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superman86to99 · 3 years ago

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Who’s Who: Sam Foswell

(art by @donsparrow)

If you’ve been watching the CW’s Superman & Lois, you’ve heard the name “Foswell” a whole lot, usually in an exasperated tone. That’s the jackass who fires several Daily Planet employees in the early episodes, including Clark Kent and, most devastatingly, Whit, the heart and soul of the Planet. In the comics, Foswell plays a very similar role, with some slight differences that probably won’t make it to TV, like when he makes out with a satanic being masquerading as an angel and then transforms into a muscular demon (someone correct me if I’m wrong and that already happened in the show but I missed it, somehow).

And so, for anyone who might be wondering “Who’s Sam Foswell?” or “Which DC Comics does Sam Foswell appear in?” or other Google-able phrases that might lead people to this page, we present the definitive comic book history of this classic Superman supporting character (”classic” meaning “he was in the comics I read as a kid in the ‘90s”).

Sam first showed up in Superman #51 (1991), soon after a storyline in which a satanic being/nightclub owner called Lady Blaze steals the souls of Jimmy Olsen and Perry White’s son, Jerry -- who is actually the biological son of Lex Luthor, but should NOT be confused with Lex Luthor II (for one thing, Jerry never slept with a gooey other-dimensional being shaped like Supergirl). Superman manages to save Jimmy and Jerry from Blaze’s hellish realm, but only one of them comes back to life. Unfortunately, it’s Jimmy. I mention all of this because, after the death of his son, Perry decides to quit being the Daily Planet’s editor-in-chief for a while and cedes that title to long-time staff member Sam Foswell, who must have worked in another floor, because we’d never seen this guy before.

It’s pretty obvious right away that Perry would have been better off leaving a janitor or something in charge. In Superman #52, Foswell asks Clark for help using Perry’s computer and seems surprised to learn that those crazy Kent and Lane kids are working on a story together (they’ve been dating for so long that they’re already engaged). In Action Comics #665, he has to beg Clark to go from freelancer to full time staff member because he’s just way in over his head. Up until now, Foswell basically seems like a clueless grandpa running a major media outlet, but he’ll soon become far less adorable...

Clark’s full time salary must be pretty good, because in Superman: The Man of Steel #1, Foswell says the Planet is suddenly having money issues and fires some people. Among them is Jimmy Olsen, who literally just signed the lease on his first apartment, so excellent timing there, Sam. But hey, at least this means Jimmy’s concern that his new editor would “bust his chops” was unjustified! (Because he has no editor, because he’s unemployed.)

(Fun fact: That other girl Foswell fires is secretly the daughter of a DC hero, as part of a storyline absolutely no one noticed, which I’ll write about another time.)

Jimmy only finds out he’s been fired in Superman #57, and he tells Foswell he’s gonna regret it. I’m not sure what Jimmy meant by that, but it probably wasn’t “I’m gonna spend several months homeless and living in my car until a drunken bar owner takes pity on me,” which is what happened. Anyway, on that same issue Foswell says he’s gonna write an editorial praising the Eradicator, who was in his “murder criminals and forcibly turn the Earth into Krypton” phase. When Clark objects, Foswell not so subtly threatens to fire him, even though he was practically kissing Clark’s ass just the other day.

Foswell goes all “Mr. Slate from The Flintstones” on Clark again on Superman #58, this time because he thinks Clark overslept, like he does every time Superman has an early morning emergency. While at it, Foswell also gives Lois crap about some expense reports, leading to an adorable sequence where Clark kisses her at super-speed while she’s being chastised, without Foswell noticing. After going around firing and antagonizing people for several months, Foswell still seems baffled to learn that no one likes him in Adventures of Superman #481. Yeah, this guy’s not the most perceptive journalist ever.

Continuing his quest to become the most hateable Daily Planet staffer ever (not surnamed “Olsen”), Foswell writes an anti-Superman editorial in Superman #59 -- he says that if Superman really cared about Metropolis, he’d take over as CEO of LexCorp and create more jobs. Ironically, Foswell treats his own employees so poorly (the ones he hasn’t fired, I mean), that in Adventures #482 a bunch of them go on strike start heckling him... not very effectively, but it’s the thought that counts.

Perry comes back to the Planet in in Action #670 and the first thing he does is call Foswell and the other higher ups a bunch of idiots for mistreating their employees. Foswell goes back to being a regular staffer after that, but he’s so unpopular that they finally kick him out in Action #677. Foswell tries to get a job at Newstime magazine (the DC Universe’s version of Newsweek and Time) in Superman #68, but the owner, Colin Thornton, basically tells him to go to Hell... which is a spoiler of where this story is going.

This is where things turn really dark for old Sam. The next time we see him, in Man of Steel #14, he’s at the cemetery visiting his wife and son (or someone else he affectionately called “Little Geoffrey,” anyway) and thinking about joining them. Even the Babadook is like “damn, poor guy”...

And sure enough, in Superman #70 Foswell actually jumps off a bridge -- only for a beautiful angel to save him and promise that his fortunes will change if he “pledges himself” to her. Later that same issue, Foswell runs into Colin Thornton again and is offered a job as Newstime’s editor on the spot. Everything’s coming up Foswell! He even gets a smooch on the mouth from that hot angel!

Unfortunately, Foswell’s new “angel” girlfriend is actually the satanic Lady Blaze in disguise. This is leads to “The Blaze/Satanus War” saga (starting in Adventures #493), in which Blaze tries to invade Metropolis by teleporting demons through Foswell, since his soul belongs to her. In Action #680, she convinces Foswell that Superman wants to kill him for firing his pal Jimmy, so Sam fully gives himself to her and becomes a big, muscular demon creature (whom this blog dubbed “FosHELL”).

In Man of Steel #15, Superman is told that the only way to prevent Metropolis from literally going to Hell is to kill Foswell. This seems like it’s setting up a big heroic sacrifice scene, which would have at least given the character a dignified end, but nah. Instead, Superman ends up teaming up with Blaze’s evil-but-less-evil-than-her brother, Lord Satanus, to defeat her.

Once Blaze is taken care of, Satanus restores Foswell to his dweeby human form in Superman #71... but only because he now owns Sam’s soul and thinks he might be useful some day. Oh yeah, and Satanus is secretly Foswell’s boss, Colin Thornton! So he owns the guy in both the earthly and the satanic realms.

I guess his new demonic master never found a use for the guy, because this storyline was the last time we ever saw Sam Foswell... until he was brought back by a TV show in 2021. And he also got new art by our own Don Sparrow!* At last, everything really IS coming up Foswell. Until the show kills him off to bring back Perry White, anyway.

*Foswell fanatics can see Don’s full artwork without that pesky logo in our Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/51941393

#superman #superman & lois #sam foswell

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thelostandforgottenangel · 4 years ago

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You are taking way too long on the ask I sent you weeks ago honestly you can't be doing much on lock down why can't you answer me

You’re right it’s taking me a while and I am sorry but when I get sent an ask it does take me a bit especially if it’s a request for a story, or a reaction from one of my guys, or you do not specify a detail and I am guessing at a void before writing a situation for four characters that I have to put myself into a mindset just to answer. Or you are the anon that sent me the fucked up ask that gave me flashbacks of a horrid time in my life and I can not answer it without tearing myself into pieces just to do so

I am not a big popular blog on here most people wouldn’t know me like some amazing creators on here who are incredible

I have lost followers in the last two years because of the fact that I am slow in responding, I have lost RP partners because I can’t focus or I had no motivation, and right now I am working on two hours of internet time in the early morning because I live in a house of gamer’s who block my computer so I can’t connect

As for the ‘I’m not busy part’ I don’t need to explain my situation to you but before you send this to a mun who you are asking to do something for you try to understand that while you can’t wait to see what they are going to do there are some of us who do have somewhat of lives and we juggle a lot

**So please next time you send something remember**

Behind this page is a woman who adores getting those asks and can’t wait to get to them because it gives me just a second to leave a hellish reality. Yes the reply is slow or you may see a reply of another before yours it’s because yours is special and she want to make you happy not that I am just ignoring it completely

I want them to be perfect

I am a mother of two young children who need me attention 25/8 at times; one of which is medically disabled and stuck in a bed meaning my whole day is spent caring for them, giving round the clock meds, keeping a feeding bag full of formula, and keeping my kid from ripping his trech or G-J out because he can and thinks its funny making me a full time in home nurse to my baby being the only one still able to care for him

I am currently living with my mom who has MS and can barely walk and being the only person in a household of 9 people who can drive willingly and not complain means at times - not at home but out picking up grocery orders or running important errands

I do not have a set sleep schedule being up all night with kids who are in pain or fussy cause his movie is wrong, or my oldest just wanting to stay up to play and has a bad habit of trying to go outside to play without asking meaning I may fall asleep at random if they pass out at the same time getting up only long enough after passing out to maintenance a vent, heater, or feeding pump, give meds and draw up the next round, change a diaper and do daily cares, turn him in bed if he will tolerate the shift, change a movie for the eighth time in five minutes, and feed my little girl before falling out in a chair only to get a few hours of shut eye before I am on my feet

I am doing my best and I know its not good enough but I promise as soon as I can all my asks will get answered

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chrisemrysfics · 4 years ago

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Hello!

I have updated my About and Fics pages, to reflect the changes I want to make!

In the past few weeks, I have been taking notice that I’ve been forcing myself to keep active a lot of things I just... don’t really feel anymore. A few months ago, I already decided to stop roleplaying, and closed my roleplay blogs.

More recently, I already started being less active on Tumblr, and on that side, I’m still going to not be active all that much. I am likely to still reblog from times to times on my personal side blog, and make little posts here if I really want to share a meta or thoughts or a fun thing. Plus, it is still a good place to receive messages, as AO3 doesn’t have private messaging. It does have comments, but I feel some people might prefer a message here rather than a comment, depending what they want to ask or say.

I might not really post anymore about updates on my fics, or they’ll be quick posts. For new fics, it might be quick posts too, or proper posts as I was doing.

All in all, in term of social medias, I’m using my twitter solely to retweet arts, my personal tumblr sideblog is for occasional reblogs, this fic blog is just to have a way to make meta/hc posts if I want to and share when I update/make new fics if I want to. I have a pillowfort, but I kept forgetting it, or not feeling like making posts on it, so its pretty much sleeping for now, and might just, get some posts to promote my own content, and maybe be poked sometimes to like other people content.

The reason for that is again, that I realized I just don’t really feel social medias anymore, and there are very, very few reasons that makes me keep them. And none of them need demand activity out of me, or its very small activity. Which is something that works out for me, because the other thing I realized is that I was just... having too much on my hands.

This is why soon, I will be putting all my WIP in hiatus, and very few ones will be fully stopped. The only exception will be Shadows Symphonie, and the upcoming No one else but you, multi chap version.

Some will eventually be updated, I’m only taking a break for Meet me Halfway to the End and Assassin’s Light, and then all the others on hiatus are a mixed bag on how likely I feel I will update them, but their common line is that I will look to write them more than halfway or write them fully, before I start updating them again.

The ones that will be closed, due to various reasons that more or less are about it would demand too much out of me and I need to put my energy elsewhere first are: Different yet alike, Hellish Chronicles, Broken Chain, Fated Chain, Freedom of Love, Future we choose, Rise of the Walker.

EDIT: the two crossed out ones are going to be indefinite hiatus rather than full out closed, deciding for these was hard, when I wrote this post I had tentatively decided to close them, but in the end I could eventually see myself write for them, so indefinite hiatus it is!

However, do note all WIPs (except Shadows Symphonie) will be getting a bonus that will summarize what the plot is intended to be!

While it isn’t quite what I ever thought it would mean, my wish to never leave a story unfinished still exist, and it’s a compromise that I hope will works for the majority of you, but even if it won’t be the same as a written story, I couldn’t and wouldn’t hiatus or close fics without giving closure to anyone that wants it!

So to give a summary of the changes!

Activity will be very low on all social medias I have

Twitter is 99% retweet of Wangxian/MDZS arts

Fic blog is mostly for occasional meta/hc and wanting to share when I update or post new fics

Personal sideblog is for occasional reblog

Pillowfort is pretty much dormant for now, might just have occasional post to promote my own content

All WIPs except Shadows Symphonie will go into hiatus with a few I will outright stop writing

However they will also all have a bonus that summarize the plot I have/had intended for them

The idea for most if not all hiatus fics is that I will work on them when I can, and only start posting again when I have a few chapters in advance at earliest, and more than halfway of it otherwise, if not all of it

This way of writing fics might also become my new norm, I might only post fics from now on, when I have written at the very least a few chapters in advance, if not at least halfway of it!

I am truly grateful for everyone who has followed me, here or on AO3 or both, and anywhere else, for the patience, for the interest, and it isn’t a goodbye, that’s for sure!

But I needed to makes changes, to stop forcing myself, to stop not being honest with myself, and I want to be able to write for the fics I actually want to write for, and most of all, I want to write my original content, I want my life to feel good, and for that, I needed to simplify everywhere I can, and be much more gentler with myself, to accept to let go of certain things, and put other things as secondary.

You might be here for my fics, or myself, and you’ll still see my fics, and I’m still around, if mostly through my fics, or seeing me retweet things, and occasional posts; though of course, my IM and inbox remains open!

However, I would feel deeply grateful and happy, if you see this post, and take the time to check what I write as original content. Or just bookmark my site for later, another time, because I’m the first to know you can want to check some things, but you need to file it somewhere as “to check later”. But the reason I say this is, this is my truest passion, and where I truly want to focus myself. There’s a tumblr and a twitter for my original content, and my writer twitter especially might be more active. And everything is free to read, as a personal choice, and while mostly writing fantasy (in various settings), I have some other things, including half-psychology half-spiritual thoughts sharing.

So all that remains is whether or not you might find something you like to read, and the best I can do, is simply to offer you check for yourself!

Again, I’m truly grateful for each follower and reader I have, and I’ll still be around, I’ll still be writing~!

