#I'm like a vampire with a paper route

[truantng]

46/366 Linktree

[nerdierholler]

It's done! Attempt number two at book making is complete! It's still just Ethan's Wayhaven Book 1 run. I did a big overhaul of the typeset compared to the first one, which I was trying to make small to minimize the page count. This came out about 130 pages longer and the text seems to breathe much better now. I also added a couple of basic graphics, a moon in the chapter headings and little moons as section headings. I used variegated red embroidery thread for sewing the signatures for just a pop of ominous color between the pages. It is a game about vampires after all.

Working with paper instead of cloth for the cover was a mixed bag. It looks gorgeous in a way I couldn't do with cloth but it was harder to get just right and I'm not sure it will hold up the best long term. But as a second attempt, that's ok. I tried new things and learned new things this one which was the goal and overall I think it's a more attractive finished product, or at least more visually interesting.

The breakdown on mistakes is under the cut. It's mostly for my benefit so I can remember later but please learn from my learning if you would like!

First off here's a comparison of my first and second attempts.

The paper I used for the first wasn't exactly 8.5x11 as noted before and I think it was even narrower than I realized before I tried to trim the pages. It is a significantly shorter book! Also the typeset differences. I'm really happy with how the new one came out.

Mistakes and improvement for the future.

Paper, Paper, Paper - I didn't even attempt to use interesting paper for this, just regular printer paper. Not needing to worry about trimming was so nice. I bought 9x12 sketch paper thinking it would fit in my printer, it did not, and I wasn't going to trim every single page to size so I have that now in my crafting pile. Maybe I'll make some blank journals with it. I do like the slightly off white color and heavier weight of the paper I used the first time and if I put in a fancy paper order I'll take that into consideration.

Paper: Part 2 - I want the scrapbook paper I have to be heavier and the cardstock to be lighter. Once I put glue on the paper it was so hard to work with because it wanted to wrinkle but also felt like it might tear if I tried to smooth it too much or reposition it. I ended up backing the piece on the front cover with a piece of printer paper and that seemed to help.

Mull - I've been using cheesecloth. I didn't starch it last time so I tried that this time but also saw something about putting glue over the whole piece of mull first then attaching it instead of holding it over the spine and dabbing/brushing glue on top. Bad choice. The mull is a mess and it isn't flat on spine, it was weird and stiff and there's slight gaps in between signatures as a result. I couldn't rip it off though so it is what it is. Won't be doing that again in the future though. Minus the mull issue I was really happy with the textblock though.

Endpapers - Again fighting the thinner craft paper. I should have sewn these on but I didn't. However I couldn't add them later because of the mull issue once I realized that so they are fully glued to the first page for added strength instead of being tipped on. Making them then and sewing them on takes more time but might be the better route to go in the future.

Gluing - I feeling like have terrible gluing technique. Things feel too wet but then if I use less or add some water for easier brushing on it doesn't stick as well. I think this is just a practice thing but considering how much gluing there is, it is a little frustrating.

Labels - Tried that for the first time with paper. Not sure how I feel about it . I think it looks alright but mostly it was about the paper quality and durability. Story of this build.

The Casing In - It was not great.

The back is alright but I really messed up the front cover. I think I pushed it too far back into the hinge so the cover doesn't quite close all of the way and is why there's such a large fore edge wrap space. I also think I made my spine piece slightly too narrow so that didn't help either. Ah well. Warping could also be from needing to glue the extra backing paper to the cover paper first and it's just too much glue pull in one area with nothing to balance it.

She's done though and once again I'm carrying over lots good knowledge for the next one. If I saw it sitting on someone else's shelf and they told me they made it I would be super impressed so I should give myself that credit as well.

[jessicanjpa]

a good day

(An excerpt from this chapter of 2003, set just a few weeks after the Cullens arrive. Edward and Esme are doing paperwork at the dining room table when Carlisle gets home from work. Bonus: this is the first time Bella is mentioned in Tale of Years!)

"Carlisle's home," I told Esme, turning my head to the familiar sound of my father's thoughts. A moment later, we heard the powerful rumble of the Mercedes turning off the main road.

You won't believe the day I've had!

Carlisle burst in the kitchen door a moment later, grinning from ear to ear. He swooped down to receive Esme's welcome-home kiss and poured another mountain of mail onto the table out of a bulky package. There was so much mail—especially in the beginning of a new move—that we couldn't risk raising the postal workers' interest by receiving each piece separately. One of Jenks's "services" was routing a good chunk of that mail to us via packages like this one.

"You're in a good mood," I teased, catching the tallest pile of papers—Alice's investment reports—just as Carlisle's new addition sent it tumbling off the edge. Those "Go Paperless" campaigns were starting to look better and better. We could singlehandedly save a whole forest at the rate we were going.

"Indeed I am," he said. He kissed Esme again for good measure. "Days like this... they make everything doubly worthwhile."

"Tell us," Esme said with a knowing smile. She pushed out the chair beside her with her foot, paperwork forgotten. He sat down and took her hand.

"A young man was brought in after a motorcycle accident," he began. "It didn't look good; his blood pressure was already threatening to bottom out. Extensive road rash, compound ulnar and femoral fractures... and a suspected open-book pelvic fracture. The paramedics had a binder on him already. Dr. Snow called for a helicopter as soon as he was brought in. Forks is only a Level IV trauma center. Everyone said it was too late—and it would have been, if I had let them waste any more time.

"I took over immediately. I nearly got fired on the spot, and I may still face a lawsuit for breaking protocol if he doesn't make it in the end. But I'm confident he will. I suspected a rupture of the iliolumbar vessels. I opened right up and started with the gauze packing, and we didn't even have the right kind of arterial balloon but I managed to get them all distracted so I could get the sutures done at my speed—oh, I'm sorry, Edward..."

My throat flared at the bloody imagery as Carlisle chattered on at superspeed, but his good mood was infectious. He lived for scenarios like this: when he was able to save a patient when no one else could, either because of his acute senses, his vast experience, or his ability to operate at vampire speed when he could get everyone else to look away for a moment. Or all three, in this case. Carlisle looked so happy on days like this. So young.

"We still had him lifted to Harborview in the end," Carlisle said in conclusion, "but he was already stabilized. Dr. Snow is still upset about how I had taken over. I actually shoved him out of my way! But even he can't deny that I had saved a life he had already pronounced lost. Once we were cleaned up, he took me out to the lobby himself and told the patient's friend—none other than our local chief of police—about my being a miracle worker."

"Only three weeks this time," Esme said, gazing at him with adoring eyes. "Only three weeks and you're already the Miracle Worker."

Carlisle smiled bashfully at her praise, then went on to describe how Chief Swan had nearly broken down right there in the ER lobby, gushing his gratitude for Carlisle's heroic rescue. Apparently one of the nurses had already let it slip that his buddy wasn't going to make it. It sounded like he had personal experience with motorcycle fatalities, making him doubly in awe of today's outcome and of the Miracle Worker.

Carlisle tended to accumulate nicknames wherever he worked: any number of variations on the themes of Doogie Howser and Miracle Worker. His fellow physicians either loved or hated him, but in the end, they always came to respect his good instincts. Having made some minor forays into the medical field myself, I was most in awe of Carlisle's ability to take decisive action during blood-soaked emergencies. He took risks most emergency physicians wouldn't dream of, and they nearly always turned out for the best. And I couldn't imagine being able to open up a pelvic cavity full of two liters of gushing blood and get right to work.

"Chief Swan sounds like a good man," Esme said fondly.

"I think so, too," Carlisle agreed. He was picturing a nondescript middle-aged man with brown hair and a mustache. The man's chocolate-brown eyes teared up as he acknowledged Carlisle's help. "We talked for a bit. He lives alone, though his daughter occasionally comes to visit in the summertime. He's an avid fisherman—he even asked me if I would like to join him out in his boat someday."

"That'd be a good trick," I said, rolling my eyes. Fishing and vampires didn't mix. Hours of sunshine with no escape, fish getting frightened away, sharp hooks in human fingers, close observation... Carlisle smiled sadly, going on to say how he had politely declined but thanked Chief Swan for the invitation.

It was a shame. Like Alice, Carlisle would have loved to have a human friend. Someone he could be fully honest with, or at least someone he could bond with over the things he would be able to talk about. But experience had taught us to keep our human peers at arms' length. It was better that way... for all of us. And fate seemed determined to remind us of that fact. The very next day gave us a scare like we hadn't had in years.

[evertidings]

Hello! I was rereading Rylan's route and it said about 'voices from the day they got their bounty notice'? I was wondering how does that work, did somebody tell him? Someone from IAOS? If it is why didn't they try to catch them? Or does that only fall in the hands of the Bounty Hunters themselves? (I'm asking too many questions I'm sorry aaaaa)

ah. i realize i worded that weirdly lmao. you don’t necessarily get a paper at your doorstep saying “hey! you’re a bounty now!” i sorta meant it like voices that Rylan overheard when they found out, specifically from other vampires on the street or supernaturals in a club or something. i’ll change that for a future update whoops.

