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ladykailitha · 3 months

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Sweet Home Indiana

You guys are getting an absolute feast this week. Two chapters on regular posting days, the twenty snippets you got on WIP Wednesday, this, and of course more Across a Crowded Room tomorrow.

Enjoy!

Based off a post I saw on here (and didn't save for some reason) about the legal tangles gay people had to go through when gay marriage was federally legalized because a lot of them married different people in different states because their marriage in California wasn't legal in the other states and just never bother to get a divorce.

And my brain let's Steddify this shit Sweet Home Alabama style!

So here we go:

Eddie and Steve got married in Boston when Massachusetts made gay marriage legal. But they broke up when Eddie went to California with his band.

Cue Eddie going around and having a couple of really short marriages in different states. Tommy in New York for three months when the band was in New York recording an album. Billy in Hawaii for two weeks while Eddie was there on vacation.

Neither of them really mattered or were serious. Because they were only legal in the state they were performed in so Eddie didn't think anything about it.

Fast forward to a decade later, gay marriage is legalized across the country. Corroded Coffin has broken up and Eddie has a job as a tattoo artist.

Eddie goes to get a marriage license in Seattle where he's been living for the past five years. And is denied on the account he's a polygamist. He's still married to three different men in three different states.

Fuck.

His fiancee Chrissy is a legal assistant at a law firm so she has her bosses draw up annulments for Eddie's three marriages and has them sent out to all three of Eddie's exes.

Including Steve.

When Steve gets his papers, he's pissed. He hunts down Eddie's number and calls. Tells him that he can do the proper thing and tell him to his face he wants a divorce. None of this annulment bullshit like their relationship didn't matter. But until then he can fuck off.

Now Eddie's frantic. Because the reason why he and Chrissy were getting married in the first place is that her student visa ended in May and her work visa has been delayed three times. They have to get married otherwise she'll be deported. And no just a little across the border to Canada either, she's from Barbados.

He tells her the truth about Steve and how they were actually married for almost two years before Eddie left. They had been living in their home town of Hawkins where their marriage wasn't legal any way, but meant something to them.

Chrissy is upset he didn't tell her this sooner, because yeah, that's whole other kettle of fish. So she has her bosses draft a divorce decree and words it a whole lot nicer than the legalese of the annulment.

Eddie packs his bags heads to back to Hawkins and back to Steve. He has one week to convince Steve to sign the divorce papers.

He gets into to town and finds that Steve is the proud owner of the best bakery in town. And the best selling item is the chunky mint brownies Steve made just for Eddie when they first got together. Eddie gets a little sentimental about it, and Steve stubbornly refuses to sign the papers.

They go back and forth for a few days. They tumble into bed and Eddie wakes up, he finds Steve gone and the papers signed.

Only now that Steve has signed them, he doesn't want that anymore. So he breaks down crying and sobbing. He calls Chrissy and now Chrissy is as distraught as he is.

After they hang up Chrissy calls the bakery and Robin answers. Chrissy really needs to speak to Steve.

Robin tells her Steve can't come to the phone because he is covered in flour and can't because he'll get it messy. Chrissy asks if she calls his cell phone if Robin could hold it up to his ear, because she really needs to talk to him. But Robin refuses to budge. She banned Steve from having a cell phone around their giant stand mixer because he has lost three of them to the beast.

Robin offers to pass long the message, though. And Chrissy has to be content with that. She explains who she is and why Eddie needed the divorce. She tells Robin about Eddie's breakdown that morning and how he really didn't want to divorce Steve.

Robin and her get to talking about their best friends, missed connections and themselves.

While the girls are talking Eddie is having another freak out because he put the envelope containing the divorce papers in the mail box but realized he forgot to sign them himself. He needs to get them back so he can sign them, but he's afraid of getting arrested for tampering a federal post box trying to get the papers back.

He's near hysterics when Nancy finds him. She's in town visiting her family. And she helps him get the papers back by talking to the post office and they open the box and he gets them back.

She takes him to lunch to calm his clearly frazzled nerves. He tells her everything. And she tells him that while Eddie was in New York, Steve had gone to see him and when he saw how much bigger and better the big city was, Steve decided if he was going to win Eddie back, he had to make something of himself. And thus began the bakery. He almost had enough to fly to Seattle and woo Eddie. But then this happened.

Now Eddie is really stricken. He wants Steve so bad, but Chrissy is out of options.

Nancy gives his arm a squeeze and Eddie heads back to the hotel he'd been staying at.

He finally looks at his phone and sees a lot of messages and texts from Chrissy begging him not mail the divorce papers yet, she has a plan. Cue Eddie having a final breakdown in his hotel room, sobbing and wrung out.

There is a knock on his door and Eddie is confused the only person who knew his hotel and room number was Chrissy and she's in Seattle. But he gets up to answer and suddenly has an armful of Steve Harrington. Who is also a sobbing wreck.

After both of them calm down, Steve tells him he only signed the papers because he wanted Eddie to be happy. And if that meant being divorced from him, he'd do it.

But Eddie's isn't happy. He's sad and hurt and lonely. Steve is too.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, placing their trust in their best friends.

The next morning they are woken up by Robin and surprise surprise, Chrissy.

They explained that since gay marriage is legal everywhere now, Robin is going to marry Chrissy. And she'll swap places with Eddie. She'll go back to Seattle with Chrissy and Eddie can stay here with Steve.

It's perfect.

They get a marriage license and walked down the courthouse where Eddie and Steve are their witnesses. While the judge is talking, Steve pulls out Eddie's old ring. The one he returned to Steve when he moved out to be with his band.

He slips it back on Eddie's ring finger where it belongs. They kiss at the same time Chrissy and Robin do.

A couple years later Chrissy becomes a lawyer and her and Robin move back to Hawkins where Eddie has opened his own tattoo parlor, right next to Steve's bakery.

And they all live happily ever after.

Permanent Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes

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ax-y10 · 11 months

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Step Aside

In which- Wilburs excited to see the Front Bottoms play, but you aren't so thrilled to be crowded in.

A/n: I'm pretty sure I recall the front bottoms playing at shaky knees and I got a real quick idea.

Chapter info: slight panic attack, crowded place, swearing, unnoticed anxiety (brief)

Pronouns: None (You/Yours)

Masterlist:

---

Wilbur didn't notice your increasing nervousness of being in a crowded area, to excited to see the Front Bottoms playing live, jumping around with his bandmates. You were previously squished up against his side, but now you had your phone out ready to text him telling him you were going to the bathroom.

He didn't realise you were starting to walk off until Joe tapped on his shoulder and pointed towards your distancing figure.

"Will? Bud? Y/n is over there. Go see what's happening for us, yeah?" Joe pointed out.

He looked over and saw you turning a corner, and that's when he started to rush towards you.

"Excuse me, sorry. Please move-" he trailed off, finally reaching your form, stopped when you heard his all-too-familiar short breaths, noted from when he gets scared of worried.

"Darling?" He whispered loud enough to not scare you, but also to not alert other people attending the festival.

You held out your arms on either side so he could wrap his arms around you, and that he did. He held you tight but not too tight, and kissed the back of your head to calm you, feeling your rushing breaths.

"Sweet? Match my breathing for me, please?" He spoke frantically, your breathing becoming more sparse and stuttered.

In, one. Hold, two. Out, three. Hold, four.

Ultimately calming down, you twist in his loose hold and bury your face in his neck, your slow tears falling down his shoulder.

You've never been good with crowded spaces your entire life. People think it's irrational: "How stupid? How are you going to do normal things?" One person stated. "Fucking pussy. Get over yourself," A kid in your school stated. The bullying got worse as you kept speaking about it to your close friends, your so-called trustworthy friends shared the secret. Your family also didn't help. They put you in Summer camps, made you do the shopping each week, made you do many activities that required you to be social, supposedly trying to cure your fear. You somewhat got over your fear, but this festival just broke down that barrier.

You broke away from the hug and went to sit down against a border near the edge of the festival, a few people scattered around but not too many to overwhelm you, him following you like a lost puppy to sit with you.

"Wil, you can go back over to the band. I don't mind. I'll stay here." Bu the denied everything.

"I've let them know I'm over here so I'll stay with you just to make sure you're okay."

You smiled and looked over to Wilbur to watch him jump along and sing along. He doesn't like festivals that much, much like you, but you loved how he was enjoying it so much, and it made you fall harder with each song that passed.

Your favourite song started playing but it didn't register in your head as you were too busy looking at your boyfriend jamming to one of his favourite bands. Once he looked at you and smiled, bobbing his head to the music, a large smile plastered on his face, did you realise it was your favourite song.

You soon got over the almost panic attack, and started enjoying yourself a bit more, however you were still at Wilbur's side listening to the various songs playing.

But everything came to an end eventually and once everyone was collected (after being hunted down by Ash) and back in the van, did you finally sit down and fully relax. You'd changed into warm, over-sized clothes from your boyfriend and laid down next to him in his small bunk, scrolling through your messages, winding down for the night. Little did you know, he was watching your smile appear on your face everytime you read the words "I love you" in a message.

"Are you having a happy session at the moment, Love?" He snapped you out of your thoughts.

"...no" You said mischievously, being incredibly obvious as it was a lie.

He threw his arm across your waist, taking your phone and pushing it under his pillow along with his, and snuggled his face into your shoulder.

"Wil, you can't fall asleep before me," You joked, but he grumbled and pushed his face harder against your shoulder.

"Don't get all pouty, I'm sorry. you can go to sleep."

And you watched him fall asleep, listened to his sleepy noises, and felt him relax into your touch as he got increasingly tired, leading you into a deep sleep.

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur x reader #lovejoy #shaky knees festival #wilbur #ax blabbers #Ash kabosu #Joe Goldsmith #Will gold #lvjy #marl boardman #fluff

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shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 1 year

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favor

tony stark x f!reader prompt: warmth theme: fluff (tags beneath the cut)

“Hey,” you said lightly, a soft, surprised smile curving your lips as you looked up from your book. Tony was standing in the doorway, cast in shadow by the darkened hallway behind him. His hair was dishevelled and there were sadly-all-too-familiar shadows under his eyes, but he gave you a sweet, affectionate smile that always managed to warm you from the very middle of yourself. “I didn’t expect to see you this early.”

“Shouldn’t you have been in bed an hour ago?”

“Yeah… that isn’t exactly the ‘daddy’ vibe girls usually go for in their older boyfriends.”

Tony snickered, rolling his eyes. “You used to be so innocent.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.” he agreed, amused. “I never stood a chance.”

You grinned back up at him, tucking a bookmark between the pages of the novel laying open in your lap. You set it on the coffee table beside you, sighing as you stretched out a kink in your lower back from sitting still for so long. “So, Mr. Stark… are you darkening my doorway at this late hour because you’ve decided you’re coming to bed?”

“Ooh, I love it when you get all formal and dramatic.” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do it more.”

You rolled your eyes in amusement. “Are you coming to bed or not, Tony?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair ruefully. “I think I’m going to be working a little longer, sweetheart.”

“Really?” you frowned. He hadn’t come to bed at all the last two nights, and with you out of the tower all day, you weren’t sure if he’d left the lab much at all. “When was the last time you got some sleep?”

He shrugged a shoulder, and your frown deepened in concern. He recognized your expression and offered you a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Always.”

Your lips twitched in a small smile at his readiness, and you shifted in your seat. You were sitting on one of the large, plush sofas bordering the coffee table, your back against the arm of it. You lifted one side of the blanket on your lap invitingly. “Take a break. Just an hour. Please.”

Tony looked as though he was going to deny you for a moment before he relented, his shoulders relaxing in defeat. “You don’t play fair.”

“No, I don’t.” you agreed, your smile widening as he approached you. Tony climbed onto the couch, and instead of sitting beside you, he stretched out on top of you, his legs tucked between yours and his arms banding around your waist. You chuckled lightly as he settled against your chest, feeling his own chest heave with a sigh. “You really didn’t take a lot of convincing, did you?”