#chrishere

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miscellanyofmusings · 4 years ago

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Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Grimscribe. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, gore, nihilism, unreality, body horror, clowns, and insects.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: (If you are a multimuse blog, specify what muse you are filling this out for.) Tagged by: Tagging:

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The Last Feast of Harlequin

A place behind the clownish mask / an enthusiastic urgency / sunny fields and farms / steeply roofed houses / a weird distortion of perspective / an album of old snapshots / a pointed hat jauntily askew / a billboard displaying a group of grinning vegetables / a neutral, bureaucratic voice / blue-green ink / a brilliant and profound circus of learning / a quotation from Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” / a feeling of frigid numbness / dull, earth-colored scenery / the snowfalls of late autumn / black, ragged clumps of abandoned nests / the thin light of a winter afternoon / poles raveled with evergreen / holly wreaths / green lights / green streamers / peacock green floodlights / an eerie emerald haze / chthonic divinities / miniature candy canes / colored lights that bloom out of flower-shaped sockets / a chilling brilliance of manner and expression / sea-green lights / the face of an adept clown / a heart bathed in green / another coldness within the cold / warmly wrapped bodies and green-scarved necks / worried and guilt ridden glances / a wormy mass / the black void of winter / the brightness of an artificial spring / a great green rainbow / green gleaming streets / the dark immensity of a winter night / an effect of stricken horror and despair / an inhuman likeness more proper to something under the earth than above it / a festival within a festival / depressingly pallid clowns / the particular kind of hatred of resulting from some powerful and irrational memory / optimistic greenery in a period of gray dormancy / a kind of obnoxious intelligence / freezing atop an icy throne / commitment to a meaningful mania / bodiless invisibility / seeing without being seen / a sea of zigging and zagging celebrants / the darkness of narrow country roads / innocent normalcy / icy wind / trembling with cold / lanterns that beam with dazzling and frosty light / cadaverous clowns / the apex of darkness / a long snowy robe / moody malignancy / pure unlived lives / all the many shapes of death and dissolution / a dirge for existence / a sea of thin, bloodless faces / icy beauty / a moment of frozen trance / the death known to those whom the gods have first made mad / the welcoming glow of green / slow and silent and entrancing / a velvety white abyss / the paradise of the unborn

The Spectacles in the Drawer

A double-handled dagger with a single blade of polished stone / tall cabinets / ceiling-high shelves / tantalizing arcana / glistening fog / a tedious clarity / a cyclone of strange patterns and colors / spasms of sardonic hilarity / a pale-blue blade / stiff, crackling pages / a seeker of recondite knowledge / undying hope / a gutful of shame and regret / a small and silvery knife / a razor-sharp letter opener / a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles / everything that fascinates / the wish to look away / an infinite and overwhelming scene / the dazzling diffusion of all known universes / landscapes without end / landscapes that are themselves alive / a life unknown to mortal eyes / form and motion / design and dimension / cilia wriggling / mammoth shapes lurching in outline / an obscure oceanic niche / a mere fragment of all that there is to see and to know / labyrinthine astronomies / constant transformations of both appearance and essence / a witness to the most cryptic phenomena that exist or could ever exist / the ultimate thing waiting to be born / still greater visions / a cataclysm which will be both the beginning and the end / unbearable anticipation / ecstasy and dread / the ultimate source of all manifestation / the absolute and the wholly unknown / a revolution of all matter and energy / the visions remaining active inside you, deep in your blood / to be dazzled in the worst way / the total substance of things / an occultist auction / a disreputable quarter of a foreign city / a student of the Gnostics / artificial eyes / a malicious aim to undermine / a child’s awkward embrace / rusty scales / cockeyed bookcases / broken toys / standing ashtrays / desolate bazaars / the charm of disenchantment / a tilting mirror / a climate of dull horror / sinister whispers that make no sense yet seem filled with meaning / sensations of infinite expansiveness and ineffable meaning / astronomical emotions / a mutilated carcass / something of terrible rawness / a torn and flayed thing / microscopic precision / twitching and quivering like a gory heart / hellish giggling / a haunting, lifelong memory / unfathomable depths of feeling / to suffer over and over / a way to kill a dream / the sheltering shadows of one’s home / sobering shadows / a cold and stagnant peace / esoteric ecstasy / vulgar pain / a broad expanse of empty field / a mosaic of mirrors / a shocking galaxy / redundant reflections / dark stars on a silvery firmament / to see with countless eyes / a body ripped raw / a gallery of glass and gore

Flowers of the Abyss

The first rank scent of autumn / a glass of water / a thirsty walker of the woods / a pale flower amongst the dark summer trees / a ghostly flower of autumn / grayish planks / a pallid lily / a pulpy toadstool / a roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish / sea-green and sparkling / attic gables with paned windows / the tip of a tear / hundreds of raindrops / light rain / an icy autumn storm / a fragrance damp and decayed / walking ahead of the clouds / the echo of hollow words / a long crooked arm / malodorous gardens of misshapen growths / an oval mirror in an ornate frame / cobwebbed corners / tilting books / something shapeless and nameless / something dampish and submerged / something swampy and abysmal / the pure cold of an autumn storm / a dusty green bottle / a sparkling glass / a world of frozen light / cool and limpid water / the hardness of a jewel / a small music box / stars of sound / twilight shadows and silence / infinitesimal flakes of light / barren decor of dead days / yellowish haze / silvery tones / a tenebrous expanse / unknown exploits / the madness of things / a vagabond of the universe / a drifter among spaces / a mess of hacked pieces / dark horizon meeting dark horizon / a universe of darkness / a convulsing tangle of shapes / the radiant entrails of hell / rain-softened soil / parted waters rushing to remerge / corrupt waters / sticky and pumping veins / slimy tendrils / aberrations of the abyss / a night-gowned figure / a crowd carrying lights / lamps and lanterns bobbing in darkness / clusters of flames / buried like a forgotten dream

Nethescurial

Delicate, crinkly script / greenish-black discoloration / dark waters / moonlit skies / earth mounds / mountain peaks / northern leaf and southern flower / each star and the voids between them / blood and bone / watchful winds / murky waters below / contorted rock formations / pointed pines and spruces of gigantic stature / sea-facing cliffs / stagnant fog / an omnipresent evil / a sleeping sense of doom awakened into full vigour / evil, beloved and menacing evil / sunshine and flowers / darkness and dead leaves / some shaping force of demonic temperament / wartlike hills / tumorous trees / oil lamps scattered about / a sacral glow / a degree of mutual ease / the verdigris of centuries / decomposing jade / pandemonism / cold gray waters / a mere mask for the foulest evil / an absolute evil whose reality is mitigated only by our blindness to it / the universe as a dream / the feverish nightmare of a demonic demiurge / an abstract monster of metaphysics / an altar of coarse stone / skinny shadows / to be actually bound in blackness / white-faced shadows / luminous smoke / glowing, ectoplasmic haze / something thick and oily and strangely colored / an ancient anonymity / spirits beyond all hope or consolation except in the evil to which they would abandon themselves / a ceremony of the chosen / an ancient, darkened mould / petrified lichen / wrought iron tracery / great overgrown gardens of writhing coral / a chaos of little carvings / a world of demonic faces and forms / oneiric visions / inkish waters / an infinitely extensive body of evil / the gods of the ordinary world / dream-induced illusions / visionary intrusions / a banquet of fear / what is squirming beneath every surface / penetrating the usual armor of objects / dark and greenish / garbled whisperings / an island of grass and trees in the middle of the city / globes of light balanced on slim metal poles / a glowing orb / set in the great blackness above / trees swishing overhead / muddied green / walking some indefinite time along some indefinite route / strings of colored lights / a tall, illuminated booth / clownish creatures / expressionless faces and dead puppet eyes / slow, monotonous phrases mingling like the sequences of a fugue / the faces of the living and the dead / wind-blown trees / the greenish darkness of the night / mold-colored smoke / a squirming, creeping, smearing shape / a great deformed crab / the black oceans of infinity / the island of the moon / the cancerous totality of all creatures / oozing ichor / dying in a nightmare

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare/ an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

Trees made of poster board / houses built of colored foam / mud and dust and ashes / a nightmare of nonsense / fantasy, that misty domain of pure meaning / dim and empty storage space / an ancient armchair / reposing far beneath crumbling rafters / surveying remote worlds / a burst of fireworks / buzzing like flies in the blackness / glow worms flitting in the blinding sun / to keep the sun in the sky / to keep the dead in the earth / a universal vice / a parasite of chaos / a maggot of vice / the prospect of absolute terror / men in the mouths of demons / withholding heaven’s light / the pointed shadows of peaked roofs and jutting gables / faded artifacts of a dead town / high castle turrets / grayness undisturbed / ashen twilight / the yellow light of lamps / sumptuous chambers / humble rooms / the lost luxury of shadows / an infinite vault of glowing dust / a deception by demons / old deities formerly driven from the earth / shadows streaming horribly / the twitching light of a thousand candles / prismatic jewels / a greyish whirlpool / indefinite twilight / the blackness which is the domain of death / necromantic learning / drunken dialogues / unparalleled credulity / fluidity, always fluidity / an ornamented void / the stars and moon / the legions of the dead

In the Shadow of Another World

Walking down streets at twilight / watered lawns / the edges of leaves / pale specters within a fog / the infinite sky itself / gently stirring trees / old silent houses / strange cities disguised as clouds / the depths of a vast, echoing abyss / a blurry little window with a crack in it / a tree-lined street / a pale sky at dusk / peaks and porches / worn wooden steps / dreams and vapor posing as solid matter / a fabulous overlap of properties / petrified flesh / gigantic bones from great beasts of old / chimneys and shingles / a shadow on the horizon / a thing of nightmarish beauty / impossible hopes / a kind of ceremonious desolation / translucent festivals / the faraway sounds of mad carnivals / an instinct for mystification / dubious spectacles / trumped-up histrionics / immaculate to the point of being suspect / a plush and well-tended mausoleum / where the dead are truly at rest / oppressive awareness of other times / secret conspiracies with departed spirits / the unnatural mood of twilight / sinister echoes / dark, polished floors / lofty, uncobwebbed ceilings / a malign presence in the cellar / an insane shadow in the attic / thaumaturgic curios / a hermetic chant of the heavens / no hint of hauntedness / an innocent ambiance / a spiritual wasteland / spiritually antiseptic surroundings / a twisting and tenuous stairway / shattered panes of glass / misshapen glyphs / the shadowy nuances of clouds / a twisted kaleidoscope of colors / the aura of stained-glass cathedral / some obscure desecration / prismatic lenses / that of the dead or the demonic / an eclipse of this world’s vision / a quivering translucence / iridescent sterility / the aftermath of a strange exorcism / neither hallowed nor unholy / a pristine laboratory / a science of nightmares / a small, lamplit library / night’s darkness / a voice that’s accustomed to speaking of miracles / mystical freakshows / a grave sincerity / dissonant overtones of fear / the shadows of another world / forms of specter or demon / the eyes of the flesh / a luminous hell / psychic survival / hopelessly dreaming / terror recollected in tranquility / mazy trauma / the sensations of the soul / a monstrous mystery / a theoretician of nightmares / crude and cryptic designs / a remote and shadowy stage / an adept of pasteboard visions / mucilage and gauze / pulling the strings of light and shadow / shadows gathering / a strange radiance / phosphorescent panes / superlunary light / some cosmic tapestry / a haunted world / the marriage of insanity and metaphysics / a spectral ontogeny / a pageant of nightmares / sunlit bazaars in exotic cities / transparent masks / insectoid countenances / moonlit streets in antique towns / a strange-eyed slithering / dim galleries of empty museums / a ghostly mold / the sullen hues of old paintings / sticky luxuriance / pulpy warmth / an uncanny flux of sounds / cadaverous generations / sculptures of human coral / bodies heaped and unwhole / limbs projecting without order / eyes scattered and searching the darkness / a monument to Terror / a maze of interconnecting doors / spectral monstrosities / the cover of masks / the concealment of stones / feverish properties and intentions / a framed phantasmagoria / grotesque transfigurations / a systemless cosmogony / the caprice of the immaterial / weirdly lucent rooms / chaotic fantasies / narrow, spiraling stairs / the gazing eye of some god / a pyrotechnic craze of colors / a vibrating echo of vocal utterance / swirling sights / a vacuum and a void / doubtful strategies / unknown and extravagant possibilities / occult theories / arcane analyses / the irreducible certainty of nightmare / great shadows in the stars / an infinite catastrophe / protective sigils / the full glare of starlight / stars and shadows / privileged arcana / the enchantments of hell / cold sunlight / the visionary time of twilight

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice / blotched vapors / a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages / a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh / a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / languorous exhaustion / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

A high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds / shadows singing with the clouds / a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes / a kind of unclean outpouring / the black sewers of space / the wall of night / smoke, dense and dirty, rising up to the sky / the spastic flames of a small fire / a slender gentleman / a dark suit / broken bones / the process of degeneration / the mulchy rot of autumn or early spring / yellowish light / dark scabby bricks / ruined factories / ravaged mausoleums / abandoned orphanages / a blossom of the cemetery or the cesspool / guttering candles / blurred remnants of past lessons / cloacal forces / time as a flow of sewage / drowning in the pools of night / a thousand molting autumns / the melting soil of spring / a pair of yellowish eyes / undiluted darkness / a darkness far greater than the night itself / consolidated darkness / the science of a spectral pathology / a philosophy of absolute disease / the metaphysics of things sinking into a common disintegration or rising together / dark rottenness / filthy smoke from some smoldering source of expansive corruption / the scent of corruption / the nostalgic perfume of autumn decay / the feculent muskiness of a spring thaw / smoky blackness / the offal of worlds in decline / the dark compost of those about to be born / the primeval impurity In which all things are founded / native putridity / pieces of paper with strange symbols on them / the very face of a plague—pustulant, scabbed, and stinking terribly / a black fog / many voices crying and calling from total blackness / tightly packed earth in a grave / the disease of the night / bright flames / the noise of a fire and the wind / a full moon / shining bright and blurry / a luminous mold / the great sewers of night