[andauril]

The thing about the whole Ascended!Astarion x PC dynamic is that HE is vastly more powerful than you, and I think that is what makes *me* personally predisposed to see this relationship as potentially unhealthy. As his consort, you are a vampire spawn, the same as Astarion was before the ascension. And vampire spawn whose masters are still alive are beholden to their master - physically incapable of disobeying their wishes or commands. The only reason that Astarion was able to shake off that compulsion is the tadpole running interference. The whole "bride" thing is fanon; it's not supported by the current edition of DnD 5e and it's not in the game. Ascended!Astarion has also no intention whatsoever of making you a true vampire (according to devnotes; he is lying when he tells the PC he'll make them a true vampire later). So, what we have here on paper is a power imbalance that is very heavily skewed in Astarion's favour. I suppose the only way to make this a truly equal relationship is to control the Elder Brain. I never played that ending so idk if the tadpole gets destroyed if you decide to become the Absolute, but if it stays in your head, it can run interference like Astarion's tadpole did between him and Cazador.

I'm not saying that the dynamic between the PC and Astarion is necessarily abusive or toxic, just that it has the potential due to a vampire lord's very real ability to overwrite the will of their spawn. There is really nothing in the game that suggests the player character is somehow a special kind of spawn whose will can't be overridden. When Astarion turns you into a vampire, you're still tadpoled, meaning he can't control you then. But he could if he wanted once the tadpole is gone.

That's what just makes me personally uncomfortable with the dynamic/romance IF you then go on and destroy the Elder Brain. I also think a scenario where you become an evil power couple controlling the Absolute together is very interesting, and it's especially compelling with Evil!Durge - Evil!Durge and Ascended!Astarion would make for one hell of a dangerous and fun evil couple (they would be pretty evenly matched in power as the Chosen of Bhaal and the Vampire Ascendant). TL;DR These are just my thoughts about the dynamic between an Ascended Astarion and his love interest, viewed from a lore perspective. I personally prefer the Spawn Route but I also do admit that the Ascended Route is narratively interesting and it is a fitting route for an evil playthrough. I do not mean to pick fights with people who prefer Ascended!Astarion for one reason or another. Please do not take this post as an attack. This is just the opinion of one person (me).

[writeblrgarden]

PLANT GROWERS - MEET THE WINNERS - ETLU

Meet Etlu, who got second place in our grow a plant event in november! Etlu goes by she/they, and you can find them at @etlu-yume. She has been writing for about 20 years, primarily fantasy or urban fantasy, and lately has been dipping their toes into slice-of-life.

Tell us something interesting about yourself!

"Interesting" is a tricky thing because it's so subjective! Like some people would say being able to speak/read/write another language is interesting, and others would just expect it, right? I guess in some ways I could be considered a quadruple threat - in addition to writing, I also am an artist, study languages, and played and performed with music groups on local and international stages.

Tell us about the WIP you'd like to talk about today.

Fangs with Benefits (not what I did for NaNo - but that's self indulgent and stays between me and the dust on my hard drive). Fangs with Benefits follows the story of a set of siblings, Sherry and Gael. After the pair are banned from donating blood, they are forced to move to the big smoke in order to chase medical treatment for a family illness. After a chance meeting, the pair discover the secret supernatural underground of their new home. Full of supernatural creatures, Sherry decides that there's a solution to their frustration with red tape at the hospital; Vampires. After all. It would be of mutual benefit to both parties. And so chaos ensues.

Describe your writing process. Do you like to plan everything or are you more spontaneous?

I'm a bit all over the place. I tend to do best when I have a game plan, something to refer back to (more often than not somehow it takes scenic routes between written points; go figure). However sometimes, particularly when later scenes will not leave me alone, I will just go ahead and write them out in a separate document. Once they're out of my head and down on paper, it usually becomes much easier to go back to where I had left off and keep going. That said, it's a work in progress and always changing. What worked last year may not work for me this year, and so on and so forth. I'm just hoping I can try and establish a better year-round writing habit in 2024 <3

What have you found to be the most challenging and/or rewarding about writing?

If you'd asked me this question prior to last November, I would have struggled. Maybe I would've said "a blank page/new chapter" is the most challenging thing (and, really, it still is). But. I think the most rewarding thing about writing comes in two parts; 1.) One is when you're writing for others or an audience. I can't really speak too much on this, since I've been super shy with my work and haven't posted much if any online for general consumption. But to the few people I do share with, seeing their reactions to the story progressing, screaming about characters or events. I know there's been times where those reactions have been the difference between opening up the document and writing a few more words that day, or giving it a miss. 2.) Two is when you're writing for yourself, using your writing to help process things that have happened or that you're struggling with. It may not make things 100% better, it may not change the situation at all. But somehow there's also a weird healing power to it, too.

Below the read more is more of our conversation with Etlu

What inspires you to write?

This is a hard question! I'm actually trying to work this out myself. I started to fall out of love with writing a while ago, and I'm still looking for my way back. I'm sure I'll get there, I just don't know how long it will take, or what form it will take. But I'll get there. <3

Share some advice for other writers.

Hmm. One of the classics is "you can edit a bad page, but you can't edit a blank one", which is very true. But I'm not sure that's the kind of advice I'd want to give other writers - or myself for that matter. Bad days happen - be kind to yourself. If you're working towards a goal, keep believing in yourself. Don't give up. You can achieve amazing things! (Said from 2018's cloud of cough medicine zombie fog and pulling like 30K out of nowhere in the last 2 days of November.) Also it sounds weird but don't start from a fresh document. Even if you're finishing a chapter off, just start the next one. I'm super bad at taking this advice myself, but it's easier to re-read a few lines and make tweaks before moving forwards than it is to sit there face to face with a blank page at the start of a session.

What do consider your writing strength?

I'm probably best at workshopping or bouncing ideas, and then never writing them. Does that count? haha. On a serious note I think perhaps my strengths with writing is my structural pacing. (Not plot pacing. I've already picked up some rushed chapters in the last 3 months)

What has been the nicest compliment you've received or what has been the toughest criticism you've received?

Actually today I had a message from a friend, just a simple spotify link to a song. They followed it up with comments that they had been ruminating about events of the last couple of chapters when it started playing, and it made everything hurt even more. It's been a week since they read it - to hear that my silly little story is something that they're still thinking about this long after reading it, that combined with music it brings out more emotion. It's the little things like that, that remind me what it's all about.

What do you love the most about writing?

I'm still trying to work this out. But it falls somewhere between research, the friendly banter with other writers while everyone procrastinates, and the way that your words and the way you write will be so very different to the next writer, that everyone has their own style.

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

I hope you're having a wonderful day! Since it's the spooky month I was wondering if you could do something with Wraith, Dwight, Jeff and Knight (if thats too many you can choose who you'd like) with a plus size S/O or crush and matching outfits (Like wraith and Nurse having the Phantom of Opera looking outfits)

Dee.exe has died of cuteness overload. 😁😁

Wraith, Dwight, Jeff, and Knight with a plus sized s/o wearing matching costumes to them:

Warnings: I know this it a bit later than Halloween but when you get my dbd boys involved, anytime is costume time when you don't care about what anyone thinks 😀

Gender neutral, Plus sized reader

Wraith | Philip Ojomo

Given the fact that he has a cosmetic based off of Phantom of the opera, it's not surprising to see his crush or significant other to be wearing an outfit that's also based off of the novel/ movie.

For the more feminine presenting significant other, I could see the Entity "gifting" them a similar gown of Christine Daaé's.

A quite beautiful white gown that perfect frames their body while being being comfortable to wear during trials.

Masculine wise, I could see either something similar to matching him or an suit that's inspired by the Era.

A rather handsome suit with ruffles on the button up (on the chest area) and loose, romantic sleeves that makes their body look elegant. The trousers are well tailored to fit comfortably, matching the whool overcoat.

Philip couldn't help but to stare at his significant other in awe. You looked ethereal as you walked through auto haven to see him in between trials. He most certainly loves the matching costumes that the two of you have.

Dwight Fairfield | Nervous Leader

The entity tends to give Dwight the more humor costumes and cosmetics like Dwelf, where's dwighty, and the Mummy Dwight. It could be the Entity mocking Dwight's nervous nature or using what it knows about Dwight's past to give him a false sense of hope of escaping.

Seeing how you're rather fond of Dwight, the entity decided to give you a costume of your own to match his.

The bandage wrapped around you gave a more sturdy costume than the toilet paper on Dwight's, more coverage as it was clinging to the neutral colors of the clothes you had on underneath.

Another potential costume that could match Dwight's mummy costume was the cliche vampire costume. The red and black cape draping over your suit/ dress as the fake fangs were hanging slightly from your mouth with a bit of fake blood.

When Dwight saw that you were dressed similarly to him, his face burnt with a blush as he could barely form a sentence because of how adorable you looked. He might be more protective over you, getting the killer to focus on him so that they wouldn't ruin how adorable you looked.

Jeff Johansen | Quiet Artist ❤️

I could go a couple routes for Jeff wearing more of a "costume" compared to his normal clothing. He does have a pirate costume, his death metal outfit, and his Greek mythology inspired costume.

I'm gonna go with the pirate costume. It confused you at first why the entity gave you an odd costume of a pirate.

I can imagine an costume that's similar to his. Matching leather coats with a similiar white undershirt as his. Your hair and skin had a soft smell of salt water with hints of rum that was spilled.

If you want to go more feminine presenting, a comfortable fitting white or red dress that's similar in fabric to the shirt Jeff wears with a large leather belt wrapped around your waist. The leather overcoat would still be the same to his, giving you an edge with the soft look.

Jeff couldn't help but to admire how the outfit made your body look. Although, he tends to not go for the pirate costume, he would start wearing it more to see if you noticed why the entity gave you the said costume.