Tony hummed appreciatively as you scratched your fingers softly through his hair and pulled the blanket back over the two of you. “Do I ever when it comes to you?”

“I love you too, Tone.” you murmured as you felt his breathing begin to slow.

tags: @ccbsrms@startrekkingaroundasgard@lina-mar@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13@lol-you-thought@sebbystanlover-vk@mikariell95@csigeoblue@abrunettefangirlnerd@babyblues915@aar-journey@moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley@diesinspanishbcimhispanic@sentimentalalien@agustdowney@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@patheticallysentimental@loki-is-loved

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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Okay so- random ramble of the day 2.0 that I thought of after a particular conversation I had with @treedaddymcpuffpuff in the comments.

Trigger warning! (It's bordering n0n-c0n, if you're uncomfortable with that, please feel free to skip this)

So what if- John actually does snap first, and it ends up being particularly nasty. (to be honest if either him or the reader do snap at the other at some point, it's going to be wild either way so 😂)

Let's say he caught the reader trying to escape, or maybe her playing with his emotions / emotionally manipulating him, - pulling out the 'i belong to you' card to gain his trust for an example - or maybe they just had an incredibly shitty argument that was prompted by the ever building tension between them, by neither of them willing to compromise much. (elastic band reference says hello again 😂😂)

Now, generally speaking, both John and the reader have shown clear signs of enjoyment when it comes to the more.. dubious kind of consent, and even though John was the one to trigger most of those occasions, I feel like someone with the reader's strong personality and self-respect would've had a much different reaction to it if she wasn't into it.. That being said, so far every time the reader disobeyed him / refused to give in, John ended up leaving us alone, and I think he'd be lying to us and himself if he were to say that it's to torture us even further.. Sure, having yet another denied orgasm added to the list is shitty, and yes, he had tried to isolate us in order to punish us when we tried escaping the first time, (probably not the last time though) but it's becoming ever so slightly clear that he is doing this more for his own sanity's sake, rather than ours, so he doesn't flip out and snap at us.

That being said, his punishments, although cruel, were still much more on the lenient side... But I can't help but think that with the already high pressure on both of them, and an additional problem source might just be enough for him to lose his shit, and thus, punish us, hence where the extremes come in, such as completely tying us up, - he already said he dabbled in shibari, and he's definitely still into it imo, "misspent youth" or not - perhaps gagging us if we get too bratty, giving the reader a good spanking, perhaps some degrading, and most importantly being the selfish bastard we know he can be occasionally, meaning this whole thing will be to.. comfort him? Reassure him? Bring him that sense of security back to know that he is in control, something that we've seen him go to extreme lengths for in all 4 movies..

And considering that we didn't really establish any boundaries yet, seemed to be into it sort of, and even the fact that John might very well lose pretty much all sense of rationality, and go absolutely fucking ham on us, to the point of our lust turning into actual terror.. In which case, a safe word should be used, buuuuuuut- 1) We don't have one yet. And 2) John will probably have us immobile, silenced, face down, ass up, sobbing for him anyways, so in that crazed state of mind, he might not actually realize that he's hurting us, (emotionally I mean. I think he'd be pretty aware of the physical pain 😂) until it's just a little.. a teeeeennnsyyyy tiiiiiinnssyyy little bit toooooo late..

AND MY GOD- Does that open up endless possibilities for us. On one hand, he would definitely be overstepping any and all boundaries, even if we haven't quite established them yet. Could this be the triggering event for the reader to start thinking with her brain instead of her heart and pussy, and actively suppress her urges, her feelings, the love she feels for him despite it all, and perhaps plan her escape?

On the other hand, I feel like John would feel an unbelievable amount of guilt, because despite his previous punishments, and everything he's been doing being morally wrong, he has never quite breached the line of becoming a monster, (in our eyes at least) not to mention that he is very morally grey, so while he may be rational enough to realize how unethical things are and just ignore it, - or have the fear of losing us overpower his sense of justice - (nobody is there to hold him responsible either ey) I know for a fact that he would never want us to doubt his love for us for a second. He wants us to feel cherished, loved, safe, and protected, and while he knows we do not see things that way yet, I feel like he would instantly realize just how much he fucked up.

A part of me feels like his first instinct would be to run away (as per usual), put some distance between us both because he doesn't want to hurt us any further, and because he god damn will be actively self-loathing, self-hating, self-blaming himself for the events.. But I also 100% believe that him seeing the reader teary eyed, spooked out of her mind and clearly hurting would again, overpower his sense of rationality, and just make him wanna comfort us. Physically, verbally, emotionally- Any way he can really. Which again, opens up a plethora of options for us, because he would definitely be a lot more inconsiderate of what may aid us in our escape, and what we could just find simply comforting.

Would it fucking wreck me emotionally if the reader ended up using this to guilt trip him into slipping up and allowing her to escape? Absolutely. Would it be justified? Also abso-fucking-lutely, although god forbid it were to happen because GODS it would be like an avalanche of emotions...

So yes.. Angst. And smut. Thank you @treedaddymcpuffpuff and @johnwickb1tsch for fucking wrecking all of us emotionally 😂(Jk jk, i fucking love you both, you evil geniuses.)

Haha, so word spreads fast that I can't handle noncon. 😬 I literally write a series of books about a vigilante bounty hunter who hunts down vampires who hurt women, so this should not have been a surprise to me. I guess I'm a weenie. Is there such a thing as gray romance, LOL? it might be more my speed.

I'm honestly not sure how to answer this one without spoiling the story I'm trying to tell, so I'm just going to leave it here because you raise some very interesting plot points that I'm sure people will love reading! You have QUITE an imagination and such an acute understanding of character motivation!

#julia speaks #yandere john wick

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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With My Life | Elrond x Reader

one shot using this prompt

read on ao3

pairing: Elrond x Reader

summary: you think Elrond doesn’t trust you to fight despite your skill but it turns out the real reason he is loath to let you is a little different.

You had lived in Rivendell for a fairly long time by this point, coming here seeking safety and solace. You had been travelling alone for a long time, facing many hardships and even dangers on the road, but Imladris had been good to you. The Lord of Rivendell had taken you in without a question, as he always did with weary travellers, those seeking a safe place to rest their heads. You had not planned to stay quite as long as you actually had but the valley had become something of a home to you, just as the Lord of it had become someone you were proud to call a friend.

However, it was not all a wonderful dream. Darkness had been creeping back into the world and, as war approached and skirmishes broke out all over, you were forced to pick up your trusty sword once more, going out on border patrols with the others. You wouldn’t feel right sitting pretty in Rivendell while everybody else risked themselves defending this refuge from the forces of Mordor. You were happy to help and happy to have an excuse to leave Rivendell for a time, something you had grown to enjoy over your time here. You had always had a bit of a habit of leaving the safety of the Halls and crossing the river or exploring the surrounding wilderness. You had always had a wanderers heart and exploring had simply become a part of you after all these years.

Trouble was, with the world becoming more dangerous, you found yourself getting into more scrapes and problems than before. You were almost eaten by a couple of trolls. A warg stalked your scent and chased you all the way to the river. A stray band of orcs waylaid you in the woods, which you got away from with minor injuries - this one got you in the most trouble with Elrond, though he didn’t say a word. The way he looked at you while he tended to your wounds was enough.

As time passed and things continued to only become more and more dangerous, you found yourself in a situation you had not been in before.

Elrond started to say no to you.

It began with a wave of his hand, telling you there were enough numbers in a partcular patrol to deal with the issue they were facing. It continued with an angry look the likes of which he hadn’t given you before when you tried to press the situation and force your way back into the midst of things. Elrond only continued to outright deny you, eventually going so far as to completely remove your weapon from your possession as you slept.

When you woke and realised it was missing, you were furious, and you had finally had enough. What had changed between the two of you, you did not know, but you had reached your limit. Try as you might, you could not seem to stop disappointing him and you were desperate to know what you had done to upset him, to change the way he viewed and treated you.

“Don’t you trust me?” You cried out in frustration, bursting into his room as he was readying to leave with his patrol to hunt yet another band of orcs that had dared to come too close to the border for comfort.

Elrond turned to look at you, brows furrowed with confusion as he wondered how you could even ask such a question. How you could even think such a thing. He realised that things had not been the same as they had been but he could no longer allow you to waltz around in the wild beyond Rivendell, where anything could happen to you, where things had already happened. You were reckless with yourself and it frightened him, especially that last time when the orcs had gotten too close and hurt you - you were seriously lucky that it was not more serious and he had spent all that night unable to rest due to his anxiety over what might happen the next time.

The next time, you may not be so lucky.

How had he allowed these thoughts to enter your mind? How had he not seen it? He had been trying to keep you safe and in doing so he realised that he had pushed you away and made you feel like he did not value you. “I trust you with my life.” He said emphatically, covering the distance between you both in two long strides. Elrond reached out to take hold of your hands gently in his own, looking you directly in the eyes with a tenderness he had been hiding from you for the past few months. “I’m not so sure I trust you with yours.”

You blinked back at him as you allowed his words to sink in. He was quiet, patient, as your mind worked over the meaning behind what he had said. His thumbs brushed softly across the skin of your hands, sending a light shiver through you. Your gaze softened slightly as you looked back at him and he smiled. His smile began to fade away when you pulled your hands from his but returned when your arms moved to circle his neck, pulling him into a hug. His own arms moved around your waist as he returned the gesture and the two of you stayed that way for a few moments, content in this moment to at least be on the same page once more.

#elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond fanfiction #elrond fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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rabbitenn · 7 months

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i just had a thought that i knew you’d do justice. trigger in a royalty au?? like would it be an arranged marriage? child hood friends? rival kingdoms?? i just think your writing style is perfect for this. it’s up to you if you wanna do headcanons or a paragraph. i just really like how you protray these characters.

remember to rest, eat, hydrate, and take breaks :D

REGALITY.

No crown could burden you and no army could ever dream of keeping you apart from him. In every version of reality, you both know it’s together, til the end.

ft. Yaotome Gaku, Kujo Tenn, Ryunosuke Tsunashi x gn! reader.

cw/genre: royalty au, romance, fluff, some mild angst. Reader is implied to wear a dress in Gaku’s and Ryu’s.

hello, dear and a thousand thanks for this request ! I love royalty and fantasy aus and you asked it for my favorite group too <3 also, thank you for trusting me with this idea, I hope you will like how I executed it, even though I’m very late to posting it.

♡ YAOTOME GAKU

— Arranged marriage ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Be more selfish. You can show me your emotions and allow yourself to depend on me.”

Tonight, millions of stars accompany you as you make your way through the palace’s halls.

Countless silver pinpricks, filtering in dancing glimmer through the floor to ceiling windows.

And yet, you feel lonely.

The rustle of the gray silken curtains aflutter on the nocturnal ambiance is the only sound breaking the complete silence.

Anyone should be happy on such an occasion as today’s, right?

You got to wear a beautiful dress, everyone smiled and tender vows were exchanged.

Not to mention, your last name now was that of one of the richest lords in town, soon to take over his father’s rule.

Handsome and desired by everyone in the kingdom. And still, something in the sharpness of his gaze makes you keep to yourself.

Yaotome Gaku.

You would have never imagined you’d end up marrying him.

Not that you had any say in the matter, of course. Your family had essentially succeeded in selling you off and increasing their social status.

You let out a sigh, fiddling with the silver band now adorning your ring finger. The moon reflects on it, a cruel reminder of the shackles bestowed upon you.

You take a break, sitting on the stone windowsill.

Your mind wanders off into the night. It would be nice, to be a star. So free, you against an endless sky.

The celestial seems to absorb you, your thoughts leaving the real world if only for a second, a sort of black hole, so far away and so close at the same time, sucking you in when your fingertips graze against the great unknown on the other side.

You don’t notice the footsteps approaching in that instant.

“It is late. You shouldn’t be here.” A deep voice pulls you out of your trance.

You start, eyes widening when they meet steel hued ones.