The Glamour

A fine aura of fantasy / both blurred and brightened / a starless evening / diamonds of plate glass / old buildings of dark brick / the display window of a toy store / a chaotic tableau of preposterous excitation / mechanized monkeys / fated antics / tiny cymbals / the destined pirouettes of a music-box ballerina / a newly sprung jack-in-the-box / strangely picturesque / dreamily illuminated / sculptured frosting / a winter landscape of swirling, drifting whiteness / snowy rosettes / layers of icy glitter / a glacial kingdom / a brilliant arctic scene / a vitality of enterprise / a glossy light / the placidly enigmatic expressions of a different time / faded lighting / an old photograph / the kind of acute anticipation that a child might experience at a carnival / a possessing impulse without object / wretchedly aglow / a long, narrow corridor with a single light set far into its depths / a strange shade of purple, like that of a freshly exposed heart / a purple lamp / arterial light / a deep pink / a richly blooded brain / a beating heart / wispy shrouds / sparse hairs sticking to the scalp of an old corpse / purple-tinted glass / the darkness of a theater / a swarm of filaments / an elaborate chandelier / a sickly, liverish shade / an operating room where a torso lies open on the table / a palette of pinks and reds and purples / diseased viscera imitating all of the shades of sunset / headstones in a graveyard / endless filthy alleys / long desolate corridors in an old asylum / the dripping passages of a sewer / a dust-blinded window / a dark unvisited cellar / a mirror gone rheumy with age / facets of murky crystal / cobwebs / long pale threads / hazy purple light / the slow curling of thin smoke / a great rectangular web / the ever-mutating images of clouds / a surge of dark elation / a sudden chill announcing bad weather / a vibrant presence / an expression of avid malignance / inner webbings / swirling fibers / wild shocks of twisting hair / a portrait of atrocity / lust for sites and ceremonies of mayhem / writhing cobwebs / reaching tendrils / graveyards and alleyways / a joyous hysteria / a pale purple / sinister and seamy regions / spectral ambiance / all pervasive purple coloration / the labyrinth of a living anatomy / palest pink / a purple light / putrid chambers and cloisters / an infernal land / fleshy, gelatinous integuments / translucent tissue / the theater of a mad surgery / hair-thin sutures / unseen hands designing unnatural shapes and systems / weaving a nest in which possession would take place / the weaver and web-maker / an old puppet-master / setting a helpless creature with new strings / through eyes unknown / purple shadows / a type of degraded rapture / a seizure of debauched panic / webs of hair / great evil / an appeal for deliverance / eyes that would see what should not be seen / stray threads pulled from a sleeve or pocket / a paralytic silence / eyes gazing fierce and malignant / a purple glow / two shafts of the purest purple light / an old woman with glowing eyes

Father Sevich’s Visit

A manner at first vaguely troublesome and afterward rather attractive / the arrival of a priest / the very echoes of the air / mellow afternoon sunlight / dark wooden floors / pale contortions of ancient wall paper / invisible games / abstract dread and a bizarre sort of indebtedness / a thick maze of propositions / a well-made bed / a relentless failure / cloistral tunnels / vaulted penetralia / a single column-clutching hand / the necessary features of fear / a maddening task / a series of completely irrelevant expressions / misty-eyed wonder / cretinous bafflement / smiling in an almost amiable way at one one’s impending doom / the trap of expectation / a sleepy whisper / the sound of soft conversation / the world of good manners and polite talk / a look of incompleteness / some unfinished effigy in a toy maker’s workshop / something vital to expression / the purple-robed mysteries of priesthood / animated eyes / withered things reeking of medicine and prayer / a painfully delicate subject / varnished wood / salvation through suffering / sacred horrors / the divine destiny toward which the paths of anguish have always led / volumes of blessed agony / an attitude of prayerful pleading / torturing demons / a single squatted devil / bristling lashes that sprout like weeds / an explosion of miniature grotesquerie / a brief and calculated absence / a modest fund of moral energy / a macabre icon / profane lessons / a countenance of true terror / a ridiculously empty slate / an off-stage atrocity / a cycle of mute, incredible lore / anthropomorphic mist / an eerie lividity / unconscious hours of darkness / a chronicle of truly unspeakable things / the light of every constellation in the visible universe / the oppressive mysteries of the autumn season / thick orange crayons / black cats / black paper / a hopeless urge for innovation / a tiny white collar / dripping with fever / hat and cloak and walking stick / narrow, nocturnal streets / a fairy-tale vision / serpentine lanes / the distorted glow of street lamps / the thinnest blade of moon / a narrow niche / an unpaved lane / a small courtyard surrounded by high walls / the stars above / jaundiced lamplight / a stairway of cut stone / the earth and absolute blackness / tiny lights glimmering like stars / clouds of shadows / some golden metal / a caricature of serenity / a hand as white as the whitest glove / chaotic rays / underworld starlight / a certain expression of rarefied scorn or disgust / indignant shadows / black, ankle-high shoes / the natural nightlight of the moon / an infernal aura or an angelic halo / a planet revolving its unspeakable tonnage in the blackness of space / a small bottle of holy water / secret denial and privilege / a smile of deep contentment

Miss Plarr

Misty, drizzling days / sharp, urgent rappings at the front door / a world of darkening mist / mist-covered locks / listening with intense expectancy / the world’s chaos of faces / a seething luxuriance / dark battlements of clouds / a mute and sullen twilight / a stone-gray sky / those days all shackled in gloom / a fugue of noise / the livid radiance of moonlight / the wild shape of some night-blossom / some strange and cruel kingdom / an intimate dungeon cell reserved for the most exclusive captivity / constant, noisy marauding / sedentary or stealthy rituals / an abyss of unspoken reproaches and suspicions / some ancient seagoing vessel / an old oil lamp / a series of quite fascinating lectures / a kind of brutality and an air of exile / deliriums of earth and sky / fog-bound islands in polar seas / shadowed realms littered with dead cities / peaks lacerated by unceasing winds / a bluish slime / the proper way to behave / the great mists of spring / murky sheets of ice / a world of shadows bound in place / the sound of something that stings the air / the hissing of rainy afternoons / immense blades sweeping over vast spaces / expansive wings cutting through cold winds / long whips lashing in darkness / intangible sympathies / a dark mesh of nightmares / a foul nest in which one’s own suspicions are swarming / links to a strictly mundane order / a briskness that seems to be an effort / a heavy spring dampness / lost to the world of wholesome practicalities / a hypnotic and fateful determination / a child’s weakness for prospects of misadventure / a fog-smothered landscape / a pale, floating web / an immense and awful kingdom / a patternless conglomerate of crystals / a misty graveyard / angular and many-faced monuments / the mountainous and murky thunderheads of a rainy season / the very essence of a storm / a matter of suspicion and conjecture / atrocious potential / fogs and mists and gray heaping skies / a conspicuous stridency / a dour mystique / a gray mist / skies of hissing rain

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

Some feverish intent / sheaves of cornstalks standing brownish and brittle in a newly harvested field / a sky of empty light / fiery leafage / something dark, something abysmal / small shadowy voices / sweet wine turning to vinegar / a hysteric brilliance / displays of thorn apple, sumac, and towering sunflowers / crooked roadside fences / a moonlit field / a bright round moon / nocturnal solitude / patched-up overalls / worn flannel / the withered leaves of cornstalks / moonlight spread across a dead field / a great idol in shabby disguise / a sacred avatar out of season / fidgeting bemusement / a leaden vault of clouds / pure sunlight / misty dreams of the past night / a vine-twisted stone wall / dormant vines / a strange network of dead veins / calculated grayness / radiant leaves / legions of local cicadas / a dark fungus / of the blackest earth / a rich loam / a bog of shadows / an abyss in the outline of a man / the feel of wind and water / a few shifting flames / flames of only the slightest warmth / black flames / the molten texture of spoiled fruit / a shriveled scarecrow / an armory of axes, shovels, and other implements / an eccentricity of the harvest / a viscous mire / innumerable insects laughing / sprouting blackness / a perverse reluctance / the great shadow of a moonless night / the dark rustling depths of the season / the glass globes of streetlamps / the dense leaves of elms and oaks and maples / blazing auras / the frigid aurora of dawn / frost-powdered earth / shadows and corn shocks / countless insects chattering unseen / the feverish life of the earth / the wrinkled grimace of decay / corrupted by vile impulses / a mound of soft dirt / the darkish grooves of ancient bark / the mottled complexion of old flesh / a multitude of crooked smiles / a freakish mask painted with russet, rashy colors / a virulent intensity / an autumn night when fields lay ragged in moonlight / moist and fertile shadows / a hollow-eyed howling malignity / the cold emptiness of space / the pale gaze of the moon / the depths of an extraordinary harvest / insecure hints and delvings / the luxuriant shadow of trees / the mocking plumage of a strange season / an array of whims and suspicions / scraps of lush color / gold and crimson hieroglyphs / deathless leaves / an ill-formed village / a hideous impersonation of a face / leprous masks / knotty shadows / a subterranean craze of roots and tendrils / an underworld riot of branching convolutions / gnarled ornamentations / autumnal decay / knives and axes and curving scythes / countless colored leaves / pronouncements of dire or delightful curiosity / a dull trance / a wild luminousness / a diamond-bright fever burning within / perennial strangeness / tenacious foliage / softly glowing against a black sky / an untimely nocturnal rainbow / a harvest of hues / peach gold / pumpkin orange / honey yellow / winy amber / apple red / plum violet / the pyrotechnics of a new autumn / a thousand glittering dreams / a rigid scarecrow / a patchwork of shadows / a quivering glow / a premature craving / an expertly whetted blade / a betrayal or deception on the part of creation itself / something buried deep within appearances / something that wears a mask to hide itself / holding a spatula like a weapon / moldering shadows / a dreamless sleep / a sudden rage of mortification / the remains of a dismantled scarecrow / an ashen autumn morning / the feeling of blood / a bottomless grave

#rp meme #roleplaying meme #aesthetic meme #horror tw #blood tw #gore tw #clown tw #body horror tw #nihilism cw #roleplay meme #long post #meme

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renegade-is-in-my-blood · 4 years ago

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Being in the blogging business for around 8 years now I came to learn a lot. Let’s hear from the old bitter blogger about the difference between being an ambassador and being a customer. When you’re investing more than you’re gaining from the collaboration it’s not really a collaboration you’re looking for.

There is a new trend going around social media, especially Instagram. I’ve been getting collaboration offers on a daily basis even pre COVID times but now the amount of pseudo collaborations increased.

Hands down it is an incredible business strategy from the business point of view.

Everyone wants to be an ambassador.

Ambassador became an even more prestigious title than an influencer. Influencer posses some sort of responsibility for their actions whilst ambassador is just being paid for simply being.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Many brands use this knowledge to the fullest and offers these pseudo collaborations.

So what is a pseudo collaboration?

Well, it starts off by being contacted by a brand.

You’ll receive a ctrl+c ctrl+v message from a brand-name-scout. The message contains several cute emojis and addresses you as a gorgeous, pretty, cutie, love, honey, sweety, and if they really want to get you, even by your Instagram name.

It’s usually followed by a bunch of compliments about your fashion style, vibe, Instagram, or whatever. Then there is a lie about following or just generally noticing you for a while without ever seeing your insta story, like any of your posts, or even actually following you.

Now it’s time for an offer beneficial for you.

Usually, it’s free products, a way to earn a commission, or just the sheer option to be able to call yourself an ambassador. Every single brand out there offers a “support” like anyone really knows what’s that supposed to mean. I had several ones even offering me a travel trips, but never elaborated on it after my further questioning.

Now comes the hook with a “do you want to learn more?” question.

If you think I’m exaggeration for the story and I can’t be generalizing all of the collaborations offers into a simple standard form I wish you were right. Here are some of the screenshots of my current Instagram DMs:

You might think: “What’s wrong with that? They’re trying so don’t be mean. Just ignore them.” let me remind you how dumb Instagram algorithm is.

If your account is followed by bots, messaged by bots, liked by bots Instagram assumes you’re one of them or you got hacked by them. Sweet of them for trying to protect you thought, but holy hell did that made everything super complicated for me.

I got several messages from the brand scouts messaging me again because their previous account got deleted.

No shit Sherlock, it’s like you can’t keep creating accounts, following and messaging a bunch of people at once and ask for money anymore.

So now every time my account gets suspicious activity such as too many likes/follows/messages Instagram suspects my account got hacked. Each time they require I change my password and let me tell you I ran out of password ideas months ago.

That’s not the worst part though.

After each time I change my password I’m blocked for 7 days from liking, following, or adding tags to my posts and that sucks. Just to get a better picture of this issue I’m blocked approximately once sometimes twice per month.

The block comes hand in hand with a shadowban that lingers for god knows how long, meaning Instagram is not gonna support you in any way. That’s why I have around 40 likes on a posts with 47K followers most of which are bots anyway.

I loath Instagram app yet I spend hours a day on the hellish site and I’m not only one.

We spend so much time on Instagram anyway so when a chance to earn money form it comes along you’re tempted to take it. Brands know that.

Imagine you’re a small-town girl with around 400 followers on Instagram. You already feel pretty popular right?

Now imagine you get the messages I shared above but you get just one. Someone out there thinks you’re so popular they want you on their team, you are just like the big influencers, you get job offers for being an Instagram star. You’re the next Kardashian.

You can have all of the things they said to you BUT you need to do something for them first. You have to pay for it.

And here is the catch with all of the pseudo collaborations.

What they don’t say to you in their first message is what it’s gonna cost you.

Many offers you free stuff but you need to pay for the one-time shipping. Some brands offer you a unique discount of around 40-60% off so you’ll pay just a part of the price and you can call yourself an ambassador.

I don’t know about you, but I thought that was called the customer. You buy a product, you wear it and occasionally you take photo of it on your social media sites. The new term is an ambassador apparently.

I get why so many people agree to this kind of collaboration. It’s new for you. It makes you feel good and successful in your friend’s and families eyes. And there is that hopefully undertone of making money from it.

Aren’t the brands unprofitable when they give away discounts and free stuff?

In a theory, yes, but there is one thing all of the brands that messaged me had in common except for the audacity.

Overpriced products.

I got messaged by jewelry stores, fashion stores and gym equipment stores most of the time. I took the time and did my research on every one of them.

When a store sold jewelry, they had the same products as the rest of the jewelry stores I got contacted by. A small variety of around 8 products most of them sold out anyway. And let’s not forget the ridiculously high prices. You can’t charge a cheap Chinese necklace you can get on amazon or aliexpress for under a 1$ for 40$.

So even if you’re paying just around 30$ for your ambassador order they are still making a profit on your wannabe Instagramer need cuz they purchased said items for far less.

Well, I’m being a little miss know it all right?

How can I talk about pseudo collaboration like this when it’s all based on assumptions. Well you know me, I’m curious as hell and I actually went through 3 pseudo collaborations myself just to prove a point.

I literally spend money so I can tell you about it right now so here is how my 3 pseudo collaborations went like.

All of the ones I choose were jewelry based pseudo collaborations. With the corona times, post offices are overwhelmed with parcels. I ordered big parcels in recent times and they arrived with around a month delay. I figured smaller jewelry in an envelope form would be quicker to arrive and I was right.

Pseudo collaboration number one VONACHI:

A simple yet luxurious-looking website with very few decent pieces of jewelry, offered me 3 free pieces to take a photo in and promote. I would also get a 60% discount code and every time my code would be used I would receive 30% of the money amount. Incredibly overpriced amount in the first place.

Here is the list of all of the benefits they offered.

The scout that approached me was very eager. They kept insisting I place my order right away. No time to waste.

To make it clear I got a simple code to apply in a check out that subtracted the price and I got the pieces for free. All I had to do was pay a 20$ shipping fee what seems like nothing but for 3 small necklaces, it is way too much.