The Knight | Tarhos Kovács

Tarhos wasn't a fan of his newest gift from the entity. He thought that

[owlsandbats]

TOH VAMPIRE AU MASTERPOST

Hi, this is Ferret of @ferretwhomst and this is my silly little Aladarius/Raeda-centric Vampire AU Askblog! here is some basic info about my AU :-)

Raine and Darius have disappeared off the face of the Boiling Isles, and Eda and Alador (with Lilith's help) are determined to find out what happened. Lilith grows anxious once they discover that the cause of their disappearance was most certainly due to an ambush by vampires- Eda and Alador on the other hand are more eager than ever to find them.

Things that I altered about canon:

This AU takes place before the show. The Hexsquad are around 10 during this AU, and King is about 4- not that this is super relevant, but just to put things into perspective.

Alador and Odalia separated about 1 or 2 years before this AU. Not divorced, they're still married on paper, but Odalia no longer lives with them and the Blights no longer associate with her.

Lilith defected from the Emperor's Coven 3 or 4 months before this AU takes place. Well, I say defected, but it's up to you to find out what really happened. :-)

For more info check out:

The Lore Post which explains the events leading up to the AU better than I did in this post. I'm pretty sure it also counts as a short fic because of how much detail I went into, so enjoy

Possible Lilith Routes which I was considering. (The route I'll be taking her for this askblog is the second one.)

Spotify Playlist for songs that gave me the idea to make this AU in the first place (and that I highly recommend listening to if you're interested in my AU!)

Who's open for asks?

Eda and Alador. They'll answer pretty much any question you throw at them.

Lilith. She's a bit frazzled at any given point of time- she'll answer your questions, but might get frustrated quickly.

Hooty. He'll answer any question you ask him completely truthfully, being the all-knowing Owl House itself, but he gets distracted extremely easily.

Raine and Darius. Like Lilith, they're constantly on edge. You'll have to earn their trust before you can ask them questions.

Me! I'll answer any questions about the AU in general and about characters I haven't mentioned- pretty much anything you're curious about. Drop me an ask and I'll be more than glad to tell you what's up!

[pythonmelon]

Bloody Terrible: Chapter 1

I've been writing a lot more lately and am genuinely, earnestly making headway on a few projects including: This Thing, a supernatural fantasy crime thriller starring vampires and sad teens and stepdads and weird magical folk, taking place in an alternate 1992 Chicago. Enjoy chapter one as a preview!

Fried Mackerel Sandwich

Monday Brunch special: Crunchy fried mackerel, thin sliced red onion, sunny side up egg, sweet mayo sauce, shaved carrot and cabbage on a baguette

Lieutenant Beuller looked over the mess, flicking a cigarette butt into the gutter with two thick, calloused fingers. Rain beat down, helping the fire department with their job- the building was a lost cause, but at least it hadn't spread.

"What a shit show." He muttered, moving alongside a fellow health officer- one of the field Scales- watching as a handful of survivors were shuffled into vans and ambulances, cast in Six AM sunrise glow. "What's it looking like?" Beat. "And can they shut those alarms off?"

"They're working on it." The younger man let out a deep, disappointed sigh. "But it looks like this was one of the modifier dens."

So they'd have magical contraband coming out their ears; they'd have to call the wizards. "But what happened in there?"

"Something, sir. We're still working it out- we can look around properly when the Salamanders clear us to enter."

"What's it look like so far?"

"A lot of bodies. Infighting is the guess, but there's possible signs of vampire interference."

"How's that?" He quirked dense peppery grey eyebrows. Infighting, sure.

"The usual signs on a few corpses, one of the guys we're taking to the hospital. Either way, it’s gonna make a hell of a story." So it would be an even bigger pain in the ass, and the reporters probably would be swarming in any minute. A thick underbelly of organized crime got a lot of bottom feeders, and god forbid they ever sleep.

Beuller adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, using its safety as cover to light another cigarette, pocketing the lighter again. "Get it sorted. I want those guys in shock blankets, assessed for residual magic or brainwashing and comfy enough to be singing like canaries by the time I get back. I'm going to ask a couple locals if they saw anything- before some snot with a mic wants a statement. Someone had to be up for their paper route or something."

He started to stroll to the front of the apartments next door, past a barrier keeping gawkers in sleepwear safe and at bay, trying to look a little more serene. The officer he'd been speaking to let his walkie buzz, picking it up, nodding once, before muttering something and raising a hand. "And, uh, Lieutenant Beuller- sir?"

"What is it Hatchet?" He halted, scowling again.

"Pachis just put in his resignation, apparently."

◊◊◊◊

Muriel Rampersand stared out through the shades of his secondary office, fingering open the slats to get a better view, squinting radioactive yellow eyes into the harsh sunlight. It was too early. He was tired. There was blood splattered across his nice white jacket, in the tangle of his silver hair. He smelled like ash, wet footprints tracked across the office carpet where he had entered.

He nearly hunched under the ceiling, the tips of short black horns brushing occasionally against mineral fiber tile. He needed this raised a few inches. Another problem for another day.

The lights were out, wide oak desk cast only in those bars of orange that leaked in with otherwise cold, ambient early daylight. No need to let anyone know he was here, not yet. The receptionist could put together the pieces. Muriel picked up the chunky cellphone he'd slammed onto the counter upon entry, mindlessly dialing Darcy and waiting on him to pick up.

"It’s Muriel." He spoke quietly, trying not to sound as wet and exhausted as he felt. His tone hardened slightly, setting his teeth. "I'm not down yet. But I think our little problem isn't either. I don't care what price we have to set;" He could probably throw five bucks at the problem and make it disappear, considering goodwill was in such little supply for Mr. Forba. "I want that old man dead."

◊◊◊◊

"Do you have your resume? One page, right? I left a messenger bag for you on the table."

"Yes, mom." Renee nodded, flipping through a few dot matrix copies of a very sparse resume- Seventeen. Highschool early graduate. No jobs, no qualifications. Soccer for two years. Member of the Future Leader's club. A few AP classes. Auto shop star. She tucked them into her bag, opening the refrigerator and picking up the plate with a few slices of cucumber topped with a dollop of cream cheese and a single pepperoni, tucking one into her mouth. "Thanks for making breakfast, too."

"Of course." Ginger nodded, relaxing slightly into her early morning train seat on the other end of the line. "I wanted to make sure you got something before I left. There's some frozen dinners. And stuff for soup, if you want to grab a rotisserie chicken with the dinner budget. I'll be home in a few days."

"Uh-huh. I'll take my applications to the Carter building, like you said. And Tito's." Renee smoothed out her pencil skirt a little uncomfortably. She felt like a little mini-version of her mother, caramel-colored panty hose and all.

"Fine, and Tito's.” Her mother sounded a tad exasperated, almost amused. “But I don't think you'll really fit in. If all else fails, there's still my office downtown-"

"No!-" The teen cut herself off, looking down and realizing she had a white-knuckle grip on the thick phone cord. "It's just- I don't want your name to do all the work. And the Tito's guys know me, I was there all the time with dad."

'I know, but-"

Ginger had to concede when her daughter was right. "Okay. But if you get an offer from anywhere in the carter building, please take it."

"Of course, mom." Renee put on a melancholy smile and a softer tone, trying not to sound too worked up. "Promise. Next time you see me, I'll be a working woman."

"That's the attitude!" She laughed as her mom belted over the phone. "Be good, Nene. And don't take a no personally, if it happens. And tell Tyson hello for me, he might stop in for dinner or TV one night. No wild parties."

"Yes mama- I've got to run, talk to you soon."

Renee sat the phone down, finishing off her cucumber breakfast and going to find the peanut butter cup stash she kept hidden behind the breadbox, taking one for the road. This was her first day playing the game of adulthood, and she was in it to win.

◊◊◊◊

"Tostones Huevos rancheros." Tyson Pachis looked over the diner menu, pulling from his mug of watered down black coffee. "And, uh- a waffle. With whipped cream." He tapped nervously at the laminate menu before handing it back.

The waitress quirked an eyebrow at him momentarily before moving on, scribbling down his order. Could have been a stranger order. Could have been a stranger man. Instead it was a nervous looking middle-aged dad-type in a Scales sweatshirt and baseball cap, fingers drumming the countertop.

Tyson was affixed on the corner TV. The radio in his office got shit signal and he had run out for breakfast the moment breaking news turned around to a fire in the sub-basement of a local office building. Magic venting, illegal body mod spell production, suspected monster attacks, bodies. He had expedited his frankly very late resignation call from the landline and come straight to the nearest cafe with a tv to watch the story develop.

He let out a soft, anxious breath. He'd been up all night, worrying about work, the new office, where and what parts of his life and reputation had been preserved. What he had been preparing for for months.

Ha, what reputation.

His rough old sneakers clattered quietly against the barstool footrest, restlessly tapping. He wanted to make himself relax- get a big meal to help as he watched the morning news reports and a sixth or seventh cup of coffee in the last so-many hours to, well, not help.

The diner was mostly quiet; on a weekday mid-morning, post-rain most people were already on the last stretch of their commute. He sighed again, clenching a fist to stop tapping at the countertop again when the waitress shot him a dirty look.

It was fine- shame about the actual staff Muriel had lost, but that was going to be lost either way. Finally, importantly, he had that weight off his back. Probably. He had to keep telling himself that.

◊◊◊◊

When did he black out?

Nostriano came to, huddled in on himself where he had apparently collapsed behind a dumpster. His body ached, clammy hands clawing at rough pavement until he was somewhat upright.