Against your better judgment, you stand up, taking a step backwards.

Why do you react like this?

There is no denying the man before you looks absolutely stunning.

Is absolutely stunning.

His liquid moonlight gaze seems to pierce through you, tendrils of argent clouds falling over them in the slight curl of his hair. Lost stars kiss his pale complexion, the penumbra of the palace at night embracing the other half.

“Yaotome-sama!” You exclaim, bowing briefly.

A shadow of hurt passes over his handsome features, his eyes, downturned, averted to the side.

“Please, just call me Gaku.” He asks of you, tone bordering on pleading.

“Alright. Gaku…” You trail off nodding.

He seems somewhat… flustered? Maybe it’s the late hour, but his harsh features just fade into something gentle with a tinge of fierceness.

In that moment, you wish you had met under different circumstances, instead of just through political and economical interests.

“[Y/n]…” Your husband begins. You don’t dislike at all the sound of your name when he says it. “I know you didn’t choose this, and I’m sorry we had to meet like this…” His expression softens. “But you can tell me about your worries and thoughts weighing on your mind.” Gaku’s eyes fixate on you, the rest of the universe silent and invisible to him right now. “If I can’t be the lover you dreamt of, I will at least do what I can to make you feel comfortable and safe.” A demure smile reaches his lips. “So, it’s okay if you’re selfish.”

You stare at him a little dumbfounded, the daze of his charming presence and the care he’s putting into his words, rendering your heart into a frenzied dance.

The next time Gaku takes a step in your direction, you don’t retreat.

♡ KUJO TENN

— The bandit and the prince ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Catch me if you can, mister Kujo.”

Giggles leave your throat as you run through the ivy maze.

You try to stifle them, this moment of borrowed time, too precious for its bubble bathed in auroras to pop.

Upwards, the sky dyes in shades of cherry blossom and tangerine, periwinkle clouds giving way to an horizon lined in citrine.

Your breathing grows shallow, as you take a left turn between the shiny verdant leaves.

Behind you, light steps follow.

And despite the dead end standing in front of you in the form of a wall of greenery speckled in the pink of hyacinth blossoms, a smirk plays on your lips.

You stand there, resigning to your inevitable fate, eyes closed, taking in the scent of azaleas, singing of secret nights, passion filled.

The taste of sweet daybreak coats your tongue; a shared interlude of curtains falling over the stage for last night’s dreams, a preamble to the wait for the hours before the dawn to come again.

A gentle aroma of strawberries and cinnamon suddenly dances around you, as if clapping for your heart to spread its butterfly wings to its tune.

“Checkmate.” A cheeky voice whispers, his soft lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Turning around, your lashes flutter open, your prosecutor’s arms already around you.

“Heh, it seems you caught me, your highness.” You tease, leveling him with a bold gaze.

“It wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?” The prince winks, his hold on your waist tightening. “And it’s Tenn to you.” He utters, voice barely above a whisper, as his forehead touches yours.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I know that, just teasing you.” You giggle, your grin widening. “So, you still remember? When you failed to capture me the first time?” Your gaze flits to his lips. “Is that why we’re playing now, so you can finally catch me, Tenn-Tenn?”

Of course he remembers. How could he not recall the moment he met the one who gifts him moments of freedom like this?

—

“And what, may I ask, does a sneaky fox like you happen to be doing in my chambers?”

A curse leaves your lips through gritted teeth. The crown prince was not supposed to come back so soon. Wasn’t he at some gala tonight? Did you miscalculate?

“What? Didn’t expect me to come back so soon?” He chuckles. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

What would be your chances of winning in a fight against him? You’ve got your daggers…

You notice the thin sword hanging at his hip from the corner of your eye.

You could potentially have an advantage in close quarters…

It’s not like you want to hurt him, just… maybe knock him out as you take what you need for you to be able to buy a ration of food.

You run for it.

But before you know it, the prince’s sword grazes the side of your neck, the cool metal a threat enough to draw blood at the minimum movement.

Your daggers freeze mid-air, your hood falling, revealing your identity.

You let out a ‘tsk’. This is troublesome.

You lower your weapons.

Tenn retracts his sword.

Rosy eyes scan over the person standing before him. Dark shadows gather under their eyes, as if sleep or food were a rare luxury for them. Their face is gaunt, lips parched. Ragged clothes sway around the thief, several stains coating them.

And yet, the prince doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone as beautiful.

The fire in the burglar’s stare burns intensely, a thundering blaze, tearing down whatever they have to in order to survive.

“And what, pray tell, do you need all of these gold and jewels for?” You spat, tone clipped.

The man lowers his blade, his eyes never once leaving you.

“I don’t.” He states. He reaches up, unclasping one of his earrings.

Extending a gloved hand towards you, he says:

“Take it.”

You scoff.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not like that. You probably risked a lot just to sneak in here, didn’t you? It would be a waste to leave empty-handed. So take this.” The prince gently removes one of your blades from your tight grip, putting the jewelry in your palm. “Sell it for a good price. Get enough food to last you for a while. Please.”

You seem to hesitate for an instant, but then your fingers close around the accessory.

Without another word, you step into the room’s balcony and disappear into the night.

Tenn follows after the trail of your ripped crimson cape.

By the time he reaches the veranda, there is no trace of you.

That night, he leaves the gallery’s glass doors open.

Just in case you wanted to come back for the blade you left behind.

A few nights later, that’s exactly what you would do.

—

One of Tenn’s hands comes up to cup your jaw, fingertips brushing against the pointy earring dangling from your lobe.

Identical to the one he always wears.

The exact one he gave you that night.

The impending cyan of the morning unfurling above augurs the nearing of your departure.

Neither of you want for your hidden romance painted in soft shades of watercolor to come to a close.

Your prince’s eyes soften, its quartz shade, the fleeting memory of early sunsets over the castle’s gardens.

‘Please, don’t go’ is spelled in the last rays of the crescent dipping behind the distant mountains reflected in Tenn’s gaze.

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, your breath at a standstill as you are put under spell by Tenn’s angelic aura. So warm, so perfect… A safe haven.

You turn around your face slightly, leaving a delicate kiss to his bare palm.

Then, with one last squeeze to Tenn’s hand, you step away.

“Meet me at midnight again.” Your lover whispers, as his hands leave your face.

You decide to relish for a second more in this forbidden moment. You linger closer to him, a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth, before disappearing between frondous greenery.

Tenn stands there, a soft smile on his features as the sensation of your kiss tingles on his skin.

The promise of your return is sealed with the ripple of the pink astilbe petals surrounding the prince.

Dusk can't come soon enough.

♡ TSUNASHI RYONUSKE

— Knight and prince(ss) running away together ‧₊˚ ⋅

“I decided I wanted to enter that light, and at the edge of it, I found you.”

Beams of light threaded in gilded sparkles filtered through the library’s windows. The afternoon was in its prime and yet, you found yourself cooped up inside an empty room.

The rows upon rows of books felt more like the bars of a tightening prison, the book you were copying from, iron shackles tying your feet to the cold grey ground.

You sighed. It was unfair. For your life to be decided like this, just because one day you’re to rule this kingdom.

You didn’t want this. You never asked for the weight of the crown.

The day outside shined in blues and golds and yet, you were trapped here.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You closed your book, making your way to the huge window.

Standing on your tiptoes, you fumbled with the handle and got it open.

A gust of summer air wafted around you, filling your lungs with all the colors of summer.

You wanted to go play outside like the other children did.

Eight was too young an age to be subjected to the heaviness of endless study days.

Leaning on the windowsill, something caught your eye.

A boy about your age swinging a wooden sword, his body moving with agility as he practised how to avoid enemy strikes.

Maybe he was a knight in training. And right now, you think you’d rather take on a bloody battlefield than spend a minute more learning about centuries old history you couldn’t care less about.

So, using a chair, you climbed up on the windowsill, jumping down the couple of feet separating you from the green grass beyond.

With quiet steps, you approached the boy.

His expression was determined but gentle, his eyes reminiscent of the sunlight you yearned for. Tufts of brown hair swing in the hot air as he gracefully moves with his sword.

Then he stops.

“Y-your highness!” He stammered, bowing down.

Your cheeks heated up, hurt crossing your features in the way you avert your gaze.

“Just [Y/n], please.” You asked. “What are you doing? It seems fun. Can I try too?” You inquired, curiously tilting your head.

He swallowed. “But I will become a knight… I’m supposed to protect you in the future…”

“Please?” You pouted, hands clasped in front of you. “I’m tired of being inside studying…”

With fearful eyes darting from side to side of the courtyard, the boy made sure no onlookers were present.

His hands brushed against yours when he handed you the practise sword.

You held it, it was light, dull, but enough to cut a pocket of freedom in the monotony of your upbringing.

“What’s your name, by the way?” You questioned.

“Ryunouske.” He answered shyly.

With a last smile his way, you began imitating his previous movements, dancing in tune with the doves soaring high in the radiant sky.

Years later, you would know that would be the beginning of your story together.

—

Weaves lap against the sandy coast, early evening bringing with her a sea of aureate copper and indigo. Foamy water gently caresses your feet, your prints in the sand coming and going with each wave.

On the dry sand, a set of armor, a pair of heeled shoes and an intricate dress lie.

Here, it was just you and him.

“Ryu,” You call him, your hand squeezing his calloused one. You stop walking for a moment, indulging yourself a little on the sight of him against the brightness of the soon to set sun.

A smile find its way to your lips, your lover’s toned chest visible through his open shirt.

“Isn’t this nice?” You say, directing your gaze towards the horizon, a few stray seagulls shadowed against the peachy heavens. “Just us, in this magical quiet place… I could get used to it.” You lean your head against his side, as Ryunosuke’s arm loops around your waist.

“It certainly is nice. The sea… it always relaxes me.” The knight tilts his face to look at you. All these years by your side, as your secret companion, your best friend and your lover later on, and nothing would change the fact you’re the most alluring person he could have ever met.

“What would you say, if I suggested we run away, Ryu?” You search for his gaze, those honeyed orbs widening in surprise. “I don’t want to be tied down by stupid rules and traditions, I want to be with you, no matter where.”

Your knight lets out a sigh.

He wants to say ‘yes’. A lifetime of freedom by your side is all Ryu could ever dream off.

And yet…

“Are you sure, my dear?” Both of his hands hold yours in between them. “If we leave… There will be no way we can ever return to your home…”

“This is no home of mine.” You state, steel laced through your tone as you think of that suffocating palace. “My home is with you, Ryu. No matter where life takes us.”

Standing on your tiptoes, you place a soft kiss on his lips. Their salty taste reminds you of freedom. Ryunosuke’s arms wrap around your waist, the silken fabric of your under dress an obstacle for the both of you at this point.

“Alright.” He whispers the moment he parts.

Before the sun completely hides behind the undulating horizon, you’re already making your way to Ryu’s place.

Packing up some food, clothes and essential belongings, you reach the outskirts of town before nightfall.

Hand in hand, you walk towards the sun awaiting in your new life.

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dailycharacteroption · 10 months

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Gallant (Cavalier Archetype)

(art by MM on Artstation)

While the common assumption with the cavalier class is that they are some sort of knight with a code of honor, that isn’t always the case, plenty simply have a personal code, and may be simply mounted warriors.

That is not the case with today’s entry, though, for these cavaliers, nobility or not, have a deep respect for chivalry and living honorably, and because of that, they demonstrate a canny ability to navigate the courtly intrigues while keeping their honor intact.

More than that, these gallants act as paragons of their order, formal or otherwise, which helps to inspire others to be better, be it fellow nobles in court or soldiers on the battlefield.

Now, whether or not they truly measure up to these expectations and impressions may vary, but unlike some pretenders, they genuinely are making an effort.

While the exact nature of their honor varies by the exact order they follow, there is no denying their adherence, and how it can inspire allies.

