#I may still be able to offer something tailored to you!

[shannaraisles]

I lost my job.

I had been off sick for almost the entirety of April, so the final pay amount I received today was £700. That is only just enough to cover rent and utilities for one month.

I am job searching actively; I have had one interview already, though the one scheduled for today was cancelled half an hour before it was due to start. Job hunting is soul destroying.

So.

My commissions are open - the post for them has been updated. Please commission if you want to, or reblog as far as you can - I appreciate every little bit of assistance at this point.

And hey, it's not like I have a job to get in the way of writing, right?

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Another Vox enthusiasts I see? Well if I may...

Vox with a GN Hacker reader who was turned entirely digital after manifesting in hell. They don’t even have a physical form they’re completely stuck within Hell’s databases, their skills are obviously useful to him so he offers them a place on the team which they immediately accept on the condition that Vox makes them a vessel to inhabit because holy shit are they going stir crazy.

I’m not entirely sure how Vox’s abilities work but given he can at the very least project himself onto screens and the like I get the feeling that he’d plug himself into the system whenever they talk. Mostly because it keeps them grounded, they’re alot calmer when he’s actually next to them and not looking in through a screen.

I hope this didn’t get too wordy or long I just wanted to be thorough because I have massive brain rot for this techno mf-

Take your time with this request! Kisses darling <3

-📽

Dude, does anyone else remember having Shimeji's or that internet episode from Fairly Odd Parents? Cause that's what I'm about to write!

Digital Pet [Vox x Digital Reader]

When you first manifested in Hell, you were completely unaware that you had ended up in Hell itself. Because instead of manifesting in the overcrowded circle designated for sinners, you instead found yourself in a digital landscape. Countless screens surrounded you like a million portals. You could see the different shapes and sizes of the devices being used in hell and could even alter whether or not you saw what was being displayed on the screen or what the screen could see itself like a window to Hell.

At first, you had a massive meltdown. From what you could tell, you were the only one in this digital Hell custom-tailored to leave you isolated despite having access to every device in Hell. You wondered what you did to deserve the extra punishment layered on top of not being good enough for heaven, especially since you hadn't done anything particularly evil when you were alive.

You lost track of how much time passed. You entertained yourself by jumping from system to system. You'd watch shows that sinners binged, and you'd watch the city from large advertisement screens that overlooked the sinner's circle of Hell. Anything to stave off the loneliness.

One day, that all changed when you felt an electric buzz make the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You heard the voice of someone swearing and immediately pulled yourself away from the screen you had been sticking your nose into. When you turned, you saw another demon who was still sparking with some bright electric energy as he dusted himself off.

For a moment the two of you just stared at each other in shock. As far as you and Vox knew, you were the only ones who could access the digital realm of Hell's database. Vox is immediately wary, but you are thrilled as you approach him quickly.

"H-Hi, oh my god!" you breathe as you look him over. He didn't look new to Hell, but you had never seen anyone else in the same pocket of space as you before. "Did you just die? Have you seen anyone else? Did you just get here? It's been so long since I saw another person that wasn't on a screen!"

Vox blinked as you rapid-fired questions at him. He looked you over as you rambled something about the irony of his face being a screen when he finally shook his head and held up a hand to stop you.

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down," he started. "What are you talking about? How are you even here? No one else should be able to traverse through the database of Hell but me."

Vox's interest only grows as you explain your situation. "I see," he hummed as he looked you over with new intrigue. "I wonder if you have similar abilities to mine and just got caught in the in-between..."

It was easy enough for him to lure you into a deal. The sheer amount of panic you expressed when he pretended he was going to just leave you there was hilarious at the time. In exchange for you "surfing the web" for him, so to speak, he took you on as an apprentice of sorts. Vox trained your abilities and helped you hone your magic. While you had every hope of one day figuring out how to manifest in the physical realm the way he did, Vox cleverly avoided any pursuit of the possibility.

He liked having full power over you and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't starting to grow attached. While you hadn't learned anything about manifesting physically, you had learned how to appear on his screens. He'd never admit it to you out loud, but he found the tiny image of you running around on his devices and talking with him to be pretty damn adorable.

Despite his manipulation, the two of you actually slowly became friends. He found himself genuinely proud of you whenever you popped up to show him something new you had learned. There was a weird warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest when you would bounce with excitement at your new discoveries.

Sometimes you'd ask him to play a certain show or song for you. Even after you learned how to control inactive devices so you could look up anything you wanted, you still liked to ask him to play things for you just so you could watch them in his presence. You'd send memes to each other and Vox had to quickly excuse himself when you sent him a crudely drawn image of Alastor slipping on a banana peel while he was in the middle of giving a presentation at a meeting.

Vox was emotionally constipated, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell that the warm feeling in his chest was growing and he knew you were the source. He clutched his chest as he stepped into his lair and saw you sleeping on his desktop toolbar, waiting for him to come home after a long day at work. He had promised you that you'd watch the new episode of a show you'd been watching together, but his gameshow had run late.

He sits down with a sigh and traces over your sleeping form, feeling something twist inside of him as his claw only met with the cold, flat surface of a screen. He wondered what it would be like to hold you. To touch you. To have you in his arms while the two of you lay on the couch while you made him watch stupid shows instead of...

"Fuck," Vox whispered to himself as he pulled away from the innocent image of you. He clutched his face as he slumped forward in his chair. He had a decision to make.

And so do you, dear readers! I want to make a part two to this, the real question is:

[greycaelum]

Hi ! It's me again, I just wanted to add that I think you're absolutely amazing. Your writing is perfect, and out of all the stories I've read about Satoru, I feel like you have the best interpretation of him, and you do a great job of conveying that in your writing. That's why I wanted to thank you for taking us on a journey and allowing us to escape into a world with Satoru!

I also wanted to make a small request, but of course you can ignore this part if you don't feel like it! The Kaleidoscope series is by far my favorite, and I wanted to see Satoru's wife be a little jealous...he's such a simp for her, and only has eyes for her, so she never has to worry about anything, and I love that, but why not have a little turn of events with lots of fluff.

Thank you!

- Machi ⭐️

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Territorial }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Genre: fluff, a lil' wifezilla moment with y/n

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.1k)— champagne moments, homewrecker alert, PDA *in capital letters

𑁍 A/N: midterms put the nail to my coffin, but here's a glass of bubbly to that~🥂

Your husband without question is a fine-looking man. Too fine sometimes. But you could never count how many times girls bat lashes in his direction or even try to snag your man away with their sultry clothes almost showing their souls to him.

Your reaction?

Well, normal.

If you were a jealous woman having Satoru as your man is a big no, no. He catches too much attention for his own good. Both by males at work and girls at the sides.

But it never roused an extensive feeling of jealousy or envy in your side. Albeit after years of being with him that is. Others may call it arrogance or simply the steeled assurance between the two of you... But you've never been put in a critical position where you have the urgency of stating your claim over Satoru. They could kneel and lay down his feet but only you can touch your man.

You sip the champagne served for you at tonight's gala. It's an annual social gathering held by the prime minister for the Jujutsu clans. And the Gojo Clan being at the top of the Three Great Families of the Jujutsu society, you must attend for the formalities or whatnots.

What a bore...

Satoru's attitude must have rubbed on you for finding the opulent hall, with glitters and dazzle to be such a stifling event. Your eyes roamed around and found nothing worth noting except for the chocolate fountain Saika would've gone crazy about if she was here.

On the other hand, Satoru is crowded by both men and women. His mere height makes it hard not to spot him in the room. Not to add the newly tailored montsuki you had for him makes him eye-catching.

You had to ask him to let you sit after standing and greeting other attendees for so long. Now you're here sitting on the corner, catching your poise while passing boredom with your glass of bubbly.

Satoru is holding a glass of his extra extra sweet non-alcohol mocktail. Judging by the frequent sarcasm in his words and scrunched of his nose he will come to you and ask to go home before half an hour from now.

That was what you supposed until a younger lady came forward and started talking directly to Satoru ignoring the people around her as she laughed obnoxiously for your liking.

Call it a woman's instinct when you easily narrow to the side of your eyes as she tries to bend a little lower exposing a bit of her cleavage. Satoru didn't react much and continued talking anyway.

You don't know the girl's family background but from her flashy appearance, diamonds sparkling on her, you could surmise that she came from an influential family enough to be personally invited by the prime minister. She's too... gaudy.

It was only when she tried to offer another glass of champagne to Satoru by grabbing onto his arms and pushing the flute towards Satoru that your brow raised. She wasn't able to touch him because of Satoru's Infinity but it still counts as something uncomfortable for a lady to do with a married man.

People never really learned... It's funny seeing them try so hard, but there should be a limit to it.

Satoru's temple creased as well. But he wasn't able to do anything more when a hand grabbed the flute of the champagne being shoved toward him and a familiar sweet jasmine scent filled his nostrils. The sound of your zori heels against the marble floor broke the awkward atmosphere.

You took the flute from the surprised and confused girl and leisurely sipped the liquor before turning to whisper something to Satoru's ear but your eyes never left the girl. His Infinity dissolved the second you held on to his elbow.

"Hey Baby," Satoru hummed with a bright smile on his lips.

"She's. Annoying. Me." You punctuated the word before baring your teeth and sinking them in his enticing earlobe you only let go when you heard a subtle needy whine from your husband. An arm immediately wrapped on the back of your waist to steady you. Satoru mumbled an incoherent phrase as you hummed back in reply.

The small group was stunned and at the same time flushed at the sudden move from your side. You simply smiled and surveyed your eyes on the people, your eyes took their time to watch the young lady with a scowl on her face.

"My husband is non-alcoholic, I will take this drink for him." You downed the flute of bubbles in one go before giving the passing server the empty glass and bending a little to whisper in the young lady's ear.

There's a glint in your eyes that made everyone look away and slowly withdraw to scatter around the hall.

"There's a thin line between brave and stupid." You stood back straight and softly smiled. "Which one are you, little girl?"

She better thank whatever devil possessed you to drink a lot tonight that you're feeling a little too tipsy to argue. An arm snaked at the back of your waist whilst a hand landed on your hips to steady you.

Like a pup with its tail tucked between her legs, she turned her heel, flushed cheeks, and hunched shoulders as she walked to the other side of the banquet.

You rolled your eyes and looked for the nearest seat but a firm grip on your hips reminded you of the towering man holding you upright.

"Loved your little show~" Satoru chuckled as he tilted your dazed face higher so you could stare into his enthralling blue orbs. "My pretty, pretty Baby, so territorial over me, huh?"

You weren't able to answer back as he took your lips for a quick and sweet kiss, in the midst of the crowd, you both stood there. Him, with a victorious and satisfied smirk, and you, tipsy and in a stupor of the outward display of affection.

The crowd turned away, some gasped, some looked scandalized, and some were grinning ear to ear. Satoru and his penchant for lack of decorum is shining so brightly.