His head hung unnaturally to one side, feeling at the ragged wound where he had been stabbed, fingers coming away from the crook of his neck tacky with near-black blood. It burned there, his teeth set on edge by the effort of moving, of irritating it.

The man struggled to stand, grateful he had managed to find someplace not even pervasive mid-morning sun reached when he fell. Grateful no one had found him while he was out.

He needed to get home, to evaluate where was safe since things had gone sideways. He'd barely escaped that shitshow with his life, trying to find where his carefully calculated plan had slipped-

Where Muriel had gotten that knife. Why he didn't remember it, among other tacky antiques on the shelves of his office.

But memory of mere hours ago was fogged by smoke and pain and failure, places he didn't want to go. Not while this weak.

Pathetic.

He clawed his way up the wall until he was standing, acknowledging his ruined clothes with a quiet hiss of disgust. He needed to feed, to expedite the healing process so he could solve this little conundrum of failure. Muriel may well have someone posted at the bank, he couldn't risk turning up so injured alone in public. Nostriano felt a short shock of revilement at the idea of slinking around out of fear.

Forget the bank. What was the point of drinking blood if you didn't spill it yourself?

◊◊◊◊

Arthur Beuller prepared to step into the alley between the brunch place Joel insisted on and the tax office, cutting through the back with his fried-mackarel-and-egg sandwich in hand. These meetings had become routine, nonthreatening, and he may as well get his meals on the clock. It was barely nine, he was early for once, and his contact should be here any moment.

Nostriano's ear flicked, hearing the door hinges creak before it even began to open. He was still hunched over his victim, blood seeping into cool dark tarmac and brick. It was daylight, someone was bound to find the body abducted into a humming business's back alley relatively quickly. He had had his fill of prey, gotten some strength back- though it was not enough- and it was time to flee. The stolen coat and hat could help brave daylight fine.

His form shifted, fingers grotesquely outstretched, back arching, a quick process to allow a relatively unnoticed getaway as a bat-

Until it stalled, the alternate shape his curse afforded halting and stuttering, beginning to ache. The vampire began to pant, gasping and kicking, trying to force what was usually painless and simple as a two-step dance. He was stuck, maw hanging open, panting, still man-sized and animalistic with a blonde ruff of fur extending down his bony, near-exposed spine. He snarled, voice caught in his throat, trying desperately to backpedal as oft-malleable flesh became chorded and stiff. Panic hit him hard, eyes rolling, as things went sideways again in the moment it took for Arthur to push open the door and actually look up.

He was met with a shriek, something freakish swinging at him with claws and teeth, blood splattering against the wall next to him as it moved. He wasn't processing all of it, didn't have time to, stumbling not back the way he came but toward the alley’s mouth, daylight, a street surely teeming with witnesses.

The thing didn't give chase, anchoring claws into rock and scrambling up the building, over the roof and away with a furious series of huffs, dragging a trail of wet, stinking crimson up the wall behind it.

Arthur tripped as he made it out of the alley, falling over himself and stumbling into the man he was meant to meet- Joel Guerra. A short dwarf giant at over eight feet, he towered over Arthur’s stout just-under-five. He caught the panicked, stuttering smaller man by the back of his shirt collar, standing him back up and staring off into the alley.

"What's happening, Arty?" He looked down, usual grin punctuated by one gap tooth on the left side pulling hesitantly at his mouth. He was wearing a striped tank top, showing off the guns- full length sleeves of scalemail tattoos punctuated with pink, seafoam, and blue in the gray over broad boxer’s muscles. Young and punchy as always, but he hadn't just seen what Arthur had.

"There's some goddamned thing back there-" He shook. "Or there was. It jumped me! I coulda been monster chow-" He fixed his thick-framed square glasses, looking down at the splatter of red flung across his white polo, and the sandwich he had accidentally crushed in hand. "Aw hell."

Joel scowled, hands crammed into his pockets. He moved past Arthur, into the alley, looking at the blood and stopping at something behind the dumpster, humming softly. "You interrupted it eating, by the look of it."

Arthur's stomach turned. He immediately whirled around, digging the Scales badge out of his pocket and finding the chunky satellite walkie at his belt, calling in. "Hey, uh. We've got a crime scene at tenth. Yeah, we need someone out here asap before a crowd gathers. I think I saw the culprit too."

Joel moved back, not wanting his hands on a murder site. His own beeper buzzed, picking it up to once over and quirking one eyebrow. "I've gotta bounce, Arty. Got an appointment with some kid who wants to go pro in boxing. You know how it is."

"Hey!" Arthur prickled, panic setting at the back of his voice. He wasn't a field guy. Someone was dead less than ten feet away. "You can't just go, you're a witness!"

"Call me later." The giant began to stroll away into the slow mid-morning foot traffic, studying his pager. "Can't miss this job."

"Hey!"

◊◊◊◊

Renee arrived in city central on the bus line, dropped off at a covered station next to a news stand. The carter building loomed in the center of the block, an immense black tower of business and commerce, gilded in gold. A very large, very busy directory was mounted by the door, listing a variety of law, tax, investment, and other business offices. Very respectable places to get your career started.

She dug into her bag for the stack of resumes, checking once more that her home number was on each; they may not have time for her today after all. Hopefully they wouldn't. Bookkeeping or reception was fine, but it was static. Whiling away at papers and money forever, in the mind of a teenager at least.

She picked away at the tractor hole-lined edges and folded one resume in half, slipping it into a side pocket of her bag, for Tito's. That bike shop had practically been her daycare, watching her dad spend his free time outside of inter-department government liaison desk jockeying, restoring an old beetle-green vintage bike. She had learned not to get underfoot; it was the or Mrs. Bo down the street for babysitting after all, and her house smelled like lemon cleaner and moth balls. They had also had a garage cat, and that kept her occupied when the regular mechanics were busy around the water cooler.

She had absorbed the rev of engines after repair, the careful reconstruction of shrapnel after one of the monthly scrap-robot fighting league matches, the name of every tool and wrench and wire, and she knew that the garage was where she was meant to be. Maybe they wouldn't let her take on full-time technician work right away, but an apprenticeship-

She had walked into the Carter building and entered the elevator without thinking about which offices she planned on going to. She wound one thick, neat braid of black hair around her fingers in thought. May as well just hit a button and see what was there. Out of the options, law didn't sound so bad. Maybe investment. Had to be some excitement there, some technical interest in bank runs or lawsuits and buyouts. She would see what was willing to take a kid’s resume, and who didn’t bore her to death.

◊◊◊◊

Nostriano had made it, crawling and sprinting alternatively along rooftops, away from that alley to a public restroom slightly further away under the flimsy protection of his stolen coat. His body burned and fought like a wild animal, but it did return to its original shape by the time he arrived next to a black monolith eyesore of a building, taking advantage of now mid-morning quiet.

The room was cool and blessedly unoccupied, panting and staring at himself in the mirror. Nostriano had never been without a reflection in his afterlife, as mirrors had long since stopped being made with silver backing by the time he died, and water was rarely the only available surface for looking at oneself. It still didn’t always reflect good things, though. He looked haggard, miserable; The coat hung off his skinny form, his golden blonde hair flat and scraggly, blood spilled down the front of his shirt like a bib. His meal had been for naught, the botched change and effort having ripped his wound freshly open again.

One solid wave of dizziness hit him and the vampire's knees buckled, catching himself on the sink and barely halting the fall. His flats slid back on the tile, claws digging into countertop and hissing at his reflection. "Get it together Nostriano." He snarled at himself, trying to formulate a plan to get home with his dignity intact.

His expression in the mirror fell, getting his strength back enough to crawl towards the reflection and examine it more closely, chest tight. His normally rich, light brown eyes had flushed red- beyond the sign of desperate hunger. It covered the whites, the pupils, solid red like wells of blood.

He needed help.

◊◊◊◊

Only one place wanted an interview right away, and Renee found herself largely leaving her resumes with friendly front desk people in nice waiting rooms.

She had practiced with her mom for these sorts of questions and found herself reeling off practiced answers almost robotically.

"I want to start my career and somewhere I see myself staying at-"

"Passionate about organization-"

"Here's my extracurriculars"

"I graduated early with AP honors-"

The interviewer nodded, smiled, told her about how they managed investment portfolios and so-on. She was in and out of the interview in under half an hour, unsure of what else to say when their basic questions were done. The waiting rooms and lobbies of the carter building blended together in a way that felt alien as she wandered through them; not even her mother's work was so... sterile. The governor's office had history, or at least a cozy leather couch.

As she wandered back out to the front Renee jotted down the names of where she had applied. Only one resume remained, the one reserved for Tito's. She was sure she wouldn't need it.

She found herself back outside the imposing office building just under two hours after arriving, staring up at towering city blocks of mixed high-rise apartments, businesses, and more. Greenery hung off the porches and banks of high-up planted rooftop parks, and the wide sidewalks were dotted with food carts and news stands. It was sunny, early summer, and late-morning the streets were not yet abuzz with lunchgoers and break-takers. The Chicago city center was hers for the taking before she needed to catch the hourly train back to the more open residential area she had grown up in.

Oh, she was going to shop, and explore. There was an automobile museum she planned to hit, the soda fountain across the street, there had to be a place offering hair accessories or other fashionable bits and bobs nearby. If she was going to wear business formal, she was at least going to find some way to primp without it getting in the way. And there was always lunch, already very aware her lightweight breakfast was wearing off.

But first-

Renee located a nearby public restroom, withdrawing a more comfortable pair of faded shorts and a polo from her bag and entering before she glanced up and found herself stopped short.

