Soooo, yeah. First post here and I don’t really know what to put this as, hence the Misc thing. It’s one part theory, one part speculation, and one part fun thing to think about. Basically, this is going to be one of several post about what I PERSONALLY believe/think the straw hats are going to evolve into power wise. Haki awakenings/advancements, DF awakenings, the works. Obviously, I’m starting with Brook and working my way backwards through the straw hats till I end with Luffy. Now Disclaimer: This is not by ANY MEANS to discredit my boy Jinbei. I feel like he is pretty strong as is and has some room for growth but not as much as the others. Not to mention, these 9 are the OGs and I feel like I’m speaking for us all when I say I wanna see them reach their peak. Secondly, this isn’t me straight up saying “this is what’s gonna happen.” I ain’t Oda. This is just a fun thought experiment thing that I wanted to share with y’all and get reactions. In any case, let’s get the show going with my boy, “Dead Bones” Brook. Strap in, this is a long one.

Haki

So Brook’s Haki. Personally, I can see Brook awakening both Armament and Observation Haki. Obviously, the armament would help with his sword work a lot, plus Brook with black bones is just a badass mental image in my book. The Observation Haki would work just as well in that department as well and I would even see him advancing it into the Future Sight like Luffy. My only real evidence I have to this is that Brook (at least from what I can gather and think, don’t quote me on this) is based off of Baron Samedi of Vodou Religion. Both have canes, both are skeletons, both have ties to the underworld to a point, I could go on. So I feel like Future Sight would fit Brook because there is a lot of “Fortune Telling” in Vodou, especially in New Orleans. Plus, It would make him opposite Zoro both in the sword work work AND in the Haki world, with Zoro being obviously more Armament/Conquerors based. Not to mention, Brook with glowing red eyes is also a good mental image.

Devil Fruit Awakening

So I could go on about Brook’s sword work and how many moves I can think for him BUT, I feel like the real interesting nugget for Brook is his DF. The Yomi Yomi no Mi, or the Revive-Revive Fruit, is a very interesting Paramecia on various levels so I feel like the awakening is gonna be something great and not that far off. Correct me if I’m wrong but, Brook has had his DF the longest out of all the Strawhats so I think if anyone is close to having an Awakening the most out of the DF users that haven’t (Aka, between him and chopper because I think Robin is already awakened but I’ll get to the that when I talk about her). If ya need evidence to why I think he’s close to an awakening, I splint you to the Soul King thing from Whole Cake where his literally ripping the souls out of the chess soldiers. If that ain’t close to an awaking of the fruit, I don’t know what is.
In any case, let’s first talk about what it would look like and well, I think we already seen it…kinda. Let me explain, in two color spreads (maybe more), Brook has been seen with that kinda green “soul-fire” that made up the Soul King thing I mentioned before in his Afro [ Evidence Above ]. The raid suit one shows it a little bit but the ninja one shows it complete consuming the Afro. I think that’s perfect and exactly what it would look like, not to mention it could give Brook eerie green eyes within those empty sockets of his. (Bring on the sans memes). As for a name, why not Soul Requiem, may sound a bit cliche but I think it fits.

Soul Requiem

This would be a form where “Brook’s Soul Dances”, kinda like Luffy’s Gear 5 form. Now, this ain’t to say Brook has a God Fruit like him. As much I would like to make that meme a reality, no. It’s just a kinda a mechanic I wanted to give his awakening for reasons. In any case, while in this form, Brook would get your typical boosts but mostly to speed because of how Brook Fights. As for abilities, I have several ideas. For one, that soul-fire I mentioned. It can be manipulated be Brook in various ways, one of the main ways is to imbue them into his sword by sticking Soul Solid into his new flaming Afro. His new flaming sword would, obviously, give him some new offensive and defensive abilities as these are no normal flames. These are the flames of the underworld. Flames so Cold they Burn…..yeah, it doesn’t make sense when I say it like that but ya know what I mean. Basically, instead of this fire burning you, they freeze you as they slowly spread over your body until you’re nothing but a frozen statue, soul included. I can see moves that stem from this being enhanced version of his “Soul Parade” techniques and new ones, like one being a move similar to Zoro’s Lion Song. I would call this ”Soul Parade: Maman Briggitte’s Wedding Song”, as a reference to Baron Samedi’s wife in Vodou myth.
For another ability, soul manipulation. We kinda see this with the Chess Soldiers I mentioned before but imagine this with ALL things with souls in them. People, animals, the works. I can see a variation of Brook’s Lullaby Parry that I would dub, “Baron’s Lullaby”. Instead of using a Violin, yes I miss it too, Brook would hum this song. When heard, the targets of this attack will slowly fall asleep and when they drop, their souls would, for the lack of a better word, “pop” out of their body and into the air. They would be “alive” technically, as their bodies would be in a comatose like state of neither life nor death while their soul are separated from their bodies. This would lead into another move, “Baron’s Lullaby: Lost Festival”. Here, Brook would raise his sword like a Conductor’s Baton and Orchestrate the souls as he pleases before sending them into random directions. Doing this would send the souls in different bodies, objects, animals, ect, causing mass panic for his foes. Think like Silver Chariot Requiem’s ability from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure’s Part 5. Another move comes in the form of “Baron’s Lullaby: Black Parade”. Same thing happens, the enemies fall asleep but instead of their souls leaving their bodies, they would just fall asleep standing up. Taking his sword like a Baton once more, he would control these sleeping individuals like toy soldiers. Sure, this may lean into a bit more “villian-like” powers but I feel like it would still be useful to him AND it brings in the Haitian Zombie idea.
Another ability I see him having is something we have seen before actually. That being, the creation of Homies. I know, I know, this is already a DF on it’s own but what else do you think Brook’s awakening could do? Turn building’s into Souls? As stated in the wiki, Paramecia Awakenings extend the user’s powers to the world around so this seems like a good evolution for it. However, there are differences between this awakening and Big Mom’s Fruit. For one, the type of “souls” Brook can make. By pulling off pieces of his soul-flame Afro, he can imbue things with either simple souls or complex souls. Simple souls are well, simple. They have no free will and just are animated, moving to Brook’s command. Think like this living weapons from DND. Complex Souls are your typical Homies, having their own personalities and all BUT take much more energy to create/maintain since it’s an awakening thing, not mention more of his Afro. Simple souls return to Brook after he revers from his awakening while Complex stay around until Brook orders them to return. Not only does this give Brook some background singers, who I would name after Different Loa from Haitian Vodou Myth like how Big Mom had Greek names (mostly), but it could give an answer to Nami’s Zeus problem. Let’s face it, Big Mom won’t live forerver so that means Zeus won’t as, I think, he would disappear after Big Mom passed away and her fruit goes back into the cycle. However, with this power, Brook could just replace Big Mom’s soul power with his own since, he’ll probably live forever for as far as we know, meaning Zeus will have a much longer life.
Finally, I can see him talk to dead people and utilize the souls of the dead. I know this maaaayyyy be a bit fanfic-y but hear me out. We know that souls exist thanks to both Brook and Big Mom’s fruits, not to mention ghosts (maybe) from Perona. So I don’t think it would be THAT out of the question for Brook to communicate with the dead. Maybe not full on conversations, at least at first, but maybe some whispers here and there. Maybe he could even see dead folks, giving use a good scene where Brook meets Ace from beyond the grave. Not to mention, I can see Brook going full Return of The King and summon an army of fallen souls to help in a battle. However, I would keep this to only pirates he met personally so he doesn’t whip Ghost Roger out of his pocket. This would be a move I would call ”Deadman’s Tale: Epic of the Rumbar Pirates”, where Brook would pull out his guitar and play a damn good metal cover of Bink’s Brew. As he plays, the fire from his Afro will build and build before exploding around him, reforming into the images of his old crew to aid his new crew. With them being ghosts and all, they would be a helpful addition to combat as they can’t be hurt by traditional weapons, only Haki as haki is one’s spirit manifest so spirit on spirit. However, Brook will have to keep playing the song or they will disappear, meaning Brook can’t fight while he uses this attack.
Finally, for a weakness to all this, it’s awakening so Brook can’t use this stuff for long, it is taxing. Plus, for the Homie part, Brook can’t just create things whenever he wishes. He only has so much Afro to around, unlike big mom who can just still souls for her homie creation. That ain’t Brook’s style, at least in my book. Not to mention, Brook has to keep his soul “in Rhythm” like how Luffy needs to keep his heart drumming to the beat of the Drums of Liberation or he will fall out of it. Again, just another fun mechanic I wanted to throw in.
Soooo yeah, that be it for my boy Brook. Hope y’all like this long boy post. Next up is Franky so stay tuned for whenever that gets posted.

I recently got this Raleigh Swift second hand as I love the convenience of being able to store my bike away securely and also take it on trains if I leave the city. I was hoping to use it to do an 8 mile commute, which usually poses no problem to me on any other bike. This is my first folding bike and I am finding it impossible to ride any distance. I’m used to the upright riding position as the other bike I ride is a Dutch bike, so I’m also used to a heavy bike. This bike offers no power and is unbearably slow. Getting anywhere takes double the time that it has taken me on any other bike, while still managing to be twice as excruciating per minute. It won’t maintain any speed no matter how hard I peddle. Seeing joggers trot past me has been one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. Essentially, I can only take it a couple of miles before it becomes too painful and slow. Can anyone offer me advice here? I’m thinking it could be a tire pressure issue - I’ve inflated them to a cautionary 35 PSI but if I’m honest it was pure guesswork! It’s got 20 inch wheels.

Author and conservative commentator Peachy Keenan is sick and tired of yesterday's soccer mom being treated as today's "domestic extremist", in public discourse by media gatekeepers and government officials alike—and all the while parents are sheepishly and too easily abdicating their natural role as captains and defenders of the household.
https://twitter.com/KeenanPeachy/status/1666121050567110656
https://preview.redd.it/kdnwwyvt1r4b1.png?width=790&format=png&auto=webp&s=7afed3bdff34a513a8b78f22fe5e37368066ecad
"They like to make us, the normal people, the moms and dads of America into extremists. But if you look around it's pretty easy to see who the real extremists are," Keenan told Harris Faulkner on Fox prime time Tuesday night. https://www.foxnews.com/video/6328922595112
She is calling for a back to the basics while writing from deep behind 'enemy lines': southern California. "Parenting is not a game. There is no do-over. You are all that stands between your small charges and the roiling storms ahead—and the band of purple-haired nonbinary pirates that’s about to storm the deck."
Keenan has written a new handbook of sorts, or a practical guide to winning the culture war and protecting your family from the ravings of "Childless weirdos have taken over every institution we look to for guidance on how to raise good citizens..."
You can find the book here: https://www.amazon.com/Domestic-Extremist-Practical-Winning-Culture/dp/1684513529/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Domestic+Extremist%3A+A+Practical+Guide+to+Winning+the+Culture+War&s=books&sr=1-1
Keenan holds nothing back in the following blistering commentary from her book [emphasis ZH]:

It has become only too clear what this absence of parental authority has wrought. Truly insane people have taken over the American education system, Big Pharma, and Big Tech. They know the best way to reach the Final Solution of the American family is to focus on young, impressionable minds. We are enjoying the fruits of their labor now: an explosion of teen depression and suicide, an epidemic of children who are confused if they’re boys or girls, and an incredible 40 percent of Gen Z reporting that they are some letter in the ever-expanding alphabet soup known as LGBTQ+.

https://preview.redd.it/q8pbczeb2r4b1.png?width=722&format=png&auto=webp&s=fb9352ba054a4f428fe4c11fad712f52188e5bfc
https://twitter.com/CitizenFreePres/status/1666257317120323585
Who are the real extremists?
The below is an excerpt from Domestic Extremist: A Practical Guide to Winning the Culture War, by Peachy Keenan, with permission of the author. The book is now available from Regnery.
https://www.regnery.com/9781684513529/domestic-extremist/
* * *
You had a baby? Look at you—you’re the captain now!
Or are you?
The words on a poster taped to a teacher’s classroom door at a New Jersey public school expose the precarious corner American parents have been painted into. “If your parents aren’t accepting of your identity, I’m your mom now.” The poster featured a drawing of a mama bear tending to her bear cubs, who are each painted the color of a different LGBTQ flag.
Parents, I have bad news. You’ve got competition. Someone posted a job listing looking for a new authority figure in your house, and they hired everyone who applied. Lots of other adults, most of them unpleasant strangers, would like to raise your children for you—or at least get your children to hate you.
This may already be happening—and you’ll be the last to know! All your hard work to keep creeps, perverts, and kiddie-sniffers away from your kids may get reversed in an instant when you’re not looking.
Some parents are okay with this. They can barely handle “adulting” themselves and are thrilled not to make any tough parental decisions. Abdicating their natural role as master and commander of the household is lazy, but it’s a defensive posture. They live in terror of accusations from other parents of “closed-mindedness,” or worse, being a prude.
American parents have either forgotten their innate, God-given authority over their household or surrendered it in the face of relentless pressure over many years from the outside. Just as millennia of trickling snowmelt can hollow out mighty granite mountains and turn them into canyons, a half-century of unchecked influence by feminists and far-left progressives have chipped away at the role of parents in their children’s lives. What is left is a barren wasteland, a valley of shadows, where mothers and fathers have been reduced to nothing more than the oldest dependents in the house.
Your job as a parent is not easy, but it’s simple: feed, nurture, love, and protect. In the face of life-and-death danger—say, an escaped tiger or an ax-wielding lunatic—probably 100 percent of parents would risk their lives for their children, even die, without hesitation. So why are so many reluctant to defend their children from less obvious, but equally dangerous, scenarios?
You can tell when you’re about to be trampled by elephants. It’s trickier when the trampling is invisible and being committed by a young teacher with peace stickers on xe/xer’s car. I’ll grant that having pro- nouns in your bio is not quite the same red flag as cruising a playground in a car with no door handles on the inside, but it’s still a red flag parents need to fear.
People who manage to produce offspring are too often seduced into voluntarily surrendering their authority over them. They allow various “experts” to hold sway over their kids. Exhausted and confused, they willingly hand their kids off to the local public school teachers’ unions, the DEI struggle-session facilitators, the storytelling drag queens, and the sex-education consultants who arrive at school with teaching props, including wholesome kid-friendly items like dildos and anal lube.
Above: School hangs poster that says, \"I'm Your Mom Now\"
https://sanzi.substack.com/p/school-hangs-poster-on-the-door-that
They all share a common goal: to dilute your authority and increase their own. They aim to groom America’s children from birth to become compliant consumers of all they wish to sell them: bespoke genders, any-term abortion, strictly enforced racial hierarchies, a lifetime of therapy, prescription drugs, and whatever political and social ideology they choose to upload into their brains.
God forbid you are the only parent at your school who keeps your fifth grader home on Share Your Favorite Sex Toy Day. What will people say?
Allow me to remind you gently: it’s your job to steer the ship, avoid icebergs, prevent scurvy, and stave off mutinies. Parenting is not a game. There is no do-over. You are all that stands between your small charges and the roiling storms ahead—and the band of purple-haired nonbinary pirates that’s about to storm the deck.
Sexualized Early and Often
Imagine being the only one at the PTA meeting who stands up and objects to your second grader studying detailed diagrams of adult genitalia, or your middle schoolers instructed on how to grant consent to anal sex. (These are real sex ed guidelines introduced in New Jersey public schools in 2020.)
Your choices are stark: assert your authority over your children and get called a bigot or go along with the madness and let them take your child to places you don’t want them to go.
How bad is it? Bad enough that Tiara Mack, a “reproductive justice advocate” and “child sex educator” running for state senator in Rhode Island tweeted this in 2021: “Really excited for the house sex ed bill hearing later today. Teaching comprehensive, queer inclusive, pleasure-based sex ed was a highlight of my time teaching.”
This is who wants to talk to your six-year-old about how to “pleasure” themselves and their partner!
The first step in any cult, or any abusive relationship, is to get the victim to sever ties to their outside friends and family. Maybe you’ve seen this happen to people you know. They suddenly change their phone number, delete their social media, and have a new friend now—one that has them spellbound. Once children come to believe their mom and dad are clueless bigots and racists who are holding them back from being who they are, the cult leaders own them.
Government-run public schools have accomplished “regime change” in America and transformed us, slowly, from a society centered around the family, where the schools work for the parent, into a society centered around government employees, where families are required to supply the raw goods for the teachers’ unions to mold as they see fit.
Year after year, their assembly lines have been left unsupervised to churn out freshly minted graduates. These graduates move on to college, where their high school indoctrination is hardened and polished by professors. The end product is a citizen who will go to his grave believing a set of Ministry of Truth–approved lies: “whiteness” is intrinsically evil, abortion is health care, there are dozens of genders, America was founded on racism and must be dismantled, marriage is oppressive and bad for women, children hold you back, and unchecked sexual “exploration” with a variety of partners of every gender is the surest path to emotional happiness.
Sane people have a terrible choice to make: exercise parental authority over what their children are taught and risk financial ruin, social blackballing, and permanent cancellation—or allow their kids to be turned against them.
When a teacher or government official replaces the parent as the ultimate authority in the child’s life, all bets are off. Educators know that any adult with the authority to influence a child has the power to expose said child to any radical or extreme ideas they want.
To them, you are the extremist if you don’t think young children need to learn about sex and gender dysphoria yet. You are the extremist if you question a teacher or school administrator’s choice of books to read or lessons to teach. You are an extremely racist extremist if you’d rather not force a five-year-old to feel bad about the color of his skin and apologize for it.
In California, students in middle school can ask their school to change their names and genders in the school computer system, and the school is not permitted to inform the parents. The school authorities and the teachers are legally allowed to conspire with eleven-year-olds in sixth grade to induct them into a cult and keep it secret. Literally “it’ll be our secret,” a classic groomer move.
These government educational bureaucrats may not drive window-less vans and carry dirty magazines and candy bars to lure young boys (although let’s be honest, some do), but they are even more dangerous. Any parents who send a child into an environment like this, either knowingly or blindly, are forfeiting their authority over their kid.
The Regime’s child-catchers are prowling the locker rooms and cafeterias looking for lost, confused pre-teens to cart off to Pleasure Island, where they can get transformed into donkeys without their parents’ consent.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Disney is working on a new version of Pinocchio where he asks the Blue Fairy to turn him into a real girl.
Parental Surrender
Too many sentient adults seem to simply wait for a new update to the operating system to decide what to do with their kids. They unquestioningly accept the Current Parenting Thing, the rancid gruel served up as “education” at the local public school.
They surrender their kids to the authorities, in all their forms: teachers, principals, pediatricians, drag queens reading stories, social media influencers, YouTubers, Disney, Netflix, TikTok, the Kardashians—anyone who is credentialed as a “kid expert” or “important” now holds more sway over American kids than their own mothers and fathers. “Who am I to tell my kids how to behave, or what to learn, or how to think about the world? I’m just a random person who had a baby. I made plenty of mistakes in my life. How can I possibly ask my children to obey me?”
This is why we can’t have nice things. This is why healthy toddlers were kept in COVID masks for two years while they sat in sandboxes alone, outside, in rain or sleet. This is why you see massive brawls happening at middle schools, where kids punch their own teachers. This is why children are indoctrinated into the cult of trans, coached and groomed to say their pronouns, to switch genders, to explore various “sexualities” and “identities.” This is why mothers pimp out their own children as “drag kids” and put little boys in princess dresses and post the photos on Instagram while thousands of likes wash over them.
This is what abdicating the parenting throne looks like. Childless weirdos have taken over every institution we look to for guidance on how to raise good citizens, and no, I’m not talking about Catholic priests.
It has become only too clear what this absence of parental authority has wrought. Truly insane people have taken over the American education system, Big Pharma, and Big Tech. They know the best way to reach the Final Solution of the American family is to focus on young, impressionable minds.
We are enjoying the fruits of their labor now: an explosion of teen depression and suicide, an epidemic of children who are confused if they’re boys or girls, and an incredible 40 percent of Gen Z reporting that they are some letter in the ever-expanding alphabet soup known as LGBTQ+.
Everywhere, in every way, the fertile, fallow minds of children are being terraformed by people who identify as “fur baby” parents.
I wouldn’t let fur baby parents walk my dog, let alone educate my eight-year-old.
Authority Atrophied
This is why you must exercise your parental authority early and often. You must speak up!
“No, I don’t want you to ask my teenage son if he’s comfortable with his gender during his doctor visit.”
“No, you can’t wear your sister’s Elsa dress to school today, because boys don’t wear dresses, now get in the car and never ask me that again.”
“No, you can’t buy those shorts that display the entire lower half of your rear end.”
“No, you can’t have a TikTok account, and if I find it on your phone, say goodbye to the phone.”
Parental authority makes you the heavy in the house and the bouncer at the door. Pull on your big boy pants and lay down the law, or the law is going to lay down all over you.
Peachy Keenan is author of Domestic Extremist: A Practical Guide to Winning the Culture War.

Author and conservative commentator Peachy Keenan is sick and tired of yesterday's soccer mom being treated as today's "domestic extremist" in public discourse by media gatekeepers and government officials alike—and all the while parents are sheepishly and too easily abdicating their natural role as captains and defenders of the household.
https://twitter.com/KeenanPeachy/status/1666121050567110656
https://preview.redd.it/078zp8gv1r4b1.png?width=790&format=png&auto=webp&s=f57ec8ab475fb228079af0757d6b906c49ec1b8a
"They like to make us, the normal people, the moms and dads of America into extremists. But if you look around it's pretty easy to see who the real extremists are," Keenan told Harris Faulkner on Fox prime time Tuesday night. https://www.foxnews.com/video/6328922595112
She is calling for a back to the basics while writing from deep behind 'enemy lines': southern California. "Parenting is not a game. There is no do-over. You are all that stands between your small charges and the roiling storms ahead—and the band of purple-haired nonbinary pirates that’s about to storm the deck."
Keenan has written a new handbook of sorts, or a practical guide to winning the culture war and protecting your family from the ravings of "Childless weirdos have taken over every institution we look to for guidance on how to raise good citizens..."
You can find the book here: https://www.amazon.com/Domestic-Extremist-Practical-Winning-Culture/dp/1684513529/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Domestic+Extremist%3A+A+Practical+Guide+to+Winning+the+Culture+War&s=books&sr=1-1
Keenan holds nothing back in the following blistering commentary from her book [emphasis ZH]:

It has become only too clear what this absence of parental authority has wrought. Truly insane people have taken over the American education system, Big Pharma, and Big Tech. They know the best way to reach the Final Solution of the American family is to focus on young, impressionable minds. We are enjoying the fruits of their labor now: an explosion of teen depression and suicide, an epidemic of children who are confused if they’re boys or girls, and an incredible 40 percent of Gen Z reporting that they are some letter in the ever-expanding alphabet soup known as LGBTQ+.

https://preview.redd.it/8qucazob2r4b1.png?width=722&format=png&auto=webp&s=e2798bd1cdba17e1eb875dad8784bb2893bc2330
https://twitter.com/CitizenFreePres/status/1666257317120323585
Who are the real extremists?
The below is an excerpt from Domestic Extremist: A Practical Guide to Winning the Culture War, by Peachy Keenan, with permission of the author. The book is now available from Regnery.
https://www.regnery.com/9781684513529/domestic-extremist/
* * *
You had a baby? Look at you—you’re the captain now!
Or are you?
The words on a poster taped to a teacher’s classroom door at a New Jersey public school expose the precarious corner American parents have been painted into. “If your parents aren’t accepting of your identity, I’m your mom now.” The poster featured a drawing of a mama bear tending to her bear cubs, who are each painted the color of a different LGBTQ flag.
Parents, I have bad news. You’ve got competition. Someone posted a job listing looking for a new authority figure in your house, and they hired everyone who applied. Lots of other adults, most of them unpleasant strangers, would like to raise your children for you—or at least get your children to hate you.
This may already be happening—and you’ll be the last to know! All your hard work to keep creeps, perverts, and kiddie-sniffers away from your kids may get reversed in an instant when you’re not looking.
Some parents are okay with this. They can barely handle “adulting” themselves and are thrilled not to make any tough parental decisions. Abdicating their natural role as master and commander of the household is lazy, but it’s a defensive posture. They live in terror of accusations from other parents of “closed-mindedness,” or worse, being a prude.
American parents have either forgotten their innate, God-given authority over their household or surrendered it in the face of relentless pressure over many years from the outside. Just as millennia of trickling snowmelt can hollow out mighty granite mountains and turn them into canyons, a half-century of unchecked influence by feminists and far-left progressives have chipped away at the role of parents in their children’s lives. What is left is a barren wasteland, a valley of shadows, where mothers and fathers have been reduced to nothing more than the oldest dependents in the house.
Your job as a parent is not easy, but it’s simple: feed, nurture, love, and protect. In the face of life-and-death danger—say, an escaped tiger or an ax-wielding lunatic—probably 100 percent of parents would risk their lives for their children, even die, without hesitation. So why are so many reluctant to defend their children from less obvious, but equally dangerous, scenarios?
You can tell when you’re about to be trampled by elephants. It’s trickier when the trampling is invisible and being committed by a young teacher with peace stickers on xe/xer’s car. I’ll grant that having pro- nouns in your bio is not quite the same red flag as cruising a playground in a car with no door handles on the inside, but it’s still a red flag parents need to fear.
People who manage to produce offspring are too often seduced into voluntarily surrendering their authority over them. They allow various “experts” to hold sway over their kids. Exhausted and confused, they willingly hand their kids off to the local public school teachers’ unions, the DEI struggle-session facilitators, the storytelling drag queens, and the sex-education consultants who arrive at school with teaching props, including wholesome kid-friendly items like dildos and anal lube.
Above: School Hangs poster on the door that says, \"I'm Your Mom Now\"
https://sanzi.substack.com/p/school-hangs-poster-on-the-door-that
They all share a common goal: to dilute your authority and increase their own. They aim to groom America’s children from birth to become compliant consumers of all they wish to sell them: bespoke genders, any-term abortion, strictly enforced racial hierarchies, a lifetime of therapy, prescription drugs, and whatever political and social ideology they choose to upload into their brains.
God forbid you are the only parent at your school who keeps your fifth grader home on Share Your Favorite Sex Toy Day. What will people say?
Allow me to remind you gently: it’s your job to steer the ship, avoid icebergs, prevent scurvy, and stave off mutinies. Parenting is not a game. There is no do-over. You are all that stands between your small charges and the roiling storms ahead—and the band of purple-haired nonbinary pirates that’s about to storm the deck.
Sexualized Early and Often
Imagine being the only one at the PTA meeting who stands up and objects to your second grader studying detailed diagrams of adult genitalia, or your middle schoolers instructed on how to grant consent to anal sex. (These are real sex ed guidelines introduced in New Jersey public schools in 2020.)
Your choices are stark: assert your authority over your children and get called a bigot or go along with the madness and let them take your child to places you don’t want them to go.
How bad is it? Bad enough that Tiara Mack, a “reproductive justice advocate” and “child sex educator” running for state senator in Rhode Island tweeted this in 2021: “Really excited for the house sex ed bill hearing later today. Teaching comprehensive, queer inclusive, pleasure-based sex ed was a highlight of my time teaching.”
This is who wants to talk to your six-year-old about how to “pleasure” themselves and their partner!
The first step in any cult, or any abusive relationship, is to get the victim to sever ties to their outside friends and family. Maybe you’ve seen this happen to people you know. They suddenly change their phone number, delete their social media, and have a new friend now—one that has them spellbound. Once children come to believe their mom and dad are clueless bigots and racists who are holding them back from being who they are, the cult leaders own them.
Government-run public schools have accomplished “regime change” in America and transformed us, slowly, from a society centered around the family, where the schools work for the parent, into a society centered around government employees, where families are required to supply the raw goods for the teachers’ unions to mold as they see fit.
Year after year, their assembly lines have been left unsupervised to churn out freshly minted graduates. These graduates move on to college, where their high school indoctrination is hardened and polished by professors. The end product is a citizen who will go to his grave believing a set of Ministry of Truth–approved lies: “whiteness” is intrinsically evil, abortion is health care, there are dozens of genders, America was founded on racism and must be dismantled, marriage is oppressive and bad for women, children hold you back, and unchecked sexual “exploration” with a variety of partners of every gender is the surest path to emotional happiness.
Sane people have a terrible choice to make: exercise parental authority over what their children are taught and risk financial ruin, social blackballing, and permanent cancellation—or allow their kids to be turned against them.
When a teacher or government official replaces the parent as the ultimate authority in the child’s life, all bets are off. Educators know that any adult with the authority to influence a child has the power to expose said child to any radical or extreme ideas they want.
To them, you are the extremist if you don’t think young children need to learn about sex and gender dysphoria yet. You are the extremist if you question a teacher or school administrator’s choice of books to read or lessons to teach. You are an extremely racist extremist if you’d rather not force a five-year-old to feel bad about the color of his skin and apologize for it.
In California, students in middle school can ask their school to change their names and genders in the school computer system, and the school is not permitted to inform the parents. The school authorities and the teachers are legally allowed to conspire with eleven-year-olds in sixth grade to induct them into a cult and keep it secret. Literally “it’ll be our secret,” a classic groomer move.
These government educational bureaucrats may not drive window-less vans and carry dirty magazines and candy bars to lure young boys (although let’s be honest, some do), but they are even more dangerous. Any parents who send a child into an environment like this, either knowingly or blindly, are forfeiting their authority over their kid.
The Regime’s child-catchers are prowling the locker rooms and cafeterias looking for lost, confused pre-teens to cart off to Pleasure Island, where they can get transformed into donkeys without their parents’ consent.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Disney is working on a new version of Pinocchio where he asks the Blue Fairy to turn him into a real girl.
Parental Surrender
Too many sentient adults seem to simply wait for a new update to the operating system to decide what to do with their kids. They unquestioningly accept the Current Parenting Thing, the rancid gruel served up as “education” at the local public school.
They surrender their kids to the authorities, in all their forms: teachers, principals, pediatricians, drag queens reading stories, social media influencers, YouTubers, Disney, Netflix, TikTok, the Kardashians—anyone who is credentialed as a “kid expert” or “important” now holds more sway over American kids than their own mothers and fathers. “Who am I to tell my kids how to behave, or what to learn, or how to think about the world? I’m just a random person who had a baby. I made plenty of mistakes in my life. How can I possibly ask my children to obey me?”
This is why we can’t have nice things. This is why healthy toddlers were kept in COVID masks for two years while they sat in sandboxes alone, outside, in rain or sleet. This is why you see massive brawls happening at middle schools, where kids punch their own teachers. This is why children are indoctrinated into the cult of trans, coached and groomed to say their pronouns, to switch genders, to explore various “sexualities” and “identities.” This is why mothers pimp out their own children as “drag kids” and put little boys in princess dresses and post the photos on Instagram while thousands of likes wash over them.
This is what abdicating the parenting throne looks like. Childless weirdos have taken over every institution we look to for guidance on how to raise good citizens, and no, I’m not talking about Catholic priests.
It has become only too clear what this absence of parental authority has wrought. Truly insane people have taken over the American education system, Big Pharma, and Big Tech. They know the best way to reach the Final Solution of the American family is to focus on young, impressionable minds.
We are enjoying the fruits of their labor now: an explosion of teen depression and suicide, an epidemic of children who are confused if they’re boys or girls, and an incredible 40 percent of Gen Z reporting that they are some letter in the ever-expanding alphabet soup known as LGBTQ+.
Everywhere, in every way, the fertile, fallow minds of children are being terraformed by people who identify as “fur baby” parents.
I wouldn’t let fur baby parents walk my dog, let alone educate my eight-year-old.
Authority Atrophied
This is why you must exercise your parental authority early and often. You must speak up!
“No, I don’t want you to ask my teenage son if he’s comfortable with his gender during his doctor visit.”
“No, you can’t wear your sister’s Elsa dress to school today, because boys don’t wear dresses, now get in the car and never ask me that again.”
“No, you can’t buy those shorts that display the entire lower half of your rear end.”
“No, you can’t have a TikTok account, and if I find it on your phone, say goodbye to the phone.”
Parental authority makes you the heavy in the house and the bouncer at the door. Pull on your big boy pants and lay down the law, or the law is going to lay down all over you.
Peachy Keenan is author of Domestic Extremist: A Practical Guide to Winning the Culture War.

Hi everyone, this is Steve, I'm back.
Last year, we did a comprehensive comparison for Yacht Master 126622-0002 between GEN and relica factories.https://www.reddit.com/RepTime/comments/y9o4e8/allround_comparison_blue_yachtmaster_1266220002/ You can click this link to view more details. You friends must know how to choose this model before, the first choice should be clean Factory. The big factory VSF has also launched this model recently, so we have more choices of this model. After all, regardless of the details, the VS3235 movement exclusively enjoyed by VSF has always been a major advantage of its models. There are more choices, then the comparison is indispensable.
As you friends requested, this time we brings a high-definition view of VSF to make a comprehensive comparison with GEN, so without further ado, let's see the performance of this model from VSF.
Front Dial View
Since the picture of GEN was taken during previous comparison, and there is no GEN on hand currently, I can’t compare it with VSF now, so no more comments on the color of the dial.
What do you guys think of the color of VSF? Or if any guy has this GEN, you can post a photo for our reference. It would be better to shoot side by side with the VSF, haha, it seems that this work should be done by Steve, please forgive me for being lazy. Rather than being lazy, it is better to say stingy. After all, it would cost a certain amount of money each time during the process of buying GEN first and then selling it. It seems a bit off topic, back to the point, let’s continue the review.
Bezel Side View
In terms of the surface treatment of the bezel, VSF still performs very well, and the graininess presented is very similar to GEN.
Teeth Side View
There is no difference with the shape of the teeth, the upper and lower sections are consistent with GEN, and the vertical brushed lines are also very obvious.
Crystal Side View
It seems that VSF changed the crystal supplier of Yacht Master, referring to the comparison of other VSF models we have done in the past, we have noticed that the edge chamfering of the crystal used by VSF is not particularly obvious. This time the Yacht Master has a layered chamfering on the edge of Crystal.
Bezel Digital Stick View
VSF does a good job for the digital shape of the bezel and the chamfering of the edges, both the outer edge and the inner edge are fully processed.
Triangular Marker View
The position of the triangular marker is precisely controlled, and the sharp corners and edges are also chamfered and rounded. Compared with GEN, it can be said to be even better.
Stick Side View
No need to say more about the dial stick, VSF still maintains the high-quality style of the big factory, and the dial stick of the Yacht Master and the submariner are same, so naturally there will be no differences.
Luminous Fill View
The graininess presented by the luminous filling on the hands and stick is very obvious, which is also a basic operation. Some factories’ filling is very sooth, which is a bit unreasonable.
Mimeograph Front View
For the fullness and three-dimensional of the font, VSF can be said to be impeccable. It is a little regretful that the red YACHT-MASTER font is a little darker, Gen is fresh blood red, and VSF is more like dark red color after blood solidification, I don't know if my simile is accurate.
Middle Axle View
The cylindrical part of the middle axle leakage is already very close to GEN, if the height can be increased a little, it will be more similar. In addition, the color of the second hand is also very good. Although the color difference still exists, it has reached the point where it can be ignored.
Calendar Window Side View and Calendar Font View
The cross-sectional shape of the window is consistent with GEN, and the excessive processing of the edge is also done synchronously, but it is not very obvious compared to GEN.
The centering of the font depends on QC, because even if it is the same batch of goods, the position of the displayed calendar will be shifted due to the slight deviation of the loading position of the date wheel. The VSF Yacht Master in this comparison is still very good.
Rehaut View
Whether viewed from a distance or close up, the rehaut of VSF is still clear enough, and the shading carving is also very obvious.
Crown Side View
No more comments about the crown, the shape and details are the same.
Case Side View
Just from the comparison view, the ending arc of the lug seems to be different from GEN. What do you think of the overall shape of the case?
Caseback View
The smooth chamfering of the teeth of the caseback is very sufficient, and the details of each position are very delicate, whether it is a brushed or frosted area.
Endlink Side View
The assembly position of VSF endlink is still very good, if the upper edge position is more closer, it will be perfect.
Bracelet Detail View
The overall engraving is relatively clear, and there will be a lack of depth, but this is also a common lack of other factories. The quality of the engraving cannot be intuitively reflected by naked eyes, so it seems that no need to care this.
Laser Marker and Luminous View
Movement View
VSF is still equipped with its ace movement VS3235. The power reserve is up to nearly 70 hours, which has always been the advantage of this movement.
Well, this is today’s post, thank you guys for watching, if there are any mistakes, please correct me. If there is anything else I overlooked, you can put it up, and I will try my best to do it complementary and comprehensive, welcome to comment and exchange!
I will continue to bring you more detailed comparisons between replicas and GEN, which is for you guys to better choose your favorite replicas.
(Note: Some photos deviate from the real object due to the angle of the light. The details are mainly written in text. The size of the comparison picture is relatively large. You can download it and enlarge it for comparison.)
There is no perfect replica, only your favorite replica.
Thanks
Steve.
Website: https://www.theonewatches.io/
Telegram: u/Theonewatches_steve
WhatsApp: + 86-17081934955
Email: [[email protected].](mailto:[email protected])com

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Breguet Type 20 Chronographe 2067 and Type 20 Chronographe 2057
Breguet is releasing two chronographs, Type 20 Chronographe 2067 (left) and Type 20 Chronographe 2057 (right), retailing each for $18,000.
Reference 2067 is inspired by a model from 1957, and reference 2057 is inspired by a model that Breguet delivered to the French Air Force between 1955 and 1959.
Both models use a version of Breguet's proprietary calibre 728, which is paces at 36,000 alternances per hour (5 Hz), features a 60 hours power reserve, vertical clutch, a column wheel and a flyback feature.
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Breguet calibre 728

Looking for a new daily driver, good deal on this? Things to look out for?

The Mightiest Little Peasant

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https://preview.redd.it/8bgezt09aq4b1.jpg?width=1410&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a98c000b9146bca947211aa35dd3e253e45f1e4c
Previous Chapter
Chapter Eleven:
Walking into a dimly lit basement, I looked down at the cracked concrete floor. The room smelled of old drainage and expired cleaning products. I turned around to see the mirror I’d just crawled out of and caught sight of the Intrinsic Pathways chamber fading back into my reflection.
A simple white plastic border surrounded the glass surface. The thing was barely big enough for me to fit through. Barsilla didn’t have any trouble, though — the benefit of being a piskie and only a few inches tall.
She darted up to my shoulder and hid herself in my hair.
“I’m glad you’ve been growing your hair out,” she said.
A moment later, the piskie stuck her head out of my hair and added, “And I’m also glad you switched to the pineapple and raspberry shampoo.”
I rolled my eyes. Today I was playing carriage to the queen’s left-hand lady in the human world. And I could already tell it was going to be a test of my nerves. I’d never spent an extended time with Barsilla before, primarily because she was a bit scolding and judgmental.
But today came with an important mission before we left for Kilgara tomorrow. We needed to make contact with a powerful fae that lived in the human world.
“How can a fae live in the human world full-time? Wouldn’t that be a death sentence with all the iron and the lack of glamour?” I’d asked my queen.
“You’ll see,” was all she said before sending me here to accompany Barsilla. And by accompany, she meant carry.
The piskie looked around the little room we’d appeared in. It was a small space with concrete walls and floors. Against one wall a shelf of cleaning supplies stood, along with a mop and a janitor’s cart on wheels.
“Where are we?” I asked.
A grimy voice from the ceiling made me jump. I looked around to find the source.
“You’re in the basement of Ssorc Insurance Arena,” a masculine-presenting fae said. When I finally found him, my eyes widened.
In one of the ceiling corners hung a spider-like faery about a foot tall. When I got a closer look, I saw he had the body of a tiny man but a thorax and four narrow legs behind him that clung to the wall.
His front arms were crossed as he looked down at us. Eight brown and black eyes spread across his forehead kept a close watch on us.
“Hello there,” he said, waving a tiny hand. “Name’s Jello. Welcome to Portland.”
I raised a finger and opened my mouth to speak.
“Because he likes to eat Jell-O,” Barsilla said from inside my hair.
I lowered my finger and closed my mouth, nodding. That made plenty of sense. Maybe I could change my name to Chicken Nugget.
“You’re not going to come out and say hello to your old friend, Barsilla?” Jello called with a grin revealing two fangs and additional mandibles.
Her voice called out from in my hair.
“I’m quite good here, thanks.”
I raised an eyebrow. Barsilla sounded a little scared, which was a first for me. I’d always been put in my place by the tiny creature so long as we were in the palace. Here, her voice wavered, and she grabbed my hair a little more tightly than when we first arrived.
Truth be told, I was torn. Part of me wanted to rub it in, maybe jokingly hand her over to the spider dude. And the other half of me wanted to show mercy, because even when I get a chance to show vengeance. . . I’m not good at taking it. It took me years to destroy my abusive father, and he hurt me daily.
So, I decided not to push the issue.
“Alright, Jello. That’s enough,” I said, laughing.
To his credit, the spider didn’t exactly seem upset with me pushing back. He rubbed one of his mandibles and looked me up and down.
“You must be the queen’s new pet I’ve heard so much about,” he said.
“That’s me. Werewolf extraordinaire,” I said.
He nodded.
“It’s almost too difficult to believe. Your kind is so rare that for the queen to have ensnared one. . . I’m just left impressed,” he said.
My. . . kind, I thought. Aside from Mom, I’ve never met another like me. And does she even really count? She died when I was a kid.
All I could do was shrug. Maybe we were rare. But the fact that he wasn’t the first fae to mention such a thing did stick out in my mind. The queen had emotional attachments to me. Of that much, I was sure. But to other fae, ones I’d see at Kilgara. . . I’d be a token — no, a specimen.
It’d be like those videos of rich people who own tigers or lions and just let them roam around the house, lying on the couch and shit.
In that case, I’d just have to be all the more threatening to keep their minds off such imagery and more focused on preserving their own lives. Of course, that’d be up to my inner wolf. And I had no doubt she’d be up to the task. Unlike me, she didn’t take shit from anybody.
“Well, Jello. If you come by Featherstone when the Raven Queen holds court, you can see my more visceral self on full display,” I said. “But until then, I’ll ask where we’re supposed to go from here.”
The spider chuckled and looked into my hair, trying to find a certain piskie with his eyes alone. When he didn’t have any luck, Jello rolled his eyes and pointed to a filthy door covered in dust and mold.
“Out that door, up the cement stairs to your left, and outside by the garage. That’ll spit you out onto a path the humans call Free Street,” Jello said.
I thanked him, and we left without Barsilla saying a word. Once I’d started up the stairs, she poked her head out next to my ear and said, “Just for the record, in Faerie, his kind prey upon piskies. They find the best hiding spots in the forest and then drop on any little fae that happens to be hovering over the ground, looking for nuts or fruit.”
This was a tender confession from the tiny person who’d left me paralyzed on the floor during our first meeting. So I put all that aside before I spoke.
“I figured it was something like that. But it’s not like I would have let him do anything to you,” I said.
“Afraid of how your mistress might react?” Barsilla asked.
Shaking my head, I sighed.
“I just know what it’s like to be a tiny thing standing before a giant monster that wants nothing more than to hurt you. You try to shrink yourself down so that the monster doesn’t see you, but it’s never small enough. I always hoped someone would come along when I was trying to shrink myself and snatch me away. So I guess today I just wanted to be the person that would snatch you to safety,” I said, finally spotting a metal door with sunlight streaming in.
Varella’s left-hand lady didn’t say anything for a moment. But right before we got outside, she spoke.
“That’s actually how her majesty found me, you know? I was in the web of someone like Jello, crying out for help. Most faeries ignore such cries since the forest can be filled with them at times. And if you anger a spider, there’s always the chance they’ll scurry off to a Gohma to have her curse you.”
“A Gohma?” I asked.
Barsilla placed both hands on the back of my ear to steady herself as I climbed the last few steps.
“Queens among the spiderlings. Some of them are quite powerful, and once in a while, they’ll curse anyone who causes trouble with their underlings. That is, they’ll curse anyone. . . except for the ruler of a court. Varella happened to be flying by, heard my cries, and for reasons I’ve never been able to figure out, plucked me from the web. The spiderling that was savoring me was too frightened to say a word. He just hid under a bush, waiting for the Raven Queen to fly away. I’ve served her loyally ever since,” the piskie said.
Holy shit. Am I bonding with the piskie? I thought, again squashing the temptation to say something mocking of the little fae which could and would get revenge when we returned to Featherstone.
At that moment, Lady Bon-Hwa’s words came back to me. She said I craved legitimacy from beings that wore many masks.
Had Barsilla just dropped hers?
“How you felt when she plucked you from the web, Barsilla?” I started. She gripped my ear a little tighter. “That’s how I felt the day I struck the bargain with my mistress. Like she’d pulled me out of the jaws of death or something.”
I heard the piskie rub her chin.
“So when you submit to the queen, it’s about more than a simple pleasure for you. Immense gratitude is also mixed in there somewhere,” she said.
Clearing my throat, I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Barsilla was the last person I wanted to discuss submissiveness with. I’d talk about it with Ceras before her. And even they weren’t high on the list.
Walking outside, I heard the cries of gulls above us and heard a couple boys laughing as their mother walked by with a shopping bag that said “Remys” on it. Now that was a store I remembered. My father dragged me there more times than I could count. And it was always a long haul down to Bangor to visit.
The sky above us was cloudy, and a chilly wind gusted by occasionally, bringing with it smells of a harbor not too far away. A normal person wouldn’t smell it from this distance. But I could smell boat fuel and seafood.
“Do you remember the address?” I asked Barsilla.
“I remember the way from here. The last time I came to the human city of Portland it was through a different pathway. But if you walk down a block and turn left, it’ll spit you out on a path called Congress Street.”
Doing as I was told, I found myself on what appeared the be the busiest street in downtown Portland. Barsilla guided me with whispers to continue onward past the downtown square where a statue of a large woman stood overlooking dozens of people shopping or visiting restaurants or coming out of the public library.
I read a message on the side that said, “To her sons who died for the Union.”
Barsilla whispered, “I’ve never understood that message. What’s the Union? Some kind of human court?”
Sighing and shaking my head, I tried to figure out the easiest way to explain this particularly bloody piece of U.S. history.
“A couple centuries back, this country tore itself in two. There was the Confederacy and the Union. People from Maine, that’s where we are now, fought for the Union, which tried to put the country back together again.”
“Did the Union succeed?”
I nodded.
“They won the war, but a lot of shit happened afterward I don’t want to get into. And when I left this place to move into Featherstone — well, let’s just say I’d rather live in Faerie than any part of this world,” I said.
With the guidance of Varella’s left-hand lady, we continued walking down Congress Street for at least a mile before she told me to make a turn. We walked past an old Italian grocery store, turned again, and finally arrived at a dentist's office.
“Big Smiles? What kind of name is that?” I asked, looking inside.
“The name of a business where mortals go to get their teeth fixed because they don’t have glamour to do it for them. Consider yourself fortunate the palace healers make this place unnecessary in Faerie,” Barsilla said, tapping on my ear for me to go inside.
Sighing, I did as I was told. . . again.
Unlike most dentist’s offices I’d been in, this one was immaculately clean and polished. Behind two receptionists stood a wall covered entirely in ivy. And it was real. I smelled its vegetative scent from where I stood.
To my right stood a glass wall with a water feature running underneath the reflective surface.
A little transparent refrigerator sat next to some uncomfortable wooden chairs, and it was filled with bottled water.
“Hi there!” one of the receptionists said. He appeared to be freshly graduated from college and wore a button-down shirt and black pants. His nametag said “Jace,” and had “He/Him” pronouns listed underneath.
“Uh, hi,” I said, trying to remember the coded message my mistress taught me before leaving Featherstone. “I need to schedule an appointment as soon as possible. I’m trying to get the shinest teeth in all the land.”
I resisted the urge to slap my face in embarrassment. What kind of stupid code was that? This receptionist was just as likely to throw me out as he was to find me a nightmare fae by the name of Dramyra.
Jace snickered a little and said, “Well, who doesn’t love shiny teeth? And we’ve got a great new polishing technique our dentists just started using this month.”
An older woman’s voice spoke from behind me.
“That won’t be necessary, Jace. I’ll see her now.”
Jace looked surprised.
“Are you sure, Dr. Murphy? I think you’ve got an appointment in 15,” he said.
The voice behind me waved off his concern.
“Just have Melissa take care of that one. This is important.”
Jace scratched his wavy brown hair and nodded before punching something into his keyboard. I could only assume he was editing an appointment at the last minute.
When I turned to see who’d been giving orders to the receptionist, I spotted a woman who appeared to be in her early 50s leaning around a corner. She wore a long white jacket and had eyes the color of jasper. As I stared, she blinked horizontally instead of vertically like every other human I’d met.
As my eyes widened, she smiled, and I noticed an inhuman pointedness to her teeth. . . all four rows of them.
“Why don’t you come this way, and I’ll get you settled?” the fae said.
I gulped and nodded, suddenly getting the heebie-jeebies from this person I was going to follow into a private area.
Dr. Murphy led me past an X-ray room, a couple rooms with kid-sized dentist seats and small televisions mounted on the roof, and an employee bathroom.
At last, we came to her private office, and she opened the door, motioning for me to enter. When I hesitated, she said, “Oh come now. I wouldn’t be so foolish as to harm one hair on the Raven Queen’s pet. Few would be that dumb.”
Walking inside the surprisingly plain office, I was greeted by a tiny sofa, a mini fridge, a marker board, and a skylight. The walls were painted beige, and a desktop computer sat over in the corner on a screensaver with fish swimming by.
I took a seat on the sofa, and our faerie host closed the door behind us, locking it, which caused me to gulp again.
As soon as the door was closed, the fae dropped her glamor, and before me stood a five-foot-tall woman with pointed ears, turquoise skin, and a shaved head. When she smiled, I saw those four rows of razor teeth and two tongues, one purple, one red.
Her eyes now blinked vertically every few seconds, and they were the color of sand.
Black curled horns hung down from the back of the faerie’s skull, wrapping around her ears and ending in spiky white tips.
The faerie leaned against her door and stared down at her claws, which were painted a shade of crimson.
“Dramyra,” Barsilla said, flying out from my hair and bowing her head. “It’s been some time.”
The fae did not seem very impressed at the piskie’s sudden appearance.
“Well well. . . if it isn’t the Raven Queen’s left-hand lady. I don’t recall receiving a letter warning of your arrival.”
Now I spoke up, bowing my head.
“Apologies. The queen has been busy preparing for a trip to Kilgara. She didn’t mean to offend by sending us without an announced arrival,” I said.
I shivered when Dramyra’s sandy eyes looked me over. It felt like. . . like it wasn’t just her eyes watching me, but her shadow’s eyes as well. And I didn’t like that one bit. She smelled of vetiver and leather. It was a strange combination that seemed to whisper much more was hiding beneath the surface.
“First time seeing a nightara?” Dramyra asked, watching me shiver for the third time in the last hour. It wasn’t like the room was cold. Rather, it felt like her glamor kept brushing up against me and light scraping over my arms.
“What’s a—” I started, rather stupidly.
Barsilla cut me off.
“Dramyra is a nightmare faerie. Her sister rules the Nightmare Court.”
“Well just give her my life story, why don’t you, Barsilla?” Dramyra sassed, folding her arms and locking with my eyes.
The room fell silent.
I sure as hell didn’t know what to say, so I did what I always did in that situation. . . asked a dumb question.
“Excuse me, Dramyra?”
She smiled at me.
“Yes, royal pet?”
I do not like it when she calls me that, I thought. In fact, I don’t like it when she calls me anything.
Taking a deep breath as Barsilla turned to flash me a look that said, “Be careful, puppy,” I raised an eyebrow.
“My mistress said you lived here in the human world permanently. I was wondering. . . how you survived here in a world of iron and without any glamour?”
Dramyra ran a finger down one of her arms.
“Well, for starters, all of my tools here in the office aren’t made of iron. They’re custom designed from silver. Not an ounce of iron here. And I assure you, I have all the glamour I need.”
I must have looked like I had more questions because Dramyra pointed a finger at me.
“You must not have a solid grasp on how glamour works. Glamour isn’t something that just exists naturally in this world or Faerie. Rather, fae produce glamour by feeding. Different fae feed in different ways. Your queen feeds off your affections as well as the power of her throne itself. And I. . . well, I feed off the fear of others.”
That sounded pretty damn terrifying. . . which I’m sure was exactly the effect Dramyra must have intended because she just laughed when I slunk down into the couch.
“Oh relax. It’s not so bad. I learned a few decades ago that there are some things mortals fear collectively as a species. And one of them?”
It clicked in my head.
“The dentist! I fucking hated visiting the dentist. Growing up, there was no place more terrifying. With every visit, I was petrified that I needed yet another filling or maybe even a root canal.”
Dramyra looked pleased with my figuring it out.
“Exactly. So, knowing this, I disguised myself as a dentist, opened this business, and the mortals bring me their terrified children every single day. All I have to do is walk up and down the hall with a mask on my face, looking at paperwork, and nobody suspects a thing. The entire office fills with fear, which I devour, and then I can produce all the glamour I need.”
When I realized this, it was kind of ingenious. This was like. . . the ultimate business model for a nightmare fae like Dramyra. And if this place went belly up, she could always disguise herself as an IRS agent. Though that might get her more anger than fear.
Barsilla cleared her throat.
“Oh, yes. You were getting ready to explain why you showed up without warning. Well, go on, little piskie,” Dramyra said, her smile fading as she turned her attention back to Varella’s left-hand lady.
Pulling out her little clipboard and an even smaller pencil, the piskie looked over a few things as if she was steadying herself for what had to be said.
“Queen Varella is officially calling in her favor. Decades ago, she hid you—”
“I know why I owe her,” Dramyra snapped, her sandy eyes glowing orange. “You can skip that part.”
Barsilla quickly crossed something off on her papers.
“Right, well, she wants you to make a request to your sister, the Nightmare Queen. Her majesty informed me Queen Trylla will grant you anything you ask of her.”
The nightara rubbed her chin as she leaned against the wall even more.
“It’s true. My little sister adores me. Though I don’t know what the Raven Queen would want from her.”
I looked back and forth between the fae, finding myself wondering about how my mistress hid the nightmare fae before me. What were the circumstances? Was it a witness protection kind of thing? Did faeries even have need of that?
It’s not like they can call some vacuum store and vanish to Alaska, I thought, scratching the back of my head.
Barsilla looked down at her notes, not meeting Dramyra’s eyes when she relayed my mistress’ request.
“The Raven Queen wants you to ask your sister for her vote in Kilgara.”
Silence filled the room again as I heard Barsilla’s tiny heart beating like that of a hummingbird. She was sweating a little, too. But Dramyra’s mood changed almost instantly. She laughed louder than I’d heard before and threw her head back.
“Ahahahaha! So, Queen Varella is making a move for Bliss. How interesting! Not in a thousand years would I have guessed such a thing. That ought to make for a very interesting summit with the other courts.
Suddenly this mission of great importance made more sense. My mistress sent us to cash in a favor so she could try and stack the deck before we gathered with the other rulers of Faerie to decide who would host Bliss.
The nightara locked eyes with me, and I felt more gooseflesh crawling over my arms and thighs. I really wished she would stop doing that.
“Very well, piskie. I will do as the Raven Queen asks. It’s not like I have the power to refuse a favor when I’m in her debt. So you may scurry back with the young wolf here and tell her at least one vote is safely in her corner,” Dramyra said. “As for you, Sierra, I hope you're ready to meet folks even scarier than me. And I’d stick real close to that mistress of yours once you leave the halls of Featherstone. You have no idea just how many lords and ladies of Faerie would love to have themselves a pet werewolf. You’re quite—”
“Rare,” I finished for her. “I’ve heard it before.”
I sounded agitated, but I was just trying to mask my fear. I’d happily submit to my mistress a thousand times. But I was no fool. I knew there were cruel immortals all through Faerie that would find worse ways to hurt me than my father ever could have.
And we were off to a summit where they’d all be gathered.
As we left the dentist, I hoped and prayed my inner wolf had gotten at least a few memories of today and would understand she needed to carry the visage of an absolute killer.
I didn’t want to end up in the clutches of a nightara. . . or worse.