You're not teens anymore, you're both married for more or less 10 years, but damn this sweet man for never failing in drawing you in his touch. You gripped his haori. What's worse is you cannot bring your lips to protest.

Satoru sensed this and finally guided you away from the crowd, only after he kissed your temples one more time.

"My Mrs. Gojo." Satoru grinned.

Maybe you never needed to do this little stunt but for some reason this small pettiness makes your heart beat like a teenager head over heels for Satoru... What's more, is that—

That ought to teach them where he belongs.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

[tadpolesonalgae]

Vampire!Poly-batboys x reader: Mercy, Devil - Part 2

A/N: The poly part two to the vampire fic is here! Hope you enjoy!!

Warning: Vampirism, poly!batboys, blood, biting

Word Count: 4,154

-Part 1- -Part 3-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Thunder rolls across the perpetually stormy sky, his castle seemingly gifted with its own unique weather system. Rain lashes at the windows, criss-crossed with diamond-shaped indentations upon the glass, streaked with icy water. Lightning cracks across the dark, heavy clouds, flashing with startling light, briefly illuminating the chambers you’ve been returned to.

You swallow heavily, rousing from an empty sleep, fatigue weighing on bone marrow as you push up from the bed. The pearls have gone, replaced by a pale blue nightgown and memories of the evening you stumbled into the castle return. Right into the beast’s jaws.

Fingers trace over your throat, pockmarked with tiny puncture wounds, skin aching around the slightly swollen marks. Memories of the fear and alarm upon feeling those gleaming incisors skating across your neck rush in, the overpowering strength of his hands on your body, shoving your head to the side so he could drink deeper. The hot spill of blood as it dripped down over collar bones, the mad frenzy in previously sharp and clear eyes. He’d seemed utterly undone, at the mercy of his own hunger as he’d fed.

Your pulse spikes in your chest, fear diluting in your lifestream, breathing deepening as you hastily peer around the room. Searching for something that could possibly help keep the beast off of you. It’s a stupid thought, you know that—why would he have the means to his demise so readily available? In his own home, no less. That would be idiotic.

“Sleep well?” A low, silken voice asks, making you scream, flinching back as you snap your head to the doorway. He’d entered on completely silent feet—the door hadn’t even made a sound. “Now, now. There’s no need for that,” he chides soothingly, “you’re alive and well. No need for theatrics.” But your nails are practically tearing at the sheets with how tight you’re gripping them. Something like him—something that drinks the blood of women, relishing in draining away their youth—can be nothing but pure evil. Hell incarnate.

“Stay away from me,” you grit out lowly, back pressed against the plush cushioning of the headboard. “You have no power over me. Let me leave.”

He’s quiet for a moment, watching you intently, before lowering his head, a mix between a sigh and a laugh huffing from his lips. Raises gleaming violet to pierce into you, as if able to pin you to the bed with a glance alone. “I’m afraid I won’t be doing that,” he says amicably, still in that velvety voice of his, like satin brushing teasingly across your skin. “You see, little devil, I have lived centuries in this world. Travelled far and wide, sampled a number of women and men alike, and yet I’ve never once come across a taste quite as exquisite as yours.” Protectively, you raise your palm to your throat, as if blocking the skin from his view may serve a chance for freedom—or undo what he’s already found.

“Because of that,” he continues leisurely, as if he hasn’t turned your life upside down within the span of a breath. “I will be keeping you for myself, here, in my castle. Is everything clear?” You blink, dread sluicing through your veins.

“I’m not— You can’t do that.” You splutter quietly, incredulity and fear drenching your tone in horror. “I’m a living person. You can’t just lock me up. That’s— That’s wrong.” You manage to whisper, too shocked to bellow.

“You don’t have a choice here. Well, not one you’d like,” he muses idly, hands sliding into the pockets of his dark, tailored trousers. “What is it?” You grit out anyway, attempting to conceal your trembling fingers.

The charming smile fades from his elegant mouth, slipping into something blank and unreadable. “Either, you can agree to my generous offer and remain mine in this castle,” he says, voice turning to freezing silk, prowling toward you in the low thunderous light. “Or, I can take my final drink now, and let you pass on into the next world—or rather, into the next half world.” He reaches the edge of the bed, but you’re too terrified to move.

Even as he pulls his hand from the neatly stitched pocket of his dark trousers, you remain still. Petrified, until his icy hand settles on your throat, thumb and index finger pressing to the soft sides beneath your jaw, tilting your head to him. “You should know: I would not be kind if you forced me to turn you,” he murmurs tenderly, leaning over the bed, bracing his forearm against the headboard. “You are quite to my tastes,” he says softly, lowly, “I would hate to see you become a servant, instead of what you could be.”

“And what is that?” You manage to ask shakily, forcefully pushing yourself as deep into the headboard as you can.

Glittering violet briefly scans your features, then the edges of his mouth are curving, dipping down to nose at your throat. Sharp, piercing teeth graze the shell of your ear. “Cared for,” he answers, cold lips brushing the erogenous skin, fingers flexing around your neck. “Desired,” he murmurs softly, dipping lower, skimming the erratic pulse of your life force. “Cherished.”

Incisors scrape, and you flinch, muscles contracting with fear.

He pulls back, staring down at you from not even a breath away.

“So, my dear,” he muses, “what will it be?”

You stare at him, eyes widened, pupils no-doubt dilated with fear. You swallow thickly, overwhelmed by the intensity of him, the heaviness of his presence, the dominating sense of self rolling from his powerful figure. Pulse spikes with the thought him ending your life—would the rightness of thwarting him be worth an eternity of obeying his word? At the mercy of his absolute power?

“You wouldn’t ever taste my blood again if you turned me,” you rasp, trying to force the tremors from your voice. “You’d lose the exact thing you’re trying to gain.” Sharp eyes flash, his jaw working at your brazen answer. “Are you sure you want to test that, little devil?” He asks, voice rougher than before, anger and hunger kindling in his eyes. “I’m offering you a life of comfort and care in exchange for your compliance. Anyone can see you’re gaining much more than I am out of this agreement.”

“Which is exactly why I know you won’t turn me,” you return shakily. “Why give so much for something so unimportant, right?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw, then he’s pushing away from you roughly. “You’re being foolish,” he warns, eyes glittering with hunger. “Maybe I won’t turn you, but I believe you’re somehow forgetting I don’t need your permission to take what I want.” His fingers flex at his sides, shoulders rolling subtly before he’s sliding hands into his pockets. As if to calm the urge to pin you down and drink.

You stiffen in your place. Reconsidering his offer. If you refuse, but he decides to take anyway, where will you be kept? In some subterranean dungeon, left to lie and rot on a damp pallet of hay? Locked in some long-forgotten room, only allowed out when he wants to feed?

Rhysand senses your doubt, honing in on it like the beast he is, able to smell the indecision. “Think about it,” he says calmly, earlier hunger banished, not a trace to be found. “I have some visitors to see to, but will be back this evening for your answer,” he smiles politely, turning for the door but pausing at the threshold. “If you need a reminder of what it feels like…” You could swear his eyes darken with glee at the way your muscles contract, legs pressing together as you remain huddled to the head of the bed.

“Until tonight, then,” he grins, gleaming white teeth glittering in the low light. The door sweeps to a close behind him, leaving you alone with a choice to make. A sense of impending doom weighing in your blood.

————

You have to get out. It’s the only viable solution.

You don’t want to be stuck as a glorified chicken for the rest of your life—used until you’ve grown too old, then devoured entirely. You have no preferable choice, so you’ll have to make your own, and escaping seems like a pretty good idea.

Easing down a breath, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the pale blue cotton of your nightgown swishing softly at bare ankles. Peering around the room, you search for anything that could be used as a weapon against a…whatever he is. Some blood-sucking devil.

The neatly preserved figure of gleaming armour catches your gaze—if a weapon is to be lying about somewhere, surely it would be here? With a spark of hope in your chest, you creep forward on what you hope are quiet feet. Not that you should be too concerned. Despite how silently he can move, the castle seemed intimidating in size, and you doubt he’d be able to pick up footsteps from so much as a corridor away.

Your pulse spikes as you eye the short scabbard wrapped over the waist of the armour, slightly shaky fingers pulling on the string to move it around. There’s a handle poking from it’s top, and your heart stumbles in your chest. With trembling hands, you pull the string loose, tying it instead around your own waist, thumbing the blade free experimentally. It’s so clear you can make out the gleaming wetness to wide, frightened eyes.

Breathing deeply, you return the blade to its new home at your hip, tip-toeing for the door, hoping he will have left it unlocked. Underestimating your drive to keep your own pathing. You will not have choice taken away from you.

The handle turns, and the door swings open on well-oiled hinges.

A cool wave of relief sweeps over you, pulling it open to peer down the long, stretching hallways either side. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary to be found. Except maybe the blood-red carpeting. You should have realised how strange it was, how macabre the whole setup is. Maybe it’s a lovely colour, but not one you slather your entire house in, let alone a whole castle.

Shaking your head, you slip out over the threshold, silently bringing the door to a close at your back, before making your way down the stretching hallway. You move silently, keeping to the edges of the carpeted floor—as if you’d be able to hide from him. In the pale gown, you stick out like freezing blue lips in a rose garden.

Following the path he had taken you to dinner, you manage to relocate the entrance hall, heart beating wildly in your chest, eyes darting left and right frenetically, searching for movement. It’s an open stretch. Once you’re out there, you’ll have to go straight for the door. There’s nowhere to hide yourself once you step out into the hallway.

You take in a steady breath, then step out into the open.

Silently, you make your way as swiftly as possible down the curving case, feet padding softly along the well-polished boards, trying to keep sound to a minimum. The heavy-looking door looms before you, menacingly staring as you approach. Hairs raise at the nape of your neck, but you push away the apprehension, hands shaking as you reach for the knob.

It doesn’t shift.

You try pulling, but nothing.

You twist it harder, using both your hands, but to no avail.

Mentally you curse—you’d hoped it would be unlocked like last time. He’s seemingly taken some precautions, then. You’ll need to find another way out, or maybe the keys… Where would keys be?

They could be anywhere, you realise despairingly, and in a castle this large, you don’t have the time to spend painstakingly searching for them. You’ll have to find another exit. Every home has a backdoor, there must at least be one for the servants he mentioned—there’s no way they’d be allowed entrance through this hall.

“Who are you?”

You scream, jolting away from the voice, turning to find a man at your side—he’d been completely silent, just like Rhysand. You stumble back, hands shaking at your sides as you take in his towering figure. Wearing dark leather, surrounded by the glowing red of the castle, he cuts a terrifying silhouette. With black hair that come to his shoulders, and the eyes that feel like they can pierce straight through bone, you can feel in your blood he’s the same creature as the Lord.

The blade at your hip weighs heavily, but you know from a single look there’s no way you’d be able to do anything with it. You’re more likely to end up slicing yourself open, dripping over the blood-red carpet.

His lips part in an almost wolfish grin as he takes you in properly. “Oh, I see,” he drawls, stepping closer. “You’re one of Rhys’, aren’t you?”