At the sinks, outside of the solid-walled private bathrooms, was a very haggard looking man. He was barely holding himself up by the counter, face and sharp goatee wet from washing and blonde hair hanging in a curtain over his forehead. His coat hung askew but he quickly adjusted it as she entered, unnaturally red gaze unsteady but still piercing as it fixed on her.

His hunched form looked like it was about to fall in on itself, largely obscured by the oversized clothing. He started to move forward, expression somewhere between an animal's grimace and absolute horror.

She didn't really think before she went to catch him, seeing, mostly, an older man in clear need even as the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

"You-" He snatched at her arm, teeth gritted. "Are going to help me.”

[thestandardgirl]

hello

I've been writing since forever. It's the only way I can express myself. When I was about 5 years old and didn’t know how to write, I once took a piece of paper and a pencil and took it to my mother, and I asked her to write down my memoirs like Emília from Sítio do Pica Pau Amarelo (a Brazillian TV show for kids). ''What memories do you have, you're only 5 years old'' was the answer I heard. I think I just wanted to record my life. I needed to write some things down before I forgot what I was thinking about.

so, ever since I learned to write, I have had my diaries and filled them with my anguish. When I was a teenager, I used to write on tumblr, because I was afraid my mother would read my diary (I caught her doing that once, but that's a topic for another day). I love to reread what I was feeling at a certain time in my life. the other day I was reading about how I was suffering from crush on a guy at school, more or less in 2015, and today I don't even remember who that guy was. I don't even remember his name, much less his face. funny how things work. will it be that 10 years from now I'll read in my diary about how I'm grieving for my breakup with my most current ex, and think ''wow, how silly of me, I don't even remember him properly''? I really hope so. because now it seems that this pain will never go away.

but anyway. about me and my writing. I am that person who avoids conflicts as much as possible. I don't know how to talk when it's time to fight, I don't know how to think under pressure, I don't like to talk. if someone yells at me, I cry. I decided to go for the academic route at university precisely for that reason. I like to research and write my findings. if you don't agree, you can write an article refuting me. if I find it pertinent, I write another reply. no face to face, no clash.

and I love to read. my favorite genres are fantasy and romance. 95% of what I read is fiction. I love living other people's lives, falling in love with vampires and fighting epic battles - things I wouldn't have the courage to experience in my real life. it hasn't been long since this desire arose, but I started wanting to write myself. create my own stories and perhaps support someone like my favorite authors support me. but I still don't feel ready for that. I think I still need to grow a lot with my writing. I'm insecure, and I'm afraid of finishing a project like this and not feeling comfortable with the end result - I think I also end up being too much of a perfectionist sometimes.

I'm also not a very creative person in the artistic sense of the word. I don't know how to play any instruments, or draw, or cut paper and create collages. no matter how hard I tried, and took classes in all sorts of activities, my brief dreams of being an architect or fashion designer or actress/singer were always just that: brief and dreams. but with writing it is not like that. I don't need fancy and specific materials, nor a gigantic idea right from the start; I can control and write little by little; I can go back to the beginning and change something without it compromising too much of the rest of the text.

that's why I'm here! I think writing these texts reflecting on my life is a good way to start this writing career - also because this is not my career, so unfortunately I'm not fully dedicated to writing and I have bills to pay…. and anonymity is also something that comforts me. for now, the only way for me to publish anything and not throw up with anxiety of people I know reading it, is under a pseudonym. I'm not ready for people to know me personally, and I'm afraid of possible confrontations for the truths I intend to write about.

in short: I haven't revolutionized anything yet, I haven't had any brilliant ideas to save the world, I haven't even figured out how to deal with my own insignificant problems. but I hope to find all of that. and also to find someone to talk about life.

yours sincerely,

standard girl

[ennaku-sirri-da]

TAMIL BOTCHES HEADCANONS!!!!! (AU)

( Plaintext: Tamil botches headcanons!!!)

Because EVERYONE.

[ ID: Closeup of Jimothan Botch from Smile For Me the game's moustache. It is large and curling upwards. End ID]

YOU TELLING ME THIS MOUSTACHE ISNT SOUTH INDIAN!?😭( sobbing emoji)

( Plaintext: You telling me this moustache isnt south indian!?😭( sobbing emoji) )

--

VANNAKA.....No one says that informally XD (laughing emote) so ..instead...

Hiiii Machi!

Eppa ennadu kadhaia kellunga! ( Now, hear my story!)

OK, first of all, Jimothan Botch isn't ACTUALLY his birth name. He changed it. Why, you ask? Well he watched a crapton of Westerns in the theatres of Chennai in his youth, roaming about with his gang. He was so impressed with those rope-slingin' cowboys, he EVOLVED INTO..

JIMOTHAN "BIG BADONKERHONKEROS" BOTCH

He thought it was cool OKAY?!!!

As for Parsley well it all went wrong when they named the dog Senthilkumaran and him Parsley. Whoops! Can't change what the dog answers to. It's a Kanni breed. His Mom really likes the silly name too so it sticks.

[ ID: Photo of a brown and black Kanni dog, a sighthound breed that is very lanky and long with a curving stomach and elongated snout. End ID]

I like to think that's like the dog in that one ingame poster but HEJDGG

Either way the dog keeps appearing around the Habiticians even if they're in different places, suspiciously before significant events, like an omen. It remains to be seen if Tim Tam and their "shortcuts"( AKA TELEPORTING) is somehow involved in this.

On account of Parsley continuing to be a difficult child for Jim to raise though, for his shark-like biters, explosive hellfire surge Moments( due to demonic heritage on his Mama's side ) as well as his thieving tendencies etc-- He calls Pars "Rowdy Ranga" sometimes, MY MOM CALLS ME THAT LMAOOOOOO

Since his Mom's a Carnivorous Ungulate Monsterthing I think it'd be SO SWEET if she called him like " attukutti " in rare affectionate moments. That means " goat kid" :] ( smile emote)

--

Yeah, Parsley had it kind of Rough too. His Mom( I'm still figuring out her 'human' name. Her real one would make mortal's tongues go mad twisting in their mouths trying to form a language they were never meant to speak ) and Dad( or "Appa" HEEHE. Hes just a. Guy. Who coincidentally keeps crushing for vampires and demons I GUESS ) really fell into a disaster of a time raising him. They could never agree on what he should do, how he should be raised, where he should go, what to learn...

An example of that is that his Mom is Extremely Stern, being a prosecutor in The Underworld Court and stuff where things are generally corrupt and sometimes draconian. She's been trying to make a change in it, and that requires that sort of strength. Jim, though, Jim is casual and forgiving to the point where his kid later grows up to be a callous ( and packed with guilt for it. You know whats in that ham's suitcase? Baggage. ) sort, having spent much time with him.

So yeah, his parents split( though they were not married), and Pars' core of self hatred due to it never quite heals fully.

--

I'm kind of getting off course but BACK TO IT

But yeah Parmesan Bunches does a lot of stuff ( forgery of papers, still stealing stuff, lying whenever, procrasinating for extremely long times to everyone's detriment, bribing etc...TBH it's not like EXTREMELY bad stuff. It's just that taking this route a lot causes problems anyway, and in this case gives him low self- confidence ) that'd make his parents Displeased in the process of trying to build his own identity through all that turmoil and be independent for himself, though he buckles under his own pressure as well. Sure he's winning every case he takes on through the shady means. But at what cost??

He's got Enemies. And Mom's one of them.

[ This is all still W.I.P BTW so as I get more info things may change!]

Jimothan at most shows his disappointment and expecting an apology through a tried and true tradition.....

"No earthquake felt in my house. The tectonic plates know very well that if they shift a little, my mom will place Rava upma in them as well."

-- courtesy of @i-hate-upma

(Plaintext: "No earthquake felt in my house. The tectonic plates know very well that if they shift a little, my mom will place Rava upma in them as well." -- courtesy of @ i-hate-upma )

That's right. BEHOLD. The only Edible food Jimbo can make.

[ ID: Photo of Upma, a thick porridge packed with vegetables, lentils, nuts, herbs etc. It looks like a somewhat solid lump. End ID]

CRY CRY. It's UPMA!

I'm kind of sad he'll never be able to taste the goodness that is Curry instead BUTTT since he's friends with Kamal, and highly likely he's visited his house-- He can get some Paro Manxho( Pigeon meat curry) there.. it's not exactly chicken but hot curry is hot curry! I've heard it is hard to make and since they're in the US, the ingredients would be harder to procure too. I'm sure Pars is flattered someone would take all that trouble, jsjsahsjsjd. Stuff like this is why him and Kam are such close friends. They aren't just hi-hello-bye. They're deep, guys. Going all the way back to when Pars was a tee-and-baggy churdidar-pants wearing stressed college student, roped in as a guitar player for ten-mice-in-a-cool-leather-jacket wearing stressed college student Kamal's band. Coming all the way back to deciding to stay longer in this creepy "self-help resort" hes definitely getting a bad feeling about Not Sueing To The Ground Instantly, because...Kamal's there. Pars calls him machan, so that should tell you everything. ;-) (winky emote)

--

I HAVE TOO MANY IDEAS JUST TO PUT IN THIS ONE POST DHJDJD

(Plaintext: I have too many ideas just to put in this one post dhjdjd)

So I'll end on some design ideas!! Not quite solid yet but here ya go.

