Keith wore a necklace made of luxite, and Lance grinned every fifth
quintant when he walked into the seedy spaceport tavern and saw it. The surly
bartender pulled twisted cocktails and searing drinks for the dredges of the
Galra Empire, including but not limited to bounty hunters, quintessence
runners, vicious mercenaries, and thieving nomads.
Lance was all of those.
On good quintants, Shiro would give Keith the rest of the night off,
and the cute bartender who either spend it on Lance’s lap in the corner booth
or they’d retire to Lance’s rusted spacecraft in the hanger less than three
doboshes away. On bad quintants, Galra Sentries would occupy the stools,
keeping Lance from flirting – or annoying – his favorite barkeep.
It wasn’t the best life. It wasn’t even a good life, and Lance knew he
had nothing to offer Keith except for a few warm nights and the necklace he
stole from a Galra warrior once. But as they occupied the same seat in the
spacecraft’s cockpit, Keith’s legs dangling over Lance’s, his lover wearing
nothing more than the necklace Lance gave him, he thought – it was enough.
As long as he had Keith, it would always be enough.
the cat fish spends it’s entire existence dredging in the mud for nutrients, this task is meaningless by itself. the cat fish does not do this because something better awaits him once he has finished dredging, dredging is all there is. this is absurd. the catfish can embrace the absurdity of the task and choose to be happy in spite of (or even because of) it.
Summary: Sam calls reader to babysit Dean after he’s cursed by a witch.
Word Count: 1776
Tags are at the bottom. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
The screen lights up on your phone, Sam Winchester’s name flashing on the screen.This can’t be good, otherwise Sam would never, ever call you. Not after everything that happened. Should you answer? You don’t really want to dredge all that shit up. But if he’s calling, it’s important. You’re thumb hovers over the green button. It’s on the third ring before you decide to answer.
“(Y/N)? It’s me, Sam. Please, don’t hang up, just hear me out.”
“Thank…thank you. Listen, I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t need help, you know that I wouldn’t. But I need you.”
You can’t figure out how Sam knows you’re in the area. You haven’t had contact with Dean or Sam for over year. Is he still keeping tabs on you through the hunter network? It’s touching in a way, you’ve always had a soft spot for Sammy. Truth is, you miss him.
Why the fuck are you driving to the motel right now? Why would you willingly put yourself in this position? Must be temporary insanity. It’s the only logical explanation. Maybe you should drive straight to the psych ward and check yourself in after this is over.
memories 01. i don’t know if this is reality or a dream.
he grips the railing, metal kissing his bruises bittersweet. he stops.
he looks off, sharp eyes gauging hesitance in jin’s soft muted gaze, the warmth of his brown eyes soon replaced by film and hard glass, and it sets him back on course.
taehyung closes his eyes and leans forward, the adrenaline in his chest relieved by the sudden weightlessness caught between his heels. he inhales the pinks and oranges of the sky, the waning sun caught between his lips, and for very first time, he soars. he soars far above the ground, above the grass, above jin, and far beyond the dredges of reality he’d been grounded to for so long (and for much too long). and he keeps soaring, suspended in the silence of his chaotic headspace, soaring even farther, even as gravity tugs down his sleeves and begs at his feet.
jin watches, head booming with applause and excitement. the voices holler and cheer, ghosting whispers in his ears, knowing too well of their fixation towards the descending figure before him, as they clap-! whoop-! scream–!
but taehyung hears nothing. he doesn’t hear the chorus of gasps when he falls, he doesn’t hear the hurrahs, the satisfaction of having a full audience. he can only sense. sense a blank stare watching him through false mirrors and still windows. sense the impending fruit of his fall. he can sense gravity dragging plastic and glass from shaking hands to shatter on concrete as it drags him whole into the mouth of the tide, pulling jin and his illusions to drown with him.
So, if you all have noticed, I really love the game Guild Wars 2. So much that I have a side blog dedicated to it, where I’ve had an ongoing series of NPC ideas. But it feels like a shame to have them all over where no one can see them, so here they are!
Yevipraksiya is a Dredge who joined the Pact, disagreeing with the xenophobic views of the Dredge Commissars and their idea of “revolutionary tactics”. She now works as a technician and cultural advisor for the Pact, speaking of issues concerning her race and how to communicate the prospect of alliance.
[The Gays/addicts/insert demonized social group] are infecting god-fearin Real Americans with the Gay Plague by sticking them with HIV-contaminated needles is a really, really old rumor, too, and one that gets dredged up whenever there’s a new boogeyman. Until I see more evidence, I’m labelling “Antifa are going to stick Trump supporters with HIV needles” as 1488% fake
So a while ago I was talking to my friends about Priory Nerds spelunking and then I was like “man I want a dredge character real bad” and then this total nerd happened
Vlad (Vladislav, NOT Vladimir, he Will Fight You) is your average miner, a worker bee who doesn’t exactly like the totalitarian oppression that some of the higher ups are into, but hey man, it’s a living. Actually, it kind of sucks, and he’d like to be doing something better.
