. He looked up at the sanatorium windows. The sanatorium looked like an old castle, torn and decrepit. It seemed many of the stone windowsills and accents had fallen down a long time ago. Now they lay in broken ruins under a snowy blanket. Beside him was a fountain, also broken. Whatever water used to be there was now soaked up in snow and a broken statue of what used to be a gargoyle. He approached the front door rather daringly, ready to confront the man who hurt Sicheng. Who killed him. Inside the sanatorium was even more like a castle post-war. That, or a creepy asylum from a horror movie. The building was abandoned, crumbling at every corner. There were two doorways, one labeled as a chapel and the other as an administration office. Yuta walked towards the chapel first, his spirits a bit shot at the fact that the door needed a security pass to be opened. "Damn it," he hissed. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peaked through the window. Inside was that man, tall and layered in coats. He was tossing something at the two wolves beside him. Yuta grimaced when they bared their teeth. He decided to find the key card and confront the man. Since the administration hall was the only place to go, that's where he went. In the first office to his right, a yellowed newspaper was set on the desk. He picked it up and read the headline to himself, "Reporter assassinated on Blackwood Mountain." He put the newspaper down, figuring he was wasting time, and checked the next room over. On this room's desk was some kind of doctor's form. Yuta turned it over and read the messy scrawl on the other side. One of those guys tried to BITE me! I'm going to report it to Dr. Bowen! He turned it over and read the actual form: Report Follows RE: the initial state of the twelve miners after the collapse of the mine, and subsequent rescue, at Blackwood pines. Admittance: on receipt of the twelve patients at the Sanatorium's medical facility, we fully expected to find emancipated shells of men, starved and confused. Thankfully, the miners appear cogent and relatively healthy, attributed to their apparent discovery of emergency food supplies in the mine. Inhibited respitory function was detected in a few of the older men, as predicted, as well as symptoms of pneumonia.

Psychologically, after being trapped for 23 days, the shock of reintergration has been difficult for some of the group: though their outward health is better than excepted, they do seem affected by their time in the mine. TREATMENT: due to the delicate nature of some of the patients, we have closed off the A wing of the Sanatorium. Psychological evaluations will take place as soon as possible. The men with respiratory problems have undergone a bronchoscopy, and have been prescribed streptomycin. The others are simply kept under strict, 24 hour observation. — Dr. Nicholas Henry Fowlis Bowen Yuta felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he shivered involuntarily. Something felt off about this entire thing. He quickly exited that room and, having walked down the dark hallway for awhile, found a sign labeled "Morgue." He walked down the stairs and entered another room. There, buried under what looked to be fresh guts, was a machete. Without a second thought, as he felt he had already seen too much today, Yuta grabbed the handle and strapped it to his jeans. The room was bare, with darkened wood as a floor. There was some kind of ashy tint to everything, and Yuta felt creeped out just by the aesthetic of it all. He noticed what looked to be a telegram. Reply immediately : reporters and snoopers to be kept away at all costs. To Mr. J. Dragg — Incident Update — - 12 survivors received at sanatorium - showing signs of mental trauma may need to contain - Local press now have scent of blood, becoming a problem. - Please advise further Yuta threw the piece of paper back onto the desk ("Who wouldn't want to report this lovely place?") and quickly left towards the next room on the way to the morgue. He stopped in the doorway, after hearing a mysteriously rhythmic tapping noise. The source of the noise was a lot scarier than Yuta had intended. It was some sort of contraption: a hand waving back and forth by mechanics. The closer Yuta got, the closer he could smell that it certainly was an actual hand. He crinkled his nose and tried not to think about it too much. He looked closer and saw that there was some kind of tag tied around the wrist. Yuta reached forward to grab and read it —

SNAP! The hand must've served for some kind of bait, because a bear trap had been hidden underneath. It snapped up, capturing two of Yuta's fingers in it's sharp hold. Yuta felt a searing pain in his fingers, and he had to bite back a legitimate scream. He couldn't open the trap, no matter how hard he tried. Yuta looked down at the machete strapped to his pants. He really had no choice. He picked up the machete and braced himself, fear and adrenaline pumping blood through his already severed fingers. He lifted the machete into the air. "Three, two — oh no — one!" SHIIING! The slice of the knife made Yuta see stars, and he screamed loudly this time, shaking his severed hand in pain. [something at the end of the hall is alerted at his screams. it creeps closer] "Eeny meeny miney mo, catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers let him go... I don't know where the heck to go... okay..." he muttered, looking around the room. Perhaps fate was on his side, because the room seemed to be some kind of old nurse's office, and there was an entire case full of bandages. Yuta grabbed a roll and tied it around his hands until he felt that it was okay enough for him to continue on. He walked into the morgue finally, and searched the shelves on the walls first. He didn't find a key card, but he did find what looked to be a very distorted skull in a jar. The skull was huge, but the jaw seemed small. The skin was discolored and grotesque. "This place just gets weirder and weirder." Since Yuta could never really leave things alone, he decided to take out all of the body drawers and look at them. The first one he opened held a dead man in a uniform, who had a chapel card in his front pocket. "Thank you," Yuta snatched it up. He opened another one and saw nothing but a registration of death. Name: Mark Lee Assessment: body was not discovered until post-24 hours after death. Sections of the intestine and kidneys were apparently eaten by something. The last one he opened had nothing but a death tag: "Michael Bowen; attacked by inmate. Fatal lacerations to the throat. Nice..." Yuta grimaced and stalked away from the drawers. He turned to see another chapel entrance near the back. He half-wondered if people had funerals here. He unlocked the chapel and walked into what seemed to be simply the staircase to the chapel. To his right, a wolf let out a sharp bark. "Ah!" Yuta shouted in surprise. He turned and ran up the stairs, the dog nipping at his heels. "Easy!" he squealed once he realized he was at a dead end. "It's okay," he lowered his voice into something softer, "That's it. Good boy." The wolf finally whimpered softly, and sat back on it's haunches. Yuta kept walking until he ended up in what seemed to be an usher's room, where a window overlooked the chapel. He looked through and saw the man leaving the chapel, perhaps making his way back outside. Yuta groaned in frustration and climbed down the stairs, back towards the actual chapel entrance. He stuck the key card in. Once he was in the chapel, it wasn't long before the second wolf caught a whiff of him and tried to attack. Yuta held his palm out and began to speak softly yet again. "It's okay. Easy, boy." Once the wolf seemed satisfied that Yuta had no intentions to harm it, it calmed down and went back to minding its own business. Yuta approached the middle of the chapel. All of the pews had been taken out, and the place looked like a small clubhouse more than anything. An old armchair sat in the middle, with a side table and a large cigar waiting beside it. Yuta picked up the cigar, noticing it to be the same brand as the butt he and Sicheng found in the mine earlier. He put it back in its case and walked over to the man's trunk. Opening it, he saw bones, seemingly fresh and somewhat meaty. He grabbed one.

To the left, a map hung on to the old wall. It was marked up in the same way the one in the mine was. Only instead of repairs, this one was covered in creepier captions. "American man died here," Yuta read one, "Canadian teen died here," was another. And finally, a bunch of red circles with the label "sighting." Newspaper clippings about death were tacked to the map, along with a picture of what seemed to be twelve men in overalls, all smiling for the camera. Below the map, a pistol lay seemingly unused, and a green jacket was hung up nicely. Yuta grabbed both. Ready to pursue Sicheng's attacker, he went to leave the building. The man seemed to like to be safe, for he put a padlock on his door upon leaving. Before he tried to escape, Yuta whistled the wolf over and handed him the bone he had previously taken. He patted the canine's head and told him goodbye. Yuta then pointed the pistol at the padlock, covered his face with his arm, and shot the lock at nearly point-blank distance. Figuring he had already lost a lot of valuable tracking time, Yuta darted down a set of stairs, into a dirty room. There were visible pipes everywhere, some dripping with dirty sewer water, others completely dry. He kept walking, and the throbbing in his fingers seemed to get more noticeable as the minutes went by. Simply choosing to ignore this, Yuta went towards the next door he saw; also padlocked. There was a barrel in front of the door, so Yuta grabbed it and shoved it out of the way. It fell into its side, spilling oil all over the floor. Yuta winced and pointed once again at the padlock. He shot at the lock, and sparks flew from the metal on metal. They caught on the oil, and it quickly spread a fire around Yuta's feet. "Oh no." He looked around and realized every other barrel was labeled as one with flammable liquid, and that if he didn't get out now he might become human barbecue. He jumped over the fire and away from the door as quickly as he could before one of the barrels exploded, sending him face-first into the stone ground. - [a figure in a white mask watches through security footage as a couple passes a gate. as it closes, he clicks his remote, locking the gate.] "I can't believe Taeil is dead," Taeyong muttered. "I can't believe how he died," Kun replied. Just the thought of what a shaken Doyoung and Ten had recalled to them had Kun shivering in fear. "No, I mean what if they were wrong?" "What?" Kun looked at his older friend. "Maybe we should have checked the shed to see if it was really true" "I don't know," Kun hesitated, "There are some things that once you see them, you can never unsee them" "I guess... but some things you need to see for yourself," Taeyong seemed troubled. "I'll take their word for it," Kun said. "Thank goodness we're already here. Let's get this thing working."