[ ID: Traditional fanart sketch of the artists interpretation of Jimothan Botch. The style is semi realistic. It's mostly a headshot with a fading bust. He is a skinny aging man with salt-and-pepper hair sweeping across his forehead and growing down the sides of his face in a more orderly manner. His eyes are squinty and he has a long, slightly big nose. He smiles, showing some wrinkling, his upper lip totally covered by a very big moustache that curls at the tips, fanning into even more curls at their bottom edges. He wears a bartender's suit and tie. End ID]

You bet he twirls off that thing and laughs LIKE REALLY LOUDLY coughing fit fucking show off and Habit is so in love with him SHUT UP SHUT UP Even if they are good cowbuddies their level of homoeroticism is YEEHAW

BUFF PARSLEY JUMPSCARE MOTHERFUCKER

( Plaintext: Buff Parsley Jumpscare Motherfucker )

I will use He/Ham pronouns for Pars in this one and explain why later! Actually JK I'll tell you now. He accidentally said " my pronouns are he/ham" but he found he suspiciously very much liked being called a ham and not a man all the time and so it came to be!

[ ID: Traditional fanart sketch of the artists interpretation of Parsley Botch. The style is semi realistic. The main sketch is colored digitally and stops at the starting of the thighs. Parsley is a strongly built person with a stocky upper body. His skintone is a warm medium brown. Hams face is like a softly edged downwards rectangle. He has red-sclera eyes with somewhat prominent brows. Nose is similar to Jimothan's. Along with regular teeth ham has two bigger gold-plated canines. Parsleys red hair is a sticking-out bedheaded mess that falls to his shoulders. Some are cut in a more orderly way down the sides of his face. He wears a light red shirt, darker tie, dark blue business suit.

His hands are behind his back and he looks off to the side and frowns, looking dejected. Beside ham, coming from ham, emanating soft yellow waves with a red centre hold the lyrics to " heaven knows I'm miserable now" by The Smiths. It says "In my life...why do I give valuable time....to people who don't care if I live or die?"

A few more reference sketches are seen beside the main sketch, left side. One is of canon Parsley as a head saying 'bro' and a note of his head shape being a square. More below is written ' Comic book inspo" and a cut-off "mutton chops". Beside these there's Parsley's frowning mouth drawn, teeth showing, regular and gold-plated. "Smile?" is written questioningly. At the bottom is a digital exported and blurred canon sprite of Parsley. End ID]

OK weird story. Muscled Parsnip first caught my imagination with, a, um, this story where he crushed a suitcase with his abs in court or something like that. I'm pretty sure it was written as fetish stuff now( I didn't know!) but GOD was it HILARIOUS to read. So there you go. Demonic metabolism, or something. I would play the drums on his chest. Dum Dum Dum. Or smash Randy's goddamed pickle jar( actually tried this in game, didn't work).

[chaotic-scraps]

Malcom had lived a good five centuries on Earth, and not once had he seen such stupid, brazen audacity. He rubbed his eyes and blinked tiredly at the man in front of him. "First-- Goodness... What... What makes you think I want to help you?"

"I'll give you blood, sir," Emmett said, yanking his sleeve much too readily. "Or... Money? Please say blood."

Malcom crinkled his nose and gave him a once-over. "Listen, I don't know where you came from, or what you're in, but what makes you think you can just walk up to someone on the subway a-and just ask for something like that?"

"Why's it so weird? I want my mind stronger." Emmett clapped Malcom on the back, and Malcom glared daggers. "Maybe we can even help you fix your... Uh... Mind control difficulties? Make a game out of it."

"Listen, hush, will you? Also, what difficulties?! My mind control is fine!" Malcom took a deep breath and worried his lip. "Also, quit saying vampire this, mind-control that. You're freaking people out." He shook out a newspaper and hid behind it.

"Oh wow. I didn't even know they still made those." Emmett said, flicking the paper. "Do they? Is that from this century?"

"They sell them in supermarkets," Malcom sniffed.

"Oh wow, so they do. Sorry to question you, grandpa." Emmett grinned cheekily. "Hey, maybe I can teach you what we use in modern times. Do you know what the internet is?"

Malcom gave him a deadpan look and held up his smartphone. "Sometimes I just like print better," he said. "Now go find some other poor sucker to pester."

Emmett stared at him with an almost hungry look, and gripped the newspaper. "Make me," he said.

Malcom grimaced. "This is some sort of weird fetish, isn't it? Let me sit you down and tell you about a little thing called consent. No means no."

"Listen," Emmett said, suddenly very serious. He seemed like he was having difficulties getting the words out. "I... Killed... Under a demon's orders. It was... I swore I'd never do it again. And I've seen you around. We take the same route almost every day. And you seem... Safe."

Malcom was at a loss for words. Emmett's pleading tone moved him, to be sure. But more than that, he knew how it felt to be a puppet.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this," Malcom muttered. "Listen, Emmett... Fine. I take Venmo. I won't say no to a little blood too. Nothing from the vein. All the hair and arm sweat-- just-- no. Get some sterile needles, wipe it down, get it in a bag or bottle for me. You're not diseased, are you?"

"Not that I know of, sir," Emmett said.

"And quit calling me sir. It makes me feel old."

"Good day, good sir. I would like to be put under mind control" "I… I'm sorry… It's just… People usually don't offer volunter to do that." "Oh, it's just that I need to practice how to get free once in a while to not get rusty."

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort - Chapter 29 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Brayden

Slivers of moonlight stretch across the cloudless sky, clinging to faceless strangers and casting shadows across the lonely pavement.

A stray couple huddles together near the bus stop.

The shorter one shudders from the cold and points to the schedule taped to the light post.

The lower right edge flaps against the chilly breeze, its paper edges curled and frayed.

They aren't waiting for the bus route, though.

At least, I should surely hope not.

It shut down over a month ago due to the war.

Their passengers fled and the drivers hastily followed behind them.

All that's left are the beastly vehicles now sitting idly in the streets collecting dust.

The taller one says something and I lean forward on the balls of my feet to hear it.

Mother Nature has a different idea, though and the words are gobbled up by the hungry wind.

The couple moves closer together.

The shorter one shakes their hands out of their pockets, winding their arms around the waist of their companion.

The innocent moment becomes intimate and I look away.

Many of my kind would continue to indulge out of mere curiosity but I don't see the point.

We're not programmed to have those types of moments or feel the types of emotions that lead up to them.

We have evolved to not let emotion stand in the way of our duties.

Even with Finn?

The teasing whispers dances through my mind.

My jaw tights to the point of becoming painful.

The human's name seems to be searching for permanent residency in my mind.

At first I just thought it was from the potency of his blood, I craved him because he has the blood of a Nirv.

After the first time I properly fed from him, however, other thoughts started settling into my mind as well.

It started with his sunken cheeks, then his soft eyes and then his timid voice.

It even started noting the subtle nuances of his changing facial features as one emotion flitted to another.

The blood of a Nirv is powerful.

There's no denying that.

From what I know, however, they only captivate an immortal because of their blood.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet with Finn I find myself craving more.

To taste him. To touch him. To fuck him.

And while it is very normal to lust after a mortal during a feeding, to lust for one after is a rare thing indeed.

It becomes less of a primal instinct and more of a desire.

My nostrils flare, inhaling the scent of Finn's blood now packaged away in two bags in the bottom of my carrier.

Even without sex, the human is willing to bend to my requests.

It's painfully obvious he wants more from me.

I can smell it from his emotions.

He lusts for me almost as much as I lust for him.

Shamefully, the human is making an impact on me.

His very being is saturating the threads of my mind, weaving through my thoughts like a toxic drug.

When I'm not with him, I think of him.

When I am with him, I can't get enough.

The realization is unnerving.

It's a vicious cycle and a dangerous one at that.

A subtle beep emits from the radar detector in my pocket.

I push away from my post and hug my jacket closer to my body.

The gesture is nothing more than a social cue I have learned from watching humans for many, many years.

Normally I don't bother with them but since we are in the heart of human land, I decide it's best to play by their rules.

The heel of my boots scrape across the pavement and my ears perk when I hear a similar gait approaching mine.

It takes only a minute before his stride falls in line with mine.

The two of us walk side by side, wordlessly.

We round the corner of a nearby building.

The streets are empty.

All the houses have been abandoned as well.

Everything is dark.

Still.

Terrified.

For a moment, my mind drifts back to the couple huddling near the bus stop.

Did they manage to make a timely escape?

Or were they pulled into the arms of a merciless vampire?

[eideticspider]

@spinxeret asked: ❝ i'm not a morning person. i'm barely even a person. ❞

{✗} "Ugh--you THINK I am? With both of these jobs, if I'm up BEFORE 8am, I'm like a VAMPIRE with a paper-route," Cindy groaned, leaning back on MJ's sofa with a weary yawn. Her hand makes a half-hearted attempt to reach for her mug of coffee before deeming it much too far (all five inches), and dropping beside the sofa.

She grumbles a little, nose wriggling. "Why did we have to do this at 7 in the MORNING, Watson?"

[vukovich]

Peculiar Prompt!

Character 1: Draco

Character 2: Harry

Relationship type: it’s like friends with benefits except instead of sex its blood-drinking (and maybe a little bit of sex) to lovers

Mythical creature: one of them is a vampire

Flavor: hot cheetos

Thing you see while driving: ducks

Fetish: tiny cock ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Weather: blizzard

(i humbly request a not-sad ending, very excited to see what you do with all this!)

Fit to Bust

The hematologist was named Dr Sanguine, which felt fake. His exam table felt plenty real, though.

"Polycythemia," he said.