“Please…” you breathe, heat building behind your eyes. “I don’t—…I just want to leave…” Lungs spasm with fear, and his nostrils flare delicately, before taking a step back. The man raises his arms placatingly, exposing his palms in a sign of peace. “I’m not stopping you,” he says lowly, still baring his teeth in a smile.

Your tongue swipes out to wet your lips, staggering a step back hesitantly, then another. Never taking your eyes from his hulking figure.

Your muscles involuntarily contract with soul-deep fear as a blood-curdling snarl rips through the castle’s interiors. A wave of bone-crushing terror smacks into you, like a flash of lightening followed by the roll of thunder as something dark pulses through the building. The man’s smile widens at the sound, turning a little feral. “Better be on your way,” he warns roughly, voice like gravel. “Before the beast catches you.”

Heart pounding, you spin on your feet and run.

You could swear his low chuckle follows on your heels as you sprint from the room, nearly stumbling over your own toes as you pass over carpets and rugs, running through doorways and dodging around rich, plush armchairs and large, heavy instruments. Fire crackles in one room but you have no time for pause, feeling that power closing in no matter how far you run.

Feet slam on the polished wood of floorboards, and you spot an open door down the stretching corridor. Without care for noise, you dart inside, snapping the door to a close, hurriedly taking in your surroundings—it’s a frighteningly large library. Cases of books tower on wide-set shelves, neatly stacked but tightly packed, perfect to hide within.

Not giving it a second thought, you make for the towering furniture, darting between the aisles as quickly and as quietly as possible, keeping your eyes wide for any sign of movement. If you can just wait until you feel this cloying power pass, you can try venturing out again.

You think back over the conversation which must have been in the morning if he said he would return at night. He’d said he’d had guests to see to—that man must have been one of them, but how many are there? Are they all like him? They must be. Unless they bring humans along with them? What if there are more beasts prowling the halls for you now that signal has practically shot lightening into anything capable of breathing within the castle?

“You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

Muscles go taut, stomach tightening as cold dread ices your skin.

You turn rigidly on your heel, coming to face another man, wreathed in darkness. Silky hair gleamed in the low library light, his sharp hazel eyes pinning you to the spot with a single look. You shake your head, managing a single wobbly steps back, before he’s slowly prowling forward, gaze trained on you like he’s finally locked in on his prey.

Turning, you stumble away, running back through the tall cases, now understanding their disadvantage. He can’t see you, but you also can’t see him. Fighting your growing terror, you break from the shelves, running toward a door that will no doubt only lead you deeper into the castle, separate from the one you came in from. But he appears before you in a blur of shadow, and you smack into the stone-like muscle of his chest—utterly freezing, utterly lifeless. Death wreathed in darkness.

You still in your spot, staring up into sharp, predatory eyes with visible terror, vaguely remembering the blade at your hip.

“What are you doing here?” He asks lowly, hands kept casually at his sides, but you don’t doubt he could strike at any moment should the desire take him. “I— Please,” you beg, internally screaming for your body to move, to turn and run from the beast before you clad in the skin of an angel. “Just let me go,” you breathe shakily, stumbling back.

The man watches you silently, coldly. “You know that’s not going to happen,” he says shortly, “either you can obey and I’ll escort you back to your room, or you can make this painful.” Your eyes widen, pressure building quickly, the blade practically searing into your skin. If you comply, you’ll probably be locked up. You’ll never escape, and choice will have been taken from you. But if you fight… Even against something as terrifying as him… It will be on your own terms.

But you’re not a fighter—at least, not in the face of this particular beast. The best you can do it run.

You spin on your heel, turning for the door, but a stone-cold hand has already gripped your shoulder and you cry out in pain. His hold is like ice, stern and unforgiving. “Fine,” he mutters, making to—

“Hold on, Az,” that voice drawls, pure terror slicing through your stomach.

One was impossible enough, but two? There’s no way. You’re going to die.

The man—Az, he’d said—stops, his grip lightening by a fraction. “She’s Rhys’, Cass. We should return her.” Muscle trembles beneath his grip, neck craning to turn to spot the other man at your back, having come in through the hallway. He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the warning gleam in the shadowy one’s eyes doesn’t bother him. “That’s his fault for letting her out,” he drawls, coming to stand closer behind you. Too close.

His hazel eyes drop to yours, that wolfish smile breaking across his lips. “Besides,” he says lowly, “you know he only keeps the good ones around for more than one meal.” The man—Cass—steps closer, hands going to your waist as he lowers to your throat, pulse spiking as he noses along the smooth expanse. “This is it,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin. “This is what I picked up, Az. She smells so good.” He pulls away, pulling your hair to the side, exposing the bare top of your shoulder and you tense, remembering how little clothing you’re wearing. How unprotective it is. “Go on,” he urges quietly, “give her a try.”

Az narrows his eyes, but relents, curiosity getting the better of him. Spine turns rigid as he dips down, nosing along the column of your throat, feeling the trembling pulse of your life-force beneath his mouth. You hear the sound of him inhaling, scenting your skin, before pulling away. “See?” The man at your back drawls. “I’ve got a good nose for these things. I told you I smelled something delicious.”

“Rhys has good taste,” the other answers flatly, “unlike some people, Cassian.” Still, his eyes remain on your throat for a little too long for your comfort.

Cassian doesn’t seem bothered by the jab, instead raising one of his hands from your hip to trace along the stuttering pulse of your heart, grazing down your neck. “I bet she tastes good,” he murmurs, and you can feel the weight of his gaze alone, hairs prickling beneath its intensity. “Cass,” the man at your front warns, voice low and cold. “She’s Rhys’. He won’t like it if you decide to put your grubby teeth all over her.”

Cassian pays him no mind, and Az’s grip on you tightens, pulling you toward him, aiming to distract the other. “When was the last time you drank?” He asks distastefully. Cassian shrugs again, “I assumed Rhys would provide a meal, and since he has such good taste,” he says pointedly, “I thought I’d enjoy myself.”

Another beastly snarl rips through the halls of the castle, and Cassian muffles a low chuckle. The man before doesn’t seem to find it as funny, the shadows at his back darkening. “What did you do this time, Az?” The man asks, lips curved with mirth.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to slip away,” Az hisses in a flash of canines. That deadly thrum of power intensifies, and you realise it must mean Rhysand is approaching. Whatever Az had done, the illusion’s over. It feels like he’s already right outside the door.

“Are you going to drink, or not?” Cassian asks, rough fingers slipping beneath the neckline of your gown, thumbing at the soft buttons at your front, slowly un-popping them in order to move the fabric out of the way of his teeth. “I don’t want to share Rhys’ meal,” Az says, a note of distaste to his words.

“Why not? It wasn’t a problem a couple of centuries ago,” Cassian drawls, challenge in his tone. “What happened? Spend a few decades fawning over a woman and suddenly all taste for adventure’s gone?” He scoffs, the taunt clear in his deep voice. “You’ve lost your touch, brother. You’re getting soft.”

A warning snarl drags from the other man’s throat, hazel eyes flicking to the door.

But Cassian sees his chance, head dipping down, incisors piercing your throat, biting down and spilling blood. Your lips part in a scream, paralysed as his venom enters your body, making your limbs feel heavy and clunky.

“Cassian,” Az hisses roughly, forcefully ripping him from you. Pain stings through your shoulder and collar bones, the only thing keeping you up being the hand at your hip and the chest at your front. Pressure wells behind your eyes at the ache, blood trickling down your skin. “What’s gotten into you? One scent catches your attention and suddenly centuries of discipline dissolves?” He snarls lowly, aware of the pulsing power that’s filling the room.

Cassian’s silent, but you can feel his body begin to tremble at your back. Fear drenches your skin as his grip tightens on you with the same display of inhumane strength Rhys had shown after his initial bite. Weakly you try to press closer to the man before you, but his attention is now trained on the blood beading at your throat, the puncture wounds already sealing over.

Terrifying hunger fills the dark hazel of his eyes, and you want to shrink away.

“You’ve got to try her, Az,” Cassian rasps at your back, voice low and strained. “Fuck, that’s the best I’ve ever had.” Wide eyes lock with hazel, silent and pleading. You’d take being returned to that room over this easily, no doubt in your mind.

The dark, raging power grows closer, reaching it’s peak. He’s right there.

Az’s lip curls back for a moment, but then he’s forcing the neckline of your gown over your shoulder, tearing at the lovely cotton in favour of piercing his canines into the softness of your neck. Your head tips back, falling into Cassian as your lips part in a soundless scream, rounding into a pained shape as he drinks, his own venom sinking into you.

Already dizziness is taking over you, but then Cassian is curving over you again, mouth parting, incisors sliding back into your skin with a now pleasurable pain. Arms go limp at your sides as their bloodlust wraps around you, completely overpowered by their hunger as hands grip and grope at your skin.

Tears push from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as the ecstasy spins your mind, wickedly turning the pain into something soft and blissful. Making you want them to drink deeper, wanting to have their teeth in you, to put their hands across your body.

Darkness explodes through the room, rage blasting through the soft warmth of lust, pulling you from the jaws of vampiric seduction.

The world tilts a little as they pull away, but without the adrenaline of their venom you feel weak. Like you’re unable to go on.

The last thing you remember is the fierce grip on your hips, the possessive touch over your back and shoulders as icy violet brings the night to its crescendo.

Then everything explodes in glittering black.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Blank, ageless, and suspicious blogs will be blocked.

The party was bustling with several guests as they mingled and enjoyed drinks together.

(Where is Emma now?)

She and I were separately entertaining the guests, but the merchants would notice me whenever I occasionally glanced at her.

Merchant: "You still seem to be getting along well with Lady Emma."

Merchant: "Speaking of which, I have an offer that she might like. Would you be interested?"

(These kinds of talks have been increasing lately.)

Silvio: "Alright, if you're so confident, show me."

The person who approached me was a skilled merchant who had gathered together a group of talented tailors.

He spread out before me the design of a gleaming, gem-studded dress.

Merchant: "This is a masterpiece crafted by a skilled artisan."

Merchant: "We also have matching earrings designed to complement the dress."

Merchant: "I think it would suit her."

(It's quite flashy. Back in the day, I might have considered it, but now that I know her preferences...)

Silvio: "Rejected."

Merchant: "Huh?"

Silvio: "It's not about the design. Emma prefers simple dresses."

Silvio: "Having this many gemstones would make her self-conscious."

Silvio: "If you want me to consider buying it, bring something that appears simple at first glance but has intricate, elegant details."

Silvio: "Gemstones are necessary only in moderation. She's already stunning without any extra accessories."

Knowing her preferences, I naturally get enthusiastic about giving orders to the merchant.

(Still, these people don't really understand her.)

(If they observed her usual behavior, they could come up with better proposals.)

As I thought about it, a bitter feeling welled up within me.

(Thinking about it now, I used to do stupid things like this before.)

Silvio: "Well, no matter what dress it is, Emma will be able to pull it off."