He strode up the the cable car station, with Taeyong following quickly behind. Beside the door, there was an axe, its blade stuck in the wood. "Look, an axe! I feel much better with an axe." Kun tugged the weapon free and checked it over. Taeyong pulled at the door handle. "Great," he muttered. "It's locked. Break the door down, will you?" Kun shook his head and fearfully looked behind him before whispering, "If we make a bunch of noise, he's gonna hear us." "Have you got any better suggestions?" Taeyong asked, his eyes narrowing at the locked door in distain. "I don't know. What about..." Kun trailed off until he saw a window, just to his left. "Look, a window!" Taeyong eyed the small frame. "I couldn't fit my pinkie finger in there if I tried." "No, come on," Kun walked over to the window and began to try pushing his body through. "You won't fit in there either, Mr. I-eat-MacDonald's-four-times-a-week." "Fine," Kun muttered. Taeyong did have a point there. He walked over to the door and swung the axe down, tearing up the wood until the door finally opened. Inside of the station, nearly everything was turned over and thrown around. It looked as if a tornado had gone through. Papers flooded the floor, and furniture was turned on it's side. "This is crazy," he said. "Weren't we just here a few hours ago?" Taeyong asked, hiding his hands behind his shirtsleeves. "This must've just happened." "What is going on?" "It's gotta be the guy ... the one who got to Ten and Doyoung ... and Taeil..." "He's gotta know this is the only way back," Kun deducted. "Don't say that," Taeyong fretted, his pupils darting from side to side. "Look, the cable car is all the way out there." Kun looked out the window and gestured for Taeyong to do the same. Indeed, the cable car had been turned on and off at just the right time to have it hanging right in the middle of the cable. "Well... I mean that's not far right? you can jump it?" "I'm not superman, Tae. Flattered, though." Kun turned around and headed for the back of the station. "What are we gonna do then?" "I don't know." "Everything is so messed up," Taeyong whined. Kun ignored Taeyong's complaining and instead studied the map on the wall. "Hey, look, a fire tower!" "Hey, Magellan, maybe we should get this cable car working and get in the road, huh?" Taeyong finally snapped. Kun knew Taeyong's anger was just out of worry, so he continued to look around. He found the control panel and sighed as he studied the buttons. "No key, no cable car." "What about the fire tower on the map?" "It's an option," Kun shrugged. Taeyong rose his eyebrows, looking hopeful, "Maybe it has a radio or something! I mean it would wouldn't it?" "Probably, yeah."

"We've got to get to the radio." "Let's go, then." They exited quickly, and Taeyong kept from fretting out loud until they were off the ladder of the cable car station and well on their way to the radio. "What if it doesn't work?" "It will," Kun promised. "If it doesn't, we need another plan." "Maybe we can just climb down," suggested Kun. "Climb down what?" Taeyong looked at Kun curiously. "The mountain." Taeyong stopped for a moment, having been shocked by Kun's suggestion. "Are you serious?" "Hopefully we won't have to." "Do you think the psychopath is just going to give up and run away?" Taeyong said sarcastically, taking larger steps to catch up with Kun. "No," Kun admitted, "but maybe we can find a safe place and hole up. You know, wait it out. It'd be a lot easier to do all of this in daylight." "As long as we don't hide out in the lodge," Taeyong said smartly. "That's where he expects us to go." "Right," Kun said, leading them both across a long wooden bridge. The moon could be seen in the distance, leading the way for the two of them as it spotlighted upon the snow. Just across the bridge, there seemed to be a dead end in the form of a cliff. Kun went to get a closer look. Taeyong followed, his eyes trailing the ground. "Be careful around here," he said, pointing to a danger sign that had been buried halfway under the snow. Hearing a grunt behind him, Kun turned around, startled. An entire herd of elk had snuck upon them, apparently unnoticed by the two distracted boys. Kun gripped his axe. "Why are they coming closer? Taeyong?" "I don't know," Taeyong hissed back. If they stepped back any, they might fall off a cliff. If they stepped forward, they would walk into a heard of what looked to be a bunch of angry, antler-clad deer. - [the figure in the mask stands at the doorway of the bathroom, watching as jaehyun is relaxing. his body is hidden by bubbles, and with earbuds in his ears, he has no idea that someone else is in the room.] [the figure leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. the candles in the bathroom blow out at the gust of cold wind.]

Jaehyun took off his earbuds, startled by the abrupt noise of the door slamming. "Hello? Guys? What are you doing out there?" He chuckled under his breath, "Being creepy, probably." After receiving no answer, Jaehyun sighed and got out of the bath. He grabbed a towel off of its hook and tied it around his waist. Carefully, so he wouldn't slip, he padded across the tiled floor towards where he had placed his clothes. Only a single sock was left on the chair, causing Jaehyun to let out a huff of annoyance. "Seriously, guys?" he yelled. "We're still doing pranks? This isn't cool, ya know! Not cool at all!" He walked out of the bathroom, "Doyoung? Taeil?" In the hall, candles were placed in threes everywhere, creating a strange ambiance to the lodge. Jaehyun half-wondered if Doyoung had botched up the lighting, and they had to use candles to see. That didn't explain the red balloons — each painted with a large black arrow — tied to the staircase. He began to climb down, grimacing, "This is all really funny guys: watch Jaehyun parade around in a towel ... but I'd really like this to be over now." He landed on the main floor and looked around. When he spotted no one, he frowned and continued down to the bottom level, "If you're trying to freak me out, you're succeeding!" The last balloon he could see pointed into the theater room. Jaehyun walked in slowly, expecting the three boys to be waiting with his clothes, a movie title screen on the projector. Everyone would laugh at Jaehyun and Ten would toss him his clothes and tell him to get dressed before he got to cold. Then they would watch something stupid like Anchorman to ease the tension. Instead, he was greeted with an empty room, and nothing playing on the screen. "Guys, stop! Come on, I'm done with this! I really don't appreciate the silent treatment anymore!" The doors to the theater slammed shut then, and Jaehyun let out a yelp of surprise. He looked towards the screen and saw that it was stuck on some kind of old movie countdown. "Hello, Jaehyun," a voice appeared over the speakers. Its distorted tone frightened Jaehyun, and he found himself turning every which way for the source. "Looking for me? I don't think you'll have much luck by looking, Jaehyun." "What's going on?" Jaehyun asked, his voice shaking slightly. "You'll only see what I want you to see. And I have a lot to show you," the voice chuckled, "Open your eyes." The screen turned black before a video of Jaehyun in the bathroom could be seen. "He's quite handsome isn't he? A beautiful bathing bird." "What? Why did you..." Jaehyun subconsciously tied his towel closer to his waist. "Do you think he has any idea what lies ahead? Do you think these were the last happy moments of this creatures life?" "Why are you'd showing this to me..?" Jaehyun asked, his face turning red with rage and embarrassment. "Why are you watching?" Jaehyun turned around to look for the source of the voice, and when he turned back to the screen, it had changed videos. Jaehyun gasped in horror. "Taeil!" he yelled at the screen, as his friend was mercilessly sawed in half with no warning. "WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU MANIAC, WHAT DID YOU DO?" "I'm going to give you ten seconds," the voice said calmly. "Nine ... eight ..." "No," Jaehyun backed up into the wall. "No, no, no, no, no!" "Seven ... " "Please no!" Jaehyun yelled. His entire body felt paralyzed, and he wasn't sure he could fight back even if he tried. The figure in the mask strutted in then, swinging the theater doors open. He had a syringe in his hand. "Jaehyun?" "No!" Jaehyun screamed, looking for another way out of the theater room. The maniac twirled the syringe in his hand as he spoke in a sing-song type of voice, "Jaehyun..." "Please, don't!" Jaehyun screamed. He tried to run past the maniac, and push him aside so he could bolt. He didn't anticipate the maniac's manic grip on his arm. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck, and suddenly everything was numb. He closed his eyes. [...]