Another thing that was odd was that I was required to take a screenshot of my order and send it back to scout. I guess to prove I was legit.

After bunch of further compliments and claims how excited they are to be working with me we ended our conversation.

If you think I was being reckless to give my credit card and home address to such a questionable site don’t be.

Honestly, I trust zero people, sometimes I don’t even trust myself. I used a card I have no to very little money on and I got it shipped to a work address.

My parcel from china arrived in around a month and a half. I got one black box with one necklace and the other 2 necklaces were in small plastic bags. I received a note about welcoming me to the program and asking me to contact vonachi’s official Instagram account for setting up my discount code and that’s exactly what I did. The official page responded after longer time period with just a “this is your code” message. I took a photo, tagged vonachi as a business partner, and shared my code. I did my part and I was never contacted by them again.

My 60% code is VONAMBNAT and as you might have guessed no one used it so far.

Or at least no one told me it was used. If someone were to use my code I would be contacted by vonachi and here is the problem. I’m supposed to trust them with their credibility cuz there is no other way for me to check it for myself. This is what it’s missing from the old Time collaborations of mine. I would get a tracking code, an account login, graphs, statistics, and one on one communication with a brand in my previous collaborations. But you know Golden times for influencers are long gone.

Now I’m left to just simply trust them.

Why would they ever confess someone used my code? If a customer gets 60% off and I’m getting 30% from already discounted item there is just a very little left for vonachi. They don’t say anything and get to keep my 30% share.

They didn’t put much effort into tracking system cuz they are not expecting their ambassadors/customers to make any sales anyway.

The products were not that bad. They came in a bit rusty and tangled but I was excepting much worse.

Hell, I was not expecting them to legitimately arrive.

Pseudo collaboration number 2: ENGELSINN

I initiated this pseudo collaboration myself. Engelsinn paid a significant amount of money to Instagram promoted post and that’s where I found out they are looking for ambassadors.

I filled out an application form.

This one felt more legit cuz they actually asked for followers count and all of the communication occurred via email. Automated emails but still it reminded me of good old days.

I was given a 40% discount code to use on my first order. The shipping was free but it still cost me another 20$ to get the product. Since placing my first order I got a 20% discount code “nat7x20” for my followers to get 20% off their engelsinn order.

When my code is redeemed 2 times I get one jewelry of my choice for free.

Do I even need to mention that I didn’t get any email since?

Well, that’s not exactly true I got 2 more emails each with another discount code I could use for 24 hours and buy more of their stuff. But none about redeemed code.

Engelsinn is a german based brand and living so close I got my parcel in around a week. I got myself a rose gold knot bracelet and I feel like a hypocrite but I actually really love this one and wear it every day. I know I wouldn’t get it if it wasn’t for the research but I’m glad I did.

Btw the ad about engelsinn looking for ambassador is still up there and it still says they have only a few places left. It’s been 2 months.

Pseudo collaboration number 3: CUZETTE

I got messaged by them on my Instagram and their offer was super confusing. They promised it all. 3 free stuff now, free stuff every month, paid trip to several destinations, and even 50$ voucher. The scout called me sweety exactly 9 times during our conversations. It was super annoying.

So I choose another 3 free items and paid another 20$ for shipping. When I asked about the 50$ voucher I was told I would need to refer 5 friends who would also become cuzette ambassador or delegate as they named it, to get the 50$. No info about the travel trips though.

I was told to contact the official page for more info but it took days for them to finally reply with nothing new just more compliments and excitement about the future. It’s been 2 months and I still haven’t received my order just as I was expecting.

Later on, I endorsed in conversation with several other brands asking for more info, looking for something different than standard copy and paste form. Unsuccessful.

Every time I asked how many ambassadors they have in their program the answer was always “around 3000“. Once again, you have 3000 customers and not 3000 ambassadors. If the only people who buy from you are people you ask to buy from you, you’re doing something wrong.

But your business plan is on point.

When I asked about who and where makes their products I was either met with a silence or a sweet talk about a responsible brand.

These brands are providing people with content. You get to take photos of the items you ordered and you get to be as creative as you want. In these COVID times so many brands had to cancel or postpone their collaborations with bloggers or Instagrammers. I saw huge travel/luxurious instagramers switch form hotel and travel collaborations to promoting kitchen wipes. Times are tough and you got to do what you got to do.

Yet these small businesses with hight prices are thriving?

You know it’s not about the product but about the potential.

Profiting on greediness.

So smart.

To prove my point even further I got to confess one more thing. I mentioned before that I manage Instagram accounts for different brands and among them is one fashion store. I was not only at the ambassadors’ side but on the scouting side as well.

All I had to do was search for people who looked like they would be willing to become an ambassador for our store and had decent amount of followers. I had saved message form and all I did was try to guess peoples names so the message seemed more personal. Once they agreed to a discussion I let my boss take the lead.

So yeah, try to really think about the offers you get.

Look at it from all points of view and ask yourself if it’s profitable for anyone else but the brand.

If you want to have offers pouring your way try adding #ad #spon #collab to your next Instagram posts. That’s how they look for their next ambassador.

Everyone wants to be an ambassador.

Pseudo Collaborations- Everyone wants to be an Ambassador Being in the blogging business for around 8 years now I came to learn a lot. Let's hear from the old bitter blogger about the difference between being an ambassador and being a customer.

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turquoisedays · 4 years ago

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Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Tagged by: Me, myself and I, because I’m ALWAYS A SLUG FOR THOMAS LIGOTTI.

Tagging: @choujin @mothersins @flowerytruth (You decide which muse! >:3c) @givealls (For Kazuma mayhap?) annnnnnnd my other blog.

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The Last Feast of Harlequin

The Spectacles in the Drawer

Flowers of the Abyss

Nethescurial

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare / an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

In the Shadow of Another World

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice / blotched vapors / a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages / a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh / a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

The Glamour

Father Sevich’s Visit

Miss Plarr

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

#meme response #this took a bit but >:0 i enjoyed it #gore tw just to be safe?#blood tw also to be safe #horror cw #nihilism tw #unreality tw #clowns tw ////

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maverick-werewolf · 5 years ago

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Random Werewolf Fact #38 - Eye Color(s)

I’m back with more werewolf facts! Sorry for the hiatus.

We return now with a big issue among pop culture things: what do werewolf eyes look like anyway, and what color are they?

(and no, of course, the eye color ranks and indications from MTV’s Teen Wolf aren’t a thing in folklore)

So your first thought is probably any number of werewolf pop culture things. One of those is even very likely to be MTV’s Teen Wolf, since they made werewolf eye colors a big thing and an indicator toward the power level and/or another aspect of the werewolf themselves.

That wasn’t ever a thing in folklore, obviously, since no one back then was comparing werewolf ranks or power levels. But there is a lot of info about werewolf eyes in folklore; more than you might think.

First up, and my favorite, is Norse mythology and its shapeshifters, who have very interesting eyes.

The shapeshifters of Norway and Iceland were called eigi einhamir, or “not of one form/skin.” There are a lot of other terms associated with them, and they are, quite frankly, very awesome. But most importantly for this post, they are described as,

He [the shapeshifter] follows the instincts of the beast whose body he has made his own, but his own intelligence is neither clouded nor snuffed. The soul remains unchanged, and hence the mirror of the soul, the eye, can by no art be altered.

(Montague Summers, Werewolf, page 242. And no I’m not using proper academic citations, but it’d give you a headache trying to read them, anyway, so I’m keeping it simple this time. I am so tired of academic citations.)

Does this mean their eyes look human all the time, even in animal and/or werewolf form? Or is it just the same color? It doesn’t really specify, so that’s up for you to interpret.

Moving on to other regions and time periods, there are actually lots of instances of werewolves having all kinds of eyes. This includes red eyes, especially in the Early Modern period from writers like Henri Boguet and a few others.

And, of course, plenty of werewolves have yellow eyes. Because, well, that is wolf eyes. But they “glint” more than wolf eyes - many werewolf accounts and stories will specify “glinting” eyes - and shine with inhuman intelligence. That’s very, very common in folklore (because in folklore, werewolves were not stupid).

Other descriptors for werewolf eyes, other than the glinting, include “mournful.” Some are also described as being “light” eyes in certain Northern European cultures (which were also described as “horrid,” probably because that was very creepy to see), which is believed to be a way of saying that they had eye colors wolves are not capable of having, but humans can have (such as blue, green, and grey), and others were specified to have those colors.

Still more descriptors include “sharp” eyes, “great and large and watchful” (the better to see you with, I guess), and others.

And, of course, in the later periods, when werewolves were being turned into evil things in legend (whereas they were often good or at least relatable before), these intelligent werewolves are described as having “evil” eyes, “hellish” eyes, and eyes “blazing with hellish fury.”

If you ask the scientists from whom we now get the term for the mental illness “clinical lycanthropy,” werewolves (and by that they mean people who believe themselves to be wolves, not actual folkloric shapeshifting werewolf beliefs) have dry eyes and cannot cry, because they often have some kind of accompanying disease.

And lastly, we get an interesting one, which is eyes of fire. Some werewolves in legend are described as having “blazing” eyes (similar to that hellish fury one), “flaming” eyes, and, as mentioned, “eyes of fire.” So were their eyes made of fire? Were they actually on fire? Is that all just a metaphor for how scary and/or angry they were? Some people take it literally and give them flaming eyes, which, hey, that’s pretty badass.

Some werewolves also had wolf eyes all the time, or at least animal-colored (such as yellow) eyes, as one writer, Boguet, persistently mentions that werewolves have eyes that are “mirrors to the bestial soul,” and that “the eyes of a werewolf even in human form are unmistakably animal.”

So there are lots of different takes on whether werewolves have human eyes all the time, animal eyes all the time, or something in-between (in my setting, Wulfgard, I personally go for something in-between - you’ll be hearing a whole lot about that in the future, don’t worry).

Want a simple list version of werewolf eye colors? Here you go:

The same eyes as their human form (does this mean their eyes looked human? Maybe, maybe not, but they definitely retained the color at least)

Red eyes

Yellow eyes

Orange eyes

Flaming eyes/eyes of fire

Blue eyes

Green eyes

White/grey eyes

Whatever kind of eyes they have, they are definitely always intelligent (often eerily so), and they are definitely always very alert and keen. And in case you were wondering - yes, werewolves definitely have exceptional eyesight!

And this is to say nothing of their powers related to eyes, of which werewolves have many. Keep an eye out for that in another post!

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff!

Patreon --- YouTube --- Wulfgard --- Werewolf Fact Masterlist --- Twitter)

#werewolf #werewolves #werewolf wednesday #werewolfwednesday #random werewolf fact #folklore #lycanthropy #lycanthrope #lycanthropes #folklore thursday #folklorethursday #shapeshifting #shifters #wolf shifters #I just gave away that I'm American by spelling it color

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crystalninjaphoenix · 6 years ago

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Legacy Torch

More Branded AU cause this drawing happened and I immediately knew there was a story behind it that needed to be told. It is the beginning. I mean, not the *very* beginning but where it all started nonetheless. Remember, the Branded AU is made by Jay, @blade-of-memeora! Go check it out on their blog!

Jamie knew he should be in bed by now. His parents had a very strict rule: bedtime is ten o’clock, no later. But it was now nearly eleven, and they hadn’t appeared in the living room doorway to tell him to put the book away and go get his pajamas on. That could mean only one thing: they were in the attic again.

He wasn’t sure what they kept up there. Whenever he asked, Mom always changed the subject and Dad said it was too dangerous for a thirteen-year-old to get involved in. Whatever that meant. His imagination had traveled the road from illegal activity to government agents to aliens. But most likely none of those were the case. It was probably something boring for adults.

Though he hated to admit it, JJ was actually starting to get tired. His eyelids were drooping too often to concentrate on the words of his science fiction novel. Maybe he actually should go to bed. He slid a bookmark in between the pages and closed the book, setting it on the end table and stretching.

There was a noise. JJ froze. That didn’t sound like the normal night time creaking of their old wooden house. It sounded...deliberate. And he couldn’t quite identify it. “Hello?” he called out. “Mom? Dad? I promise I’m going to sleep now.” He listened for their reply, but got nothing. Just when he was wondering if he was imagining things, he heard it again. Like knocking. Uneasily, he crept in the direction he thought it came from, the stockings on his feet muffling his footsteps.

He ended up poking his head down the hallway. The door to Dad’s study was open, though there was no light coming through the crack in the doorway. Even still, he was sure that was where the noise was coming from. In fact, there was another noise, like something sliding. Had he been mistaken about where his parents were? JJ hesitated, then figured he should check to see if it really was them or if something had just fallen...repeatedly.

He pulled the study door open a bit, but didn’t go inside. The lights were off, and it was pretty dark, but the light of the moon was coming in the open window, enough for his eyes to see a moving figure. He instantly picked up on three things that were wrong. One, the window shouldn’t be open. Not only had it been closed last time he went in here, but Mom was obsessed with keeping all the windows and doors locked after sundown. Two, the moving figure was not either of his parents. It was obviously a guy, so it clearly wasn’t Mom, and it was too slim and short to be Dad. Three, the guy had an animal head. Obviously it couldn’t be an actual animal head, but that’s what it looked like. He could see the curved triangles for the upright ears, and when the guy turned sideways he could make out what looked like a snout, like for a fox or wolf of some kind.

This guy wasn’t supposed to be here. Jamie could feel his breath quickening, but his feet were glued to the spot. He just watched as the guy fussed with the papers on Dad’s desk, opening the drawers too. When the guy turned his attention to the filing cabinets around the room, JJ suddenly found his feet could work, and he scurried away.

There was an intruder! A burglar of some kind, maybe? Did burglars wear masks? As soon as the thought occurred to him, Jamie remembered. Wasn’t there something going on with people in masks right now? He remembered watching things on the news about masked people robbing stores and houses. His parents always went quiet when stories like that came on.

His parents! He should tell them. They’d know what to do. He’d check the attic, see if they were really there. He took a deep breath and started walking down the hallway, listening very carefully for any creaks in the floorboards. When he reached the staircase and started climbing up, he kept to the edges and away from the center. He read in one of his books that there was less chance of making a noise there.

Once he reached the second story, he scurried forward towards the trapdoor in the ceiling, pulling down on the rope to open it. The ladder fell down with a rattle, but more importantly there was light up there. That meant that his parents were up in the attic. With another deep breath to calm his pounding heart, he climbed up the ladder.

“Jameson Daniel Jackson! What did we tell you about coming up here?”

“Dad!” he cried, pulling himself up onto the attic floor and standing up. “This—this is important.”

His dad was a big man, though not a large one, with blonde hair pulled back in a mini ponytail and an impressive mustache/beard combination. JJ didn’t resemble him much, except in the eyes and ears. He looked more like his mom, a slender woman with rich brown hair and brown eyes behind glasses. Currently, those eyes were giving him the Mom Stare of Death. “Is it important enough to break our first rule?” she asked sternly.

JJ nodded. “Yes! Yes it is! There’s someone in the house.”

The shift was immediate. His parents went from disapproval to alert in a millisecond. “Are you sure?” Dad rumbled.

He nodded even more urgently. “I’m sure! I saw him. Well, I didn’t get a good look because it was dark, but he was in your study, and—and I think he was wearing a mask, it looked like a dog or something…”

The tension immediately cranked up the moment the word “mask” left his mouth. His parents exchanged looks. They...they were afraid. The realization sent a jolt through Jamie’s stomach. Parents weren’t supposed to get scared.

“Charles, what do we do?” Mom whisper-shouted, panic evident in her voice.

“I’m not sure,” Dad answered, running a hand across his mustache in thought. “They’re strong. We might not be able to fight him off. We...we might have to run.”

“And leave all this? When we’re so close?” Mom gestured to the room. JJ took that as a sign to look around. The attic wasn’t quite as big as the rest of the house, but every inch of it had been packed full of stuff. Hanging lamps in the ceiling shed light on stacks of boxes, newspaper clippings with bold headlines and photographs of masked people pinned on corkboards, maps on tables, and sticky notes across every surface. Lines of thread connected the scraps of paper. It looked...like something you might see in a crime show, for when the detective character goes crazy chasing down their criminal nemesis. Was this what they were working on? Some sort of conspiracy?

“I know, Martha,” Dad said wearily. “But we can always rebuild it. This is our lives we’re talking about. And...Jamie.” He looked down at JJ.

Mom paled, seemingly guilty for forgetting about her son. She nodded. “Alright. But should he stay here? I don’t think he knows about him, just us. If something were to happen…”

“No!” Jamie burst out. He squeezed past Dad and flung himself at Mom, wrapping his arms around her. “I want to come too! Don’t leave me!”

Mom patted his head. “It wouldn’t be forever. We’d only need to get out of the house and shake off the masked. We wouldn’t leave you here, Jamie.”

“It—your mother’s right.” Dad stepped forward. “It’ll be safer up here. And we’ll come back. We promise.”

“Dad, I’m not a moron. I know you might not. You...you always said whatever this was is dangerous. W-well! Now I know why. And I know it’s not fair to promise that.”

“We’re going to come back,” Mom said insistently. She tilted JJ’s head up so he was looking her in her tear-rimmed eyes. “But we can’t risk you coming with us. Jameson, I...I don’t think either of us could stand to see something happen to you. Your safety is our priority. So please...just stay here. At least until morning.”

He’d never seen Mom cry before. The sight cracked his stubborn resolve. “Okay, Mom,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Mom pulled him close and hugged him tightly. It was too short; time was of the essence. When she let go, Dad swooped in to take her place with a squeeze. “We love you, Jamie,” he whispered.

“I—I love you too,” he said. His eyes were watering, but he blinked them away. He had to show he was okay with this.

His parents slowly headed back toward the attic trapdoor. Before they climbed down, each one of them blew a kiss at him. After a moment, the ladder folded back into place, and the trapdoor swung closed.

Jameson didn’t know what to do. He didn’t feel sleepy anymore. On the contrary, he was full of nervous energy, listening for any sign of something going wrong. To take his mind off things, he started examining the room in closer detail. The largest table in the center of the room was taken up by a large and very detailed map of their city and some of the surrounding area. Little flags were set in strategic locations. The other tables held maps of other cities, maps of remote towns, and one had a map of the whole country, cities marked with X’s in black marker.

Before he could take a look at anything else, though, he heard it. A crash, coming from downstairs. His heart twisted. He made it halfway toward the trapdoor before he remembered how he’d promised to stay here. But he kept staring at the trapdoor as more crashes echoed up. And then Mom screamed.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand by and listen. They were his parents, for god’s sake. They had to be alright. The trapdoor opened, ladder clattering to the floor. He climbed down, not bothering to look where he was putting his feet.

A problem became clear immediately. There was a hole in the floor of the hallway, as wide as the hall itself. A hellish red glow was coming up from beneath. Jameson looked down. He could see the first floor hallway below. It was empty, the red glow coming from somewhere else. He swallowed nervously, then took a running start and leaped across the hole, stumbling on the other side but still making the landing. Next stop, stairs. He ran down them two at a time.

The first floor hall was a mess. There were deep gouges in the walls. Like something had scraped along it, scooping out plaster. There were parts where the wiring was exposed. And there were still more crashes, coming from the kitchen. The glow was coming from there too. Jameson ran forward, darting inside.

He was met with a scene so terrible he couldn’t believe it. Mom had fallen, leaning against the fridge and pressing a hand to a spreading patch of red on her shirt, while Dad was standing over her, a large knife in one hand and what looked like one of the floor lamps from the front room in his other. He was glaring at a man in a copper mask, shaped like some sort of dog with upward ears. The man had red hair that was glowing, and his eyes were glowing the same. Scribbles of red light were dancing around his hands and fingers, darting out seemingly on their own and hitting random spots nearby. Every time the bolts connected with something, they left a small, smoking crater behind.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t possible. He—he had to do something. He looked around. On total impulse, he ran over to the nearest counter and grabbed the toaster, pulling its plug out of its socket. He threw it at the red man.

The chaotic red blasts suddenly jumped into organization, forming bands that wrapped around the back of the man, protecting him. The toaster was caught in the bands, which latched onto it and fizzled and sparked, growing too bright to look at before dropping the shocked and blackened husk of the appliance to the ground.

The man’s head whipped around. Jameson froze the moment those glowing red eyes locked onto him, but luckily it seemed the man was frozen as well. Maybe surprised by the presence of a child?

“Leave him alone!” Dad threw the knife. It was a good throw, blade first and aimed right at the red man’s head, but it was no use. The bands of red electric chaos swiveled around, catching it and burning it just like with the toaster. And in the movement, Jameson noticed something. Like...strings? Attached to the red man’s neck and wrists. He hadn’t noticed them before because they were the same color as the energy, but once he did notice...they seemed odd. He watched as one twitched, seeming to pull, and all of a sudden the man had turned back around to face his parents. The bands of red disbanded, once again becoming nothing but energy. The red man raised his open hand, and the energy gathered.

“No!” Jameson shrieked, rushing forward. Dad did the same on the other side, lamp raised in one final hurrah. It wasn’t enough. The energy exploded, a concentrated blast of chaos like someone had harnessed the power of dynamite to go in only one direction. Jameson instinctively stopped in his tracks, throwing his hands up and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he wished he hadn’t. “No no no no!”

He didn’t even care about the red man anymore. He ran right past him, kneeling next to his parents, landing in a warm puddle. “Mom! Dad!” He grabbed them, shaking their fragmented bodies. It was clear from before he even tried that it wasn’t any good. They couldn’t get up in this state. There was so much blood. It was on his hands, his arms, even his face. When did it get on his face? A splash from the initial blast that had made it past his arms when he’d flung them up in defense? There were no tears. Because there was no grief yet, just shock and disbelief and sheer, utter pain. He looked up. The red man was still there. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could.

The man wasn’t doing anything. Just staring.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. There wasn’t supposed to be a kid here. Why was there a kid here? What did he do about that? And now the kid was just looking at him with—with fear and anguish. He looked—he looked like him. Like him as a child.

He’d been a kid once. Before—before there was a mask. He’s wearing the mask now. But it hadn’t always been that was. What—what happened? He remembered seeing someone in a mask, going after someone else, he’d tried to step in, and another one had swooped down like an owl going after a mouse, and then—and then—

He gasped, stumbling backward. His eyes flickered from their red glow to plain blue. No, no, no this wasn’t—he wasn’t—he was looking around, fully taking in his surroundings for the first time in what felt like years. Everything was red. There were bodies—oh god, you couldn’t exactly call those bodies, could you? And the heat. It was suffocating, scorching. It was coming from him, from whatever this energy was. Couldn’t the kid feel it? As he watched, the energy started roiling, writhing. No no no, this belonged to him, didn’t it? He could’ve sworn it did. But it wasn’t acting like it belonged to him, it wasn’t listening to his desperate commands to stop. It was just getting wilder, becoming a whirlwind.

His hands flew to the mask. It was burning red-hot, and he instinctively jerked away, letting out a shriek as he stumbled backwards. But he had to get it off, so he reached up again and tried to pull it away. But it was too hot to touch. His back hit a wall and he slumped downward. It was burning, burning, burning, too much to even scream, just whimper.

The red man was backing away, but that didn’t mean much when this—this red chaos was bouncing off the walls, whirling crazily. It was doing more than gouging through walls, it was tearing right through them in places, picking up every object in the kitchen and throwing it across the room, where they crashed into the walls and made even more gaps.

Jameson was screaming. He didn’t know if it was words, pleas to stop, or if it was just a reaction to the blades of heat that were running across his skin. There was no damage, but it hurt worse than hell. He had to get out. He had to—his parents—too late, he had to get out. Stay safe like they wanted him to. But it hurt. It hurt so much.

He started crawling. The red man had fallen against the wall, head bowed. Jameson tried to edge around him, so that his right side was to him. He couldn’t go all the way. Every so often, when the energy decided to surge at random points, he collapsed, curling up into a ball and wailing until he could move again. Inch by painful inch, he crept forward on hands and knees.

This was bad. Jackie—his name was Jackie, that was his name—couldn’t contain whatever this was. He was trying, but the blazing, biting heat—the heat on his fucking face—the searing, melting metal, it was too much. He felt it, felt the heat building up inside. The kid had managed to make his way to the nearest door, right next to Jackie himself. He needed to get out, before—

Another red explosion. This one, undirected. It flung out in all directions, absolutely destroying the wall Jackie was leaning against, leaving him laying on the ground. He couldn’t see the kid anymore, just red gusts of seething energy. Jackie closed his eyes. It wouldn’t let him pass out until this energy had been expelled in this chaotic way. So he lay there, with no energy but somehow still twitching and jerking, and let everything burn around him.

When the blast came, Jameson was picked up and hurled far away, going right through one of the gaping holes in the kitchen walls and flying until he hit a more intact one. He landed hard on his left side, but he was more concerned with the right. And he kept screaming. His arm—his arm was torture, agony slicing up his nerves. His eye felt like it had a thousand knives shoved inside. The tears were coming now, tears of pure pain. He couldn’t move it right arm. Why couldn’t he—why couldn’t he feel it? Why had half his vision gone dark?

It was still here. The energy. Grabbing at the walls, ripping out plaster and electrical systems, reducing furniture to matchsticks, demolishing everything. He was wailing, but the red was in his throat, ripping it up and shredding it. The harder he screeched, the more he let in, the less he could breathe as he choked on red pain.

He didn’t remember the moment he lost consciousness.

Jameson opened his eye to white, and he immediately closed it again. Everything hurt. Not the intense, slicing, burning pain of before, just a constant, dull ache. But that didn’t mean it was comfortable, especially after the relief that was unconsciousness. But once he got used to the aching, he noticed that he was lying in a bed. An unfamiliar one. There were bandages around his right eye, and around his right arm—no, the place where his right arm used to be. It was torn off in that electric storm of energy. Same thing probably happened to his eye.

After a moment, he cracked open his eye again. He immediately recognized that he was in a hospital. Soft light was shining through a nearby window, bouncing off the white walls. There was a bag of clear liquid and a bag of red liquid—blood, each feeding into his left arm through a tube and needle. He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t. Too much effort.

“Oh! Here, hon, let me help you with that.” Jameson let out a soft gasp as he realized there was a nurse in the room. She’d been on his blind side, and he had to turn to look at her. She picked up a small remote, connected to the bed with a cable. “See, here you can make the bed move up and down. I’ll do it for you right now, but if you feel up to it in the future go ahead. If not, this red button will call a nurse to help you out. Okay?” She waited for Jameson’s confirming nod. “Okay, hon, just indicate when.”

When the bed reached the appropriate angle, Jameson tried to tell her to stop, but what came out was a small start of a word that immediately cut off. His throat didn’t hurt. He could still talk. But when he tried it just—it felt like he was back there, seeing and tasting nothing but red.

Luckily, she seemed to get the point. “Alright, here we are.” She put the remote on the bed, near Jameson’s left hand. “D’you remember what happened, hon?”

Jameson slowly nodded.

The nurse smiled. “Well, that’s good. That means you probably don’t have a concussion or damage to the brain. Do you feel up to talking about it?”

He hurriedly shook his head, crying out a bit when it shot pain down his neck.

“Don’t move if it hurts, hon. It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” She smiled reassuringly. “But the police are pretty stumped. They said it looked like a bomb went off, at the same time someone started a fire and a lightning bolt hit the house. I...I’m sorry, dear, but there’s nothing left. And…” she hesitated, clearly reluctant to say this next part. “...and...you were the only one they found.”

Jameson nodded, showing that he knew that. He closed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears. His parents were dead...Mom and Dad were dead. Trying to get out so he could stay safe. Well, he’d certainly stayed safe, hadn’t he, running in to find them and ending up missing some body parts? The tears managed to escape.

“I’ll leave you for a bit, dear,” the nurse said softly. “I’ll get the doctor. If you feel like talking then, she’d be happy to listen.” Her footsteps retreated. A door opened and closed, and then there was nothing.

He wouldn’t feel like talking then. He doubted he ever would again. Opening his eyes, he stared at nothing. Why had this happened? His parents had been investigating something, hadn’t they? Something to do with all these masked people...he’d seen the photographs and newspaper clippings in the attic, they were all related to the masked. So...did they send one of them after them because they found, or were about to find, something important? And when this guy had seen Jameson, the guy...freaked out? Maybe he had orders to destroy the evidence too, and went a little bit overboard.

Jameson reached up and wiped his tears away with his left hand. Well, he’d have to get used to that. Maybe he’d get a prosthetic. Or maybe he could make one? If he could even figure out how to do that. And what about the eye? God, he’d have to get used to a lot, wouldn’t he.

He sighed deeply, resuming his staring contest with the opposite wall. Mom and Dad had been onto something, and they’d died for it. That meant one thing.

He’d have to finish what they started.

#im sick but luckily i got this written last night!#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #branded au

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achrisstevenson · 5 years ago

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The Illustrious Wendy Van Camp Interview!

Author Interview: Chris J. Breedlove

October 23, 2019

Wendy Van Camp

2 Comments

I asked Author Chris Breedlove what his motto for being a writer was. He answered:

A Writer is… A humble, receptive student and negotiator But the heart that beats within his/her breast Is a determined savage Unfamiliar with surrender

Please welcome this savvy science fiction author to No Wasted Ink.

My name is Chris Harold Stevenson and I’m 67 years young. I go by the pen name Christy J. Breedlove for my YA books and stories. Yes, I changed gender entirely. That’s another story.

My early writing accomplishment were multiple hits within a few years: In my first year of writing back in 1987, I wrote three SF short stories that were accepted by major slick magazines which qualified me for the Science Fiction Writers of America, and at the same time achieved a Finalist award in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. This recognition garnered me a top gun SF agent at the time, Richard Curtis Associates. My first novel went to John Badham (Director) and the producers, the Cohen Brothers. Only an option, but an extreme honor. The writer who beat me out of contention for a feature movie was Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park. My book was called Dinothon.

A year after that I published two best-selling non-fiction books and landed on radio, TV, in every library in the U.S. and in hundreds of newspapers.

I have been trying to catch that lightning in a bottle ever since. My YA dystopian novel, The Girl They Sold to the Moon won the grand prize in a publisher’s YA novel writing contest, went to a small auction and got tagged for a film option. So, My latest release is Sceamcatcher: Web World, and it’s showing some promise. I’m getting there, I hope!

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I considered myself a writer when I published the two shorts in Amazing Stories magazine. I actually considered myself an author after my first non-fiction book was published and hit the media. It seems I had to have legitimate credits in order to claim such status.

Can you share a little about your current book with us?

I can give you the basic summary, or the extended blurb:

When seventeen-year-old Jory Pike cannot shake the hellish nightmares of her parent’s deaths, she turns to an old family heirloom, a dream catcher. Even though she’s half-blood Chippewa, Jory thinks old Native American lore is so yesterday, but she’s willing to give it a try. However, the dream catcher has had its fill of nightmares from an ancient and violent past. After a sleepover party, and during one of Jory’s most horrific dream episodes, the dream catcher implodes, sucking Jory and her three friends into its own world of trapped nightmares. They’re in an alternate universe—locked inside of an insane web world filled with murders, beasts, and thieves. How can they find the center of the web where all good things are allowed to pass? Where is the light of salvation? Are they in hell?

What inspired you to write this book?

It all started with a dream catcher. This iconic item, which is rightfully ingrained in Indian lore, is a dream symbol respected by the culture that created it. It is mystifying, an enigma that that prods the imagination. Legends about the dream catcher are passed down from multiple tribes. There are variations, but the one fact that can be agreed upon is that it is a nightmare entrapment device, designed to sift through evil thoughts and images and only allow pleasant and peaceful dreams to enter into the consciousness of the sleeper.

I wondered what would happen to a very ancient dream catcher that was topped off with dreams and nightmares. What if the nightmares became too sick or deathly? What if the web strings could not hold any more visions? Would the dream catcher melt, burst, vanish, implode? I reasoned that something would have to give if too much evil was allowed to congregate inside of its structure. I found nothing on the Internet that offered a solution to this problem—I might have missed a relevant story, but nothing stood out to me. Stephen King had a story called Dream Catcher, but I found nothing in it that was similar to what I had in mind. So I took it upon myself to answer such a burning question. Like too much death on a battlefield could inundate the immediate location with lost and angry spirits, so could a dream catcher hold no more of its fill of sheer terror without morphing into something else, or opening up a lost and forbidden existence. What would it be like to be caught up in another world inside the webs of a dream catcher, and how would you get out? What would this world look like? How could it be navigated? What was the source of the exit, and what was inside of it that threatened your existence? Screamcatcher: Web World, the first in the series, was my answer. I can only hope that I have done it justice.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I’m a fruit salad of other known writer’s influences. Oh, like what I consider stylists: Poul Anderson, Virgin Planet, Peter Benchley, The Island and Jaws, Joseph Wambaugh, The Onion Field and Black Marble, Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park, Alan Dean Foster, Icerigger trilogy, and some Stephen King. Anne Rice impresses with just about anything she has written. I think it’s the humor and irony that attracts me the most–and it’s all character-related

How did you come up with the title of this book?

After I had the idea/premise for the book, having researched similar works, if any, I found that I had something very unique. It dawned on me to name the book Screamcatcher since it was a play on words and it sounded impactful. Again, I researched that word and only found that it was used in a short story about a kid having a tooth extraction. I knew then that I was home free. I was continuously complimented by all of the publishers and editors who saw the title. It’s the first book in the series, and I have sub-titles for the other two as well, which are sold and just about ready for editing.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I’m not very heavy-handed when it comes to delivering messages in my books. I want to avoid any preaching at all costs. I do include the basic/standard survival, loyalty, courage and persistence themes in my young characters, as well as emotional growth and cooperation. I did hide, or rather include, a very deep and subtle message in the story that I think most will gloss over or not recognize altogether. And that is my belief that sometimes the nice guy finishes first and gets the gal. I wanted something that swerved away from the controlling, domineering alpha male that is so often seen in other works of YA and romance. I wanted a slow burn sweet romance that was touching. Quite a few reviewers recognized this message and I got kudos for it. That was a RELIEF.

Are experiences in this book based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

The main character Jorlene (Jory) is named after my sister. Although she does not resemble the FMC physically, she does so in an emotional sense. Her boyfriend, Choice Daniels, is named after my great-nephew. All of my books contain the names of my extended family members. And there are parts of them that show through in the personalities of the fictional characters.

What authors have most influenced your life? What about them do you find inspiring?

Other than those stylists mentioned above, I had direct contact with members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Alan Dean Foster, Richard Curtis, Robert Bloch, Bob Heinlein, Clive Barker, and others. From their Youtube instruction videos and articles, JK Rowling, Anne Rice, and Stephen King have inspired me tremendously with their no-nonsense attitude about hammering those keys in spite of depression, lack of motivation or pure laziness.

If you had to choose, is there a writer would you consider a mentor? Why?

That honor would go to Poul Anderson who wrote back to me habitually and gave me guidance in the industry when I needed it the most. He took out his valuable time to befriend me and answer so many questions. Can you tell I’m a dinosaur yet?

Who designed the cover of your book? Why did you select this illustrator?

Carlone Andrus of Melange Books, Fire & Ice YA division rendered the cover after reading the book. I had a different idea in mind, but she absolutely nailed it. The compliments have never stopped coming. Most of the plot is revealed on the cover but you would have to search very hard to put it all together.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Watch your spending on ads–they can be grossly ineffective. Use social media and generously interact with fellow writers and readers. Don’t abuse FB and Twitter solely for the purpose of “Buy My Book.” Join writing groups and learn from the pros. Ask politely for reviews–don’t pressure, harass or intimidate. Be creative. Target your genre readers. Offer incentives and freebies. Craft a newsletter and send it out bi-monthly. Don’t take critiques as personal attacks–learn from honest opinions. Don’t despair. Never give up. Revenge query. I run a writer’s advocate blog and I pull no punches.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

If you think that you’ve had it tough, I recommend you watch Magic Beyond Words, the life story of Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Books just don’t happen. They are nurtured and raised from infancy, just like a budding writer is. This business might quit you, but you cannot quit the business. Stay active and attentively writing.

Chris J. Breedlove Sylvania, Alabama

FACEBOOK TWITTER AMAZON PAGE BLOG

Screamcatcher: Web World

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shehulksworld · 2 years ago

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Yobrolli bogard The Queen of Brolys

Updated pinned tweet

My oc's name - Yobrolli bogard

Title - The Queen of Brolys

Age - 27 and ongoing

clone of - dbz broly, Yolanda kikou, Cammy white, and Terry bogard

Don't comment on pinned tweet🚫

Birth - oct 18

Deviantart character created on Nov 9, 2019

Anti-hero

Creator -Dr.Plotline

Writer and Artist - Yolanda kikou a.k.a supergirl3rd

Gender - Female

From - Universe 50

Deviantart story project - Yobrolli bogard The Queen of Brolys Rise to Darkness

My Backstory is Yobrolli Bogard is a clone of Yolanda kikou, Broly, Cammy white, and Terry bogard by the evil insane scientist Dr.Plotline who created her to kill all who stand in her way and burn everything to the ground for power, world domination, and become stronger

but after meeting Yolanda kikou she has a change of heart to the point where she teams up with Yolanda kikou on a Quest to restore peace to the world as it was years ago going from a very destructive clone

to a kind hearted Anti-hero who wants to do what is right to seek redemption and 5 years later she became the Queen of Brolys.

Konnichiwa Broly army my name lots of you know me as Yolanda Kikou, Yobrolli bogard the Queen of Brolys, BrolyQueen, another DBZ Broly, and Queen of Saiyans with green hair,

While some of you know me as Yolanda Kikou BrolyQueen on Discord, tina_blue_vampire on Instagram, yolandakikouqueenofbrolys on Twitch, KikouQueenofBrol on League of legends mobile version, Queenofbrolys VideogameMusi10 on Twitter, Wondegirl12 on Xbox, Gamergirl_Rukia1 and

Mortalgirl200 on psn, KikouMakoto on psn but Japanese psn account, YolandaKikou on vrchat, tina_blue_vampire my Facebook promotion business page on Facebook, Mayaunkiko on TikTok, my second Youtube channel Video game Music 0.2 on Youtube,

shehulksworld on Tumblr, supergirl3rd on Deviantart, BrolyQueen on Pinterest, Powergirl12 on Wattpad, and Yolanda Kikou on both the Reality Avatar Live streaming and starmaker.

I am the DBZ Broly

Cammy White

Terry bogard

Leona Heidern

Kale

Hellish Blizzard

Lucy

Aisha clan clan

Hitomi

Yor

Naga the Serpent

Kefla

Rila

She hulk

Angel

Ryoko

Rugal

Cham cham

Blue mary

Mai shiranui

Karin son

Lara croft

Tao Jun

Orphan

Lum the Invader girl

Elle Ragu

And Motoko Kusanagi of this broly army.

age27 i'm black female shehulk creator BrolyQueen been on youtube for 8 years i do tributes gaming models art, 18 years old and older followers only🔞

A originally back when i started the story of pumpkin and the pumpkin team in my kids years, middle schools years, and high school years as i was drawing the characters that focus on Keycara, story, and characters Cammy white was going to be able to turn into a super saiyan

With her combat skills, And originally Yobrolli bogard The Queen of Brolys rise to Darkness when i first came up with the story and the main character last year it was originally going to be a spin-off but since it takes place before pumpkin and the pumpkin team story and

Before the pumpkin team existed I decided to make it as part of the main story.

Cammy white being able to turn into a super saiyan for the pumpkin team story i came up with and wrote back when i was a kid was the inspiration of Yobrolli bogard's saiyan transformation, character, personality, and Yobrolli bogard's design was based on Broly, Cammy, and Terry.

Join My Discord server and be a part of my broly army 🥦💪 it used to be called Yolanda kikou BrolyQueen's Legendary Castle of Broly army but I changed it to Yolanda Kikou and her Broly army's chaos tower💪🥦 but anyway here is the link to it https://discord.gg/VqUhspevQc

My first channel Yolanda kikou https://www.Youtube.com/channel/UCL2A1SwT6jVXnaLik0X4_yw

My Instagram https://www.Instagram.com/tina_blue_vampire/

My Twitter https://twitter.com/Queenofbrolys?t=VVww3RflCenjZEP08M4iZw&s=09

My Tumblr http://www.Tumblr.com/blog/shehulksworld

My Pinterest https://www.Pinterest.com/superphinex23/

My Deviantart art page https://www.deviantart.com/supergirl3rd

My Twitch channel https://www.twitch.tv/yolandakikouqueenofbrolys

My second Youtube channel Video game Music 0.2 https://www.Youtube.com/channel/UCgxG_Z2wLDURFTB8XhaxEEA

My Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/user/powergirl12

My Reality Avatar live Streaming page https://reality.app/profile/96911473?adj_t=8ogcewh_z9yhix5

My Facebook Following promotion Business page https://www.facebook.com/tina_blue_vampire-102156688744242/

My two Facebook groups called Broly army https://www.facebook.com/groups/198303941742416/?ref=share_group_link

https://www.facebook.com/groups/485533572658060/?ref=share_group_link

My TikTok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMdGE3bpG/

My Second Twitter account https://twitter.com/VideogameMusi10

And these are my another oc's Megas Shewolf and the Evil version of Yobrolli bogard The Queen of Brolys called Yobrolli bogard Black The Queen of Goku Blacks another one of The insane scientist Dr.Plotline's crazy saiyan clones ever created and her team's name is Rising Darkness.

I'm also the Isla

Dolores

Chun li

Nine the Phantom

Risky boots

Vanessa Lewis

Ayane

Asuka Kazama

Jill Valentine

Akira Kazama

Morrigan Aensland

Akiza Izinski

Giovanna

And Hsien-Ko of my broly army and I'm their leader as well.

#Yobrolli bogard The Queen of Brolys #Updated pinned tweet

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serpentsangel · 6 years ago

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Talk Me Down: Part Seven

A/N: I’ve been feeling better and have managed to write a decently long chapter and I am proud! I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far because I am enjoying writing it and I’m almost at 600 followers and I’m excited because I never thought that was possible so I want to thank every single one of my followers. Whether you started following me for my writing or just my blog in general, I want to thank you. You are awesome! <3

Plot: (Y/N) enlists the help of Reggie to prepare for her first high school party. Despite his hatred towards Chuck and parties, Reggie comes just at the right time before he could let Chuck strike again. And Reggie’s conflict between his feelings and his future collide, testing him once more.

Words: 3,750

Warnings: Underage drinking and attempted assault

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

Part Seven

“I don’t wanna do this anymore!” Reggie pouts as he closes his book and pushes it away, crossing his arm like a child as he curls up into himself and faces away from (Y/N), who rolls her eyes and picks up his books again opening them to the last page and placing a hand on Reggie’s shoulder and attempts to turn him over. “No! Let me hide! The information is evil!” He peaks over and hisses before covering his head with his hoodie.

“You’re being such a child Reggie.” (Y/N) chuckles as she gets up and pokes his ribs with her foot.”Get up, big boy. You aren’t five. I’m pretty sure you can manage to understand plant biology. It’s not that hard.”

Reggie huffs and covers himself with a blanket so (Y/N) couldn’t get him up that easily. “That’s easy for you to say. I’m just as clueless as animals are when they enter a Venus fly trap.” Reggie throws the blanket away as he manages to sit up, resting his back at the footboard of his bed as he lets out a frustrated groan. “Plant biology sucks just as much as any other Biology! Maybe I should’ve just taken something else and suck at that instead.”

(Y/N) closes her books and places them to the side as she sits down next to him. “Maybe we should take a break. You’ve hit a roadblock. That’s another tip for you, don’t overwork yourself too much, if you can feel your brain just about to explode from everything that you are trying to remember and whatnot, just take a break. Refresh your mind. Clear your mind and just, don’t think of the work while you’re on a break.” (Y/N) rests her head on Reggie’s shoulder as she lets out an exhausted yawn. “What do you wanna do while we take a break? Talk about life? Dreams? Is this what friends do?”

 Reggie laughs as he ruffles up her hair. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Well, is there anything happening in your life? How is your high school experience so far? I’m really bad at small talk so don’t have any high hopes of this conversation going anywhere.”

“You can’t count on me for that either. All my mother ever talks about is her business plans, dealings and making sure I turn up to her socialite dinner parties so she looks some what respectable for being a single mother in the rich world.” (Y/N) says, getting up from Reggie’s shoulder and stretching her aching limbs out before slipping on one of his jackets as the room starts to get cold. “I’m surprised by my ability to even carry a decent conversation with you considering how much my mother and I barely talk like this. You’re just so, easy going I guess. A natural listener and maybe that’s why I feel like I can talk to you for hours on end until you shut me up from being annoyed by my voice.”

“Your voice isn’t annoying.” Reggie mentions. “And I guess it’s just any regular part of being human is having the ability to listen.” He shrugs as he stands up. “Want to have a snack or something? My mom just went grocery shopping yesterday so I’m sure we have lots of options to choose from.” He reaches his hand out for her and (Y/N) takes a hold of it as Reggie lifts her up to her feet with ease. The two of them head downstairs as Reggie grabs himself two apples and opens up the fridge for (Y/N) to see. “What do you usually eat?”

“My mom has people that cooks for us and its always decided by her. I’ve never actually decided, on my own, what I want to eat. It’s always been predetermined by my mother, something about keeping up ‘the look’. I’ll have some orange juice, please and this apple.” (Y/N) grabs herself an apple from the fruit basket as Reggie pours her a glass of orange juice. “Thank you, sir.” She takes a big bite out of the fruit and takes the glass.  “I saw you at Vixens practice the other day.” Reggie mentions. “Thought you weren’t going to join.”

“Meh.” (Y/N) takes a sip of the juice and wipes her lips. “Yes, initially I didn’t finding the sport in itself to have some negative connotations but I want to try and be engrained in the student life that I never got to know and I have two some-what friends in there. Betty and Veronica have been such sweethearts to me and they’re kind of the reason I want to stay and not because Cheryl wants me to be the main choreographer or as she called it ‘the second coming of Cheryl Blossom’.”

“Just…” Reggie sighs. “Be careful alright. Especially with Chuck Clayton. I don’t like him. Never have and never will.”

“I may now know another boy now, Reggie but don’t be so jealous.” (Y/N) throws an apple seed his way and struggles to contain her laughter as his face squishes together at the seed hitting the tip of his nose. “He seems like the kind of guy that’d look at me like the so called freak but we share two classes together and he seems decent enough.”

Reggie tightens his grip on the apple as he bites into it intensely, trying his hardest on spilling all the beans on Chuck and risk having (y/N) label him a lier and a monster for even considering placing some serious allegations on him and if he draws her away now, then Cheryl will only make his life more hellish than before. “Jocks can be assholes, I’ve known my fair share of them and they aren’t pleasant people to be around, (Y/N).”

“Are you one of those assholes, Reggie?” (Y/N) teases, throwing another apple seed, this time Reggie catches it and chucks it her way. “I deserved that.” She gathers all her fallen seeds and throws them away. “I get it, you’re one of my first friends in this wild, wild, world and you’re looking out for me and I appreciate that because someone like me can get easily lost in the craziness you have grown up with but I’m handling things pretty well. And I can tell when someone is using me or is faking around me to get something from me or to use me in some crazy scheme. If Chuck is a bad guy, I’d be able to tell when the time comes. He invited me out to a party tomorrow. You should come, you’re team mates right?”

“You believe what you want to believe, (Y/N).” Reggie throws away his apple core. “I get that, but what if something happens and its too late? What are you going to do then?”

“You’re making it sound like he’s going to murder me or send me to a hospital.” (Y/N) finishes up her orange juice as she takes hold of Reggie’s hands. “I will be fine, okay? I appreciate this protectiveness of friendship and my wellbeing for being such an outsider to your world, but I’d like to experience it all in its entirety. Let me get hurt, I’ll learn from it. Let me know what betrayal is because there’s so many human emotions and trials that I haven’t properly experienced that I don’t think I can relate to anything or anyone until I feel them. Living with my mother up in Rosewoods and drained me from experiencing anything else but sadness, and neglect.” She smiles softly. “If things get unbelievably horrible, I’ll let you do the ‘I told you so.’ as I cry over ice cream and steal your jackets because this is the comfiest thing I have ever worn.” (Y/N) jumps off the chair and swirls around in his oversized jacket.

“For someone that sounds like a damsel locked up in her castle, you surely are wiser beyond compare.” Reggie chuckles. “And you can borrow my jackets on the condition that you have to wash them and return it back to me. Especially that one because it’s from my all time favourite band and I use it in my free days.”

“Deal.”

“Also, don’t get yourself caught up too much in a mess. High School isn’t as glamorous as it seems on the screen. If you trip off the wrong person, who knows what kind of chain reaction that’ll set off. Make sure you know who you’re letting in and make sure you keep the terrible out. It’s very much like a jungle, it’s survival of the fittest and if you can’t keep up and adapt, then you’ll miss out.”

(Y/N) stood up proudly as she smiles at him. “See? You know something about animals and ecosystems. So, what do you say? Ready to get back at it?”

As night rolled around (Y/N) realizes it’s time to head home, if she wants to make it to school in one piece on Monday. She pokes Reggie’s side as she picks up all her things. “As much as I’d like to stay and watch you draw tigers all over your notebook, I have to head home before my mother turns to Freddie Krueger and tries to go at me.” (Y/N) tugs at Reggie’s hoodie that she has on, wrapping her arms around herself, basking in its warmth.

“Right, right.” Reggie gets up and follows (Y/N) out of the door. “Get home safe, alright? Text me when you arrive and if you don’t text by midnight, I’m going to assume your mother killed you and I’ll call 911.” The two of them laugh at the idea.

“You got it, sir and thanks for today. Even though we were studying and learning about boring things, I had fun. You’re a cool guy, Reggie. Don’t ever change that.” (Y/N) gives Reggie a tight hug before running over to her car where Torres wasted no time in driving off, he himself not wanting to feel Margareta’s wrath. Reggie stands there and watches her drive off, feeling a part of himself chip off each time he watch her go because each time he does, it only means he’s getting a step closer to watching her leave for good and the mere thought of it has slowly been growing much more sour. And though he can’t change her mind about Chuck, without him seeing like a dick himself, the least he can do is protect her from him and even though he promised to never go to another party after the debacle of his summer camp, the least he can do is attend Chuck’s party. For (Y/N)’s sake.

Sunday finally rolls around and that means tonight is Chuck’s party. (Y/N) woke up earlier than usual simply because the nerves of attending her first party consumes her. She skims through her closet once more and picks out one more dress and looks back at all the outfits set out in front of her but her mind still cannot decide how fancy or casual she needs to dress. On a whim, she grabs her phone and calls up the one person she can easily talk to. “Hey! What’s up?” Reggie greats her. “What has you calling me so early in the morning? Not that I am complaining because you can call me whenever or whatever. Anyways, what can I help you with?”

“What do I wear?” (Y/N) bursts out. “I have four different dresses and outfits set out in front of me and they all make me look like I’m attending a funeral and I have about five other shoes I can wear but I just don’t know what I should wear!”

“Are you seriously asking me, Reggie the ‘jeans, shirt and hoodie’ guy, for fashion advice?” Reggie couldn't hold in the laughter. “What do you need my opinion for? Are you attending some red carpet event and need my expert opinion on your look?”

“It’s for Chuck’s party, tonight.” (Y/N) groans as she falls into her bed and speaks through the pillow. “This is stressful.”

“(Y/N), it’s only eight in the morning. You don’t have to worry about this until, like, later.” The sound of dishes echo in the background as Reggie jogs up the stairs and into his own room. “Why are you so worked up about this? Is there someone you’re trying to impress?”

“No!” (Y/N) exclaims. “At least, I don’t think so. I just have never been to a party on my own and I don’t know how any of this works! The only parties I have gone through were business deal celebrations that I was forced to go to and my outfit was chosen for me! And I also want to look like I know, to some degree, what I am doing! This is the once chance I am getting to show people that I am normal and that I am human and that I can adapt! Like a chameleon with their colours.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Reggie calms her down, sitting up and grabbing his car keys. “Don’t worry about it too hard, alright? You’ll look perfect no matter what.” A pause, Reggie realizes what he’s just said and his cheeks go completely red and he’s glad (Y/N) can’t see. “I can come over and I can help you choose an outfit if you want?”

“DON’T! You are not ready to face my mother. How about I skype you or send you pictures. Your opinion really matters to me, Reggie. You’re like, my only proper friend right now. I trust you.” (Y/N) gets up and forces herself to go through her closet once more, maybe there’s something in there that can make her look a lot more lively than a funeral. She spots a few skirts and tights and throws them into the mix.

“Well I am honoured, I have my Skype set up, just call me there. I’ll see you.” Reggie hangs up. He waits patiently for the call and as he waits he quickly fixes his hair and double cheeks to make sure he is wearing a shirt just as he presses the answer button. “I feel like I’m spying on you and it feels wrong. Also, I feel like I may be the only person from school to ever see your room and let me say, I am heavily impressed.” Reggie comments.

(Y/N) waves his comment off as she adjusts her laptop screen for Reggie to be able to see her properly. “It’s going to be a secret no one will ever believe you in, sweetie. Now, I have a few outfits and I hope you’re strapped in properly because this is going to be one heck of a ride.” (Y/N) disappears off screen as she changes to a short cocktail dress that was an off shoulder with a singular sleeve that captured her body beautifully and when she steps back in Reggie had to suck in a breath. “So this is dress number one.” (Y/N) twirls around as she lifts up her foot to show off the bedazzled black velvet heels she accompanied the outfit with.

“That’s the one!” Reggie chimes in.

(Y/N) pouts. “Oh come on Reg, this is only the first outfit!” (Y/N) snatches one of the other dresses from her bed. “You’d be the worst boyfriend ever!” She jokes as she goes back to try each and every outfit she gathered together and through it all, Reggie sat down, gave comments and eventually it came down to the verdict. “So, what do you think?”

“Honestly, wear all of them at once because you looked awesome in all of them!” Reggie says.

“I’d look like a freaking balloon if I wore all!”

“Well, I did like that fourth one you had BUT if you wore the baby blue skirt with the long sleeved, off shoulder top, with the light grey tights and those heeled boots then I think you got yourself the outfit of the night!” Reggie leans back comfortably and proudly. “Honestly, maybe I have a lot more fashion taste than I credit myself.”

“I like that too and maybe try wearing something other than a shirt and hoodie to school.” (Y/N) smiles. “Now, I’ve got some things to do, but will I see you at the party?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

By the time (Y/N) got there, the music was pumping and there was a hoard of bodies just swarming out of the place stumbling here and there and she was insanely terrified at first. It looked like it came straight from a horror film and the sight itself almost deterred here away but people have already spotted her and if she turns away now, then she’ll only give them another reason to talk behind her back. Pushing through a few drunk people, (Y/N) finds an opening in the living room, a game of spin the bottle starting as she moves towards the kitchen where she finds Chuck managing a few drinks. He spots her and lights up as he shoves through his friends to get to her. “You made it! Grab a drink, we’re about to start a game!” Chuck waltz into the living room, (Y/N) quickly grabs a drink and follows him. She spots Betty, Veronica and Archie and goes to sit next to them.

“I thought this was only going to be a small gathering of friends?” (Y/N) questions. “I feel like I walked into a b-tec frat party.” She shouts over the music into Veronica’s ear.

“Whenever a high school jock says he is throwing a ‘small’ gathering at his place, this is what he actually means. It’s kind of lingo for a house party. Rarely ever does someone actually hold a small gathering of friends for a game of monopoly or whatever.” Veronica explains as Chuck steps into the centre, announcing the commencement of Spin-The-Bottle. A few students go first and (Y/N) felt highly confused by the point of the game, you spin the bottle and you have to kiss whoever it points at? Whats the point of this?

Eventually it falls to her turn and Veronica has to nudge her in order for (Y/N) to reach the bottle and spin it, her heart racing as it slows down and she’s almost too scared to look up and see who it lands on. As the bottle comes to a halt, she follows its direction and its non other than Chuck. Right before she leans in, (Y/N) chugs down her burning drink and gulps to herself as she starts to lean in, her eyes close as her lips come in contact with Chuck’s. Everyone around them cheers as the pair kiss for a few seconds more before separating. Chuck smirks at (Y/N) as a small invisible blush creeps up on her cheeks.

The festivities go on, (Y/N) getting more drinks each time, kissing a few more of her peers before she decides she’s done with locking lips and wants to just dance and drink. Reggie comes in as everyone has reached their peak drunk threshold and he flinches as he smells the toxic air, wanting to throw up as he opens the door. His eyes wander around but despite his tall frame, he couldn’t locate (Y/N) or Chuck and there’s no use in trying to ask anyone here because they could barely hold themselves together. After a few minutes, Reggie is ready to give up until he spots (Y/N) and Chuck drunk making out in the corner and a fire erupts in the pit of his stomach and when he starts to see Chuck take her hand and lead her upstairs, Reggie couldn’t stand there.

He forcefully pushes himself through the sea of drunken bodies as he follows Chuck upstairs, watching him turn to a room. A few more people pushing and Reggie finally finds the door, bursting through just as Chuck was about to crawl on top of her. “Get the fuck away from her, Chuck!” Reggie pulls him off of her, Chuck tries to put up a fight but his drunken state prevails as he falls over. (Y/N) groans on the bed, half asleep as Reggie swiftly picks her up over his shoulder. He struggles to bring her through the party but he manages to get her outside where he carries her bridal style. Torres spots this and immediately runs over.

“What on earth happened in there?!” He screams.

 “It’s a high school party, smartie. I know how horrible her mother is and I need your help.” Reggie begs. Torres nods as the two of them get her into Reggie’s car.

“Her mother left earlier and won’t be back till tomorrow noon. If you can get her well and safe from school, I will tell her mother that (Y/N) made it home safe and is in school.” Torres hurries for his card and gives it to Reggie. “Please protect her, because I am seen as nothing more than a driver and Madame will kill both of us if anything were to happen to her. That’s my number, keep me updated. If you need help, I will come over and retrieve her.” Torres takes (Y/N)’s phone from her purse. “Her mother has a GPS tracker on here and if she sees her anywhere that isn’t home then we’re all screwed. Here.” He hands Reggie a spare phone. “Use this.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure she is safe.” Reggie assures him as he gets her safely strapped in. As he drives home, he looks over at (Y/N) laying sweet and sound in the back of his car and his mind wanders around, a comfortable flame sparks in his body and he shakes it off, knowing that soon he’s going to have to shatter her completely. He pushes aside his personal feelings as he clears his throat and attempts to put on his game face once more but he smacks his hand against his steering wheel as he curses to himself, looking back at her once more, seeing the peacefulness settle on her face only making his heart weigh down more.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

TAGLIST: @serpent-squad @daddyxpea @notanotherfangirl @superhalsteads @abbigail-583 @static-heart-break @thesouthside-princess @idontknowhatiwant168393 @djdre92 @maryosprinkle @jimmys-afterlife-love @sarasmismyonlydefence@ccshbh @sweetpeaprompts @fantasiasvt @flannels-and-fire @xeniarocks

Want to be added to the taglist? Just message me and I’ll add you into the next chapter!

#reggie mantle #reggie mantle imagine #reggie mantle fanfic #reggie x reader #my post #riverdale fanfic #riverdale story #fanfic #reggie mantle x reader #talk me down #raised on the wrong side #fanfic series

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eowyn · 7 years ago

Note

I don't really follow many blogs that post about the 100, but I recently got into the show and was wondering if you have any good bellamy fanfic recs? thanks!

yep! most of them are bellarke but there are a couple murphamy ones.. if you wanted gen just come and send another ask in. i would also recommend checking out @bellarkefanfictions if you like bellarke! they have lots of great lists and a very detailed tag page. so if you want a particular au/trope they probably have it

Meet Me in the Morning by monroeslittle // 25k, one shot

“I guess one of us is messed up,” he said, “and it’s part of our hallucination that the other is, too.” He paused. “Seems appropriately hellish that my mind sticks me with you.” She pursed her lips. “Likewise.” // AU. Clarke is trapped in a stupid time loop, and guess who’s trapped with her?

comments: bellarke. basically a groundhog day au.

a heavy dose of atmosphere by BerryliciousCheerio // 6k, one shot

Literally, all Clarke wants to do is sleep. // It’s five, when the mowing starts.(or: bellamy blake is the neighbor from hell, and clarke is weirdly sort of attracted to him)

based off of the au prompt: so you’re the douche that mows their lawn when i keep trying to sleep

comments: also bellarke. a pretty cute neighbors au. minor angst but mostly fluffy.

The One by KatMorningstar // 51k, 11 chapters

Octavia has decided that Bellamy has been avoiding relationships for long enough. Her solution? Badger him into auditioning for the Bachelor-esque reality dating show, The One. Bellamy’s not so sure about it, and he’s even less sure about it when he finds out he’s got the job. But he and Octavia figure out a way to rig a safety net into the show: get Clarke in as a contestant. If all else fails, he can just pretend to choose her, right?

comments: the bachelor au with bellamy as the bachelor and clarke as his safety options ;) what could go wrong?

If You Do It Right, It Is Sublime by Chash // 2k, one shot

Everyone is convinced that Bellamy and Clarke should be dating; they aren’t sure how no one has noticed they already are.

comments: so funny. very fluffy.

Survivor’s Guilt by LaughingSenselessly // 10k, 4 chapters

“There’s no one else to live for anymore.” Clarke utters those words without too much emotion. They’ve had time over the years to reflect on all the people ripped away from their lives. It’s no longer a fierce, stabbing pain, just a kind of endless ache that surges and subsides with every breath they take. After all their efforts, they failed. The story of the Skai Kru would die with them. “We’re the last of our people.”

Bellamy finally looks up at her tone of voice and after a pause he says, slowly, “We don’t have to be.”

comments: so. angsty. but i love it. has some surprising twists. such a great read though.

The tshirt thief by Captainmintyfresh // 3k, one shot

Prompt - SERIOUSLY I NEED US TO HAVE A NO NAKED/HALF NAKED RULE IN OUR HOME…. Or maybe, upon further thought…. Never mind. With murphamy, please

comments: sooo funny. honestly my favorite murphamy fic.

cynophilia by blueparacosm // 9k, one shot

Murphy’s apartment complex is, well, an absolute nightmare.

The neighbors are loud, the lobby windows are barred, and the place holds the perpetual stench of spoiled milk and something akin to death.

But it has it’s perks, he thinks, as he strains to stretch tall enough to stare through the peephole at 4:30 pm each day, waiting for the new guy Murphy has so cleverly dubbed “207”- the mystery man’s apartment number- to walk past his door, one sun-paled leash in each tightly curled fist.

He will pet those dogs if it’s the last thing he ever does.

comments: also really funny and really cute. i relate to murphy so much in this one.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #the 100 #bellarke fic rec #murphamy #fic rec #anon #asks #sorry it isnt longer

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ekaterinakostrova · 7 years ago

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The world of Sarah J. Maas

Eh ... I have wanted to make such review for a very, very long time. The fact is that Sarah J. Maas helped me to find writers, whose books I collect and store, as the most precious treasure. One of these writers was Patricia McKilip. I will say at once, her books are not for every reader due to a peculiar style of writing, but precisely for true connoisseurs of a beautiful syllable. She is rightly considered as one the most prosaic authors of fantasy in Britain, her books are bought in all English-speaking countries, and some books are harder to find with each passing year in paper edition.

But directly returning to the world of Maas and what she shares with the work of Patricia McKillip. It is quite natural for young authors to be inspired and take ideas, or even borrow the names of characters that you've fallen in love with.

So, for example, in the second book of the dilogy "Winter Rose" (a retelling of the legend of "Tam-Leen" and "To the East of the Sun - To the West of the Moon", another stunning version of "Beauty and the Beast", and the major character of the book is called Lynn) on the pages of the second book there are characters named as Dorian and Rowan (the benefit of the paper version allows me to scribble in my copies).

The first chapter of the book "Ombria in the Shadow," which tells a story of an enchanted city that exists in the shadows with its magical inhabitants, a mirror brother of the day-long kingdom, opens its story with a chapter titled "The Rose and the Thorn" (in fact, many authors, who recreate their own version of "Beauty and the Beast", often use such combination even in the titles of books).

Sarah is a big fan of Russian fairy tales. Her dad went on a business trip to Russia, and she has a statue in the shape of a hut on chicken legs, so it's no surprise that in the series "Throne of Glass" readers meet witches with iron teethes, and in "A Court of Thorns and Roses" appears Koschei – the Immortal – the Deathless and fire bird Vassa (a short version of Russian name Vasilisa – “wise”).

"In the forests of Serre" is a luminous retelling of the Russian legend of “The Firebird”, which is about the enchanted princess turned into a Firebird. In her blog she even shared a photo of bookshelves, where she had on the shelves a figurine of “a hut on chicken legs” (Baba Yaga’s house”).

M. Zabylin considered Baba Yaga to be as a "hellish goddess": under this name the Slavs were worshiped an infernal goddess. She was offered a bloody sacrifice and was delighted with the shedding of blood. In the modern view Baba Yaga is the mistress of the forest, the Master of Animals and Birds, the almighty waving old woman, the guardian of the boundaries of "Underworld" - the realm of Death. According to this version, Baba Yaga is the guide for the souls.

An incredible Sharon Shinn also had a huge impact on Mass’s world. Shinn has an amazing romance, incredible descriptions and a great storyline. “Archangel” is an unusually beautiful story. While I was reading the first novel of the main trilogy, I understood, why the final novels seemed to many readers not so vivid as the previous ones. It was provocative, impressive and excellent in every sense.

Sharon Shinn was able to create an amazing world with her own rules and religion, combining in the laconic narrative the science of the distant future and the foundations of the ancient society, and quite accurately describes the state of people in different situations with completely different social status - the daughter of a rich merchant, slaves, nobles. And a reader has a chance to experience all these conditions of characters, and at the same time the work is written in a very simple language, but beautiful, like a woven lace. Perhaps, it's worth starting to read the entire series with the “Archangel” book, a real classic. Sharon Shinn is to some extent referred to the writers of adolescent literature, but maybe fifteen or twenty years ago there was a completely different style among young writers, a different taste and a different vision of problems that interested minds full of fantasies and fairy tales. Personally, I'm still attracted to old works, which literally got the smell of magic.

It is on the pages of the first book of “Archangel” that you can see a similarity to the story of Drakon and Miriam. I will not disclose all the details, so just strongly recommend not to miss the opportunity and try to plunge into the unforgettable story.

#acowar #acotar #acofas #acomaf #sarah j maas #world of sarah j maas #throne of glass

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cyberstabbing · 7 years ago

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The Pureblood Pretense

Okay this needs its own post. Seriously. For me, The Pureblood Pretense is on the same level as THROAM, and that’s saying something. Anyways, let’s get to it.

TPP is a series made up of four books as I’m writing this, each book making up one year, same as the HP books.

“Hold up,” a voice interrupts. “I don’t read unfinished fic.”

Yeah, yeah, I know. Even I was wary of the WIP factor when I first stumbled across it. But worry not, my child, for this fic will keep you entertained for an eternity and a half. How so, you ask? Because it’s over one million words long. 1,144,996 words. 1145k. To this day, the longest time I have been awake (hellish times at airports with ten minute naps here and there not included) was when reading TPP for the first time. It wasn’t until I was having Harry Potter themed hallucinations that I finally put the fic down and crashed for 14 hours.

Anyways, I’ll add that when Violet (aka Murkybluematter) does update with a chapter, she releases chapters that are about 40k words. And if you’re anything like most readers you’ll get a rush like no other when you receive that sweet, sweet email notifying you of the new chapter. Be sure to follow the tags on tumblr, hang around r/hpfanfiction and especially the Rigel Black forum on FF.net when the next chapter drops (hopefully this summer) to join in on the celebration. ;)

EDIT #1: The chapter dropped! Hallelujah!

EDIT #2: Another chapter dropped this summer!?!

What about the plot, you ask? Well I suck at putting that in words, so lemme pull up the description from the author herself:

The Pureblood Pretense

Harriett Potter dreams of going to Hogwarts, but in an AU where the school only accepts purebloods, the only way to reach her goal is to switch places with her pureblood cousin—the only problem? Her cousin is a boy. Alanna the Lioness take on HP. 229k

Right, so that’s the first book in the series you’re looking at. And I know what you’re thinking, “Harriett Potter?! Oh god.” But don’t worry, she goes by Harry. Or, well, Rigel for the most part. Sometimes Archie. You’ll understand when you read it.

If that wasn’t enough, here’s a fun description from the author of a fic that’s a fic of the fic TPP (The Rigel Black Chronicles by Elelith) Confusing, I know.

Summary: For those of you who haven't read Murkybluematter's Rigel Black series – What are you doing? Go read it now. If for some incomprehensible reason you haven't but still want to read this- this is what you have to know:

Harry Potter is actually Harriet Potter and she secretly exchanges place with her male cousin (Sirius Black's son) to go to Hogwarts because he wants to learn healing in America and she wants to learn potions under Potion Master Snape but Hogwarts only allows purebloods and she doesn't qualify. She makes friends with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson all the while masquerading as her male cousin and is apprenticed to Severus Snape.

Actually, all you need to know for this chapter is that Rigel Black (aka Harriet Potter) has an unhealthy obsession with Potions and is both very smart and a clueless idiot when it comes to social cues.

Stephan Sokolow wrote a lovely review of TPP on his blog. I recommend reading the entire thing even if you’ve already read TPP in its entirety. Below are some excerpts.

First, this is a damn good “Draco and other Slytherins as interesting characters” story. The interactions between Rigel’s friends remind me of Harry and co. in canon or the Scoobies (main cast) in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I really enjoy reading about them.

[…] Murkybluematter really has a talent for good pacing. The ebb and flow of threats and resolutions kept me on my toes beautifully and, if the foreshadowed build-up in the series-level conflict arc is delivered upon, this is going to be one amazingly satisfying read when I get into the later volumes.

All in all, this is one of the best fics I’ve ever read. Of the multiple gigabytes of fanfiction I’ve chewed through in the last 15 years, I’m not sure I can find half a dozen which came this close to the satisfaction I get from a good professionally published novel.

Still not convinced? Well check out this post from years ago, it’s still relevant!

FANWORKS

Check out this two-page comic of the first chapter! It’s hella well made.

And if you’ve already read it? Well go read som TPP fics! There’s a thread on the Rigel Black forum that houses most drabbles and several comments pointing one in the right direction to find more fic. Additionally, the Google doc Recomended Fics has a list on 18 TPP fics, plus more HP fics.

Some excellent TPP drabbles:

Reactions to the ruse reveal (and a bit of humor) by The Four Eyes - I was thinking about how each character might react to finding out that Harry=Rigel and Archie=AIM!Harry, and thought I'd post it here. This is mostly a way to channel my current obsession with the story since I just finished rereading.

Some excellent TPP fics:

Breaking the Lines by kitsunerei88 - Caelum's life is full of lines, between pureblood and Muggle, powerful and weak, pure and impure, fake and real, right and wrong. Harriett Potter shatters them all. A story about Caelum Lestrange, first and foremost: about his childhood, his life, and his relationship with a certain Harriett Potter. 36k

Moments of Realization by kitsunerei88 - A collection of the moments in which various characters discover or realize the ruse, and their reactions. 13k

Liar Liar by kitsunerei88 - Some people are not all that they seem to be. Rigel Black is not, and neither is Aldon Rosier. [AU post-Ambiguous Artifice] 176k

The Rigel Black Chronicles by Elelith - Approved one-shots based on Murkybluematter's Pureblood Pretense & Serpentine Subterfuge fics. Different POVs, cracky, funny, and just plain weird snapshots of Rigel Black's double life. Synopsis: Harriett Potter dreams of going to Hogwarts, but in an AU where the school only accepts purebloods, the only way to reach her goal is to switch places with her pureblood male cousin... 55k

The House of Black – Fanfic of The Pureblood Pretense Series by SakinaoftheAlleys - This takes place before anything that happens in The Pureblood Pretense, and focuses on Sirius after the death of Diana. 7k

And lastly, check out all the wonderful fanart on this site by following the tags pureblood pretense, rigel black etc etc. I’ve reblogged most of it on a sideblog under the tag the pureblood pretense: link. Here’s another comic from The Ambiguous Artifice (book three) :3