"Huh?" Harry replied. "Oh. Uhm, monogamy- I mean, monogamous, I guess. If the opportunity arose."

Dr Sanguine shook his head. "It's polycythemia. Not lupus. Dr Histoid owes me a round of golf."

Harry glanced down at the sheaf of handouts. "Huh," he said again. "So now what?"

Dr Sanguine shrugged. "Oddly, this is the only condition in existence that leeches were good for. Call the West End blood donation centre and make an appointment. Once every month or so ought to do it."

"Huh."

--

"I'm sorry," the woman said primly. Her lipliner looked like a smooch-shaped cookie cutter. "But you were declined."

"Huh?" Harry reached for the single sheet of paper on the clipboard in her hands. How could ten questions disqualify him already.

A trim, dark-haired man skidded out into the hall on an exam stool. Cubic zirconia stud earrings glinted on both sides of his head, his perfect hair made Harry self-conscious, and his scrubs were entirely too tight in very nice ways.

"They don't want your sort around here, darling!" the man yelled, then winked. Harry very much wanted to rub his dick on the man's chest.

"Oh," Harry said. "Huh."

--

The St Mungo's Department of Blood Maladies and Sudden Losses was eerily quiet. There were no windows. No ceiling fixtures, only lights in wall sconces. If the halls had been carpeted, it would have felt more like a library or mansion than a hospital wing.

An elderly witch in vintage cat eye glasses silently waved him over to the counter. "Mister Potter," she whispered putting down her book. "We've been expecting you."

"Oh, uh, okay," Harry muttered. It was a far sight better than the Muggle blood donation route, at least. "The Healer I saw said the donors get to choose the vampire... not the other way around... right?"

Visions of being fed on by redheaded women had plagued his nightmares of late.

"Yes," the woman said, nodding. "The rooms have one-way glass, so you can peek in from the hall before you decide to go in."

"Okay, thanks, I-"

A man came out of one of the furthest rooms, delicately pressing a wad of gauze to his neck. Harry gave him a quick head-to-toe assessment. Tall, dark hair, good face, nice chest, trim wai- BULGE, WET SPOT, muscular legs.

The man cleared his throat as he passed the desk. The woman nodded to him. "Four weeks, Mister Ravenswood?"

He licked his lips and caught Harry staring at his crotch. "Yeah, four weeks'll do."

The woman nudged her glasses up higher and addressed Harry. "Go on, then. Take your time. Some of them are more popular than others."

Harry nodded and set off down the hall. There were four doors on each side, and above him, two gold placards. One said "Ladies" and the other "Gents". Harry moved to the "Gents" side of the hall, assuming it was addressing him, then realized that they'd sorted the vampires inside the rooms, not the blood donors.

Across the hall, a woman with curly red hair looked up from her book and waved through the glass, showing a good half-inch of fang. Harry squeaked and huddled against the wall.

The vampire inside the first door looked like Filch, but cleaner, which should have been an improvement, but just felt suspicious. The vampire in the second room looked like a youth Quidditch coach, but not in a sexy DILF sort of way. More of a pins-his-hopes-and-dreams-on-kids kind of way. Both sat in mauve vinyl hospital recliners looking as though they, themselves, were the patients.

The third vampire was missing. His room didn't have a chair, just a bright Persian rug and a heap of satin and velvet throw pillows.

Harry was ready to give up and research phlebotomy spells when he peeked inside the last room. The last vampire looked like David Duchovny.

Harry pushed the swinging door open, and the vampire leapt to his feet. He bared his teeth like a snake.

The back of Harry's head hit the wall first, then his shoulders, then his arse, then his hands. He let out a startle cough, and the vampire slammed a hand around his throat.

Harry groped in his pocket for his wand, found it, and whispered, "Lumos-"

The vampire leaned forward, his nose brushing along Harry's jaw.

"Lumos sol!"

Golden sunlight streamed out of Harry's pocket. The vampire hissed, grabbed him by the neck, and shoved him though the swinging door.

Harry kept his wand pointed at the door for several long moments, watching as the vampire went from snarling at the glass to pacing, to sitting back down in his chair.

Harry rubbed his neck. Leave it to St Mungo's to get donors killed.

The third room was still empty. Unless there was a vampire hiding inside that pile of pillows.

Harry looked at the not-DILF Quidditch coach. The man looked like a skinny Jack Black, which should have been a compliment, but wasn't. He pushed the door open slowly.

The vampire glanced up once, curtly, then announced, "No blokes."

Harry threw a hand up dismissively and turned around and went back out into the hall.

The redheaded vampire across the hall waved to him again. She was using a fang to tie off yarn on a knitting project. Absolutely not.

Nobody had told him that the whole blood drinking thing actually was sexual, but he'd assumed it couldn't not be sexual. And the fact that the one vampire had a no-penis policy seemed to prove it.

And the human who'd left as he was coming in had obviously had a good time, presumably with the vampire from room three, who'd already fed and left.

How could it not be sexual to have someone stronger than you, faster than you, hold you down, pierce into your body, and drink you down. Every single bit of that was sexual.

But if he had to choose between that kind of intimacy with a blood-sucking, Argus Filch-looking son of a bitch and experimenting with blood letting spells, the spells sounded like the better bet.

He waved back to the knitting vampire and headed to the desk on his way to the lifts.

The woman at the desk didn't look up from her book, but cleared her throat loudly. "No luck?" she said in a creaky old voice.

"Uhm," Harry said, "No, I suppose not."

She nodded ambivalently.

Harry started to leave, but stopped. Maybe that missing vampire was worth asking about. Blood letting spells were notoriously hard to control, and the leading cause of false death reports.

"The, uhm," he started. "The vampire in the third room. What's his, uhm..."

Harry left his question in the air.

She arched an eyebrow and marked her page with a finger. "Well, he certainly never goes hungry. Quite popular." She gave Harry a tiny smirk. "I think you'd get along fine. He comes every few days."

"Huh," Harry said. "Alright. I'll try again on Thursday."

She opened her book and shooed him away with "Wear something nice."

--

Harry showered, put on nice trousers, a clean shirt, and arrived five minutes before donation hours started, only to find out...

It was Malfoy. Harry's entire body slumped, standing in the hallway, and he considered kicking the door like a petulant teenager.

Of course it was Malfoy. Who else would drag a Persian carpet and a cubic yard of throw pillows into a hospital room just to eat a meal twice a week?

Malfoy.

Malfoy would require the trappings of luxury for a fucking snack.

Harry lingered in the hall and watched Malfoy, sprawled in his pillow nest like a Victorian courtesan. He appeared to be asleep, but as far as Harry knew, vampires didn't sleep.

There was a good chance Malfoy would just tell him to fuck off. There was also a good chance he wouldn't, and Harry would have to reconcile having a pseudo-sexual encounter with Malfoy, of all people. Quite possibly an actual sexual encounter, which could be brilliant, because Malfoy was hot. Or it could be a disaster, because the world at large had yet to notice that Harry Potter, media darling, had a dick the size of his thumb. If anyone was willing to sell that story to the tabloids, it would be Malfoy.

Harry rested the tips of his fingers on the door, but didn't push it open. Maybe he could pull this off without getting his dick involved. If he could summon enough loathing for Malfoy, maybe it could just be a blood letting, and nothing else.

He sighed and pushed the door open.

One of Malfoy's eyes slid open, then the other, like an annoyed snake. He licked his fangs, and Harry waited for a snide remark.

Instead, Malfoy's nostrils flared. His voice was lazy and thick. "Polycythemia?" he asked, as if questioning the daily special at a restaurant.

"Uhm," Harry muttered, "yeah. How'd you know?"

Malfoy shrugged, one-shouldered. "Smells like it." He yawned and sank into the pillows.

The points of his fangs caught the light from a small lamp in the corner, and Harry's arms ran with goosebumps. He blew out a breath and willed himself to calm the fuck down. It was just Malfoy. Stupid, pointy, pasty (extra pasty now) Malfoy.

Malfoy made no effort to move, so Harry stood nervously at the edge of the rug. "So, uhm, how'd you end up a vampire? Last I heard, you were a Cursebreaker."

Malfoy shrugged again. "Still am. I didn't use a containment ward on an artifact I should have. Ended up bleeding to death here in hospital, but Mum knew someone who knew someone who knew someone undead, so... Night shift Cursebreaker now."

"Huh." Harry wondered if he needed to take his shoes off to step on the rug, but Malfoy had his shoes on. But his shoes were cleaner than Harry's. "So... how's being a vampire?"

Malfoy's smile was slow and left his eyes cold. "No complaints."

Harry stepped on the rug. "You don't mind hunting people for food, do you?"

Malfoy's grin showed his fangs. "You think I have to hunt?"

Harry tried to ignore the thrill that raced up his spine. "Don't you?"

The toes of Harry's shoes met the edge of the mound of pillows, but Malfoy made no move to rise.

"Mm, no. Not once." Malfoy ran his tongue over a canine. "My prey comes to me, doesn't it?" He patted the royal blue velvet pillow next to his hip.

Harry licked his lips and sank to one knee. The rug gave way slowly under his kneecap. It was one thing to have a vampire pin him against a wall, or tackle him to the ground. That was a trial to endure, and that's what most of his life had been. But never had he crawled eagerly into a predator's lair. And definitely not with his dick rubbing against the back of his zipper like this.

Malfoy lifted an arm and let Harry settle in along his side. They sank down together, and Harry wiggled closer. There was no magic to it beyond a warm, welcome body and a soft bed.