Silvio: "Someone as beautiful as her would outshine even the most glamorous dress."

Silvio: "That's why it's pointless for her to dress extravagantly. I mean, who could possibly outshine Emma?"

Merchants: ".........."

Silvio: "What?"

Merchant: "Nothing, we just thought that you truly loved her."

(.............)

(.............)

I suddenly realized the inappropriateness of my previous statement.

(What the hell did I just say?)

(She didn't hear me, right!?)

I nonchalantly scanned the room and made eye contact with Emma, who had been accompanying the noble ladies.

It seemed like she had heard the conversation as a mischievous smile played on her lips.

(I've made a fool of myself.)

Overwhelmed by embarrassment, I grabbed a glass of wine and downed it in one gulp.

(Damn it. Now that it comes to this, I'll humiliate her even more than she humiliated me.)

Silvio: "Now that we've talked about it, I might as well finish the story."

Silvio: "Emma is not just elegant and refined."

Silvio: "There's something more important than money to her, and she has a strong spirit that isn't easily swayed."

Silvio: "She's a cheeky woman who, despite her small stature, takes on even the toughest enemies."

Silvio: "But that's the noblest thing about her."

Silvio: "Despite being a rabbit, she has the ferocity of a beast when she bites back."

Emma: "P-Prince Silvio! How about getting some fresh air for a moment!?"

Unable to endure any longer, Emma took my arm and forcefully led me to the balcony.

Emma: "Doing that in front of those people is so embarrassing!"

Silvio: "It's not a big deal. It's only normal to show affection."

Silvio: "What? You were grinning like an idiot a moment ago, and now you're embarrassed?"

(But the one feeling more embarrassed is me, you idiot.)

(Especially since everything I said was the truth.)

Emma: "Of course I'm embarrassed!"

Silvio: "........."

Emma: "My heart is racing so much right now. I don't think I can go back inside."

Her whispered words sounded so fragile that they seemed to melt into the sea.

I looked at her as the light sea breeze blew and ruffled her hair.

(Her face is bright red, even in the dark.)

Unable to resist, I instinctively sealed her lips and put my hand on her blushing cheek.

Emma: "Prince Silvio! Are you trying to make me even more embarrassed!?"

Silvio: "You say that, but deep down, I know you're happy."

Emma: "Well..."

Emma didn't retort, and her expression suggested she wasn't entirely opposed to it.

(Another reason to fall in love with you.)

Silvio: "We're alone now, so let me have another kiss."

(If I keep getting these cute reactions, I guess it's okay to be a bit more romantic sometimes.)

Taking her silence as consent, I leaned in to capture her lips again.

We enjoyed a kiss that tasted a bit of alcohol in the hidden shadows of the curtain.

[ptn-imagines]

Sorry tumblr is being a butt! Anyways, if I may, I'd love to read or hear any headcanons or imagines involving reader/f!Chief with either Countess Chelsea, Hamel, Eleven, Sumire, or Garofano. Whichever one(s) inspiration strikes for you. If I could be a tad bit more specific, maybe the prompt could be something like "the ways you and the specific Sinner(s) are kind and affectionate with one another"? Could be SFW or NSFW. Sorry if this is too much, been feeling kinda down with ennui and current state of the world and all. And please, take care of yourself and write at your own pace :)

I, uh, felt inspired. To say the least. Anyway, this has made me realize that it'd probably be faster to list Sinners I can't see as autistic... Also, in hindsight, I realize you may have meant this romantically. I mean, these can be read romantically, but they can also be read platonically. I hope you enjoy either way!

The ways F!Chief and her Sinners are affectionate and kind with one another

Countess Chelsea

It's a given that she'll shower Chief in dozens of gifts. Literally dozens. Whether Chief wants it or not. You know how she is. It technically counts as an act of kindness?

Also, with all the money and influence she has, she's definitely able to get Chief invited to many exclusive opportunities. The best seats at the theater, private movie premiers, exclusive, high-society galas, you name it; Chelsea can and will get it for Chief.

Honestly, Chief does accept these invitations from time to time, because not only are they a way to get away from the strain of her work, Chelsea is able to provide a nice buffer against her usual Mania magnet tendencies. In that she can help contain any disaster that breaks out, not that she can prevent the Mania from being drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Chief is pretty sure there's no Sinner that can do that.

Finally, the most lowkey way Chelsea shows affection is by letting Chief cuddle with Sitri on those days when she's tired. Sitri may be a terrifying big cat made of gemstones, but Chief has long since found that when it comes to cuddling, Sitri is a fairly nice substitute for a fluffy, domestic housecat. She also has the perk of being big enough to be able to curl around Chief, which is comforting. It's just a matter of getting comfortable, since gemstones are not the softest thing to lay against. Luckily, Chelsea is always willing to provide ridiculously ornate (but functional) blankets and pillows.

Honestly, the number one way Chief shows kindness to Chelsea is simply spending time with her. Though it's true she can be overbearing, Chief knows her heart is good, but deeply lonely; it's why she keeps asking Chief to be her sugar baby, after all. She doesn't seem to realize that Chief prefers spending time with her just for the sake of doing so.

Also, whenever Chief does wear a piece of clothing or an accessory Chelsea bought for her, you can count on the Countess being absolutely over the moon about it for the next week. Chief feels like it should be harder to make Chelsea happy, but… it's not, it's just not. The lapidarist is just too kind-hearted, too full of love and too earnest to be difficult to please, if you know her. And Chief knows her quite well.

Finally, when Chief has a spare moment, she helps Chelsea take care of Sitri sometimes. While she doesn't have the same needs as a flesh and blood cat, she still needs a form of grooming and brushing in the form of polishing, and unlike regular cats, that is a task best suited to human hands. Countess Chelsea is always diligent in this task, but nevertheless she has yet to say no when Chief offers to help, enjoying their bonding time.

Garofano

Like Countess Chelsea, Garofano has one really obvious way she shows affection to the Chief, and that is through mending and tailoring clothes. Half of the Chief's non-work clothes were handmade by the assassin.

Garofano is also really experienced with people and the human heart. If you need a shoulder to cry on but not a flat out therapist, Garofano is pretty much the go-to, and for the Chief? She's always willing to lend an ear. One time, an exhausted Chief actually passed out on Garofano during one of these sessions, and the assassin didn't move for hours, simply holding her close.

Finally… The younger Sinners in the Bureau tend to demand Chief's attention, a lot. While there's no doubt Chief would love to spend time with them around the clock, that's not feasible… So Garofano doesn't mind stepping in to corral them. Her warm, motherly vibes draw the kids in with ease, and they love spending time with her too; Chief is eternally grateful for the breaks Garofano has gotten for her.

When it comes to returning the kindness, Garofano isn't as easy to please as Countess Chelsea, but she's also far from difficult. She has a fairly mild temperament (usually), not tending towards either extreme.

Returning favors to Garofano seemed difficult to the Chief at first until she realized that Garofano was often so busy doing acts of service for others that she neglected herself. From then on, Chief did her best to help Garofano out in small ways such as assigning someone to tidy her cell when it got a little too haphazard, or bringing her meals when she got so engrossed in a project she forgets to eat. These little things go a long way with Garofano.

Most of the Garden would like to receive flowers as a gift, and the seamstress is no exception. It can be difficult knowing which flowers which assassin prefers, but Chief's got it down to a science: for Garofano, flowers symbolizing other members of the Garden (such as poppies and cherry blossoms) are best, but purple carnations, symbolizing Garofano herself, should be avoided.

Finally, Garofano's nature is that she very rarely finds herself in a position where she herself needs to vent… But she is still only human, with her own problems and feelings. When they all become too heavy of a burden for her to bear alone, she knows she can always trust Chief to take care of her.

Hamel

Hamel doesn't enjoy being touched – which makes the fact that she allows Chief to do so a gesture of deep trust and affection. Chief is always careful not to push Hamel's boundaries with this, but even on the days where this simply means being able to stand closer to Hamel than normal, Chief is grateful and honored.

Hamel is also a very withdrawn person, but she has a very vibrant and imaginative mind. While happy with her own company, it's human nature to seek companionship, and Hamel will almost always seek it from the Chief; if there's something interesting that has caught her attention, she can actually be quite excitable in conversation.

As long as it's what she truly wants to do and not being forced upon her, Hamel loves to dance on stage for an audience; however, she's a lot more hesitant about letting others see her practice. Yet, she often invites Chief to watch her rehearsals, seeking out her opinions on each movement. Chief, Hamel feels, is not only a safe and trustworthy person, but someone who can feel the emotions of her dance just as well as she herself can.

Compared to Countess Chelsea and Garofano, Hamel is probably the hardest to read and return kindness to. Still, Chief figured it out, and it was absolutely worth it to see Hamel's rare and precious smile.

First of all, Chief makes sure that Hamel can always find a stage – and an audience that'll appreciate her. While she's not against letting Hamel perform in Eastside if she feels up to it, Chief is quick to scare off anyone who might try to exploit Hamel. She respects her dance as an expression of the self, not a cash cow, and though she doesn't always have the words to express it, Hamel couldn't be more grateful.

Secondly, Chief makes a point of checking in on Hamel a lot. The dancer has an unfortunate habit of getting lost in her own mind, forgetting completely about the outside world and sitting still and quiet for hours. It's not exactly healthy for her and often leads to spikes in her M-value, so Chief always keeps an eye out for these moments so she can “wake her up” with the shackles.

Finally… It turns out, Hamel really loves stuffed animals. Chief never imagined she'd form a habit of buying sealife plushies, but here she was; besides, the noticeable brightening of Hamel's mood when receiving a new one was worth the expenditure. Hamel's bed was covered in plushies she'd received from the Chief, though her favorite was the first one she'd been given, a stuffed jellyfish. That one has a place of honor by her pillow, which it only ever leaves to be held by Hamel.

[dailycharacteroption]

Magical Assassin Operative (Operative Alternate Class Feature)

(art by Raszul on DeviantArt)

Operatives prove that the right strike in the right place can change the flow of battle, but there are those that prefer something a bit different than the fickle nature of blows to vulnerable places, some of which we’ve covered here before, but today we’re looking at an operative that adds a little magic to their offensive mix.

Now, magic is nothing new to the operative class. After all, you’re encouraged to interpret the more marvelous abilities they can learn as technology, magic, or hybrid tech at your discretion. And on that note, certain exploits and specializations are expressly magical.

However, our subject today is one that uses magic to influence the amount of damage they do, having learned just enough magic to imbue their operative weapons with destructive energies and other magical effects, almost like how the arcane assailant soldier does as a natural evolution of the magus class of distant yesteryear.

I can imagine these operatives might range from failed magic students that discovered a knack for killing or espionage, to magical assassins that specialize in dangerous targets that are resistant to conventional damage for whatever reason. These are devil-slayers, construct-breakers, and wizard-humblers all in one.