#nct angst #nct scenario #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct au series #nct au #nct series #nct horror scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #destwrites

[coralhampton]

No Time For Meal Prep? New Delivery Services Make It Easy To Stick To Your Protocol

There is truly nothing to fear when it comes to changing your diet, if you're open to the help of a little technology. Changing one's diet can be extremely stressful for many. Particularly when they don't feel that they have control over it, like when they've been told they must follow a specific protocol to help manage a chronic disease, or they resent the disruption to their normal routine. Admittedly, the initial changes can be an adjustment but thankfully, many enterprising chefs have decided you can take the guesswork out of your new protocol by letting them do the cooking at your place, (sort of). Meal and meal kit delivery is becoming increasingly popular among many. From time-crunched students, to busy families, to people needing to keep strict dietary compliance, these services are brilliant! Read more

These types of services are extremely convenient and can be separated into two basic categories (although a few have hybrids of both). Some will prepare entire meals that are ready to be reheated and eaten, others, will deliver the fresh, prepped ingredients with detailed cooking instructions and you prepare the rest of the meal yourself. We don't recommend one type of service over the other, we think the best way to consider them, beside which may fit a specific protocol best, is how much do you enjoy, or how much time do you have, to devote to being in the kitchen? Is part of using a delivery service attractive to you because you don't have to cook? That's completely fair and is exactly why these services exist in the first place! There's also absolutely nothing to say you can't use more than one service, either. Regardless of where your meals may be coming from, we all eat so many times a day, so many times a week, right? For someone who loves to cook, but only when they have time on the weekends, that may mean using one service a few days a week and another for the weeknights when they're in a hurry, which provides fully prepared meals that save time. That may sound like a hassle, but with easy to use mobile apps and desktop sites to work with, it can certainly still be easier than pouring through cookbooks and websites and trying untested recipes, then slogging to the dreaded grocery store to collect everything you need.

After looking over so many of the menus offered by the companies we'll talk about below, we can say their prices are all fair for their offerings. If you're the type of cook who ends up with a lot of waste at the end of the week, we can even go as far as saying they can be money savers, too. As always, we are not affiliated with any of these services and aim only to help our patients and readers on their journey with dietary change, and helping them make informed decisions while they learn about new strategies for eating. Improving their quality of life while we're at it never hurts, either.

We used several broad criteria when selecting which of these services to recommend. To begin, we looked for companies that support specific dietary protocols such as: Paleo, Keto, Autoimmune Protocol (AIP), vegetarian, gluten-free, vegan and more. Then, of course, we checked pricing, because that's just logic taking over. We think it makes the most sense to judge each of them for their own value, instead of judging them against each other, because in many cases it can be like comparing apples to oranges. Companies that offer organic, antibiotic, hormone and GMO-free foods were especially attractive to us for a myriad of health and environmental reasons. And finally, if they aim to provide local and/or sustainable meat and produce, that was all the better!

Without further ado.

SunBasket.com - This service met many of our criteria handedly. In terms of the protocols they support, there are many, including: Paleo, gluten-free, vegetarian, and a proprietary menu they call Lean+Clean (which we have not reviewed specifically and cannot recommend for any one particular protocol. That is not to say that we do not encourage you to do your own research if you are interested, please do!). They use sustainable and organic foods in their recipes and are committed to using only hormone and antibiotic free meats. Their seafood is always recommended as Best Choice or Good Alternative by the Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch Program. Their recipes are designed to be on the table in 30 minutes, so they're great for weeknights. Orders come delivered weekly in 100% recyclable packing materials. With their Classic Menu they offer 18 menus to choose from at $6.16 per serving. Family menus have 6 menus to choose from at $6.62 per serving.

Plated.com - We will begin with the caveat that they do not offer protocol specific menus, rather, "Globally inspired, Chef designed menus." That said, they offer so many mix and match dishes that depending upon the dish and protocol, this service might still very well work for you. They offer 20 recipes to choose from and even a "rate and review" option that helps curate future menus for you. That was something we only noticed Plated doing and believe it's another reason to check them out, even if they may not list your specific protocol, they may still very well have dishes that fit all your criteria. They are committed to sustainable fishing, and serve only hormone and antibiotic free meats, supplementing with organic ingredients when possible. They use a volume pricing method, meaning the more servings you buy, the less expensive they become. 2-3 servings are $11.95 each while 4 or more drop to $9.95. They offer free shipping on orders over $60.

GreenChef.com - This service really stood out to us due to their seriousness towards gluten-free cooking. They were the first meal delivery service to be certified with the Gluten Intolerance Group's GFFS program. That gives us much confidence when recommending gluten-free eaters check them out. In addition to their gluten free menus they also offer: omnivore, carnivore, Paleo, Keto, vegan, and vegetarian menus. Many of which come in Family size. They use all organic ingredients. Their pricing is fairly straightforward but dependent upon which menus you order from and how many you are feeding. From their site:

"Our pricing is based on the plan you choose and how many people will be eating each dinner.

2-Person Plan: 1 box contains 3 dinners for 2 people (6 meals/servings total per box).

Family Plan: 1 box contains 2 dinners for a family of four, served family-style for parents and kids (8 meals/servings total per box).

Vegetarian $10.49 per meal

Omnivore $11.99 per meal

Vegan $11.99 per meal

Carnivore $13.49 per meal

Gluten-free $13.49 per meal

Paleo $14.99 per meal

Note: Based on the protein preferences you set for the Omnivore or Carnivore Plan, you may receive a menu that falls under a different meal plan. Don't worry-we'll always charge you the lower price of the two plans.

Family Omnivore $11.99 per meal

Family Carnivore $12.99 per meal

Note: Above prices do not include $9 shipping and handling per box."

CavemanChefs.com - This is a Colorado-based company directly serving the Denver-metro area, but they do offer next day shipping to areas outside of it. One of the things we found interesting is that they provide pick up locations at many CrossFit boxes in the area, killing two birds with one stone for many. What could be better than a workout then returning home with dinner without an additional stop? As their name implies, they focus on preparing Paleo meals and even Paleo catering, which is especially awesome when you're hosting an event but don't want to derail your dietary progress. As we were looking around their site we noticed they also offer menus for SIBO, low fodmap, Keto, Whole30 and PaleoAIP. In fact, according to their site, they are the first SIBO-specific meal delivery service in the U.S.! They offer up to 10 meals each week to choose from. As well, they are champions of environmental stewardship, sustainability, and humanely raised meats.They offer 100% grass-fed wagyu beef and lamb. As well as 100% antibiotic and hormone free pork and chicken, and wild caught Alaskan and verlasso salmon. They strive to use local, organic, and seasonal vegetables when available. One thing we noticed, that really set them apart from other services, is that they are willing to work with their customers in customizing meals, which means if you have an allergy or another dietary restriction they are there to help. Not that we're saying other companies are inflexible, but some of their business models just don't allow for substitutions or omissions, so they may not work for everyone. You can call or email to talk with their staff of professional chefs to keep you safe and healthy! We found that to be especially appealing for people with very strict protocols. We have added a link to their pricing page, because they offer a lot of options, including ordering by the pound, and we thought it might be easier to view it as they have it neatly presented on their site instead of run-on sentences trying to explain!

SupperBell.com - Is another Colorado-based delivery service, with a familiar name at the helm, Chef Frank Bonanno. Many of you who live in and around the Denver-metro area may be familiar with his family of restaurants that include Luca, Mizuna, Bones, Osteria Marco, to name but a few. If you have ever eaten at any of them, you can see why we'd recommend this service from their Chef! They provide a filter feature for their menus that you can select from: gluten-free, nut-free, Paleo, vegetarian, Light'NFit, and dairy free. These filters can be applied across entrees, sides/salads, breakfasts, families, and kids. And speaking of kids, there's even something for the littlest ones! SupperBell offers their own line of baby food! Called Baby Fresh, they offer 4 stages of organic items ranging from purees to solids for babies 6 months to all ages. They work with many local and sustainable purveyors such as Seattle Fish Co., Polidori Sausage, The Spice Guy, and 5280 Culinary. Their pricing and ordering system reminds us of restaurant takeout just slightly, in that you can place your order day-of (by 3:00 p.m. local time), dishes aren't priced the same across board but rather a la carte, and are delivered later that day between a time-window pre-selected by the customer. There are no contracts and a low order minimum of just $10 with a $2.95 delivery fee in their delivery zone.

Finally, we came across a website and Facebook page for a new service called SimplyAIP. They haven't started delivery yet but will be launching their service this Spring (2018). They will be specializing in Autoimmune Protocol-friendly meals, treats and indulgences, which we are very excited to check out! Their Facebook page is already chock-full of information, recipes and blog links. We highly recommend you check them out, very informative! There tends to be a real sense of community amongst AIP'ers and we expect their pages to be no different. They also currently have an email sign up on their webpage so you can be on their list for grand opening information and notifications. We think they're going to be a tremendous new resource for those following the AIP protocol!

In all, we are really excited these services exist and strongly recommend doing your own research to see which fits your specific needs and budget. We know that changing your diet, or following a strict protocol every day, can be stressful and intimidating for most people, especially at first. Even if you don't use a meal delivery service 7 nights a week, the times you may can certainly be a great jumping off point to learn about your new protocol, the ins and outs, and get some future meal inspirations for when you are feeling more comfortable and confident in your protocol. We are huge proponents of saving time and remaining as stress-free as possible and these services are right up our alley. Imagine the time you can reserve for other pursuits to enhance your health such as going to the gym, taking a yoga class or meditation. Certainly makes cooking sound a little less appealing when there are convenient, healthy and reliable options like these!

Visit Here >>> https://fitbitehealth.com/ultra-omega-burn/

#keto recipes for breakfast #keto recipes for breakfast on the go #keto recipes for breakfast no eggs #keto recipes for breakfast without eggs #keto recipes for breakfast vegetarian #keto recipes for breakfast muffins

[katherinemacbride]

AMOR/TORTURA

In Brazilian Portuguese there are two words for we. Nós is used to talk about a determinate group and a gente is used to talk about an indeterminate group. Often, a gente is also used to talk about a group that is in fact determined in some way but my intuition, as a learner, is that it leaves open the possibility of the group changing its boundaries and form, becoming something different while remaining a gente. A gente in this sense also means us. A gente literally translated would mean the people, not in the sense of the people united, that would be o povo unido. Gente without an article means people, folks, gente. You can use it to address a group of people oi gente, perhaps at the moment of joining or leaving the group. My intuition perceives this similarity as a blurring of the external and the internal, the them and us, the me and you.

Strikethrough indicates text I no longer hold to.

Italics indicates comments made during the process of translation, sometimes rooted in decisions to strike through and to rewrite.

Most things are translated, some of the commentary in italics is not because it needed to say different things in different times and places.

LOVE/TORTURE (after Ulrike Müller) 

AMOR/TORTURA (Esse título vem de um obra de Ulrike Müller em que ela leva seus espectadores norte americanos a se identificarem com as atividades do governo dos Estados Unidos contra prisioneiros de guerra.)

we’re in a borderlandsbordertimes just now maybe 

It feels wrong now to invoke the idea of a border to talk about possible unknown change.

todo mundo tem um centro e é um centro mas todo o poder delimita uma margem

everybody has a centre and is a centre but every power delimits a margin

feeling somewhat stable and set and fluid and safe and unsafe and uncomfortable and anxious

sentindo um tanto estável e fixa e líquida e segura e em perigo e desconfortável e ansiosa

and there

e lá

here

e aqui 

positioned

posiciona-se

somewhere, located in this moment

em algum lugar, por aí, situado nesse momento 

for this moment at least

ao menos por esse momento

edges happening 

dançando, por aí, pelos limites dos nossos corpos

Edges can happen but often they don’t happen, they are happened.

pode haver limites, por vezes não há limite, o limite acontece na voz passiva

dancing out through the edges of our bodies

adaptation

adaptação, talvez acomodando, talvez não 

adaptation, maybe accommodating, maybe not

margins moving shaping centres 

The one thing I learned was that there is fundamentally no centre, but the lumbering necropolitical ghost of one is dangerous.

toda a gente vive um centro, ou outros, eu posso fazer parte do seus centros, ou ficar na sua margem—sem o Poder é assim que se constitui a nossa relação

everyone of us lives a centre, or more, I can be part of your centres or stay at your margins—without power this is how our relations can constitute

sparking matter

faiscando matéria, provocando 

coming into making points of contact

indo, caminhando, fazendo pontos de contacto 

and all around us people are moving

à nossa volta gente está se movendo 

and categories are moving

e categorias estão se movendo

and chemical elements are moving

e elementos químicos estão se movendo

and geology is moving faster than it used to

e geologia está se movendo mais rápido que antes

and goods are moving

e os bens se movem

and abstract numbers are moving as flows of capital that is materialised only briefly as electricity between a server and a computer and in synapses of a trader

e números abstractos se movendo como fluxos de capital que se materializam brevemente como eletricidade entre um servidor e um computador e, nas sinapses de um operador

and we’re all swimming in shit and silicone beads and acidic effluents and run off from agrichemicals and baby wipes and cheaply and illegally dumped toxic waste hidden under super injunctions

e a gente está nadando em merda, e micropartículas de silicone e plástico, e afluentes ácidos, e agrotóxicos e lama tóxica desaguando nos rios, e lenços humedecidos, e resíduos tóxicos que foram ilegalmente despejados e escondidos sob ordens judiciais porque foi mais barato

and you and I and youse and me and we

e você e eu e vocês e a gente

are

a gente está e é

to be

estar ou ser

a we to be a we

a gente, a nós, a gente

being

estando ou sendo 

and a we are all a we except there are still them-s and we-s operating in us-es and them-s even though we-s are a we

e um nós é a gente, exceto que ainda estão inúmeros elxs-xs e nós-es usando a linguagem de elxs e de nós, se bem que todos estes nós-es sejam a gente 

and stones are a we

e pedras são a gente

E aqui foi uma parte onde eu escrevi algumas matérias e hábitos que são usados pela tortura. No original estava lendo para um público de arte, mais ou menos branco, num país que vende armas e instrumentos para tortura em países onde torturam cidadãos. A gente também tortura cidadãos de outros países, mas a gente faz isso em outros países com o objetivo de ocultar os abusos que fizémos. Eu não fiz uma tradução dessa parte porque aqui, nesse lugar, muitas pessoas conhecem alguém que viveu experiencias de tortura.

and electrodes attached to genitals are a we, and sticks and fists and boots ripping skin and smashing bone and painfully penetrating soft orifices are a we, and methods of starvation and sleep deprivation are a we, and fibres woven into ropes and grown into canes that beat soles of feet in falaka and bastinado are a we, and metals in wires that suspend people who have names in stress positions for days are a we 

The original of this text was written in 2015 with the refugee ‘crisis’ in mind. There were descriptions of torture. At the time I had recently stopped volunteering for an organisation that worked with people who had experienced torture. Sometimes, when I write about violence my audience is other white people, being like, why aren’t you more angry about this, feel this, touch this, maybe I’m thinking that if you feel something you might change your behaviour. But how do you talk about violence without reproducing violence? I took out the references to torture in the translation because in that language the time of the dictatorship was too recent.

Eu recomeço aqui, com o torturador e não com a pessoa que foi torturada.

and blood that pumps through muscles that use these materials to make those movements, those actions, and to clean floors afterwards, are a we

e o sangue que bombeia nos músculos que usam essas materiais para fazer estes movimentos, essas ações, e para limpar o chão depois, é a gente

and carbon is a we

e carbono é a gente

and silicone and hydrogen are a we

e silicone e hidrogénio são a gente

and water is a we

e agua é a gente

and a child with a broken leg trying to jump on a Eurostar train is a we

e uma criança com uma perna quebrada tentando pular num trem Eurostar é a gente

E desde que eu escrevi isto, tenho que dizer que as pessoas que se movem e moviam e vão continuar se movendo, fugindo por causa de violência e guerra e desigualdade estrutural e a mudança de clima, e que estão morrendo, são a gente.

And since I wrote this, I should say that uncountable people who move and have moved and will continue moving, seeking refuge because of violence and war and structural inequality and climate change, and who are dying, are a we.

and lawmakers and wannabe lawmakers are a we even as lawmakers and wannabe lawmakers do use them-s in the construction of more specific and narrower we-s that are not a we

e aqueles que fazem as leis e aqueles que quiserem fazer as leis são a gente, mesmo aqueles que fazem as leis e aqueles que querem fazer as leis dizem eles e elas para definir de forma mais específica e mais limitada um nós-es, e esses nós-es não são a gente

and types of exclusion and exploitation enacted by powerful and experienced by poorer and less powerful are a we

e formas de exclusão, e extração realizado por poderosos e vivido pelos mais pobres e os menos poderosos, são a gente

and bodies of people who mined minerals and rare metals that make magic of a micro processor in a phone that I am reading from work are a we

e os corpos das pessoas que trabalharam em mineração dos minerais e metais raros que fazem a magia invisível no microprocessador do meu computador onde eu escrevi este texto são a gente

and an I using a phone is a we

e um/a eu usando este computador é a gente

and a body of a miner and a body of one of hundreds of thousands of women raped as a method of warfare in a country where minerals used in making microprocessors are found are a we

e o corpo de um mineiro e o corpo de uma das centenas de milhares de mulheres que foram estupradas porque o estupro é um armamento de guerra num país onde os minerais usados para fazer microprocessadores são encontrados, são a gente

and colonial histories are a we

e histórias coloniais são e gente

and ongoing violences coming from those histories of violence are a we

e violências contínuas vindo dessas histórias de violência são a gente

and histories of slavery and subjectivation and subjection are a we

e histórias de escravidão e subjectivação e sujeição são a gente

and a we are all a fucking we

e a gente toda é a gente porra!

and we-s behave as if capitalism contains a we, the we, although that we excludes, ignores, objectifies, exploits or is unaware of much of a we

e a gente se comporta como se o capitalismo contivesse a gente, o só nós, no entanto aquele nós exclui, ignora, objetifica, tira proveito, ou não tem consciência de muito que é a gente 

and systems of oppression and domination have been a we for such a long time and such a short time that it is now ok to conceptualise a we as selfish

e os sistemas de opressão e dominação tem sido a gente por tanto tempo e tão pouco tempo que foi recentemente ok conceptualizar a gente como egoísta 

by pushing genetics into a mould with ideology

forçando a genética em um molde com ideologia 

when perhaps genetics might have something to say about a we as cooperative and symbiotic and interrelated

quando talvez a genética tenha algo a dizer sobre a gente como cooperativista e simbiótica e emaranhada e interligada e interdependente 

so a we could say that some of a we-s capacity to conceptualise a we is limited by effects of oppression on oppressors and oppressed

então, a gente poderia dizer que uma parte da capacidade da gente conceptualizar a gente está sendo limitada pelos efeitos de opressão sobre opressores e oprimidos 

and a we is so impregnated with violence that it can say anything through the making of them-s but them-s are a we

Impregnation metaphors about violence are pretty violent.

e um nós está tão reproduzido pela violência que pode dizer qualquer coisa através da criação desses eles e elas mas esses elas e elas são a gente 

and a we is so much reproduced through violence that it can say anything through the making of them-s but them-s are a we

although them-s and us-es excluded from categories of us-es and them-s may need to create further them-s and us-es to force on other us-es and them-s facts of their and our existences

no entanto elxs-xs e as gentes que são excluídas de categorias de eles e elas nós-es, talvez precise criar mais elxs-xs para forçar que outros eles e outras elas reconhecem essas existências da gente

and we are all a we

e a gente, todo mundo, é a gente

and some of us a we have a body and a body is time and a body is experiences that it exists through

All of us have a body…

e tem gente que tem corpos, e um corpo é tempo, e um corpo são vivências através das quais elx existe 

is a body is some cells is the air between us that is not empty space but is also molecules of a we

é um corpo, são algumas células no ar, entre a gente, que não é espaço vazio mas também são moléculas da gente

and for me a we some of the time lately having a body has been like carrying rocks around in a head but instead of rattling when shaken they move noiselessly as if suspended in a viscous fluid

e para mim, para a gente, às vezes, há pouco tempo, ter um corpo tem sido como carregar rochas na cabeça, mas quando as rochas são agitadas elas não fazem nenhum barulho, mas se movem silenciosamente como se suspensas num líquido viscoso 

wanting to wear a coat that’s too big the whole time

querendo usar um casacão grande demais o tempo inteiro 

not liking a body

não gostando de um corpo 

how it works and feels or how a me a one thinks it looks

como funciona e sente ou como um/a eu uma pessoa pensa que parece 

not being able to sleep

não sendo capaz de dormir

waking from sleep feeling like a curled up bit of paper

acordando de dormir se sentindo como um pedacinho de papel enrolado 

making a me a one get out of bed to go downstairs and finding itself crying in a kitchen

obrigando um/a eu uma pessoa a ir lá abaixo, encontrando se chorando na cozinha 

feeling guilty for taking up too much space

sentindo se culpada por ocupar espaço demais

feeling not wanting to continue to exist

sentindo que não quer continuar a existir 

feeling stupid

se sentindo estúpida

not being very responsive and sitting with a flat face finding a me a one frowning as it listens and waits for chemical compounds to accrue in its bloodstream and interfere in uncertain pathways with neurotransmitters

não se sentindo muito reactiva, sentindo me com um rosto vazio, se encontrando fazendo carranca enquanto esse corpo ouve e espera até compostos químicos se acumularem no seu sangue e interferirem com neurotransmissores em caminhos incertos

and movement that happens when light hits retinas in close proximity is a we

e movimento que acontece quando luz bate nas retinas ao perto é a gente

and movement that happens when a set of eyes squint slightly in a gesture of indescribable affect is a we

e movimento que acontece quando alguns olhos se franzem imperceptivelmente em um gesto de afeto indescritível é a gente

and a sensation of a touch is a we

e uma sensação de toque é a gente

and an interplay between a surface and a surface is a we

e a interação entre uma superfície e uma superfície é a gente

and blood flowing and sparking electricity of mirroring synaptic impulses firing when bodies of animals are in proximity is a we

e sangue a fluir e faiscando electricidade em impulsos sinápticos espelhados descarregando é a gente 

and an endless flow of conversation is a we

e um fluxo de conversa sem fim é a gente

and a needle of a spruce is a we

e uma agulha de pinheiro é a gente

and granite is a we

e granito é a gente

and a feeling body of a cuttlefish is a we

e o corpo sentindo de uma sépia é a gente

and a bird whose metabolism allows for it to be able to leap high into air to catch minuscule particles of floating food is a we

e um pássaro cujo metabolismo lhe dá a possibilidade de saltar alto para o ar para capturar pedacinhos de comida flutuante é a gente

and a pregnant mosquito seeking blood is a we

e uma mosquito mãe buscando sangue para suas crianças é a gente

and a movement of air that some of a we might call a wind is a we

e o movimento de ar que alguns da gente talvez chamam um vento é a gente

and a we is a difficult concept because it is so many we-s

e a gente é um conceito difícil porque a gente tem tantas gentes

and a we is a poorly functioning concept because conditions do not exist for all of many voices to be able to speak a we

e a gente é um conceito que funciona mal porque as condições ainda não existem para que todas as vozes possam falar e possam ser ouvidas falando a gente 

and often particular voices claim a we without consent from each of many we-s

e muitas vezes algumas vozes afirmam a gente sem consentimento de cada um das muitas gentes

and for much of a we speech is a meaningless human concept that occurs in a plane of experience of vibrations and time

e para grande parte de a gente, a fala é um conceito humano que acontece sobre um plano da vivência de vibrações e tempo 

and being a we means a we are all implicated and entangled

e sendo a gente quer dizer que a gente é, ou seja todos estão, envolvidos e emaranhados 

and perhaps that is difficult or doesn’t fit an ideology or connects to emotions that have been developed in social structures of a we

e talvez que aquilo seja difícil ou não sirva uma ideologia ou ligue a emoções que foram desenvolvidas dentro das estruturas sociais de a gente  

or is inconvenient to the expression of an I or a one

ou seja incómodo para a manifestação de um/a eu ou uma pessoa

or is slow and necessitates negotiation and compromise and giving up certain privileges or taking on certain responsibilities

ou seja lento e exija negociação e compromisso e desistindo de certos privilégios e aceitando certas responsabilidades 

or not having a structure that can be fixed independently of or in relation to others beyond this very moment

ou não tendo uma estrutura que possa ser fixa autonomamente ou sem relação da gente nesse momento e nos momentos que vêm e que vieram

and is philosophically challenging to certain dominant cultures

e é exigente para conhecimentos e pensamentos de certas culturas dominantes 

and perhaps also to ways that consciousness among human elements of a we has evolved thus far in these cultures

e talvez também para maneiras em que conciência entre elementos humanos evoluío até então nessas culturas dominantes 

and a structure of sentences with active subjects and passive objects doesn’t make a we feel or doesn’t feel a we

e a estrutura de frases com sujeitos activos e objectos passivos não faz que a gente sentir, ou seja, não sente a gente

can it describe a set of relations and movements that will change and shift?

pode descrever relações e movimentos que mudarão e transformarão?

is it a question of use?

é uma questão de uso?

or is it implicated in the violence of an us and a them and a me and a you?

ou está envolvido na violência de um nós e um eles e uma elas e um/a eu e um/a você?

because it really helped what a you a one a we was saying that time about passive and active forms in sentence structure

porque essa coisa que um você, uma pessoa, estava dizendo uma vez, sobre as formas passivas e activas na gramatica me ajudou muito

an I a one always got taught to avoid a passive

um/a eu, uma pessoa, foi sempre ensinada a evitar o passivo  

a bit of a father a one’s preference for short clear sentences informed by working with we-s who find it hard to read for whichever of the many possible reasons

um hábito de uma pessoa, um pai, que prefere frases curtas e claras, por causa de uma vida lendo com a gente que acha ler difícil por causa de muitas raizes possíveis 

hanging around a daughter a one a me a we

a rodear uma filha, uma pessoa, um/a eu, a gente

and remaining with a me a one like a smear or a jumper in a bag or just a habit really

e permanecendo com um/a eu, uma pessoa, com um pulôver numa bolsa em clima frio, ou na verdade só como um hábito 

but a relational one perhaps

mas um hábito relacional talvez

even though a father a one a we has no idea that a daughter an I a one a we carry this habit and enact it and think of it and a father a one a we when an I a one a we writes

embora um pai, uma pessoa, a gente, não faz uma ideia que uma filha, uma pessoa, um/a eu, continua esse hábito e usa isso e pensa nisso e pensa também num pai, numa pessoa, em uma gente, quando uma pessoa, um/a eu, a gente escreve

but a you a one a we were talking about how a political ontology changes with each sentence written

mas um/a você, uma pessoa, a gente, estava falando sobre como uma ontologia política muda com cada frase escrita 

and how a passive form can perhaps be useful when trying to write in a mode and method of bottom up changing

e como uma forma passiva pode talvez ser útil quando tentando escrever num modo e método de mudar da baixo para cima 

that it can allow for what is indistinct, processual, difficult to define with precision and clarity to have a place in making change and writing histories

que se pudesse possibilitar ao que é obscuro, indistinto, processual, o que evita definição simple ou clara, de não só ter lugar em processos de fazer transformações mas também em processos de escrever histórias

although it can be dangerous when used to articulate a top down power relation as having just come to be, then it is not a we perhaps

mesmo que uma forma passiva possa ser perigosa quando é usada para articular uma relação de poder de cima para baixo, como se simplesmente fosse, então talvez não seja a gente

‘and we are all five o’clock in the evening’

e a gente é toda essa tarde

and paralimbic systems of cetaceans that are particular in their form of making a sentience of a we, are also a we

e os sistemas paralímbicos de cetáceos que são especiais nas formas delas enquanto formando a consciência do grupo, da gente, são também a gente

‘or another hour’

ou uma outra hora

and symbiotic relationships of microscopic ocean critters that are particular in their form of making a sentience of a we, are also a we

e relações simbióticas dos bichinhos microscópicos do mar que também são especiais nas formas delas enquanto f formando a consciência do grupo, da gente, são também a gente

‘or rather two hours simultaneously'

ou talvez duas ou mais horas ao mesmo tempo

and photosynthesis and bacteria fixing nitrogen in plants in relation with a star, a sun, and a soil, in a we, that are particular forms of making a sentience of a we, are also a we

e fotossíntese e bactérias fixadoras de nitrogênio nas plantas em relação com uma estrela, um sol, um solo, em uma gente, que são igualmente especiais nas formas delas enquanto formando a consciência do grupo, são também a gente

‘noon-midnight but distributed in a variable fashion’

meio-dia, meia-noite, mas distribuído de uma maneira variável

‘waves broke on a shore’

ondas quebraram e quebrarão e estão quebrando em uma margem

This text about a we necessitates perhaps some words about this I. Recently, I was writing in a shared online document gathering more different words for queer experience and I wrote, ‘…guts, skin, I can’t tell if the inside is outside or the outside is inside because everything has melted into a different cellular arrangement where I can feel that there isn’t an inside or outside any of the time even though I might imagine there is…feeling at home, space to be without being aware of being watched [including by myself]…beauty in temporaryness…feeling understood in a deeper way than everyday, love…fluids, being present in my own body without feeling shame, a quicker access to desire, desire in fragments floating around everywhere, sharing, sensitivity and solidarity, salt, heat, presence.

Original English text 2015, rewritten 2017. Portuguese version written 2019.

The quotes in the English language text are borrowed from Deleuze and Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaux and Virginia Woolf’s The Waves.

Thank you to Emer Lynch and Tracy Hanna for hosting me while I wrote the original English text in a Dublin public library.

Agradecimentos à Camilla Rocha Campos por tudo, à Mariana Fernandes por me ajudar com o revisão final do texto Portugues, à Millena Lízia por sendo lá, à Tanja Baudoin por me ensinar sobre hospedando, e à Zaba Azevedo por me ensinar Portugues do Brasil e por me ajudar com o primeiro versões do texto Portugues.

Thank you to Ainslie Roddick for letting me take so long, amongst other things.

[readingontheedge]

The Haunting of Thores-Cross

Ghosts of Thores-Cross Book 1

by Karen Perkins

Genre: Paranormal Suspense

 "The ghost of a wronged young woman in the village of Thores-Cross waits 230 years to have her story told in Perkins's suspenseful and atmospheric first Yorkshire Ghost novel"

- BookLife by Publishers Weekly

*Silver Medal Winner, European fiction - 2015 IPPY Book Awards

*#1 Bestseller in 6 Amazon Categories, including Ghost Suspense, British Horror and Gothic Romance

*Top 10 Bestseller in 8 more, including Historical Thrillers and Occult Horror

*Over 100 5-STAR reviews on Amazon.com

Likened by independent reviewers on Amazon to the Brontë sisters, Edgar Allen Poe, Barbara Erskine and Nathaniel Hawthorne, Karen Perkins' novels are filled with unflinching honesty and an acute understanding of human nature. She explores not only the depths of humanity, but the depths of human motivation behind the actions and pain people inflict upon each other, as well as the repercussions of these actions not only in the short term, but also the later generations who live with the implications of the past.

Emma Moorcroft is still grieving after a late miscarriage and moves to her dream house at Thruscross Reservoir with her husband, Dave. Both Emma and Dave hope that moving into their new home signifies a fresh start, but life is not that simple. Emma has nightmares about the reservoir and the drowned village that lies beneath the water, and is further disturbed by the sound of church bells - from a church that no longer exists.

Jennet is fifteen and lives in the isolated community of Thores-Cross, where life revolves about the sheep on which they depend. Following the sudden loss of both her parents, she is seduced by the local wool merchant, Richard Ramsgill. She becomes pregnant and is shunned not only by Ramsgill, but by the entire village. Lonely and embittered, Jennet's problems escalate, leading to tragic consequences which continue to have an effect through the centuries.

Emma becomes fixated on Jennet, neglecting herself, her beloved dogs and her husband to the point where her marriage may not survive. As Jennet and Emma's lives become further entwined, Emma's obsession deepens and she realises that the curse Jennet inflicted on the Ramsgill family over two hundred years ago is still claiming lives.

Emma is the only one who can stop Jennet killing again, but will her efforts be enough? 

Goodreads * Amazon 

Video Trailer: 

https://youtu.be/qas3UEht_6Y 

The Haunting of Thores-Cross - Excerpt

   I could not look down at myself. I could not bear the sight of Mam’s clothes on me. Both skirt and shawl itched. I knew I would be aware of every thread of wool on my skin all day. More noise at the door, and I followed Mary downstairs. Digger and his son, Edward, had arrived with the cart to take Mam to the church. I let Mary Farmer organise them. It were Mary who urged their care. Mary who gave instructions to John over Pa. Mary who pushed me through the door and out into bright sunlight. It were Mam’s funeral, how could the sun shine? I looked back at the house and, for a moment, pity for Pa mixed with my despair. How long before Digger’s cart came for him?

‘Come on, lass, no dawdling!’

I turned back to the cart and started the long walk behind it down the hill, Mary Farmer at my side. After a few steps I stopped hearing her endless chatter. It became just another sound of the country, like the birdsong. Ever present but meaningless. We passed the smithy and William Smith joined us, then the Gate Inn and Robert and Martha Grange.

One by one, the village turned out, dressed in their best, and fell in behind us. Mary Farmer greeted them all. I hardly noticed. I felt as if my insides had frozen. My heart, my lungs, belly, everything. With each step, they splintered further. I wondered if I would make it as far as the church at the other side of Thores-Cross or whether I would be left on the side of the lane, a heap of cracked and broken ice.

‘Here.’ Mary Farmer nudged me and held out a handkerchief. ‘Thought this might come in useful. John won’t miss it. Not today.’

I took it. I had not realised I were crying, but when I wiped my face and eyed the scrap of cloth, it were sopping wet. My eyes and nose must have been streaming since we left the house.

I scratched my shoulder. Remembered I were wearing Mam’s clothes and lost myself in sobs. Mary Farmer tried to put an ample arm around me, but I shrugged her off. I wondered if I would ever stop crying. The cart reached the bridge and turned right. I followed, walking alongside the river, the same walk I used to make every other Sunday with Mam and Pa. We shared a curate with Fewston and would have to make that walk twice a month, unless Robert Grange were making the trip in his dray cart and we could ride the two miles over the moor. I realised with a start that I would not have to do that any more – not if I did not want to. Less than half the village made the trip to Fewston, claiming a variety of ills, and we only went because Mam insisted. I cried harder at the jolt of relief I felt.

‘Here we are, lass. Thee stick with me, I’ll get thee through this.’ Mary Farmer clung to my arm and I peered at the church. Digger and Edward lifted Mam down from the cart, ready for various men from the village to carry it inside. Robert Grange, William Smith, Thomas Fuller and George Weaver. Our closest neighbours. I took a deep breath and followed them into the plain single-storey stone building with the steps so worn they were more like a ramp. It were cold inside, despite the July sun. Or maybe that were me. Still ice, still cracking, but still in one piece. 

Cursed

Ghosts of Thores-Cross Book 2

  Jennet's here. No one is safe.

A skeleton is dug up at the crossing of the ways on Hanging Moor, striking dread into the heart of Old Ma Ramsgill - the elderly matriarch of the village of Thruscross. And with good reason. The eighteenth-century witch, Jennet, has been woken. A spate of killings by a vicious black dog gives credence to her warnings and the community - in particular her family - realise they are in terrible danger. Drastic measures are needed to contain her, but with the imminent flooding of the valley to create a new reservoir, do they have the ability to stop her and break her curse? 

Goodreads * Amazon 

Cursed - Excerpt

 Thruscross, North Yorkshire

 7th August 1966 – 11:30 a.m.

  ‘Right, tea break over, lads, back to work. Rog, Steve, you’re up on Hanging Moor in the bulldozers. As soon as they’ve gone through, Paul and Simon, you get the chippings down. And take care – don’t go past the markers, that drop’s lethal.’

The road crew groaned, threw their dregs of tea to the ground and refastened their flasks before clambering into their machines to dig out the access road to the new dam spanning the Washburn Valley. The valley would be flooded in a month’s time, creating the new reservoir for the Leeds Corporation Waterworks to supply half of Leeds with drinking water, and the road should have been completed last month.

Rog led the way, the large bucket scraping heather and peat, then dumping it into the waiting tipper truck.

Steve followed, making a deeper cut. Together they gouged an ugly scar over the pristine Yorkshire moorland.

‘Bugger,’ Steve cried out and jolted in his seat, knocking the control levers. The big digger wobbled, teetered, then slowly toppled over towards the edge and a sheer wooded drop of a hundred and fifty feet to the valley bottom below.

‘Steve!’ Rog cried. ‘Lads, help!’

The rest of the crew downed tools and diggers and rushed to the stricken bulldozer. By the time they reached it, Rog was already clambering on to the cab, desperately trying not to look at the vista that opened up before him only a few feet away.

‘Steve?’ he called again. No answer. His mate lay unconscious, twisted in his seat. ‘No!’ The digger slid a foot or two in the wrong direction.

‘Rog, get down; she’s going over!’ Andy, the foreman, shouted.

‘No – Steve’s out cold.’

‘You’re no help to him if your weight pushes it over the edge – get down! We’ll get help, but we need to secure the digger somehow, keep her steady.’

Rog took a last look at his mate then nodded. He realised he couldn’t get into the cab without destabilising the digger further and he had no idea how serious Steve’s injuries were. He climbed down carefully, just as Simon drew up in the tipper truck. Half full of soil and rock, it was the heaviest vehicle there.

Andy got on the radio to inform his boss at the dam where there was a telephone to call for help, while Paul ran over with a chain. He secured it round one of the digging arms, and Simon backed up – slowly – until the chain was taut.

The digger shifted, turning around the pivot point they’d created. The back end now hung off the edge of the cliff.

‘Keep it there, Simon,’ Andy called. ‘And keep it in reverse – if the edge fails, you’ll need to pull him backwards.’

‘Can’t he just do that anyway?’ Rog asked.

‘We don’t know how badly he’s hurt. If he’s broken his back or neck, moving him could make it worse. We don’t want to move him unless we have to – not until the Fire Brigade and ambulance get here. What happened anyway?’

‘Uh.’ Rog pulled his attention away from the downed machine. ‘I don’t know – he shouted out, then rolled it.’

‘He shouted before he rolled?’

‘Yes.’

‘Andy, Rog. Come and have a look at this,’ Paul called and beckoned them over to join him where Steve had made his last cut.

‘What is it?’ Andy came hurrying over.

‘Uh, looks like a skull.’

‘What? Oh Christ, it’s a bloody skeleton! Well, that’s us finished, lads, no more work here for at least a month while they sort this one out,’ Rog said.

‘Forget that, we’ll just go round it,’ Andy said.

The three men looked over at Steve, then back into the grave. Only the skull and shoulder girdle were visible. As one, they shuddered as a worm pushed its way out of the compacted earth behind the jaw bones, for a moment looking as if the skull had stuck an emaciated tongue out at them. 

Jennet

Ghosts of Thores-Cross Book 3

 ‘Jennet will have your heart and your fear in equal measure’

‘Through Jennet we see how cruelty can drive even the most ordinary people to hatred and, in Jennet's case, evil’

Yorkshire is in the grip of a heatwave, and Thruscross Reservoir has dried up to reveal the remains of the drowned village of Thores-Cross beneath.

Playing in the mud which coats the valley floor, four-year-old Clare Wainwright finds an old inkpot, and can’t wait to show it to her best friend, Louise. But when Louise’s mother, Emma, sees it, her reaction is shocking, and both families are plunged into their worst nightmares.

Emma knows what the inkpot portends:

Jennet has woken.

Now she wants the children.

This is not a gore-ridden, jump-scare horror story. This is more real than that. Jennet is a story about the horrific things that people do to each other, and the way we react to that maltreatment – which does not always end with death.

Jennet’s story is a horror story because it’s not necessarily fiction. It reflects the way women were treated in the time that Jennet lived. It reflects the psychology of the abuse cycle. And it reflects real life. All of it.

If, as I believe, the spirit does not die when the physical body dies, then how many spirits are looking for vengeance today?

What wrongs will you want to right when you pass through that veil? What will I?

This is the conclusion of Jennet’s story, which began in The Haunting of Thores-Cross. I hope she finds peace. I really do. 

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Jennet - Excerpt

  Ma pulled her coat tight around her body and, head bowed to the wind, pushed forward with as much strength as she could muster. No wonder Spencer hadn’t wanted to shift.

‘Sensible hoss,’ she muttered, but knew she had to push on.

With the headwind she could not hear anything from behind, and forced herself to stop and turn to check the others were following.

Biddy hooked her arm in Ma’s as she reached her, and Winnie took her other arm.

Elsie Grange and Babs also linked arms, and together they fought their way into the headwind, Nell and Rachel carrying lanterns on the flanks of the group.

Winnie came to a sudden stop, pulling on Ma’s arm, and Babs bumped into her back. ‘Listen!’

The women huddled together.

‘I can only hear the wind,’ Elsie complained.

‘Hush. Winnie’s right, there’s summat else,’ Ma said.

This time they all heard the low growl, and Babs squeaked. ‘That’s what I heard at the fairy spring!’

‘Hold the lanterns high,’ Ma instructed.

Nell and Rachel obeyed, and the seven women peered into the darkness. They jumped when it was split by a streak of bright light.

‘There, something moved!’ Rachel exclaimed.

‘Come on, hurry,’ Ma said as a loud growl competed with reverberations of thunder.

The women got moving once more, their steps quick and purposeful along the lane.

Even Ma jumped at the next growl. It came from right behind them.

Babs hurried to the front of the pack, her terrified tears blending with rainwater on her cheeks. Ma took pity on the young lass, and hustled forward to join and calm her.

They paused at the stile in the wall bordering Ratten Row. Wolf Farm lay a few yards beyond.

Ma turned to Babs. ‘Nearly done,’ she encouraged.

The wind tore at their coats, and the two women crouched down by the wall for a little shelter, then froze. There had been another sound; more a snarl than a growl, Ma was sure of it. Was Jennet here? Was she in the form of the black dog or wolf which had been the cause of so much recent grief?

They listened hard as the rest of the women joined them, but could hear little over the shriek of the wind, the pounding of the rain, and the rumbles of thunder. The church bell tolled once more and Ma shivered. Had she taken on too much? Was the witch too strong for her?

But she could not waver now. ‘Come on,’ she shouted, and turned to drag herself over the stile. She felt hands helping her up, and swung her leg over the capstones. She nearly overbalanced as a gust hit her, but her friends kept her upright and she was soon over.

Biddy, Winnie and Elsie followed, then the younger women clambered across, Nell once again at the rear, brandishing her lantern, which Rachel took off her while she made her climb.

‘Come on!’ Ma bellowed, but her leg slipped from under her as she stepped forward and she skidded into a painful fall.

‘Ma!’

Babs and Rachel tried to help her up, but lost their own footing on the drenched ground.

Biddy joined the heap.

‘Ground’s too wet!’ Winnie cried. ‘Whole hillside’s a bog!’

‘Oh God!’ Nell shoved her lantern at Elsie as the moon appeared through a break in the clouds. ‘Stan! Alfie!’ She ran towards the farmhouse, falling to her knees more than once, but concern for her husband’s young brothers pushed her on.

A rectangle of light appeared in the front wall of Wolf Farm as another crash of thunder accompanied a blaze of lightning.

Stan reached down, his hobnailed boots helping him keep his footing, and pulled Nell back up to her feet.

She gesticulated, her words incomprehensible in the wind, but a flash of understanding hit Ma as she realised the young farmer’s wife was pointing uphill.

‘Get back, get back, it’s a trap!’ she shouted at the other women. ‘That beast wasn’t stalking us, it was herding us! Get back to road before the moor slides!’

Nell, flanked by Stan on one side, and his younger brother Alfie on the other, joined them, Nell’s words echoing Ma’s.

The mud-covered, straggly group struggled back to the boundary wall, and heaved themselves over as the ground they had been standing on slipped.

Stan hurled himself forward, his feet carried away. Rachel and Nell caught his sleeves as he fell.

Alfie looked up from his position on the wall, anguish clear in his eyes before clouds darkened the moon once more. He could do nothing to help his brother – his hands were full of Elsie Grange as he heaved her up and over the wall, Winnie hot on her heels.

Elsie screamed, and Alfie rose up, a capstone held in both hands which he flung with a strength borne as much from terror as from years of hurling bales of hay and contending with maddened ewes about the farm.

An inhuman screech followed and Alfie held his arms up in triumph. The women did not need to hear his declaration of triumph to know he had hit the wolf-dog.

A louder rumble than even the thunder which roared overhead deafened the group, and they turned as one to see a river of peat and heather hit the back wall of Wolf Farm. It found at least one means of entry as seconds later a dark, muddy mess spewed from the front door on its journey downhill.

The nine bedraggled villagers stared in disbelief.

‘That settles it.’ Nell’s voice was audible between gusts of wind and furious clangs of the church bell. ‘You two boys are coming home with me. Billy could do with your help on the farm, and there’s plenty of room for you in the house. You’re not spending another minute here.’ 

Karen Perkins is the author of eight fiction titles: the Yorkshire Ghost Stories and the Valkyrie Series of historical nautical fiction. All of her fiction has appeared at the top of bestseller lists on both sides of the Atlantic, including the top 21 in the UK Kindle Store in 2018. Her first Yorkshire Ghost Story - THE HAUNTING OF THORES-CROSS - won the Silver Medal for European Fiction in the prestigious 2015 Independent Publisher Book Awards in New York, whilst her Valkyrie novel, DEAD RECKONING, was long-listed in the 2011 MSLEXIA novel competition. Originally a financial advisor, a sailing injury left Karen with a chronic pain condition which she has been battling for over twenty five years (although she did take the European ladies title despite the injury!). Writing has given her a new lease of - and purpose to - life, and she is currently working on a sequel to Parliament of Rooks: Haunting Brontë Country. When not writing, she helps other authors prepare their books for publishing and has edited over 150 titles, including the 2017 Kindle UK Storyteller Award winner, The Relic Hunters by David Leadbeater, and has also published a series of publishing guides to help aspiring authors realise their dreams. Karen Perkins is a member of the Society of Authors and the Horror Writers Association

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Author Links

Website: www.karenperkinsauthor.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Yorkshireghosts

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/yorkshireghosts

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LionheartG

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/yorkshireghosts

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Karen-Perkins/e/B009BLBUTY

Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7135531.Karen_Perkins 

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[battybat-boss]

Let's Discard The 'Right' To Be Insulted By Free Speech

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.” As a child, this well-worn phrase was the perfect antidote to whatever insulting name-calling I had to endure from other children. Those times I did remember to use it, it seemed to give me back some strength and made me feel good. For all of us, the perspective behind this phrase can turn an 'insult' into what it truly is: mere words, a string of vocal utterances without innate meaning or power, unless the recipient were to interpret them as such by taking them personally.

The very phrase 'She insulted me,' is at best a relative and not an absolute truth. More accurate would be the phrase 'She said something and I took it personally,' because these two things are always required for someone to be insulted. It is not a matter of whether or not she intended to demean, offend, or humiliate me; if indeed she did, though, the truth about it is simply that 'She said this with an intention to insult me.' In the end, this never proves the insult to be true; it just proves that she is a person who tries to insult others.

If personal frailty makes us take offending statements personally–and many of us still fall into that category, at least some of the time–the experience always provides an opportunity for us to come to grips with how we feel about ourselves, and continue to do the personal work required that renders us invulnerable to insult. From this more powerful place, we can then deal with those who would insult or demean us in a much more effective manner.

Understand that I am not advocating that we individually or collectively suffer in silence when hateful and prejudicial speech is directed at us; I am suggesting that if we have allowed ourselves to be emotionally impacted by such speech, and have given these words power over us, we are unlikely to be able to deal with the situation in an effective manner.

Societal Ego

Many people in our society have not yet done the consciousness work that makes them feel immune to criticism. They do not take personal responsibility when they feel insulted and maintain an identity that supports their own victimhood. One of the problems with this, especially in this age of social media and rapid communication, is that we have started to share this sense of victimhood as a collective, and our societal ego has grown into some kind of Frankenstein.

These days, we are getting more and more into the habit of banding together on social media in feeling victimized by the words of others, even if they are not directed at us; what is more damaging, we feel justified in expressing our raw outrage and self-righteous indignation at people who are speaking their minds, as though it will somehow make the situation better.

The fact is that this does not make things better, no matter how 'offensive' the words may be. It only works to bury the dark thoughts and beliefs of people instead of allowing them to come out and be expressed, which is the first step towards healing. We put too much emphasis on preventing words from being said, and too little on helping people overcome the ignorance that sponsored the words in the first place.

Political Correctness

Political correctness, with its mandating of words and phrases not to be used in public, is a symptom of this. Let's use our discernment here, because there is some nuance to this, and a simplistic approach can only cause polarization.

It is all well and good for us to agree that certain words, terms and phrases have a pejorative meaning, and foster a negative or demeaning perception of the group of people the words refer to. If we come to agree that there are better words to use, this can be helpful to foster a more neutral or positive perception of such groups within social discourse.

But this can be taken too far. When people or groups rely too much on 'society' to police offensive speech, rather than working towards becoming immune to it, it can cause the kinds of overblown reactions that are rampant on social media these days and actually start to hamper our individual impulse to speak freely.

We have seen the growth of what Salman Rushdie calls, 'The Outrage Industry,' that gives legitimacy to people taking words personally such that they feel they have legal recourse for the suffering wrought by their own emotional reaction. This industry makes it possible for not only 'victims' but lawyers and other supporters of such a system to profit from being insulted.

Tactics Of Control

There are some telling signs that this has been part of the agenda of our authority all along, to cause us to unknowingly police each other in suppressing our own individual ability to speak freely.

Bringing to bear the influence of government, the legal system and mainstream media to promote victimhood of offending speech culturally, our authority gains an entry point of control over what one is allowed and not allowed to say.

Fortunately, brave voices have already spoken out against that in the past. In a speech in support of the removal of the word 'insult' from a British law that made it possible for law enforcement to arrest someone for saying something 'insulting' to someone else, British comedian Rowan Atkinson had this to say about it:

The law…is indicative of a culture that has taken hold of the programmes of successive governments that, with the reasonable and well-intended ambition to contain obnoxious elements in society, has created a society of an extraordinarily authoritarian and controlling nature. That is what you might call The New Intolerance, a new but intense desire to gag uncomfortable voices of dissent. 'I am not intolerant', say many people; say many softly spoken, highly-educated, liberal-minded people: 'I am only intolerant of intolerance'. And people tend to nod sagely and say 'Oh, Wise words, wise words' and yet if you think about this supposedly inarguable statement for longer than five seconds, you realize that all it is advocating is the replacement of one kind of intolerance with another. Which to me doesn't represent any kind of progress at all. Underlying prejudices, injustices or resentments are not addressed by arresting people: they are addressed by the issues being aired, argued and dealt with preferably outside the legal process. For me, the best way to increase society's resistance to insulting or offensive speech is to allow a lot more of it. As with childhood diseases, you can better resist those germs to which you have been exposed.

We need to build our immunity to taking offence, so that we can deal with the issues that perfectly justified criticism can raise. Our priority should be to deal with the message, not the messenger. As President Obama said in an address to the United Nations: '…laudable efforts to restrict speech can become a tool to silence critics, or oppress minorities. The strongest weapon against hateful speech is not repression, it is more speech' and that is the essence of my thesis; more speech. If we want a robust society, we need more robust dialogue and that must include the right to insult or to offend. As Lord Dear says, 'the freedom to be inoffensive is no freedom at all.'

You can see Rowan Atkinson's entire speech in the video below:

Internet Censorship

One area in which our authority has made great inroads in limiting our free speech is on the Internet. Social media giants such as Facebook, Youtube, and Google are now using designations such as 'hate speech' and 'inappropriate content' to justify blocking, shutting down, and deleting content, mainly because the content goes against the mainstream narrative or provides truths that our authority do not want out in the public domain.

Much more will be discussed on the subject of Internet censorship at a later time. And note, we are not talking about examples of the Internet being used in ways that could physically harm people. We are talking about words, opinions, points of view. For our purposes here, suffice it to say that I believe the rights to free speech supersede any perceived 'right' to be offended, and should not entitle authority to censor subjectively defined 'insulting', 'demeaning', or 'hateful' content. We should not be allowing external censorship, and have to take back our power and right to choose what content is appropriate for us.

Defending Free Speech

But it all comes back to us getting beyond taking things personally. If we get insulted by what someone says, we are not well placed to respond objectively to it. The point being made here is not that we should condone hateful, pejorative, negative speech; we are as free to make our feelings known about another's words as they are free to speak them. Like the old saying goes, 'I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.'

As awakening beings, we need to recognize that dealing with points of view we don't agree with is essential for our growth. If those points of view happen to be laced with vitriol and judgment, all the more reason to allow them to be aired and, to the extent that we are able, to respond with equanimity, if not with compassion. This creates the possibility for understanding, growth, and healing for all.