These cavaliers must maintain a morality of lawful or neutral good in order to maintain their abilities, and only a few orders truly mesh with their ideals. Namely, these orders include the pacifistic order of the blue rose, the protective order of the guard, the loyal order of the lion, and the chivalrous order of the sword. All are chivalrous in their own way, but focusing on different aspects.

Just as normal cavaliers inspire with their banners, gallants that display their personal symbol ward their allies against fear and effects that would disrupt their honor and loyalty. Furthermore, they inspire them to better take foes alive, empowering their nonlethal blows.

Additionally, they can rally allies to inspire them to stand fast in the face of wickedness, ignoring pain from all but the foulest weapons.

If you’re looking for a more defensive set of buffs to provide with your banner equivalent, this archetype may be for you, though many of the benefits are the same, they grow in power in a way the standard banner does not, which may appeal to you. Also, consider which of the four orders you’d like to take before settling on a build.

I’ve probably said this before, but chivalry has meant a lot of things throughout the years, but my favorite interpretation, and the one I believe that this archetype espouses, is that those with power should strive to be gentle and kind with it, that those with power have a responsibility to not use it selfishly. Taken literally from the name, “those with horses should not use them against those that do not”.

With that in mind, also look into courtly love, since that concept also gels nicely with the themes presented here as well.

Though they ride sharks, dolphins, and the occasional hippocampi, the outriders of the aquatic elves parallel many things seen in human knights and noble courts. In fact, some theorize that humans may have picked up on such courtly and noble behaviors from early elves before the great sundering that gave rise to their many subspecies.

Coming from the far east, a fierce atamahuta oni arrived on the borders of the kingdom and set themselves up as a bandit king. Those sent to negotiate with the fiend have not returned, so the king has ordered one of his bravest and most honorable knights to put together a band of heroes to put and end to the bloodshed and banditry.

Though they are separated by fate, it is an open secret that Ser Angela and Lady Mercei are deeply in love. However, it is courtly love, one defined by pining and secret shows of affection… However, this has attracted the attention of a cruel undead, a lovelorn that enviously seeks to twist their affection, to ruin what it failed to have in life.

#pathfinder #archetype #cavalier #gallant #hippocampus #aquatic elf #atamahuta #oni #lovelorn #Heroes of the High Court

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anarchistettin · 3 months

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At least 60 people have been killed and 145 injured in a brazen attack on Moscow’s Crocus City Hall on Friday night. Here’s what we know so far: • At least five camouflage-clad gunmen with automatic weapons burst into the packed concert hall, where the veteran rock band Picnic was going to perform, shooting into the crowd and setting off explosives. • A fire quickly spread through the concert hall, with smoke filling the building and screaming visitors rushing to emergency exits. As people ran towards emergency exits, “there was a terrible crush” with concertgoers climbing on one another’s heads to get out, one witness told AFP news agency. • ISIL (ISIS) claimed responsibility for the attack on its Telegram channel, saying its gunmen attacked “a large gathering” on Moscow’s outskirts and escaped safely. • Ukraine’s presidency said Kyiv had “nothing to do” with the attack. The Freedom of Russia Legion, a pro-Ukrainian militia responsible for attacks on Russia’s border regions, also denied any role. • Russian authorities said a “terrorist” investigation had been started and President Vladimir Putin was receiving “constant” updates.

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stesierra · 11 months

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It's 7am and I've had one hour of sleep because my baby complains every time his binkie falls out. And that means it's time to post another first chapter of a different book. As usual, tell me if you want to be added or removed from my writing tag list.

This is NA fantasy about found family and finding your own path. It's sort of a love letter to birds. Ace representation, of course.

Court Phoenix

Chapter One

In the thin twilight before dawn, the poles of my net sprang from the lake shore like dead saplings. The shadows turned my standing net invisible, hiding its intricate weaving and strong threads. If I couldn’t see it, neither could the birds. That was what I was counting on.

My shoulders slumped as I crouched in the brush, and exhaustion tried to drag my eyelids down. The wind grazed my cheeks and nipped at my exposed ears, and for a second the net appeared, rippling like a wave on the lake. I prayed for stillness, and the breeze withered. It was what I’d wanted, but the dead air stifled me as I waited for my prey to wake and wing across the water. The most boring part of fishing for birds was waiting.

A wavering shriek split the night and pierced my ears. It wasn’t human, but I couldn’t deny the anguish in that wail. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my heart quickened. I craned my head, trying to see the source among the trees.

If not for the broken twigs biting into my knees and the muddy smell of the shore, I would have thought I dreamed. Fire danced in the sky, the sun escaping its path. It darted over the trees and swept over the lake, trailing sparks, and with another tormented scream, it dashed itself against the shore.

I jumped up, crunching fallen branches underfoot. The flames licked the ground, like an ordinary cookfire, but something lay in their midst. A bird, her wings spread and neck twisted, but not the sort of bird I had for dinner. If she had struck my net, she would have ripped it apart even without the flames. It had happened once with a golden eagle of the same size, and I still bore the scar from trying to free it.

The fire blazed brighter, but I crept towards it. At first, I thought the bird was an eagle. Her bone-white beak slashed downward, and her ivory talons clenched into human-sized fists. But her streaming tail better fit a pheasant, and no raptor bore such a curving neck. A band of gold encircled one ankle, like a bracelet.

Her blunt wings beat once as I knelt by the border of the fire. Except for the blue that painted her tail and face, her feathers glowed gold and red, echoing the flames. Her ruby eyes stared up at me. Her beak parted, and another shivering cry cut into my heart. I had never heard anything so sad.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, although I didn’t expect a reply. “How can I help you?”

She keened at me, lying limp and hopeless.

Some mad instinct drove me to lean forward into the flames. I wasn’t worried about the fire — I was fireborn — but that beak could take off my fingers, those claws gouge out my heart. But I gathered the bird onto my lap, ignoring the fact that my trousers and quilted jacket had caught fire.

She opened and closed her beak, turned her head to lie against my leg, and died.

I sighed and stroked her silky back. I was a fisher, and we caught and ate birds to survive, but I had always loved birds of prey. Whenever they hit my nets, I set them free. I supposed this bird was free now, but her loss seemed a tragedy. She was so beautiful.

In my arms, the creature’s feathers blackened and curled. The scent of roasting meat wafted up. And then, before I could decide if it would honor the bird more to eat or bury her, a pillar of flame erupted around me.

It roared like a bull, climbing into the sky and burning my clothes to ash. Smoke choked my nostrils and filled my lungs. The bird crumbled to cinders, leaving me naked and empty-handed. I scrambled to my feet. Around me, the fire was electric, calling to me, welcoming and joyful. The golden band melted in the heat, puddling on the ground.

Mother would be furious about my clothes, but it was too late for them, so I stayed bathed in flame.

It died down too soon, as though giant fingers had pinched out the fire. The wind replaced it, stinging my ashy skin. The only warmth left in the world was the embers beneath my feet.

I stared down at them. I couldn’t see what was left of the golden band anymore, but the coals cradled a golden egg the size of my two fists. I leaned down and brushed its shell with my fingertip. It was hot and smooth, almost oily. I picked it up and cupped it to my modest breasts. And, my skin sooty and bared, I walked home.

The sun peeked above the horizon by the time I padded across the boundaries of the village. Behind me, the little forest that curled around our lake shifted and sighed in the wind. The birds had begun to sing.

It was early, and the only people awake were out fishing, like me, so no one watched as I tiptoed through gardens that burst with flowering onions and herbs and sidestepped half-patched boats turned over in the middle of town. I snuck past square houses with thatched roofs and paper windows and walls of lacquered wood. Fish dried from the eaves, and the town cats sat like loafs beneath, hoping for one to surrender to gravity.

My small home was near the smithy at the center of town, the doorstep scattered with feathers of every color. A brace of geese hung over my neighbor’s door — either bragging or an offer to bargain. Probably both. A net wound round poles was propped up outside, wrapped in tight cloth marked with a family signature. I had left mine standing by the lake, and Mother would be furious if she found out. I wouldn’t let her find out.

I shoved my door open with a shoulder and squeezed inside, egg cuddled against my bare stomach. The twilight wasn’t strong enough to light up my paper windows, so I propped the door open. It revealed hand-me-down furniture, pressed on me by relatives when I moved out of Mother’s house. A pallet stuffed with reeds took up the far wall. In the center stood the fire pit, nothing but dead ashes, and before it my scratched little dining table and wobbly stool. If I’d had a husband or wife, like any other young woman, they’d be waiting for me with the cookfire blazing and a savory breakfast scenting the air. But I didn’t have one. My house was cold and smelled of nothing but vinegar.

I hurried inside and laid the egg down on my pillow, in the indent left by my head. Then I cleaned up as best I could with a pitcher of water and some rags. The water turned black by the time I was done, but I no longer looked like my clothes had burned off me. Just in case, I pulled on the gray trousers and tunic I used at the forge. No one would notice a few more soot stains among those already there.

I sniffed myself and then the air. The fire was dead and I was mostly clean, so why did I smell smoke?

My pillow was smoldering. The egg lay among rising curls of gray, looking harmless. I snatched it up and flipped the pillow over to smother the black patch the egg had left.

“You’re trouble,” I told it. “I should put you back in the woods.”

It shone innocently in my hand. Innocent? It had tried to light my house on fire!

I cradled it in my palms, and it radiated heat that made my fingers tingle. I asked myself, “What am I doing? I can’t raise a bird. No one would understand.”

But I had no answers for myself. I burrowed the egg into the ashes of my firepit, mounding them up around it. If it caught alight here, it wouldn’t burn the village down. And then I ran back to the forest to check on my net and whether I had caught anything.

I couldn’t deal with birds all day. After I had plucked and gutted my catch — two ducks and three shorebirds — I left it outside Mother’s door and followed the stink of smoke to the smithy.

The old smith was already there, prodding the fire with a long poker. “You’re late,” he told me. “Do you think you’re my apprentice to waste my time?”

I was his apprentice because he’d paid off my mother when I was still a toddler who crawled into the family cookfire. No one had ever asked me if I wanted the job. But I bit back my temper and took a hold of the bellows. I’d learned a long time ago that protesting was a waste of time. Even though I was now twenty, a woman grown, by the rules of my village, this man was my master.

By sundown, soot and sweat soiled my forehead, my black hair and clothes stank of smoke, and my arms ached. My hands hurt from holding a hammer without gloves. My master was of the opinion that since fire couldn’t burn me, I would have greater control with my bare hands. All it did was make my palms smart with each blow.

I trudged back to my house in the twilight, already planning a long nap. But the door stood open, and my mother’s voice issued out, shrill and too loud. My heart dropped down to my toes.

“What is this mess? And where are her spare clothes and shoes? And what is that?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Eldest Brother said, his voice patient and demure as a man’s should be. “It looks like an egg.”

They’d noticed the addition to my fireplace. Of course they had. I had no privacy at all, even now that I’d moved out. I hurried inside, expecting to see the egg smashed on the floor. But it still sat snug in its ash nest, shining gold like the headwoman’s best jewelry.

My mother spun towards me, hands set on her hips. Her long quilted coat fell to mid-thigh, covering her trousers, and she’d yanked her graying black hair back into a high pony-tail. My oldest brother stood between her and the door, dressed in a similar outfit, and he frowned at my grimy face. They both looked like me: mouths too thin and wide, noses too small and upturned. None of us were beauties, myself especially.

My mother demanded, “Where were you? What is this?”

I waved a hand to my smoky clothes. “Working at the forge. Where I am every day.”

She sniffed, folding her arms. “You should have been home an hour ago, to prepare dinner.”

“Tell that to the smith,” I snapped, shoving past them both to cast my jacket down on my bed.

“Tell him yourself,” Mother said. “You’re a grown woman. Supposedly.”

I gritted my teeth and kicked off my shoes, which sailed across room. “Please leave so I can eat and go to bed.”

Eldest Brother sighed and shook his head. “We’re your guests, Kerra. Did Father teach you to show such poor hospitality?”

Father had the courtesy not to invade my house. But I said, “No. Please, make yourselves at home. I’m happy to stay up another three hours instead of getting the sleep I desperately need.”

“You get plenty of sleep, you lazy girl,” Mother chided.

I clenched my fists, and my sore fingers protested. “Not when I get up before dawn to fish for birds! Birds for you! Which you never thanked me for!”

Eldest Brother glowered at me. “Calm down, Kerra. This is unbecoming.”

I jabbed a finger at the door. “Then leave.”

“I’m not going,” Mother declared, “Until you explain the egg in your fireplace.”

I stepped around them and swiped my hand through the ashes, hiding the egg beneath. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to your mother,” my mother and brother said at the same time. I wanted to scream.

“Fine,” I said. “The spirit of fire sent it to me. So I’m going to hatch it.”

They both stared at me. Eldest Brother said, “Hatch it? When it would make an omelet enough to feed your entire family?”

Mother sniffed. “What do you mean, the spirit of fire? The spirit of fire has had nothing to do with you since it possessed your father.”

I was born to the fire, as my people said it. It was Father's fault for being a daydreamer, Mother always said. Sometimes, if a man spent too long out on the water or the cold windy plains, or in front of a fireplace, or turning over the garden, and his mind wandered, a spirit might possess him. If he went to his wife, so possessed — well, he might sire a child with some unusual abilities.

Women didn't get possessed. I guessed we were more sensible.

“Give us the egg,” my brother said. “The family’s stomach matters more than your fancies.”

“Go on,” I said unkindly. “Touch it. If it’ll let you pick it up, you can have it.”

He frowned and sank his hand into the pile of ash. And then he yelped and jerked it back out. “It burned me!”

Mother grabbed his arm and glared at me, demanding explanations.

“The spirit of fire sent it,” I repeated. “If you try to make an omelet with it, it’ll probably burn down the village.”

My mother paled, staring down at the fireplace, and her fingers tightened on my brother’s sleeve. “Then you should carry it out and throw it into the lake! Really, Kerra—”

“Goodbye,” I said, herding them outside with sweeps of my hands. “Tell Father I said goodnight.” And as soon as they were beyond the threshold, I slammed the door shut.

Barely enough light illuminated the windows for me to dig out my tinder box and start the fire. I thought about pulling the egg out first, but I had nowhere fire-safe to put it. In the end, I piled dry kindling around it, and let the flames envelop it. It shone from the heart of the fire, neither blackening nor cracking, and I had the strange sense that it was happy.

“Are you going to hatch?” I whispered to it. “And when?” But the little life curled within that shell was sleeping, and I got no answer.

The next morning found me out by the lake again. No firebird tumbled from the air this time, but I caught a brace of ducks. This time I kept them for myself. My mother wouldn’t appreciate them anyway.

When I returned home, ducks hung from my belt, pole and wrapped net resting against my shoulder, I paused on the footpath and stared. My paper windows glowed as if I’d left a lantern lit inside, but when I’d left, the room had been black as pitch. What on earth?

I propped my poles and net against the front wall and peeked inside. Light radiated from my fireplace, too golden to be a fire. The egg shone where it curved above the ash, and cracks crazed it, each so bright it burned white. Something within rapped, like the crackle of damp charcoal raked into the forge. And as I gaped at it, the egg rocked impatiently against its ash nest.

I slipped inside and slammed the door behind me. If I was lucky, the villagers would think I’d just left the fire lit. I didn’t want any witnesses for this unusual birth.

As I reached the hearth, the tip of a white beak punctured the shell, and light poured out of the opening. And barely a second passed before a thunderous crack split my ears. I went half-blind as the egg exploded outwards, blasting glowing shell in every direction. The shards powdered like snow before they hit my face, but I still got one in my mouth. It tasted of chalk and ash.

I'd never seen an egg hatch, but I was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like that. But when I saw the firebird, sprawled in my fireplace with two enormous feet sticking out from under her, I forgot all my objections.

Ash-white fluff buried her, like she'd ripped out of a down pillow instead of an egg, and fire danced about her and blushed her baby-feathers red and gold. Her half-naked head wobbled on a skinny little neck, blue as the adult's tail. I crouched in front of her and stretched a hand out. Her face was the length of my littlest finger, and her eyes were closed like a newborn kitten's.

“What on earth am I going to name you?” I asked the chick.

The baby bird bumped me gently with her beak and overbalanced. When I righted her, she felt like embers against my palms.

I said, "I think I'll call you Hes."

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

#writeblr #writing #fantasy #writers of tumblr #creative writing #Court Phoenix

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invisibleraven · 1 year

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5 for Peterpatterlina?

Julie walks around the borders of the dance, taking it all in; the flash of every colourful dress, the shine of shoes and hair gel in the overly bright fluorescents of the gym. The band playing overtime as the song reaches a fever pitch.

Honestly she had wanted to be out on the dance floor, letting the music take her, but Nick isn't a dancer, and after one too many times of him stepping on her feet she had begged off. It's not like she can dance with anyone else, not with the Sharks watching her like hawks.

Maybe when they go talk with the Jets about this stupid rumble they're planning she can go sneak in a few dances. Enjoy herself for once without all the stupid rules that restrict her thanks to some stupid turf war.

Then a slow song comes on, and she evades Nick's hopeful eyes, escapes to behind the bleachers and lets herself dance with an invisible partner. Much better company.

Only then a hand slips into hers, and she startles, opening her eyes to see two smiles directed at her. She doesn't know either of these boys, meaning they're most likely Jets. But they're awful cute in their own ways. One with slicked back black hair and a crooked grin that makes her stomach flutter. The other with artfully distress brown hair and eyes that spell mischief.

"Seems a shame for you to be dancing here on your own darlin'," the black haired one said.

"Figured we'd offer our services," the other adds in. "I'm Luke, this is Reggie."

"Julie," she says, giving a shy little curtsey. "And I shouldn't-my cousin he'll-well he wouldn't like it."

"Because of who we are?" Reggie asks, taking her hand and giving her a twirl.

"Or because there's two of us?" Luke questions, catching her in his strong arms.

Julie giggles. "Both." But she lets them dance with her, back and forth until she's just swaying between them, a boy to her front and back as the music slows and dies.

"Julie!"

Shit, that's Flynn, and while Julie knows her friend is understanding, she'd never let Julie live this down. Would ask her what about Nick. Nice, boring, Bernardo approved Nick.

"I have to go," she apologizes.

"Can we see you again?" Reggie asks, kissing her knuckles.

"Maybe take you out?" Luke adds, hopeful.

Every bit of Julie wants to say yes, but she can hear Flynn calling her name even louder, and she can't risk getting found hiding with two Jet boys, so she shakes her head with apology and dashes off. Thinking that this one memory is all she'll have of them.

Only they find her house, somehow. Climb the trellis to see her once more, perched on her roof and whisper how much fun they had. How much they want to see her again. And Julie can't deny she wants the same. They make plans to meet in the city the next day, take in a museum uptown where no one will know them.

And they do.

It's bliss to walk hand in hand in hand with them, and though a few people do double takes at the three of them, most everyone goes on about their day. Luke and Reggie are happy to walk her through each exhibit, one of them always having something to say about a piece, but happy enough to let Julie wax poetic about the ones she likes.

They share their first kisses in an empty room full of stained glass, reflections and refractions of rainbow staining them. Bringing out the green in Reggie's eyes and the pink of his blush. Mimicking the multi-faceted nature of Luke's eyes, unable to settle, just like the man himself.

From there they check out a concert in the park one day, take out a rowboat the next. Always in a part of town far from the Sharks and Jets, away from the prejudice and silly fighting based on some asinine ideas over who owns the small strip of land they both reside in.

"The rumble is tomorrow," Reggie said quietly as they picnic under the shade of a tree.

"Please tell me you're not really going," Julie begs.

"We have to boss. If only to let cooler heads prevail, maybe find a way to end this," Luke replies. "So the three of us can stop sneaking around."

Julie worries her bottom lip, clutching their hands in hers. She's hated all the sneaking around they have to do. The lies to her friends and family about where she disappears to. Weeks and weeks of falsehoods and lies so she can have her bit of paradise, her slice of happily ever after.

She wonders if the truth come out would the fighting stop, or would it just make it worse. "I just wish there was a place for us. A chance that we could be together, happily with no worries about gangs or hatred, or anything," she finally whispered.

"Us too," Reggie whines, pulling her close, pulling Luke in too. They clutch and cling to one another, as if this will be their last moment together.

"Maybe... maybe we just run away," Luke proposes. "No matter which way the rumble goes. We can go find our place out in the world. The three of us."

"No more hiding?" Reggie asks.

"No more hiding," Julie repeats with a nod.

They make plans, and finally part with fevered kisses and promises to see one another on the other side. Julie packs her bag, and writes a note. She hates to leave her family, but she can't live like this any longer. This stifled partitioned existence that makes the two people she loves most in the world a secret to the rest of it.

She waits at the bus stop, clinging to her valise, even as the big clock at the station clicks past midnight. Prays and thumbs at her rosary that her boys are safe.

Luke appears first, a small bag slung over his back. His lip is swollen and there's a bruise forming at his jaw. A small trickle of blood escapes his nose, and his knuckles look pretty worse for the wear. But he's there, swinging her around, then pulling her into a kiss, assuring her that Reggie is coming.

Reggie appears almost an hour later, and Julie gasps when she seems him. His eye is black and shut tight, he's limping, and covered in small cuts and scratches. Even worse is that Luke mutters a curse, saying most of that isn't from the rumble. Reggie has a suitcase and a blinding smile as he rushes too them, promising he's okay.

"Ready to go find our place?" he asks.

"Always," Luke replies.

Julie takes one small glance back at the town. The place she grew up, that nurtured her, that helped her find her voice, and she bids it a bittersweet farewell. Maybe one day the three of them will come back here. Find it changed or not, for better or worse.

But then Julie turns and sees her future, the two hands held out to her, and she smiles, taking them and letting her boys escort her to the world. And from then on, she never looks back.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms

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devourensarc · 4 months

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❰❰ MEDIC ❱❱ sender bandages receiver’s wounds

@rayonnere — an extremely self indulgent meme

It had been a bit too soon for the Harbinger to jump so enthusiastically into battle, but the temptation had presented itself and he had never been one to deny himself life's best pleasure. The temptation had come in the form of one Demoiselle and the band of rogue Meks that had interrupted them.

He didn't doubt she could handle it on her own, but his pride as a Harbinger refused to let him stand back and watch someone else fight battles for him — although, in truth, he didn't really need an excuse such as pride for his Hydro blades to form in his hand as he leaped into action next to her.

No — he had been itching for a chance to see the Spina's Boss in action, and how better to experience it, than side by side? And how exhilarating it had been. His smile had bordered on manic as the last of the Meks fell, each heartbeat singing with the thrill of the fight after so long cooped up healing. He was so caught up in the rush of her claymore through the air, the graceful, powerful arcs it cleaved through metal and gears, that he didn't even notice the blood seeping through his shirt until she cried out and rushed forward to check him over.

Now he sits inside back in Poisson, jacket and undershirt tossed aside and a sheepish smile on his face. Navia's careful hands wind fresh bandages around his chest and shoulder, and his dull blue eyes remain fixed on her face, inches away from his own.

The fingers that had earlier held the claymore that shattered Meks brushed against his bare skin, and he almost shivered at the memory as excitement stirred in his veins again.

❝ You were great out there, ❞ he blurts. ❝ That was fun. We should do it again some time. ❞

#rayonnere #✶ — › this place is pretty dead by which i mean there's nothing to kill / in chara.#✶ — › seems the monster always wins / answered.#he's out here like 'I want to fight *with* her so bad'#anyways spins them around in my brain #✶ — › gone fishing / queue.

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rapeculturerealities · 1 year

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Eliza Bleu’s Own Friends Aren’t Buying Her Trafficking Story

With striking lilac hair and a pugnacious attitude, the anti-sex trafficking activist known as Eliza Bleu has broken into some of the top tiers of right-wing media in just a few years, growing her audience through interviews with popular figures like Ben Shapiro, Tim Pool, and Dr. Drew Pinsky.

But in late 2022, Bleu found an even more powerful ally: new Twitter owner Elon Musk.

Bleu, who refers to herself as “a survivor of human trafficking,” has lent the billionaire an unusual form of credibility by insisting that pre-Musk Twitter was overrun with child pornography. Only Musk, Bleu says, has been willing to stamp out the abusive material on Twitter “at scale.” In another tweet, she declared, “The war against Elon Musk is actually a war over your mind.” Musk responded with a bullseye emoji.

Bleu’s praise for Musk comes even as the billionaire has slashed much of Twitter’s staff, including huge numbers of workers responsible for content moderation. For his part, Musk has boosted Bleu’s profile on the site with replies and retweets, helping her earn more than 100,000 new followers in December alone.

“You have a direct line to me on this issue,” Musk told Bleu in a Twitter Space live chat in December.

“When I stepped away from the gang, my traffickers lost money. And they want that money back. ”

— Eliza Bleu

But now Bleu and Musk find themselves embroiled in a Twitter censorship controversy, after multiple critics of Bleu who shared embarrassing images from her past saw their accounts temporarily suspended from the site. Some users suggested that Bleu’s “direct line” to Twitter brass and Musk himself may have led to the crackdown, even as the Twitter owner insists he’s in favor of “free speech” and wide-ranging debate.

Bleu and Twitter didn’t respond to requests for comment.

Amid the controversy over the suspended accounts, questions about Bleu’s background have emerged. Her critics have seized on contradictory videos and interviews—and her frequent use of different names online—to suggest Bleu isn’t who she claims to be.

Now two former friends of Bleu tell The Daily Beast that, at best, Bleu is exaggerating her experiences for attention.

“It’s making a lot of her old friends around here really angry,” said Carly Wenzel, a one-time pal of Bleu who has known her for two decades, who added she believes Bleu is “completely lying.”

Bleu grew up in a rural area along Illinois’s border with Iowa known as the “Quad Cities.” She’s portrayed her homeschooled upbringing as an innocent one, albeit one that made her all the more naive about how the world really works.

Despite her claims to the contrary, public records prove that Bleu’s original name was Eliza Morthland. Born in 1981, her father is Richard Morthland, a farmer and former Illinois state representative who ran unsuccessfully on the GOP ticket for lieutenant governor in 2018. Morthland did not respond to a request for comment.

In 2021, Bleu appeared to deny on Twitter that she was Eliza Morthland, but Facebook photos show her standing with other members of the Morthland family. A 2010 newspaper article about Richard Morthland shows a woman who looks just like Bleu standing next to the politician and identified as his daughter, “Eliza Morthland.” Richard Morthland also gave a comment for a 2009 article about a band Bleu worked for under her married name Eliza Siep. And Bleu’s cosmetology license lists Richard Morthland’s farm as her address.

There’s no question that Bleu has advocated for trafficking victims, especially on Twitter. But she has offered murky accounts of her own background that leave even her supporters unsure about all but the vaguest details. She can also grow hostile with reporters who ask for basic facts, like the years she was trafficked or the names of perpetrators. For example, journalist Katie Herzog reached Bleu on the phone in December, only to have Bleu become defensive when Herzog raised even the prospect of asking Bleu about her own story.

“Bleu stirred up some controversy of her own with diehard supporters of the band, in online mini-scandals that featured Bleu calling Star the n-word.”

Interviewed on Tim Pool’s podcast, Bleu said she could not offer details about her alleged abusers because of unspecified legal issues. Then she asked why it would be a problem if she was making up her story.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, it is made up,” Bleu said. “What’s my biggest win so far in public? Getting Twitter to address child sexual abuse material and make it a top priority?

“I’m not asking an abuser for money, and I’m not asking people for money,” she added.

The Daily Beast pieced together a rough outline of Bleu’s account of her trafficking experiences based on interviews she’s given to sympathetic media outlets.

Bleu has said that her trafficking spanned two different periods, separated by roughly a decade. In her telling, Bleu was first groomed by a prominent photographer she met at a Warped Tour concert in Chicago when she was 16. A few years later, when she was still a teenager in the late 1990s, Bleu’s father drove her to Los Angeles because Bleu was convinced that an unnamed “high profile musician” she met through that photographer would make her a star.

Instead, she was sexually assaulted within 48 hours of arriving in the city, according to a 2020 podcast interview. Her traffickers quickly hooked her on a drug she knew as “ice”—generally recognized as slang for crystal methamphetamine, though Bleu has said she didn’t know what drug it was.

Bleu claims she was then sold for $500 to a sex-trafficking ring in the Hollywood Hills, where she found herself living with members of a ring that trafficked transgender women.

“I was sold for $500 to a very old gentleman in the Hills,” Bleu said in the 2020 interview.

Bleu claims she struggled to get enough water and food, “because I was on drugs and other substances.” But Bleu was such a handful for her traffickers, in her telling, that they ultimately gave her back to her original trafficker for free. Bleu claims she was hospitalized for a drug overdose before returning to her family farm in Illinois.

“My family didn’t even recognize me when I got off the plane,” Bleu said.

After two weeks on the farm, she returned to Los Angeles to retrieve her car, Bleu claims, but she was once again swept up into human trafficking for an undefined period.

“It’s odd what happens to the trauma brain,” Bleu said on the 2020 podcast episode to explain why she returned to her traffickers, comparing it to Stockholm syndrome.

Bleu’s second trafficking period, in her account, began in roughly 2008 or 2009, when she was living in the Chicago area. In that same 2020 podcast interview, Bleu claimed she was trafficked by a “high-profile athlete” whom she has declined to name. That man and his associates, according to Bleu, put her in a dangerous neighborhood she has said existed on what she called a “gang line”—the violent border where two Chicago gang territories meet.

“My mattress was on the floor because we had so many shootings that year in the area,” Bleu recalled in 2020. “I just didn’t want to get shot.”

Bleu attempted to leave her traffickers in 2013, and, in her account, ultimately succeeded for good in about 2014. Bleu has repeatedly suggested that her former traffickers from Chicago might still be out to get revenge on her and her family members.

“She slept on the floor but by choice, because she was into these floor pillows at the time.”

— A former roommate of Eliza Bleu

“When I stepped away from the gang, my traffickers lost money,” Bleu said in the 2020 interview. “And they want that money back”

Asked in a 2021 interview why she hadn’t pressed charges against the unnamed athlete and her other traffickers, Bleu—appearing on a podcast with more than 100,000 YouTube subscribers—said the men could still track her down and murder her.

“I am terrified that they would kill myself or my family or people that I care about,” Bleu said. “That’s how organized they are.”

Last month, Bleu tweeted that her family knows “every detail” of her story and stands behind her. She then blasted the “corporate media” for asking questions about her past, declaring, “if anyone steps on [my family’s] property or my property let it be extremely clear that we are all armed.”

Wenzel, a one-time friend of Bleu who says she has known the anti-trafficking activist for more than two decades, doesn’t think Bleu’s account is accurate.

Wenzel told The Daily Beast that she met Bleu in the Quad Cities, where both women were partying with musicians. Wenzel was 18, and said Bleu was in her early twenties. The Daily Beast verified Wenzel’s friendship with Bleu through photographs.

In Wenzel’s telling, she and Bleu were both deeply involved in the “scene” subculture of the early aughts—a time of tight jeans, swooping haircuts, and high drama on sites like MySpace and LiveJournal. Wenzel was trying to hook up with a member of one of her favorite bands on a tour bus in Iowa City when Bleu stepped on board. The two young women realized they had mutual friends and a shared interest in music—and the men who made it.

“She said that she was going to be very famous for sleeping with band members,” Wenzel recalled.

Wenzel takes issue with Bleu’s timeline of her first trafficking experience. She claims that she too was at the Warped Tour concert where Bleu met the photographer she claims groomed her. But while Bleu said that she wasn’t even 18 when she met the photographer, Wenzel insists that Bleu would have been in her early twenties—putting the date of the concert sometime in the early 2000s.

“She’s a very powerful, very smart intelligent woman.”

— Carly Wenzel

“Her timeline is just so weird,” Wenzel said, noting she believes that Bleu appears to be “lying about her age in certain articles.”

Bleu moved to Los Angeles, but Wenzel doesn’t remember hearing about her old friend being trafficked. Instead, she said Bleu unsuccessfully tried to convince Wenzel to move in with her in California. She did not recall Bleu calling home to the Quad Cities with tales of being addicted to “ice” or living with a trafficked group of transgender women in the Hollywood Hills.

Wenzel said she “keeps seeing these stories out of L.A.” and believes “that absolutely didn’t happen.”

By 2005, Bleu was back in Illinois and eventually earned a cosmetology license. Bleu began touring as a traveling stylist for musicians, where she received her first taste of internet controversy.

Bleu worked for mega-popular rock band My Chemical Romance as a stylist, going by the hair-inspired name “Eliza Cuts” online. Bleu’s job brought her into a group of My Chemical Romance entourage members dubbed the “World’s Most Hated Crew.” That clique also included future YouTube star and makeup mogul Jeffree Star, who would later be accused of paying out hush money to sexual-assault accusers.

Bleu was closely monitored by the bands’ fans on sites like LiveJournal—particularly after she entered a brief engagement with My Chemical Romance’s heartthrob lead singer, Gerard Way. But Bleu stirred up some controversy of her own with diehard supporters of the band, in online mini-scandals that featured Bleu calling Star the n-word and allegedly authoring a thinly veiled fictional account of her failed relationship with Way.

After leaving the rock circuit, Bleu lived with a friend in Chicago from roughly 2009 to 2011. That’s around the period when Bleu claims she began to be sex-trafficked again by the unnamed athlete in a violence-plagued neighborhood.

But that’s not how her former roommate, who asked The Daily Beast not to use her name out of fear of backlash from Bleu’s fans, remembers it. Instead, she said the pair lived in Wicker Park, an affluent, trendy Chicago neighborhood. The roommate said Bleu’s parents were “always supportive financially.”

“She was not in a precarious situation,” the roommate told The Daily Beast in a text message.

The roommate does remember Bleu sleeping on the floor, though not because of bullets.

“She slept on the floor but by choice, because she was into these floor pillows at the time,” the friend told The Daily Beast, though she added that Bleu “eventually bought a bed.”

Like the ex-roommate, Wenzel scoffs at the idea that Bleu lived in a dangerous neighborhood. Wenzel, who by then was married with a child, said she brought her toddler to visit Bleu and the roommate at their apartment—hardly the front line of a gang war.

“That is so not true,” Wenzel said. “She lived in a really cute apartment. They’re the whitest girls you could ever meet. There was no gang activity.”

Around this time, Bleu resurfaced online as “Eliza Siep” in 2010, unsuccessfully auditioning for American Idol using a surname she had picked up during a short-lived marriage. But she soon moved on to a new name and another position in the music industry. Now she would become “Eliza Knows,” the sultry, self-proclaimed music “video vixen.”

“Donewald defended Bleu from skeptics earlier this month, tweeting that Bleu is ‘the real deal.’ ”

Under her new online name, Bleu began to dance as a “video vixen” in mostly low-budget music videos. A YouTube playlist that appears to have been compiled by Bleu herself shows her gyrating in videos from 2012 and 2013 with song titles like “Feelin’ Myself” and “A Million Ways to Love You.”

In one 2012 video Bleu posted to YouTube, she filmed herself calling her mother to shock her with the news that she’d become a music-video dancer—only to discover that her mother was happy for her. In the video, Bleu told her mother she wanted to become a music-video dancer because of her childhood admiration for the “Fly Girls,” dancers on the comedy show In Living Color.

Bleu also gave interviews about the video-vixen lifestyle. In 2016, Bleu, speaking in a markedly different voice than the one she used in earlier media appearances and the one she uses today, claimed that she had rejected an offer to have sex with a client for $150,000.