Like any self respecting Dredge, he hates the Priory and everything it stands for. But one day he meets @sylvan-heart‘s Gunner who convinces him that all those dwarf things they find can be sold for a lot of money. And lots of money sound way better than mining for some assholes for the rest of your life and being told to martyr yourself in corrupt revolutions.
He is a Huge Total Nerd who suddenly discovers he loves exploring and is a freelance priory explorer (though he will never, ever admit it). Also, he is a big sports fan.
You are one of the cats at Fort Trinity. You can’t understand why no one will let you help out in the war effort. You are quite ferocious and you’ve seen plenty of other, admittedly bigger cats, fighting, so why can’t you and your friends? Stage a covert mission to get yourselves into the fray.
You are a Skritt, somebody stole your best and favourite shiny and you are pissed. Unfortunately for you, your shiny was stolen by a minion of one of the Elder Dragons, and they’ve taken it right back to the dragon’s lair. Now you must go on a death-defying quest to retrieve your shiny… Oh and inadvertently become one of Tyria’s greatest heroes in doing so.
You are the bartender at the Serated Blade, Iron and Blood Legion soldiers have gotten themselves into an enormous barfight and the Ash Legion are snooping around the edges making the whole thing worse. This is the seventh fight in two days and frankly you’re getting tired of it, it’s also your last shift before your retirement and you were supposed to be having a nice, relaxed time. What are you going to do about it?
You are a very lonely necromancer, somehow you end up chatting with a member of the risen hoard and, despite their rotting flesh and occasional desire to maim you, they’re actually kind of sweet. You guys are really starting to warm up to each other when a squad from the Pact arrive, they want to know what the hell is going on and your new buddy is getting kind of.. chompy all of a sudden. How are you going to explain your way out of this one?
You are a Dredge. Go and ruin some poor adventurer’s day.
On February 5, 1987, Ted had his first panic attack. Although he’d maintained an unperturbed exterior, always in control, always cool and superrational, inside, he apparently was destabilizing after the events of the past year. Until his first death warrant his life at Florida State Prison had been relatively peaceful, especially after he and Carol and Tina had settled into their weekly routine. The disruption caused by the first warrant was only the first tremor of the crumbling of that existence. The TV movie had brought more public attention, hatred, and unavoidable reminders of the crimes he had put out of his mind for six years. The second warrant had made the possibility of execution real to him - and to Carole. Then Carole had left for Seattle, and Ted’s six-year pattern of Saturday visits with his “attentive” family were over. Bad memories were being dredged up from the past as Dr. Norman visited sporadically, spending several hours each time probing Ted’s recollections, his dark side. He was spending time alone with Diana Weiner. He’d always expected to be permitted time to apply for clemency in the Lake City case after cert. was denied. Instead, he had found himself on death watch again, receiving a stay only six hours before his execution was to take place. Then, to top it off, he’d been wrongly placed in disciplinary status upon receiving the stay and deprived of outdoor exercise - his most treasured privilege. The pressure was mounting, his peaceful existence was slowly unraveling. Even the Eleventh Circuit ruling in our favor and remanding the Chi Omega case for further consideration was not necessarily a great comfort to Ted. For him, the mere resolution of a court case - whether in his favor or not - meant that he was that much closer to running out of legal ammunition.
Ted later told me he thought he was going to die that morning of February 5. He said he has been feeling fine since his release from the DR, exercising as usual, doing yoga, avoiding coffee and chemicals. Ted valued self-discipline. The panic attack hit at six in the morning, without warning. He said he lost his short-term memory; lost all perspective; he felt “waves of adrenaline, terror and panic”; he was trembling and his hands were shaking; he felt “numbness, pinpricks on top of my brain”; he was dizzy, heard echoes, and had ringing in his ears. He writhed on the floor of his cell for half a day before it passed. Subsequent attacks would last longer. - Polly Nelson on Ted’s first panic attack
“Kesha is no longer the artist we met in the late aughts: blazing dollar sign in her name in place of the S, gold Trans Am that she said she wanted to have continuous sex in, 24-7 party girl, dredged in oil and breaded like a schnitzel in glitter. Now she is someone in suspended animation, unable to release new music pending contract litigation, touring small clubs to make some money to help fund her lawsuit and to make sure her fans don’t forget her; now she is someone who wants to work and make music, just without the man she says raped her; now Kesha is a cause.”