Instead of using their skills to create openings, these magical assassins quickly assess their magical knowledge to channel raw elemental power into their weapon of choice, making it more damaging as a result in the same fluid motion as they attack. What sets this apart from a trick attack aside from the elemental damage is that the weapon retains the charge for about a minute, allowing them to unleash subsequent attacks with the charged weapon with no additional skill checks needed.

Later on, they also imbue their weapons with the magic of various basic weapon seals, including those of moral alignments, projectile guidance, durability, defiance, and so on. As they improve, this list grows to include those that trade out the base damage of the weapon for various elements instead, or those that strike true against incorporeal foes or deal especially grievous wounds, even imbuing multiple at once.

The big advantage of this alternate class feature is that you only have to succeed a roll once for extra damage, at the cost of less damage on average and it’s potentially resistible elemental nature. However, also being able to later add various temporary fusion seals mean they can also tailor their weapon to pierce the defenses of their foe further. As such, I’d recommend putting plenty of skill ranks into various skills that can be used to identify creatures, not just mysticism, so that you can tailor your magic to the best of your ability. Also, consider how to combine this magical theming with your specialization and exploits as well.

It's interesting to think of the reasons that operative pragmaticism blends with the power offered by magic. Some may be thieves or agents specializing in magical problems without the trapping of true mages, or they might be fiend or other outsider hunters that know they could not take such beings in a direct fight and so learn to strike from the shadows. Additionally, the fact that they activate this form of attack as part of an attack gives of the vibe of the innocuous assassin suddenly revealing themselves to be an actual threat to their prey the moment it becomes too late, which is a nice visual.

Dull gray and serious, Valgan Sparkwire lost his vibrancy when he flunked out of magic school, but while a dour attitude grips his heart, he still makes use of what he learned as a hired knife in the undercity. The gnome would never admit it, but a part of him still yearns for magical discovery, though.

Akatas and veshreds are not the only dangers clinging to asteroids in the void. Sometimes truly monstrous threats lurk, sealed away by ancient guardians or simply there by fluke of chance. With such exotic threats out there, it pays to magically-skilled scouts on prospecting missions in the belts, ready to put an energy-charged bullet in whatever is stalking your miners.

A murder investigation centers around a frostbitten decapitated corpse. The lead investigator seems to think it was the work of a gelugon’s blade, but one forensic scientist thinks it must be the work of a strangely superchilled vibrogarotte, which narrows the list of suspects down in a very different way.

[jagged1]

Freely Given

Fandom: Outlast Rating: Gen Characters: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park Summary: Waylon is sure he'll be dead by dawn, but an unexpected stranger appears. A Rumplestiltskin AU. Contains: So much consent. Word Count: ~2500 AO3 link

Waylon has sorely misjudged King Jeremy's greed. Somehow, even in this time of famine, he still believes the gossip of desperate men. He thinks that it's possible for a man to spin straw into gold. That Waylon's strange looks mean he must have fey blood. That the rumors could be true, nevermind that his village is just as destitute as those surrounding it.

He sits on the stone floor of the highest, coldest, most desolate tower of them all and closes his eyes against the moonlight. When morning comes and the piles of straw around him remain unspun, it will only be a matter of time before the king beheads him for his failure and making a mockery of the throne. He swallows thickly, already mourning his future. The church bells soberly ringing out the hour only add to the dread sitting heavy in his stomach.

A gentle breeze blows past him, and he would swear he heard the chime of bells floating by. He must be going mad and barks a harsh laugh at the thought, startling badly when a soft voice calls out from behind him. “What troubles you so, my dear?”

He spins around, eyes wide to take in the man who was decidedly not there moments ago. His gaze is immediately caught by the intense blue eyes staring at him from a strong pale face. His aristocratic mien is only supported by his clothes. While the riotous colors are more apt for the court’s women, the well-tailored shirt, coat, and slacks are befitting for any high ranked nobleman.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“My apologies, but I cannot tell you that. Not without something from you.”

His face is twisted in a small moue of displeasure, so Waylon is inclined to believe the man is sincere about that. “I won’t pry, but in return, please tell me why you are here.”

“Why, I merely wish to know what troubles you,” he repeats.

Waylon laughs despairingly, the distraction provided by this strange man no longer able to keep his mind and mood light. “The king has demanded the impossible. I’m to spin all this straw into gold by daybreak or else he will execute me.”

The man’s brow furrows, whether in confusion or thought, Waylon does not know. He remains silent, absentmindedly pushing his long dark hair aside as he waits for a response. He has nothing else to look forward to until his unfortunate end. Short though his life may be, he has no desire to press the man for an explanation. This last bit of human interaction is more than he’d thought possible.

The movement catches his eye, and the man focuses on Waylon once more. “If I were to spin this straw into gold for you, what would you give me in return?”

Waylon feels his heart seize in his chest, heartbeat stuttering before beginning again. “Do not toy with me, sir, for that is truly cruel of you. No one can perform such a feat.” His golden gaze is harsh, but wet with tears at the momentary swell of hope, and he hates him for that.

The man frowns outright and raises a hand to his chest, pressing it flat over his heart. “My deepest apologies, I meant no harm. You may not be able to, but I am certainly capable. Let me prove myself as recompense.” He approaches the spinning wheel and settles comfortably before it. A flash of movement has him feeding straw through the wheel and Waylon watches in awe as the spindle fills with golden thread. Once the handful of straw is gone, he turns to Waylon once more. “My offer was quite sincere, darling. I will gladly spin all the straw in this room to gold, but I require something in return. What would you give me for this service?”

He pulls his gaze away from the shimmering thread, throat closing tightly on itself. He forces himself to respond, choking out “I would give you anything I could, but I have nothing but myself to offer.”

The man tuts, eyebrows knitting themselves together once more. “Do not ever think yourself worthless. You are far more valuable than any material thing.”

He cannot help but laugh. “Sir, if that were true, I would not be bargaining with a stranger for my life. I would not be here at all, under the scrutinizing eye of the king, and instead toil away at a meager existence. While you flatter me, the fact is I have nothing to give.”

“That is where you are wrong.” The man rises smoothly from his seat and walks towards Waylon, kneeling on one knee once he’s next to him. He raises his hand, palm towards the ceiling, and asks “May I touch your hair?”

“My hair?”

“Yes. I have yet to see such long, lovely, black as night hair as yours. Even as unkempt as you are, it still draws the eye.”

Waylon flushes, unused to such blatant praise and no small bit of embarrassment. “May I ask why?”

“I would have my payment to be allowed to touch you. To braid your hair into something that suits you. To look upon you whilst I work.”

He averts his eyes, unable to keep the man’s intense gaze. “If that is your price, I will gladly pay it.”

“Thank you.”

Waylon nods stiffly, startling slightly at the gentle touch to his hair. He flicks his eyes back towards the man and inhales sharply at the sight of him gathering a handful of hair and raising it towards his mouth.

The man merely presses his lips lightly to the ends before getting to work. He weaves Waylon’s hair into an intricate braid, dozens of small sections carefully separated and worked into a braid that wraps around his head. There is no mirror, but Waylon knows it befits nobility more than a commoner such as him.

“Beautiful.”

He says nothing.

The man does not press and returns to the spinning wheel. The sound of wood scraping against stone leads Waylon to look towards him. He’s re-arranged the entire wheel so that he faces Waylon. Once satisfied, he spins the remaining straw to gold, finishing, and vanishing just before dawn breaks.

-

The next night sees Waylon locked in the same tower, but with far more straw than the night before. King Jeremy had been delighted to find spools of gold thread where there once was straw. However, he declared that he could not trust this was not a trap of some sort and demanded he repeat the miraculous feat once more, greed and lust in his eyes.

Waylon is both incensed and resigned at the turn of events. He should have known better than to trust his word. There will be no second miracle, no return of the mysterious man who disappeared into thin air with not another word once his task was complete.

He settles against the stone walls, laying his head gently to face the moonlight once more, and drifts in his thoughts.

A soft, but bright sound wakes him. Crouched before him is the man, just as splendidly dressed, concern in his piercing gaze.

“Darling, what are you doing here again?”

Waylon laughs, a tired broken thing. “The king claims I may have tricked him and wishes for more proof. Truly, he desires more riches to line his coffers. Thank you for all your efforts, but it seems come sunrise I will die anyway.”

His mouth dips in displeasure. “Deals must be honored. This is most unbecoming.”

“Who can defy the king?”

Silence descends on the room. Waylon is not surprised. Magic as this man may be, no one can rebel against the king.

“What will you give me in exchange for my help today?”

Waylon shifts, eyes widening. “Why would you offer again? I have gained nothing this past day, and you have already braided my hair.” Unbidden, his hand raises to touch the braid, still intact even after the day’s events.

“You seem to have forgotten my words. You are worth more than any physical treasure. If you cannot decide, once I have spun this straw, may I dance with you?”

“I don’t know any formal dances,” he protests.

“I will teach you.”

Waylon sighs and smiles, exasperated, but nonetheless fond. “Do what you will. I won’t refuse a chance to see another day.”

The man smiles and if Waylon thought he worked quickly yesterday, it’s nothing compared to the speed he manages now, spools of golden thread littering the ground in short order.

He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we?” He lifts Waylon gently to his feet and proceeds to spin them slowly around the room, deftly avoiding the odd obstacle.

Waylon eases into the dance with each passing moment, delighting with each pass and turn, smiling brightly up at the man when he spins Waylon with a flourish. The return to his strong arms and broad frame feels like safety and Waylon wishes.

They dance until he can stand no more, reluctantly pulling away, regret in his eyes. “I cannot continue. I’ve yet to fully rest since this has all begun. I hope that was enough to satisfy you…?”

The man nods, the soft smile that appeared at their first steps remaining even now. “More than. Rest, dear.”

He would protest, but the allure of sleep draws him under with no warning. He thinks he hears the tinkle of metal, but it slips from his grasp.

-

Waylon is furious. He’s tempted to throw that accursed wheel out the window, crashing to the ground below, but he does not want to injure anyone who is not the king. Instead, he paces furiously as he awaits the moon’s rise and with it, hopefully, his visitor. This time he does not miss the gentle chime of bells that heralds the man’s arrival and departure. He whirls about as he appears, hardly giving him a moment to settle himself. “What must I give you to free me?”

The man blinks in surprise, never having seen this facet of Waylon. “That is out of my ability,” he answers quietly. “This tower is a remnant of ages past, and I can only move myself beyond these walls. What happened, darling?”

He throws his hands up in despair and rage, venom in his voice as he hisses. “The king demands one last show of proof, and once I’ve provided it, he declared his intent to marry me.”

The man’s face spasms, expression twisting in a flash as menace oozes from his pores before he collects himself. “And you are opposed to this union? It could be very beneficial for you. All his power would be yours.”

Waylon would be offended at the leading tone if he hadn’t been watching him so closely. “I do not trust him to keep me as more than a bedwarmer once the ceremony is over. Nor do I think that would appeal to him without the possibility of growing an infinite supply of gold, courtesy of my supposed ability. No, it would never be true and very likely short lived. My future prospects are dim indeed.”

“Let us see you to tomorrow before you despair, dearest. Tonight, what would you give me?”

Even incensed as he is, Waylon can still feel his skin flush further with embarrassment. “I would give you all of me, if you asked.”

The man’s eyes sparkle. “That won’t be necessary, but I am pleased to hear so. I ask for your name, your trust, a promise, and seal of intent.”

“Done. My name is Waylon. I trust you and will follow you where you lead me. What promise must I make and how must I seal it?”

“In due time. I shall take care of this night’s work first.” He spends hours spinning, the room filled with so much straw it is in danger of toppling on them both. Waylon waits in agony and anticipation for him to finish, worried as the sky grows lighter and their deal left incomplete.

Finally, the man winds the last of the thread around the spindle, rising from his seat and approaching Waylon. He offers his hand and Waylon takes it without hesitation, letting him pull him close, and bending so his mouth is next to his ear. When he speaks, his lips graze his skin, and Waylon cannot help the shudder that follows.

“My name is Edward,” he reveals in a whisper. “Promise me you will never speak this until the moment is right.”

“I promise,” he responds, breathless.

“This promise must be sealed with more than words. May I kiss you, Waylon?”

“You may.”

The man (Edward) moves slowly and presses the gentlest of kisses to Waylon’s lips. He barely has a moment to reciprocate before he draws away. “I must go, but trust me, Waylon.”

“I do.”

In the next breath, he’s gone, the sound of bells and gleam of gold the only sign he was here.

-

Even a king as selfish as King Jeremy cannot rush the necessary preparations for a wedding. For the next week, he’s treated as an honored guest, tucked away in the depths of the castle. He never hears any bells, but Waylon trusts him.

When the day comes, Waylon is bathed in scented water, dressed in the finest clothing, and his hair braided into a complicated design. He’s reminded of the braid he gave him that first night and thinks it ironic that now it would suit him.

The ceremony continues, but as the officiant calls for any final objections, the bright ringing of bells sounds. He appears in a swirl of wind and gentle light, golden coat fluttering in the turbulent air. “I’ve come for what I was promised,” he says into the shocked silence. “Waylon will come with me, and I shall raze the ground in return for your impudence.”

King Jeremy sputters, indignation and fear in his countenance. “No promises were made with you and your kind! We have not broken any pact and any destruction will be wrought against you twofold!”

“Do you think you could stop me? You lack the power.”

“We shall see! Guards!”

The guards move to subdue him, but he bats them away effortlessly with bursts of magic and feats of strength in equal measure. In the quiet that follows, he offers his hand to Waylon once more. “May I have what I came for, or shall I continue this farce?”

Waylon steps forward. “You may, but you must promise to leave this kingdom alone.”

“And how will you ensure that?”

“You and I both know the power a name holds, dear Eddie.”

He bares his teeth in a threatening grin and laughs. “Absolutely beautiful, Waylon.” He closes his hand around Waylon’s and looks about the room. There is anger and hatred emanating from the king, but fear and awe from the guests at the image of two supposed fey. “Since my beloved so insists, I will spare you, but take this as a warning to hold to all promises made.” The color leeches from the king’s face and he laughs at the sight.

They disappear in a flash, never to be seen again.

-

“Was that necessary?”

“Admit it, darling, you enjoyed it.”

[salty-lemon-shark-from-the-sea]

Maya and the Three (Being Lady Micte’s right hand/ best friend)

💀 To be as close as you are with Micte you most likely knew her before she married Lord Mictlan. Probably when she was a young goddess.

🌻 In the beginning she’ll be nice maybe using you to climb up the power ranks, but after seeing you’ll be there she starts to see you as a real friend. Will even start to treat you like a real friend. May hurt you a couple of times, but does try to make it up.

💀 One of her bridesmaids at the wedding. She'll need you to help calm her down from pre-wedding gitters. After the wedding, she makes you her right hand. Even gives you your own little throne so you can sit by her side and entertain her.

🌻 Part of being her right hand is having her confine her secrets to you such as her fear of the marriage and how she's not happy in it. You're the first person she told about the affair. You also have to be able to protect her, that's going to be the only reason Mictlan keeps you around.

💀 After she gives Maya to the Tecas she locks herself in her chambers and cries quietly to you about her feelings while you rub her back and offer her whatever comfort she requires. If Lord Mictlan asks about his wife you just answer with “She's not feeling well seems she's gotten sick from the baby,” Sends you as a messenger to check up on Maya when she can not.

🌻 Once Maya starts the quest Lady Micte sends you out to report back and update her and her husband playing it off as nothing but that. Sends you to actually fight Maya and the gang one of the times, but to not injure the girl, to check up on how much she has learned. If you end up getting hurt in the fight Micte will help patch you up while you share the events.

💀 Enough of the main story for now. You'll be the one to help her with her face paint even if you are not the best she still will be glad to have you do it. Has you helped with the flowers in her hair if you really can't do face paint. She trusts you to make her look presentable and powerful. Let's you try in her headpiece as a joke.

🌻 The friendship is a fair amount of give more than get, but she'll still do things for you. If you want something ( food, clothes, jewelry) it's yours. If you like someone god or mortal you can tell her and she'll keep it a secret. Might even try to get the two of you together. Plus, just being her right hand gives you immunity from Lord Mictlan’s wrath.

💀 Really does try her best to be a good friend, but she's just not the best with relationships and tends to accidentally hurt those close to her. That means you too. However if you know she doesn't mean to then you'll be fine and she’ll just appreciate you even more.

🌻 Like to match clothes. Cliche I know, but I can just imagine her pick-out outfits so that you match as a way to show she's your friend. May even have outfits tailored just for your two to match.

💀 Expects you to fight against Lord Mictlan with her. 1) You do and end up having to watch and hold her as she dies. She'll later apologize for everything she's done to ever hurt you when she comes back for a bit. Please visit her in the land of the dead. 2) You stay on Lord Mictlan’s side and fight against her. If you go to comfort her when she's dying she’ll forgive you saying it was only fair for how she treated you. Might not want you to visit her as much as if you fought with her.

🌻 Please bring her sunflowers when ever you visit the human realm. They don't grow in the underworld and all she really gets are marigolds. One of the best birthday gifts you could get her, so simple yet they mean so much.

💀 One of the few gods/goddesses who see her true side. The funny and caring one who's not just a disguise for her husband. You are also one of the few who can get her to laugh. Truly laugh.

🌻 Imagine staying up late on your balcony overlooking the underworld. With you both drinking a bottle of whatever you could find while laughing, joking about your childhoods, and what it's like these days. Then all of a sudden you get philosophical and share both of your problems and worries. Not judging one another.

💀 Going on owl rides as a way to get out of the throne room and underworld. If you can fly that's fine, but if you can't or just want to ride on her soft feathers she’ll 100% let you unless she's badly injured. Help her to get feathers out of her hair once she's back in her goddess form. Let's you keep them.

[shabby-alonso]

come under the cut with me as we take a look at the music of rgg

Introduction

Before getting into specifics, let’s talk about general form and function - the things (nearly) every track we touch on will have in common. All these tracks are battle themes and not just battle themes but final boss battle themes. This puts them in a unique position in relation to other tracks on the OST, as they are all intended to be heard once and in the final section of the game while also being memorable and impactful. Where other battle music can be more generalised, intended for random encounters or no-name bosses (sorry Kashiwagi), final battle music has to be tailored to the final fight. This probably goes without saying, but it’s still an important thing to keep in mind when listening.

Video game music operates in much the same arena as movie music. The main differentiating factor being that while movie music generally succeeds when it goes unheard, video game music generally succeeds by being heard while augmenting the action on-screen and offering one piece of a memorable experience. That is to say, all these tracks are intended to be dynamic and loopable first and foremost.

I want to lay out a couple of things to get yourself in the mindset of a purposeful listener, as well. When you listen to the music you want to do a broad listen first, and then more close and careful ones. Ask yourself, how does this make me feel? Is the music cold? Is it warm? Is it joyful? Is it sombre? And so on. Even without any knowledge of how to “properly” describe the techniques or even the sound itself, within the conventions of film and/or video game music, as we understand it, you should be able to intuit at least one part of the whole emotionally. After emotion you want to listen for instrumentation and texture. Texture in this case is how “thick” or “thin” a piece of music is – the more layered instruments and sounds the more thick the texture. The instrumentation itself can also impart a meaning, is it largely guitar-based? Piano? Orchestral? Acoustic or electric? Analogue or digital? Does the instrumentation fit a certain region ie: is it using only Western orchestral instruments or things like a sitar, shamisen, steel drums, etc that may invoke a specific place.

Once that is finished, you can look to the setting itself. What is going on on-screen, what do we already know about the characters being depicted, and how can the music tell us more about them? Hopefully, in the analysis that follows I will be able to give you a few nuggets of this information and open you up to trying to find your own angle, if you feel so inclined. I can only give one reading, lest we be stuck here for eternity, but that doesn’t mean the reading I give is the only valid one. Any timestamps refer to the official soundtrack, though the in-game versions will be discussed and the accompanying visuals discussed when relevant.

I would suggest listening to the tracks herein discussed prior to reading. The OST versions will be linked, but I would suggest watching video of the final fights as well, if you would like to do your own reading. Attempting to listen as you read will make it much more difficult to really listen and far too often music is used as something to fill space without any attention paid to it.

For Whose Sake

OG1, K1, 0

Without further ado, let’s get started with our first ever RGG boss - Nishikiyama. Not counting Ishin, as Izo is a different character, Nishkiyama’s theme has three main iterations. The original, Kiwami, and 0. Each of these are variations on one another, as the main melody and chord progression remains the same throughout, and they all say different things about Nishikiyama and the conflict at hand.

Nishikiyama’s theme, For Whose Sake, ultimately, acts as a parallel to Kiryu’s in Receive You much in the way his character does. The melodies are similar, but divergent, to underscore their shared beginnings and their distance by the end. The opening interval in both pieces is the same and it can be heard throughout the soundtrack of the original PS2 game, a constant that ties he and Kiryu together regardless of what point in the story one is.

In its original iteration, Nishikiyama’s theme’s melody is constrained entirely to a chorus of synth strings with no clear singular leading instrument. He is not as much of a standout as he wants to be. Like the ill-fitting suit, the melody isn’t really his. It’s impossible to know if he cannot exist without Kiryu or the other way around. Acoustic guitars fill out the rhythm section, while most of the rest of the soundtrack is inundated with electric guitar. This acoustic spin lends a more intimate nature to the music compared to its more bombastic counterparts, stripped down, reminding us this is a more personal battle. A waterfall of synths breaks up the main melody before returning to begin the loop again. Like his irezumi, Nishikiyama sits at the top of the falls, but he’s never able to crest them.

0 takes a step back, stuttering the entire melody to the point that no one note flows to the next - barely a spray of mist on a river. In 0, Nishikiyama is not yet fully the Nishikiyama from the first game in neither temperament nor status. Not only that, but his fight is against Majima, a man with whom he has no history and no real solid link. There’s no reason for the melody to be intact.

Kiwami moves in the opposite direction, making this theme much more cinematic, almost grandiose. Giving the melody to french horn, with strings taking the backseat and hardly any synth, Kiwami presents Nishikiyama in a more focused light. Fitting, as it also adds multiple scenes featuring him throughout the game in between chapters. However, this does somewhat undercut the rest of what I previously mentioned. A more open and sweeping orchestra sounds more impressive, but narratively for Nishikiyama it’s fluff. The waterfall motif is also removed, for some reason, leaving it somewhat of a shell.

Some of these decisions may partially be hardware-based, with the later games becoming more complex texturally. Interestingly, Y1 starts the intro to For Whose Sake in the cutscene before the battle, with it creeping in while Kiryu and Nishikiyama talk about finally deciding to settle things with a fight, while K1 forgoes starting the theme until the lead-up to the dynamic intro. In my opinion, this also puts a larger wall between the two narratively than is originally presented.

pt2 here

[paradiserottttt]

— INTRODUCING , 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆-𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐊 .

*     ◟    :    〔   gong yoo  ,      cis-man    +   he/him    〕      SEONG-HOON BAEK ,      some say you’re a  FOURTY-SEVEN         lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  MAGNETIC  and  VOLATILE ,  one can’t help but think of  COUNTERFEIT   by   AMAARAE  when you walk by.    are you still a  DISTRICT ATTORNEY /  UNDERBOSS  at    BURNING GODS ,     even with your reputation as the SYCOPHANT?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and   AN INSATIABLE AMBITION , PERFECTLY TAILORED SUITS ,  A SMILE THAT DOESN’T REACH THE EYES  although we can’t help but think of APOLLO (GREEK MYTHOLOGY) , HARVEY DENT (THE DARK KNIGHT) , DUKAT (STAR TREK)  whenever we see you down these rainy streets.      (      lia  ,      25  ,      they/she  ,     n/a ,   pst    +    n/a  .     )

— STATS . FULL NAME . seong-hoon NICKNAMES . ?BIRTHDAY . may 7th AGE . fourty-eight GENDER . cis-man PRONOUNS . he/him FAMILY . marcia ramos (ex-wife), [unamed] baek (younger sister), bartleby ramos-baek (adopted son) ORIENTATION . bisexual biromantic OCCUPATION . district attorney underboss @ burning godsMARKINGS/TATTOOS . none PIERCINGS . none HEIGHT . 5’10

— PERSONALITY . POSITIVE TRAITS . ambitious, charasmatic, innovative, persuasive, diligant NEGATIVE TRAITS . self-serving, sycophantic, neglectful, pretentious, disloyal LANGUAGES . english, spanish, russian, italian, french EDUCATION . bachelors and juris docotorate MBTI . entj (the commander) ENNEAGRAM . type 8 (the challenger) MORAL ALIGNMENT . true neutral.  DEADLY SIN . greed HEAVENLY VIRTUE . dilligence ZODIAC . taurus sun

— BIOGRAPHY WHAT IS ONE TO MAKE OF THE BOY HANDED EVERYTHING AND STILL LEFT YEARNING FOR SOMETHING MORE? When Seong-Hoon is born, he is everything parents desire. They are your picture perfect middle class couple, with aspirations  for their children to follow their dreams. Seong-Hoon and his younger sister become the apple of their parents eyes— childhood arts and crafts projects and A+ assignments are the pinnacle of the Ajai household’s decorations. Seong-Hoon lives for such praise, and its only when he realizes he would receive it regardless, no matter how menial the feat, that he grows disinterested. There is nothing to actively work toward, not when anything he does becomes solid gold in his parents’ eyes.

When Seong-Hoon attends high school, he does so with a goal in mind. To become something more than he presently is— to be someone successful in ways that would surpass his family’s current standing in society. Seong-Hoon is diligent— and well-rounded in athletics, sports, and extracurriculars. His parents worry he’s stretching himself too thin, he assures them that when you want something bad enough, there’s no such thing. He recognizes this difference in ideation. It’s why they were able to be so content with their present, mundane existences. They would never wholly understand where he was coming from.

When the time comes to attend university, Seong-Hoon is picking between several Ivys, but he settles on Harvard, where he would remain for his Bachelors and eventual Juris Doctor. He returns home, a newly minted lawyer— acquiring a job as a public offender. He’s a damn good lawyer— (for mediocrity was never his style), and knows he can be a better one if given the opportunity to do so. Somewhere along the way, he crosses paths with MARCIA RAMOS. In her, he recognizes a mutual hunger, an insatiability and intensity he’d only encountered within himself. They take New York City by storm.

 It is when they’re at their peak that BURNING GODS makes them an offer. Seong-Hoon, a newly minted assistant district attorney, is moved by the suggestion that he could reach the title of district attorney in record timing. It’s fairly easy to get Marcia on board— with the promise of their mutual glory, there were few lengths they weren’t willing to go to. He loves her for this very reason, and it is the same reason that he eventually goes to despise her. When you’re willing to give up everyone and everything, no matter the risk or cost, how could it not extend to the person who sleeps beside you every night?

The divorce comes and goes with ease— custody and the assets are easily split. Their sole child had presently been enrolled in boarding school anyhow, coming home occasionally for holidays— spending a significant time with his parents. (He could never be half the parents they were— there simply wasn’t a paternal bone in his body. Fatherhood is left on the wayside in the pursuit of glory.) He understands why him and Marcia couldn’t be together. They’re too much alike for one. After all, bad people rarely made for good marriages. This is the simple truth of the matter.

Burning Gods gives Seong-Hoon everything he desires and more. He is granted the position of District Attorney— and it is difficult for the public not to love him. Sure, a time eventually arrives when rumors of Seong-Hoon's mob ties begin circulating, but Seong-Hoon appears practically unmoved in the public eye. A natural time, and a desire to please (when it directly benefits him, of course) had already gotten him this far. Besides, when your district attorney just so happens to be an underboss of one of the most powerful national crime syndicates, then purifying the public of mafia influence became easier said than done.  Seong-Hoon Baek is here to stay— intoxicated by the idea of his own infallibility. 

— ; TLDR

definitely would be part of a trading group

never satisfied overachiever attends prestigious college

becomes a public defender with the attention of moving up the ranks

gets married to a fellow social climber and is eventually recruited by burning gods

they help him become district attorney heehee

— ; WANTED PLOTS

someone sus of his potential mafia ties

someone he potentially betrayed to get ahead

seong-hoon is a kiss-ass, maybe it turned into something more but he was still really just after the material gain

a friend? they do dumb expensive things and it's probably extremely superficial

[spotofmummery]

FFXIV Swap Meet Main Interaction List

-Rent Your Booth Here!- (Just send me an ask with the info in the linked post.)

Because there is interest for light RP with those opening a booth at the Swap Meet, I'm putting together this main info post.

Below is a list of renters who are willing to engage in RP around the wares and services they are bringing to the market. Feel free to contact them through tag or ask!

Please consider tagging with #FFXIV Swap Meet so we can all see your posts. I'd love to read them!

Have fun at the Swap Meet! (I will update this post as we get new vendors who wish to RP!) ---------------

@cadrenebula

Name: Nebula Carina

Wares/Service: Charms and card readings.

----------------

@celestialspark | FFXIV blog: @heiress-incognito

Name: Vallencia Lotus

Wares/Services: We'll be showcasing and selling our finest clothing with the newest design and trends. You will also be able to buy a wide variety of fabrics and raw materials. If you wish to, at the third booth, we will also take measurements and you may order tailored versions of the attires in our catalogue.

----------------

@pinxli

Name: Inxli Ijinixxi

Wares/Services: All sorts of rare books, cursed and blessed items (armor/trinkets/weapons and house decor). As many little knick knacky things as we can overflow one booth with! If you need it we probably have it! But look at our amazing things. You need all of them, I promise! Also, we have snacks. Can I interest you in a cake sample? How about a dozen? Buy something will ya!

(A small sampling of goods from our Curiosity Shop! We did dust it all off!)

----------------

@ainyan

Name: Kal'istae Miurani

Wares/Services: Kali tugs her backpack off of her shoulder and opens it up, pulling free a few well-made plushes - one of a certain white-haired miqo'te, the other of a sylph with a playful smile. "I make plushes," she explains cheerfully. "I've got several dozen that I've available to trade, and I can make more on request. Scions, Alliance Leaders, tribal peoples - I'll even take custom orders, but you'll need permission if it's to be someone who hasn't already said I can use them as a model." It's probably better not to ask exactly how she got permission from so many to begin with. She gives a winsome smile and her lavender-edged eyes sparkle with glee. "Please?"

----------------

@jhola-ffxiv

Name: J'hola Fointeaume

Wares/Services: [[J'hola has scrawled 'BUNCH OF STUFF. SONG REQUESTS. I HAVE A RAT4SALE (CHEAP)' in huge letters on her form. She seems to be armed with a mishmash of goods. A cracked geode with sparkling pale white crystals within, a tiny rat in a handmade cage, rocks she's painted to look like frogs, jars of rich honey and jars of dried+ground mugwort, bags of candied nuts, wax candles, and many small, seemingly handmade kalimbas.]].

----------------

@scholars-of-nym

Name: Setoto Seto

Wares/Services: Setoto and Alka Zolka walked up to the little stalls together. Setoto was carrying a tray filled with cookies, while on her side a bulky bag with a few books peeking out. Alka Zolka, walking behind her, was pulling a large cart filled to the brim with books. The books looked to be quite old, yet still in good condition.

"Hello!" Setoto said cheerfully. "I heard about the swap meet, so I brought a few things." She put down the tray of cookies on top of the cart of books and pulled out one of the books from her bag. "If it's alright, I would like to sell these books we recovered from the old castle library. Most of them are about applications on aether and arcanima, as well as ancient strategems - well, ancient by Nymian standards." Setoto smiled sheepishly. "And I brought a few cookies for the customers to enjoy."

----------------

@windupadventurers

Name: Einar

Wares/Services: A modest offering of adventuring and bodyguarding services, rendered by Einar themselves. They will act as a retainer for the right fee, join a party of like minded adventurers, or simply work to guard yourself and your posessions!

----------------

@echoes-of-blue

Name: Eisha Pantera

Wares/Services: A build-your-own-ramen bar! Eisha will provide different broth choices as well as a variety of toppings to choice from, all including her specialty homemade noodles. Each ramen bowl includes 1 meat (or egg) and 3 veggie options in the base price, and additional toppings would be 25gil each. Soy sauce, chili garlic sauce, and sesame seed toppings available for free!

----------------

[wolfsbanesparks]

Is it hard to do FTH as a first-time creator? Even if just doing one fan work up for auction?

Hi anon!

I'm assuming you mean signing up to offer a fanwork when you've never made one before. (If I misinterpreted that just send me another ask)

To that I would say that it largely depends on you.

Signing up to join the event is simple and being a first time creator won't hinder the process at all. Just fill out the google form for each fanwork you'd like to offer. You'll be able to include in your auction the length/complexity of the fanwork you want to offer, any subject matter/character/ship you are uncomfortable working with, what you are interested in including, and whatever else you feel is important for your bidders to know before going in.

But as advice, when signing up for the auction (and this goes for everyone), be realistic in what your are able to offer. Give yourself some leniency so you don't commit to something you can't complete. All fanworks are due December 31st so plan accordingly.

During the auction you should also be aware that you likely will get fewer bids than a more experienced creator in the same fandom. Each creator has the option to link to their past work (their ao3 account, an art specific tumblr etc) so bidders can determine if they will be a good fit. If you don't have that there are some people that simply won't bid on your auction even if your offer is something they would be interested in.

That being said, every bidder has a different criteria for when and why they bid on an auction so there may still be people interested in your offer. FTH also uses the Golden Needle tag to point people towards auctions without bids during the final few days of the auction!

You should also be a aware that your highest bidder gets a say in what you make. You will be tailoring your fanwork to their ideas. Some people struggle with that while others enjoy having a prompt to work off of. If this is your first fanwork, I would suggest you take advantage of the Regiment of Fan Laborers, especially if you find yourself having trouble.

Hopefully this helps you make a decision about joining FTH, we are always happy to have more creators!

If you have any other questions or concerns I'll be happy to help!

[crownsparrow]

➤  CONTINUED.

it’s a regular occurrence that emily finds herself arguing with bashir over one thing or another.  truly,  more often than not?  she’s starved for entertainment.  the nobility she’s surrounded by on a daily basis are extraordinarily dull  —  it’s only when wyman’s in dunwall that emily’s able to hold onto some sense of entertainment.  unfortunately,  it’s all too rare that they’re in gristol,  let alone dunwall.  with a heavy sigh,  gaze drifts idly around the room…  at least she’s faced with hints of entertainment now.  

“sokolov may be growing older,  but he’s still entirely capable of accomplishing plenty,”   of course,  emily’s too fond of anton to push him beyond his limits,  so there’s a hint of annoyance in the fact that the physician is so entirely correct.   “though i suppose you make a decent point,”   a concession offered begrudgingly as the empress’ eyes roll,  and a moment later she does as he’d asked,  her leg lifting to allow an examination.

    “A decent point,” he echoed with a grin. But he looked over her wounds, brows ticking together as he tried to surmise how deep they might be. She’d still been able to walk, so that was good. Some stitching and then monitoring in the coming days to ensure it wouldn’t become infected. He’d hate to see what ‘got the Empress’ leg hacked off at the hip’ did for his medical career.

“This will sting, feel free to hit the pillow, not me, Your Majesty.” He got to work, applying something for the pain (though it was far from a perfect concoction) and began the slow process of stitching. “If you’re wondering, however, I believe the answer to your tailor’s disposition is along the lines of "peeved”.“

"don't let it go to your head," the warning fired in @dimensionalspades' direction a lighthearted quip more than a genuine warning -- truth be told, bashir is one of those surrounding her with whom emily finds herself least annoyed with... though she'd never tell him that. he's kind, gifted, and most importantly? he's not afraid of going toe-to-toe with her. he doesn't back down where so many others cringe away at the mere idea of having a bit of fun with her.

of course, not every aspect of their encounters is pleasant -- and the fact that, more often than not, she's injured when they cross paths puts a bit of a damper on things. this will sting -- and it does, the scowl on her face deepening as emily attempts to keep quiet. a matter of pride, perhaps, in looking more annoyed than pained, though she's too distracted to say for certain. "i believe my tailor will live," she manages shortly, eyes rolling in a further attempt to appear nonchalant.

[camelliagwerm]

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lord Valerius and Lady Camellia!

I’m not entirely sure if Urgathoans pay heed to this holiday but regardless, I extend to you my most sincere celebrations. Jaethal said you were both doing quite well after her last visit to your lands about Drezen. It is a shame I was not able to attend myself, I would have dearly liked to catch up and enjoy your company once more after I last saw you at my coronation anniversary. It has been entirely too long since I had such engaging conversation and fun with peers. Will you be hosting any galas or events soon? I would relish an opportunity to travel, it has been entirely too long. Or, should you need time away from your own troubles, please visit my lands whenever you wish - you will be put into the most exquisite of suites as befitting your status.

Accept the gifts I have sent along, in celebration of your long relationship through life and undeath. Let me know how the wine tastes and what you’ve paired it with. Note the date and vintage - it’s one of the last bottles remaining in Irovetti’s collection and he assuredly stole it from the previous ruler as well. There is also a dress made of the most exquisite of silks, and the color immediately made me imagine it upon fair Camellia’s skin rather than mine. It would be criminal to not pass it along to the right lady fit to wear it. I will cover any tailoring needed, of course, but I have already ordered it altered somewhat based on what I remember of your striking figure. Lastly, this scourge, which I had custom made for the both of you. The black leather is from the supple wings of Ilthuliak. May it serve you better than it did her.

Also, ‘Varn’ insisted these be sent along, something about “a man that would appreciate such toiling made into advancing the art of undeath” - some books and old rituals related to reanimation and lichdom. He also sends his regards and congratulations.

-Sincerely, Queen Morolai Valduin”

To Her Majesty, Queen Morolai I of the Stolen Lands – 

You are correct; my faithful do not tend to celebrate the holidays – indeed, we do not have any formal, Golarion-wide holidays, though each individual cell may have their own. Still, my wife and I appreciate the gesture. It is always a pleasure to have Jaethal with us; the doors of the Pallid Court will always be open to my sister-in-hunger, though I cannot guarantee that my priesthood would not wish to poach her from you. She made quite the impression on several lovely, young Famished who have recently been committed to Our Lady Despair’s service – as well as some of the Ghula. 

Once the winter snows have left Drezen, we shall take you up on the offer of a visit – in Gozran perhaps, so the sun is not so bothersome for me but enough that Camellia may enjoy the warmth? She is certainly eager to visit both your capital and Pitax again – my coffers will be a little worse for wear as a result, but alas — I am a weak man and cannot deny my darling anything, even if I wished to. As for your own visit to Drezen, consider this a preliminary invitation to our usual Night of the Pale masquerade at the end of the year, and should we have any other celebrations of note, you are more than welcome to attend.

As for the wine –  it is a crime that Irovetti kept it in his cellar and had not touched it, but it is in much better hands now, ones with more…discerning taste than your late rival.  In return, this letter should arrive with some Sangwine; it is a popular choice in my homeland, especially among the aristocracy, who associate it with a long life. Camellia extends her thanks for the gown, though she fears she will not be able to wear it for some time. I hope, once we visit, you shall understand why. The scourge however -- her eyes lit up when she saw it and learned of the leather’s origin.  I expect its bite to be fierce. She also has a gift for you that is of a discrete nature. I have not asked – all ladies must have their secrets, even Queens and Princesses.

You may tell ‘Varn’ that if he wishes to lecture me on the finer points of becoming a Lich,  then he is several years too late. My old mentor already tried that once and those fell upon deaf ears, and my own destiny to become undead lies in my blood -- and not for two decades at least. I will be sure to pass along the rituals and books to High Priestess Elyanka, however; she will find them fascinating. 

Keep well, your Majesty. May your reign be long and fruitful – and we shall see you come Gozran.

With esteem, Valerius Dragavei, Prince of Drezen.

[brehaaorgana]

I just said some of this in the comments but you cannot assume that all fashion brands which ensure fair/living wages and decent treatment of factory workers are selling $180 t-shirts or whatever all of the time, and so therefore you "can't afford to buy more ethical products."

Op touched on some of this too, but like:

Step one: reduce consumption.

Also repair what you already own and like! Mend it, spend a little money to get it tailored, etc. Reuse what you can.

The thrift/secondhand clothes market is absolutely flooded with clothing because the fashion industry overproduces SO MUCH at such high volumes. There is more clothing than thrift/consignment stores can possibly ever sell. It's also easier than ever to find decent quality clothing secondhand online. There's no reason to ever shop ultra fast fashion like shein or temu, because there's still nice quality stuff for under $20 or under $10 in real life and online thrift/used markets all the time.

As for slow/ethical/eco fashion and clothing companies: Yes, sometimes they sell a T-shirt for $64 or $118!

But do you know what else I have seen these companies do?:

They have a wide variety of bonus discounts people can qualify for (including literally "low income discount.")

They often have their own secondhand markets for their clothing, so you can buy their clothing used and at a discount easily!

Some of them have textile recycling programs that are either free or involve purchasing the recycling return label bag, and the items you send to be recycled then grant you a credit towards shopping. (I just got a $25 gift card to a shop this way.)

They may have mistaken overstock of a specific color or size sales! (Wow that $168 dress is now $25 because they screwed up and ordered too many.)

They significantly discount retiring prints/patterns/styles or low stock items!

They have sample, archive, or seasonal end sales at big discounts.

Hell, it's April. A lot of them are discounting things for earth month.

Like if you're at a place where you can afford target new, and you're not able to find something used for what you need, then you need to know there are more ethical, sustainable, or accountable options out there with equivalent prices when you check sales.

Guess which one(s) is/are Target Brand at full price, and which are just things on sale at companies that do offer documentation on their factories, supply chain, their fair labor/trade certifications, employee guarantees, environmental impact reports, etc etc for all the clothing made?:

V-neck tee $18

Slim fit v-neck tee $15

Billow sleeve tee $20

Mock turtleneck long sleeve tee $20

Open front cardigan $30

Babydoll romper $30

Terry side zip pullover $25

Belted tea length dress $28

Organic cotton tee $15

Ruffled column dress $37

Men's fleece hoodie $35

Men's graphic hoodie $33

Halter jumpsuit $50

Ribbed tunic sweatshirt $30

Pointelle rib cardigan $18

Long sleeve shirt dress $45

Twill pencil skirt $25

V neck peplum top $23

Yes, I did ensure to include plus size inclusive brands!

Answers below the cut:

Target brand items: 2, 4, 5, 11, 13, 14, and 16.

"crochet can't be made by machines" went from being a cool fun fact to being a call to action of "so if you see mass manufactured crochet in Target, that was made by a person and they were underpaid and you should boycott it" which is true, it was made by a person, but EVERY item of clothing you own (that you did not purchase from a company using ethical labor) was made by a person being underpaid (at *best*.)

Sewing machines are operated by *people*. Knitting machines are operated by *people*. Yes lots of the process is automated but you cannot tell a machine "make me a t-shirt" or "make me a knit cardigan".

Higher awareness of fast fashion, and the true human labor and abuse behind it, is GREAT, but let's not pretend that the crochet hat in target is THE problem. Every article of clothing in target is the problem. "All clothes are made by people" is the jumping off point here into understanding this issue it's not just crochet it's the whole thing ahhhhHHHHHHHHHH