“It’s a nice offer, but it’s not me,” Bleu said.

Still, it appears that Bleu may have engaged in some kind of sex work around this time. In one interview, Bleu advertised her account on a now-defunct camgirl website where men could pay money to talk with her.

Around 2016, Wenzel claims that Bleu asked her to join her as an escort, promising that Wenzel could make $500 in a night—an offer that stunned Wenzel and her husband.

“She was absolutely loving it,” Wenzel said. “She was bragging about it, saying she was making so much money.”

Bleu later suggested that sex workers with a pimp might qualify as trafficking victims, though Wenzel said she didn’t meet any pimp or trafficker when she socialized with Bleu, be it an unnamed “high profile athlete” or otherwise.

“She’s a very powerful, very smart intelligent woman, I will not discredit her for that,” Wenzel said. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

As proof that she was trafficked, Bleu often cites the organization she says “saved my life”: Eve’s Angels, a Christian nonprofit that serves sex trafficking victims and women seeking to leave the commercial sex industry.

In her telling, Bleu—living in her gangland apartment in 2013 and desperate to leave her traffickers—contacted Eve’s Angels after discovering founder Anny Donewald through a YouTube video. (In another recent tweet, Bleu claimed to have found the group via a web address in a Bible the group left at a strip club.) The group soon spirited Bleu away from her traffickers and into a safehouse “three states away.” In her account, Bleu claims she briefly returned to her traffickers after that escape, but eventually escaped the traffickers’ clutches for good around 2014.

Donewald defended Bleu from skeptics earlier this month, tweeting that Bleu is “the real deal.” But, like Bleu, Donewald’s claims about sex trafficking in her own life have come under scrutiny.

In 2018, Donewald’s parents and brother filed a defamation suit against Donewald and Eve’s Angels. While Donewald and her children were living with her family members in Michigan, Donewald’s parents “confronted her about her ‘treatment of her daughter,’” according to the lawsuit. In response, Donewald and her group accused her parents of sexually abusing and trafficking children, according to a 2022 appeals court opinion.

Donewald took the case to police, leading to a criminal investigation into her parents but no charges. Donewald’s claims fell apart after her daughter told her grandparents that Donewald had told her to fabricate the claims in an attempt to score a “pay-off” from the grandparents, the appeals court opinion found.

The activist was ordered to pay a judgment of more than $47,000, plus legal fees. As of the May 2022 appeals court ruling, the family was still stalled in settlement talks, with Donewald denying the defamation claims.

Donewald did not respond to requests to comment. Eve’s Angels did not return an email, and two phone numbers attached to the charity were either not in service or went directly to a full voicemail inbox.

Bleu emerged as a public “survivor advocate” a few weeks into the pandemic, worrying in an April 2020 article in the conservative The Daily Wire that pandemic lockdowns would worsen sex trafficking. Within two years she would amass a large profile through Twitter and right-wing podcasts, culminating in her alliance with Musk.

In December, Bleu aided Musk in his campaign against Twitter’s former head of trust and safety Yoel Roth—who seemingly angered the billionaire after resigning in November—linking to a 2010 tweet by Roth that read, “Can high school students ever meaningfully consent to sex with their teachers?”

“This explains a lot,” Musk replied, and many of his followers took the bait, suggesting that Roth was a depraved “sex criminal.” Amid other attacks, Roth reportedly was forced to flee his home. (In truth, the 2010 tweet merely linked to a Salon article that did not advocate allowing teachers to have sex with minors. Instead, it examined a criminal case against a teacher who had an illegal relationship with an 18-year-old student.)

But now, cracks are starting to appear in Bleu’s online reputation, especially within the right-wing circles she once courted.

The controversy ignited on Jan. 6, when she appeared on Tim Pool’s video stream. During the show, Bleu claimed to represent two anonymous “survivors” of Andrew Tate, the kickboxer turned “king of toxic masculinity” accused—with three other suspects—of sexual exploitation and other heinous crimes. (Tate has denied wrongdoing.)

Some of Tate’s most rabid fans, along with other right-wing users, began scrutinizing Bleu’s backstory. They posted clips from past media appearances to cast doubt on her trafficking claims, and trolled her with screenshots from a racy music video dating back to 2016 that she participated in for WorldStarHipHop in her “Eliza Knows” phase.

“She clung to us all from out of nowhere. She had none of the attributes of an Epstein victim yet insinuated otherwise.”

— Maria Farmer on Eliza Bleu

Bleu’s outfits in the video were provocative, but they didn’t feature nudity or appear to be nonconsensual, and had been on YouTube for seven years. Still, Twitter locked the accounts of several prominent right-wing personalities who cover internet drama after they refused to delete their tweets about the music video.

Bleu, for her part, declared that the screenshots amounted to posting a “non-consensual photo.” In a series of tweets on Jan. 20, she vowed to “escalate to the full extent of the law.”

“Twitter did an outstanding job and they will be excluded from legal action. There won’t be anyone else involved spared. I take things all the way and I have no chill,” Bleu wrote. “I’m a survivor advocate and that doesn’t stop with advocating for myself as a survivor.”

Ella Irwin, Twitter’s head of trust and safety under Musk—who has also previously praised Bleu—defended the suspensions in a thread on Sunday.

“In the past 2 weeks, we’ve suspended multiple accounts and/or restricted content, causing confusion for users,” Irwin wrote. “Unfortunately, we can’t answer questions or share details about specific users and account actions.”

But Bleu’s critics have not been placated, especially after contemporaneous clips of Bleu as “Eliza Knows” celebrating the launch of the WorldStar video surfaced, suggesting that she participated in its creation consensually.

“She once told me there’s three people I would cheat on you with: Ben Shapiro, Elon Musk, and then there might have been one other.”

They’ve also dug up a 2021 interview in which Bleu told right-wing pundit Michael Malice that she was “trafficked” on Twitter when a group of people used her pictures to create social media accounts. At that point, Bleu had escaped her supposed actual traffickers years earlier, and the fake accounts were being used as some sort of ill-defined catfishing scheme, she said. Bleu’s critics have seized on that interview, in which Bleu described a sort of identity-theft as “trafficking,” as proof that Bleu uses an expansive definition of the term.

The expansive definition also didn’t sit right with Maria Farmer, a victim of Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. From Farmer’s perspective, Bleu’s public posts seem to conflate what it means to be a sex-trafficking victim with sex work. “This woman and her cohorts have effectively bastardized the words trafficking and survivor—we just want to use the word victim now,” Farmer told The Daily Beast.

Since emerging as an anti-trafficking activist, Bleu has crossed paths with Epstein victims. In September 2020, she announced on Twitter that she had “accepted a new position with Victims Refuse Silence,” which at the time was the trafficking nonprofit of Virginia Giuffre, a high-profile victim of Epstein and Maxwell. By November of that year, Bleu tweeted that she had stepped back into a part-time role with the organization. (Corporate records in Florida from 2021 and 2022 list Bleu as the group’s secretary and director.)

Bleu was once featured in videos on the group’s website, soliciting donations, asking people to get involved, and plugging her own Twitter handle as a resource for trafficking awareness. “I firmly believe that anybody that’s helping us in the survivor space should be very thoroughly vetted because we have a lot of nefarious players that just want to be close to victims and survivors,” she said in one video, in which she claimed her former traffickers made a Twitter profile with her name, photos, and videos without her consent.

Teresa Helm, a victim of Epstein and former director of Victims Refuse Silence, said she became friends with Bleu and asked her to join the group before it dissolved. “She’s been almost like a freelancer in the world of advocacy,” said Helm, who now works for National Center on Sexual Exploitation, which was once known as “Morality in Media.”

“She’s nonstop on Twitter which has been wonderful because it has brought to light a lot of things that were happening that people weren’t paying attention to otherwise,” Helm continued, adding that Bleu told her she’s friends with Musk. “She’s been a pioneer in waking people the hell up.”

Asked about Bleu’s doubters, Helm said, “I support her as a trafficking survivor entirely. Nothing in her past makes anything less valuable in terms of her advocacy work. It’s not her job to prove anything to anybody.”

Still, some survivors of Epstein’s sex ring said they didn’t trust Bleu. One victim, who asked not to be named, told The Daily Beast that she shared concerns about Bleu after researching her background and finding ties to right-wing figures and publications, such as Pizzagate-promoter Mike Cernovich and conservative website The Blaze.

“The ability to finally share my story and connect with others was freeing, but it’s not as straightforward as ‘simply going public,’” the Epstein victim said. “Only a strong foundation of therapeutic recovery prepared me for the publicity generated by the salacious facts of this case. However, I was not prepared for my trauma being co-opted for other’s gain.”

Farmer, who tried to report Epstein and Maxwell to the feds in the 1990s, said she had raised concerns about Bleu’s backstory on Twitter, only for Bleu to block her.

“She clung to us all from out of nowhere,” Farmer said of Epstein survivors. “She had none of the attributes of an Epstein victim yet insinuated otherwise.”

Bleu’s critics have also seized on her reality-television appearances in an attempt to poke holes in her trafficking story. Sometime around 2002, for example, she appeared on the dating show Blind Date as a contestant so hostile that the show’s editors kept a running onscreen count of her complaints. In 2012, at the height of what she would later describe as her second period being sex-trafficked deep in Chicago gang territory, Bleu appeared as an amateur model on Chicago-based The Steve Harvey Show, where Tyra Banks judged her performance.

The suspensions have fueled speculation about Bleu’s access to Twitter execs and complaints that Musk’s supposed commitment to free speech only goes so far when his friends and allies are being embarrassed.

David Karpf, an associate professor in the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University, told The Daily Beast that the Bleu controversy underscores how chaotic content moderation has become under Musk.

“You can say whatever you want on Twitter, so long as nobody notices and you don’t say mean things to anybody in Elon’s circles,” Karpf told The Daily Beast.

For her part, Bleu insisted on Twitter on Tuesday that she didn’t ask Musk to suspend the accounts that tweeted the WorldStar video.

“If I was going to ask for a favor from Elon Musk, I would ask him to make humans a multi-planetary species,” she wrote.

Farmer told The Daily Beast that Bleu’s support of Musk was a slap in the face to survivors. She points to Musk’s reported visit to Epstein’s Manhattan mansion and Maxwell’s infamous photo with Musk at a 2014 Vanity Fair Oscar party. “Elon Musk needs to pull out a little Shakespeare and study it: Thou doth protest too much,” she said, adding that she believes “it’s almost like he’s hired this woman to cover for himself.”

“Anyone who was even remotely affiliated with Jeffrey Epstein is odious at this stage,” she added. In response to some of Bleu’s pro-Musk tweets, multiple users have replied with the snapshot of Maxwell and Musk, with one writing: “thank you Elon Musk (shown here with convicted child sex trafficker Ghislaine Maxwell) for looking out for the children.” (For his part, Musk has claimed he was photobombed.)

Bleu has occasionally raised money online related to her anti-trafficking efforts. In 2020, she raised $1,625 for a vacation, writing that normally “I serve survivors of Human Trafficking, my standard caseload is 20 survivors at a time. During this season I took on an extra 61 survivors via online advocacy.”

She raised another $2,205 the following year to attend the libertarian Freedom Fest conference. Bleu has also indicated that she opened a safe house of her own for trafficking victims. In March 2020, she tweeted that she had opened the facility, called the Humanity House. It is unclear whether the facility is currently in operation.

Bleu’s latest posts, which once attracted praise, are now rife with trolls. One person created an account in her name whose main photo features Bleu bent over alongside the caption, “help im bein trafficked.” Another user remade the Steve Buscemi “fellow kids” meme with Bleu’s face and the words: “Hello fellow survivors of human trafficking.”

“There’s definitely a lot of misogyny and right wing trolls,” an ex-boyfriend of Bleu’s told The Daily Beast. “I don’t think she should have to be dealing with any of that."

According to the beau, who asked to remain anonymous, the two met in 2019 at an event for presidential candidate Andrew Yang. At the time, he says, Bleu was working in elder care and living on her family farm.

Bleu shared with him that she’d been trafficked in Los Angeles as a teenager; he had no reason to disbelieve her. “It wasn’t like she just randomly came up with like, a trafficking story,” he said, adding that when it comes to her personal life, “She is definitely a very private person, despite how public she is.”

Even back then, however, Bleu told him she wanted to be famous.

“She mentioned how she would love to be on the Ben Shapiro podcast,” the ex said, adding that she also envisioned starring on Joe Rogan’s show. “That was a joke that she had: ‘I’m going to get on Joe Rogan before you.’”

Bleu also joked about the famous men she dreamed of dating, with Musk among them. “She once told me there’s three people I would cheat on you with: Ben Shapiro, Elon Musk, and then there might have been one other,” he recalled.

“The reason this is all funny to me now is because last month she was on Ben Shapiro’s podcast. Her and Elon Musk are in communication with each other,” the ex told The Daily Beast.

“She definitely had these aspirations of being somebody. Her aspirations are kind of going exactly how she wanted in a weird way.”

#Bleu #Grifting #Sex trafficking

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purplegaycorpse · 1 year

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I don't know if this is what you're looking for (please feel free to ignore, if not), but here is the most basic crash course I can give on each of our beloved Fall Out Boys:

Patrick- Lead singer, multi-instrumentalist, primary composer for the band, the youngest of the group (I believe), and all around musical genius, though he'd probably deny it. He initially tried out as the band's drummer, but that was immediately shut down when they heard him sing.

Pete- Bassist, primary lyricist for the band, marketing guru (he comes up with a lot of the treatments for their music videos, as well as their crazy promo stunts), and considered to be the "face" of the group. He's also basically Patrick's soulmate, a fact he frequently states in interviews

Andy- Soft spoken and super sweet straight-edge drummer extraordinaire. He's the only one who's not from the Chicago area (He's from Wisconsin), and he was the last to join the group, being recruited after their first drummer left.

Joe- Guitarist, super-funny and chill guy, and co-founder of the group with Pete. He and Pete wanted to make poppier fare than the hardcore bands they'd previously been in, and thus the idea for FOB was born. Discovered Patrick when he ran into him at a Borders bookstore, and Patrick promptly started info dumping to him about a band they both like. As they say, the rest is history ...

If there's anything else you'd like to know, please feel free to let me know!

This is honestly amazing 😭😭 tysm! Tbh I was kinda scared cuz I the last two bands I tried to listening I end up finding out they were like super problematic lol so I was hoping fob wasn’t this kind of band. I guess I’m right, they seems to be super ok.

#fall out boy #fall out boiiiiii #fall out boy fandom #patrick stump #andy hurley #joe trohman #pete wentz

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spacefoxy · 2 years

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Do you think Eric may have been dealing with an unidentified mood disorder that caused his moodiness?, I also heard he could go hot and cold and do you think he may have been dealing with unresolved issues in his life?

Sorry it took me a moment to get to this one!

Again - disclaimer - I cannot say things with 100% certainty. This is just my own opinions that I have come to from all the material I have consumed. Do not take this post as absolute facts.

Now that that's out of the way. We hear about his moodiness a lot from Carrie, who dated him at the end of the 80's. Paul has also mentioned his silent treatments, which range from '87 to '90. Bruce has also some stories from HITS tour and yeah Crazy Nights too, where Eric would sulk in silence on the tour bus etc. So yeah, he was moody. That we cannot deny.

Lets go back to what Paul said about him agonizing about not being the original drummer. Peter was equal with the other guys, and he contributed so many songs! Peter has a vocal on damn near every album before Eric joined. Eric wanted to be in a band where he could do that ever since he became a huge fan of the Beatles - but once he got into KISS, he was a hired gun. He had a salary and a contract and he did not get to take part in any meetings where the band was discussed. He just got a memo after the fact. That has got to sting! G&P clearly tightened the reigns on the band during the 80's, there's no doubt about that. Perhaps having been burned by Ace and Peter (cause c'mon we all know what that was like) they took more and more control over decisions and every album became a battle of who gets to have how many songs on the album between them. I believe there were stories of "well if he gets that song, then I get this one" type of situations. Eric would bring in material, but if neither of them could make it their song to sing, they were rarely truly interested, I feel like.

So imagine about a decade of very limited ability to contribute to the band, which was eating him up for sure. He was apalled when Vinnie was offered a lead on the next album (which became Animalize) after only having just arrived in the band and not even having a proper contract with them. The only thing that was truly Eric's, was his drum solo. He was free to get as creative with it as he wanted. And he loved the interaction with the fans. That was the only thing that was truly his and he held onto it for dear life.

Why am I talking about all this? Because I feel like his increasing moodiness has a direct link to all this. The first instant of his moodiness on record comes from the Crazy Nights tour, especially the European leg of it. What happened during this time? Paul suggested they get rid of the drum solo. (Gary Corbett said the words used were "No one wants to hear that shit anyway" but take that with a grain of salt obv). They wanted to play more songs on the set and the drum solo took too much time. This was a devastating blow to Eric. I can imagine him being already wound up about not being allowed to properly contribute to the band and now they're coming for his solo too. So he started sulking and giving the silent treatment to the others. (which seems to be his go-to thing)

The same situation happened during the HITS tour, where all of the solos got axed at the beginning of the tour because they wanted to play more songs. They had just hired a tour manager who had said to Eric he hates drum solos. So yeah, they had already gotten off on the wrong foot and now his solo was being taken away *again*. What's worse, they only played Little Caesar once, during a rehearsal show, and dropped it immediately. So yeah, he was moody.

A lot of the counts of moodiness from this time come from Carrie, who honestly had no idea what was happening in the band. And the way she treated him sometimes was bordering on abuse. She'd be heard screaming at Eric or the famous making him sleep on the floor when he didn't even do anything to deserve it. If we look at her current behavior and the frankly disgusting way she treats people, yeah I can see her doing this shit to him.

So if we recap, he was stiffled artistically, people were coming after the only thing he had total control over in the band, and his girlfriend was a person he wasn't sure he wanted to stay with for the rest of his life and he was getting there in age. No wonder he was moody.

Sure there could have been stuff we never got to know about but I feel like the picture is painted quite clearly by following these leads. Now do I feel like a 40 year old man sulking instead of voicing his grievances is childish? Absolutely! LOL But that was his style... Oh Eric..

#Anonymous #oops I wrote a novel again

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jellyfishloveletterghosts · 1 year

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Carnations Say It Better Part 3 (Carobin)

Part 1 (Hellcheer) - Part 2 (Harringrove) Separate stories just happening on the same day in the same universe.

Carnations Say It Better Part 3

Carol stomps into the lunch room late, despite her best efforts she cannot escape lunch detention after calling out Jason for creeping on Chrissy. At least she is not the only one, Jason had to suffer through it with her. With the teacher in charge outside of the room for most of she had plenty of time to erode all of Jason's undeserved self confidence until he looked like he was about to cry.

That is not why she is stomping on a mission. Making Jason go all snotty nose claiming sinuses as his lower lip wobbled is currently the highlight of her Valentine's Day. What she is worried bordering on angry about is the mixed signals the little bouquet of red and white carnations in her hand is giving her.

Tommy and her separated on not so good terms but they have managed to fall back into being friends. Who else is she going to swap snarky jabs about the Hawkins populace when Steve's still stubbornly pretending he is above it these days. He is not, she has overheard him making cutting remarks to Nancy and Jonathan about people only to be scolded and pout like a guilty puppy.

A few people starting to exit the cafeteria pay a glance in her direction but they all know better than to keep looking when she is in a mood. Tommy is still sitting down poking at the remains of his lunch tray eyes on Steve leaving the room. Jumping and banging his knee against the table when Carol slaps her hands down on the table, careful not to crush the petals as she scares him."Tommy why the hell did you send me flowers?"

Tommy has a hand over his chest as he rolls his eyes and relaxes. "I'm not still into you if that's what you're thinking." It is but she is not about to admit it and him guessing it in one grates. "I sent them so you could give them to your crush." He says with a smug smirk. He is so annoying.

"I don't have a crush." Carol denies stealing his fork and a bite of his leftover meatloaf. Instantly regretting it, it is somehow dry and chewy at the same time. She flicks a pea at him when he laughs.

"Tell that to your wandering eyes when that one band nerd comes around." The smirk only gets worse.

"Shut up!" Carol hisses eyes flicking around to check for anyone to close, most are filing out of the cafeteria now only a few stranglers hanging around. She clocks Billy walking up to the booth selling carnations curious as to who he might get some for. The only person he has shown any real interest in is Steve.

"Just give her the flowers." Tommy flicks a mushy pea in her direction narrowly missing hitting her.

"And say what exactly?" She glares, flicking it back, it lands on the tray blending into the other over cooked veg.

Tommy grins cheesy and over the top with too many teeth as he leans in closer voice lowering despite no one being close by. "I don't know. What did you say to Tammy Thompson to get her on her knees for you." Carol smirks at the memory of that party, riding Tammy's face had been a highlight of her Halloween night.

It does not last, shoulder sagging as she slumps in her seat barely resisting slamming her head against the table, she has too much pride to let anyone who is not Tommy or Steve see her do that. "That wasn't the same." She is not looking for a one off with Robin. She likes her and her freckles, the way she snorts when she is laughing at her own jokes, the absolute detestment she holds for most people their age and her freckles. Carol really likes her freckles.

"Carol, Christmas Carol, carebear" Carol gives him a flat look she hates being called Christmas Carol the most out of all of the stupid nicknames Tommy has come up with over the years. "are you telling me you love this band nerd?" Carol has had enough of the sing-songs tone, she thinks briefly about throwing the little bouquet in his face. She is actually considering giving them to Robin so instead she grabs his empty milk cation and chucks it at his face.

The noise of it connecting is far more satisfying than the flowers could have been. "Ow! Don't throwing shit at me." Tommy’s hands come up holding his face, it wasn not that hard he is just being dramatic.

"Then stop being an asshole." Carol says with a sharp grin.

"I was just teasing." Tommy fusses rubbing at the red mark on the bridge of his nose where the edge of the carton struck. "Just go talk to her Carol you're a catch." The compliment softens her some. "Even if she’s not into you romantically you could use another girlfriend. I don't want to be dragged to the mall to watch you try on dresses for hours when prom comes around." She's right back to finding him annoying.

Carol scoffs, flicking her hair over one shoulder. "As if I would want you there. A you have terrible taste and B you always insist it would look better on you and then ask if they have it in your size."

"Maybe I'm legitimately asking sometimes." Tommy cuts his eyes toward the ceiling and shrugs. "I would look great in a little strappy number with a thigh high slit."

"Everyone looks good in a thigh high slit." Carol nods remember the time her, Tommy, and Steve tried on one of Mrs. Harrington's dresses the summer before their falling out. The fit over all had only been flattering on Steve’s taller frame but the thigh slit had looked good on all of them.

Carol turns and sees Heather yelling after Billy as he runs out of the cafeteria. Carol glances at the clock hanging behind her head. "Aren't you going to run late to gym class if you don't hurry up?"

Tommy tilts his head back and forth, eyes scanning around before pulling a joint out of his pocket and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Or we could go smoke under the bleachers and come up with a way for you to ask your bird out."

Carol gives him a considering look, it is a better option than what she's supposed to be doing. "We can smoke but you don't get to talk all of your ideas are more likely to get me arrested than a date." She is pretty sure the real reason Tommy wants to hang out under the bleachers is so they can watch Billy and Steve. Billy has been watching him with some sort of intent and even if it does not come to a head it is always a good show watching him practically grind on Steve.

"So, that's a no to popping out of her locker naked." Tommy jokes as they stand up to leave. Carol shoves him, making him trip over his own two feet but it does give her an idea.

Part 4 (Carobin Part 2)?

#Carobin #jellyghostfic #fanfiction #st fic #Carol Perkins x Robin Buckley #harringrove hinted at

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