"You're warm," Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged. "Only hungry vamps are cold."

Harry laid his head on Malfoy's arm and rolled onto his side. He bent his knees up a bit to hide the little tent in his trousers. The entire length of his neck was exposed. Any second, Malfoy would strike. He'd move like a bolt of lightning. He'd pin Harry down and sink his teeth into Harry's neck.

A tiny squeak snuck out of Harry, followed by an embarrassed flush across his cheeks.

Malfoy glanced at him sidelong, not even turning his head toward Harry. He swallowed, and Harry did, too.

Harry's cock was far too hard, and he was sure Malfoy could smell it. If he could smell a blood disorder, he could surely smell Harry's arousal. Any second, he'd strike.

Malfoy sighed. "I'm not just going to bite you and suck the blood out, Potter."

"Huh?"

"I was raised to appreciate a meal." Malfoy turned his head, nose to nose with Harry, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Anticipation and all."

"Uhm, okay. What... I mean... How..."

Malfoy licked his teeth, and Harry felt the heat of his mouth ghost over his lips. "I want you ready to burst when I finally bite you."

Harry gulped.

Malfoy rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms loosely around Harry. His lips grazed Harry's chin. "I want to barely nick you and have you flood my mouth."

Harry's entire body ran hot, and his cock throbbed against his trousers.

Malfoy's lips kissed a slow, soft line along Harry's jaw. "I want your heart in your throat when I put my teeth in it."

Malfoy slipped his thigh between Harry's, and Harry's cock rubbed against Malfoy's hip.

"Oh, God," Harry blurted.

He lifted his chin and gave Malfoy his neck. Malfoy's breath shuddered out as he lowered his mouth to Harry's neck. His hand left Harry's hip to slide between them, cupping Harry through his trousers. Malfoy moaned again when he found Harry's cock.

"Oh, fuck," Harry whispered. "Fuck-fuck-fuck."

Malfoy's tongue was hot and wet against Harry's neck, and he wasn't certain who was making more noise. He thrust into Malfoy's hand, tension building at the base of his cock with every thrust.

"Fuck," Harry gasped, "bite me."

His balls tightened, and he tried to stave of the weight of his impending orgasm, but it was too much, too good.

Malfoy sighed against Harry's ear, and Harry moaned and humped into Malfoy's hand.

And Malfoy finally struck, slow and seamless. Harry didn't know he'd done it until his vision wavered, and he felt Malfoy's jaw working against his throat. His body faltered as Malfoy stroked him through his trousers. His muscles went lax. Black spots danced in front of him. And he was still so fucking close to coming, held in suspended animation as his blood pressure dropped, his brain starving for oxygen.

His vision went black. His ears rang. He let out a strangled, helpless peep of a moan as he sank into the nothingness.

Malfoy took a deep breath, and, like a gunshot, the room rushed back into focus. Light, then sound, then arousal flooded Harry, and the suspended tension in his hips broke like a tidal wave. Malfoy stroked him one last time, Harry's body went rigid, and he came in his trousers like a fucking teenager.

Malfoy licked Harry's neck as he came, and Harry clutched his head. Malfoy let out a low, satisfied chuckle, then gave Harry's neck a final kiss. He rose, licking his lips clean. In the dim lighting, it looked like barbecue sauce.

"Shit," Harry whispered. He stared up at Draco, wide-eyed and thoroughly dazed. "That was good."

"Mm hm," Draco hummed. "What did you have for dinner?" He licked his lips and hummed appreciatively again. "Curry? No, no real spices, just the capsaicin."

"Uhm." Harry's boxers were absolutely plastered to his groin. "Flamin' Hot Cheetos."

Draco sucked his spit through his teeth. A pink flush was rising in his cheeks. "Hot Cheetos," he said absently.

Despite the sticky situation in his pants, fatigue washed over Harry. He yawned and snuggled down into the pillows. He half-expected Draco to nudge him to leave, but he tucked a pillow under his own head and curled his arms around Harry.

Harry tucked his head under Draco's chin. "So you're here twice a week?"

"Mm hm."

"What do you do the other nights?"

Draco nuzzled his chin in Harry's hair. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Harry yawned and butted his forehead against Draco's chest. "Maybe I would like to know."

Draco huffed in surprise. "Huh."

[themoomoorn]

Scarlet Blaze Salt Mine Highlights, Part 2 (Because I hit the image limit last time)

It's kind of a sad day when you're transitioning hyperfixations (Chainsaw Man and Tactics Ogre, in this case), because I'm tired of this game and I haven't even begun to cleanse by entire body with Azure Gleam. But I must!

Also I just wanted to finish this slog of a route so badly that I forgot to give away Shez's Merc Whistle. Oops.

Previous post is here.

He isn't wrong. If anything, between this and Egg reassuring Shez that no, betrayal totes wasn't gonna happen, this just reinforces the fact that Egg doesn't respect Claude at all.

Still, big oomph on Claude because his dreams don't even exist/make sense in this game.

Here lies the Tabletop Demon.

Kind of poetic/ironic that he's the only one who can truly die, while poor Dimitri, who gets dragged around like a wet cat in Houses, will always survive in this game. Egg mostly does, if you count her getting subjugated to the director's fantasies lobotomized in Azure Gleam as "surviving."

"Now what that ambition is, I simply do not know, but I will boldly assume it had to do with using bibles as toilet paper."

No Lies Detected(tm)

Sothis attempts to salvage this trainwreck with a quick and miserable death, but by plot dictation, she sadly fails.

Byleth's death here is on par with Dimitri's on Verdant Wind in how unceremonious and cruel it is. Devs, are you sure you're not actually mad at how popular Byleth is? Especially the one with the 200% Bustline Modifier?

We Stan a megalomaniac /s

The Agarthans never got to the Holy Tomb or the Holy Mausoleum in this game, and here we get the idea of the kind of crap Houses!Edelgard condoned.

Really, the one thing Rhea did wrong was not using the Aurora Breath on Edelgard during her coronation.

Like

Even now, Rhea knows Agartha is the true enemy here?????? Like back in Chapter...4?????

But no, per the Edelgard/Balthus Support, Edelgard started the war anyway, she knows that she's benefitting from the same megalomaniacs that have their hands in the Empire's politics, and she had farfetched history spoon-fed to her. She doesn't care. She still wants total power.

Bruh

Monica is talking about killing Thales, btw. Peak wlw representation, everyone /s

Linhardt is abhorrent.

Shez DGAF about anything, least of all on this route. But I suppose it's fine because they're not a weird nepotism teacher, or whatever.

So here's something I've noticed: Scarlet Blaze and Golden Wildfire share several near-identical scenarios (the most obvious being the Chapter where Ordelia needs to be pacified), CGs (the still of Egg and Clyde shaking hands), and even video cutscenes (Rhea transforming into the Immaculate one; only the background is changed). GW!Claude knocks of a number of Edelgard's rhetoric and dialogue ("My hands are covered in blood and will never be clean again, feel bad for me uwu") and now we have a hollow knockoff of something poignant Claude says to Byleth on Verdant Wind.

There's also the general fact that because the Houses version of Claude ultimately became more heroic than intended, and because they had already delayed the game three times, they had Verdant Wind knock off most of Silver Snow...which is the default route for the Black Eagles.

There is a quasi-tumbleweedy-incestual bond between these two characters/routes. They fold into one another like brain proteins tangling on each other. This is not the case for Azure Moon (bar maps being shared, and even then the context differs drastically) and even more so for Azure Gleam.

Point is, I'm a Claude stan, but at this point, I feel like the Blue Lions route should be the canon one.

Local vampire simp and local masochistic noble boldly state their totally normal relationship with one another. I think I liked the Houses/Ending Card version more, because their bond made Edelgard jealous.

I did this strategy over the other two and it did absolutely nothing, by the way.

"ShE dOeSnT cArE aBoUt HiM" blah blah blah, we get it, you refuse to read the text and can't get over that Cyril and Claude are mostly incompatible when it comes to bonding.

I found a Khaloonie discover the flavor text for Seiros Tea (it's tea from southern Almyra and it got slapped with an in-universe localized name) and flipping out over it recently, funnily enough. Houses has been out for three years (as of this post) now, and you've only read that text recently???

"My daddy had stake over ruling the whole continent single-handedly first, you cut the line!"

Sothis please take the wheel -

Can confirm, they literally do almost nothing while Thales and Rhea tumble over that bridge. Very "Wormy Episode of Spongebob" energy right here.

"BUT SHE ENDED THE WAR FASTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" /s

Good job Shez, you broke it.

The ending animation of the Crests rotating like planets changes depending on which route you picked, as that land's "native" Crests are what's displayed. Since the Empire's "native" Crests are that of the Four Saints (plus the Apostles Noa and Timotheos if you want to get technical), you get to bask in a kiddie pool of irony.

In the end, the standom's support of the Empire is akin to how many fans, from its inception in 1979, support the Empire of Zeon and factions similar to it across the Gundam franchise, I feel. Shame that Adrestia isn't as well-crafted as Zeon.

Speaking of worldbuilding, I suspect that there's a weird sort of hatred at how Faerghus is the most well-built (in a worldbuilding sense) of the three lands. This is pretty much proven by its first four chapters alone (having played the demo), and I can already tell I'm gonna be in for at least a decent time once I get to Gleam.

To cap off this shit-cake, here's what I find to be a pretty apt representation of how Edelgard is viewed/turned into during Azure Gleam's ending: