#but those make poor single week updates

[bleaksqueak]

There's one weird page in chapter 3 where the coloring came out so weird, it looks like none of the other pages, and it drives me a little crazy. But, you know, whatever lol done is better than not-done. I have a huge buffer, I *really* should get to posting. I also want to get to posting bc (well, I want to, I like reading update comments more than you can know)...and bc I keep getting asks that have a few things that are quite literally in chapter 3, so I sit here looking at them, going (marge thinking sounds)

Well, here, have two unrelated statements that look amusing put together.

[sungodsfav]

just a stranger | t. fushiguro x f!reader

summary : honestly what did he expect was going to happen? you were a complete stranger to him three months ago. it’s not your fault he was an idiot for thinking any sane person would agree to getting married to anyone that soon.

genre : modern au, 18+, marriage of convenience, angst, fluff, smut, 

warnings : MDNI, fem!reader, dilf toji, hitman!toji, stalking, mentions of masturbation, more to be added as I keep writing

prologue wc : 2.3k

masterlist

He feels like a damn pig staring at his current search history which consists of, single successful women in my area, and single young successful women in my city, lastly hot single young rich successful women in my city. That’s when he sees your name and photo at the top of a list of today's most powerful women in their twenties. 

Toji blames Shiu for planting the idea in his head. What you need is to be under the protection of someone powerful. That way whoever left that threat will think again. He likes to blame Shiu even though it was Toji’s mind that jumped to the conclusion that a marriage was the only way. 

So he clicks on your wikipedia page to learn more about you since you were age appropriate, hot, and ridiculously wealthy. He reads that you currently own one hospital, two in state law firms, three out of state law firms, four kids sports parks, and five playgrounds. Toji also reads that you are about to make it six playgrounds as the sixth is expected to have a grand opening in a month from today. 

At first he doesn’t understand how you can have that amount of money and success at such a young age, that is until he sees that you’re a defense attorney. A really damn good one too. Toji digs further and clicks on a link showing him the long list of clients you have defended. Majority of it were a bunch of clan heads as well as some obnoxiously rich business men. You don’t take any pro bono cases, which explains how you afford to own everything. Toji actually knows all of the people you have defended from his line of work. Shit, you’ve even defended his boss, Sukuna, when all odds were against him. You would actually be perfect for him because this just means you are most likely protected by both sides. Since you are the only attorney that represents his kind of people. He decides in an instant that he needs to marry you, so that his son can fall under your umbrella of protection.

Toji Fushiguro begins to tail you for three weeks, and in those weeks he learns things about you. 

First, is that you are for sure single, always ordering for one when getting take out or dining alone. Second, is that you are always working, you spend ten hours in the office and then continue working when you get home. Third, you do not have a life outside of work, you just work, eat, bathe, and sleep. Fourth, you enjoy spending the little amount of free time you have watching trashy tv while giving yourself a fresh manicure and a pedicure always with a full wine glass. Fifth, you hated socializing and kept all interactions minimal and brief unless it was work related. Sixth, you have a favorite place for everything, and you are a regular for each said place. You like routines and you stick to them. Seventh, you owned your house which wasn’t flashy like he had expected, it was an updated modern three bedroom one story home with a two car garage. Lastly, eighth, which is his favorite fact, is that within your modern home you pleasure yourself at least four times a week.

He was able to see it all with the help of your wall length windows and his binoculars. Poor Toji just couldn’t help himself, but to pull out his hard cock to join you in the fun all the way in his car down the street every single time. He only became a widow a year ago and being a single father he didn’t have any time to do anything outside of work and Megumi. With all the information he gathered from you, he finally felt that it was time to approach you and put his plan into action.

Toji decides to keep it simple and slow with his approach with you, not wanting to blow his chance with you. He’s a gentleman of course, so his first interaction with you is opening the door to your favorite coffee shop for you. “Thank you”. Is all you say to him with a small nod of your head and a gentle smile directed to Toji. 

Your voice took him by surprise especially having heard you talk on the phone with colleagues and a few of your taped cases that were online. Your voice was always firm and overflowing with confidence, nothing like how you just sounded. Almost shy just now with a voice barely above a whisper. He stood behind you in line and began to realize just how much shorter you actually were despite wearing your tallest high heels. Barely reaching under his chin. 

He listened to you order your usual obnoxiously long complicated drink. You paid, then stepped aside to allow whoever was behind to order which happened to be Toji. “I’ll just take a hot green tea to go.” He hands the employee extra cash, “keep the change kid.” He stood a few steps behind you and watched as you went through your emails, deleting some, flagging others, and reading a few. 

Both the drinks were ready at the same time so Toji lets you grab your drink first by a second or two before he grabs his and rushes to hold the door open for you again. It isn’t until you both make it outside that Toji goes to engage in a conversation with you before you part ways.

He clears his throat to gain your attention. You don’t notice him at all and mindlessly adjust your scarf. “Excuse me-” You cut him off with your palm held up to pause him not even sparing him a glance. 

“No sorry, I don't have any spare change.” 

You turn and begin to walk toward your building as your heels click against the concrete and Toji can’t help but to smirk not expecting to be having to put in more effort in getting you to give in to him. 

The green eyed man tries again the next day, on your commute home. He sits next to you on the bench as you wait for the subway to arrive. Toji tries to speak to you but you end up pulling out giant headphones from your purse and putting them on. He can't help but to chuckle with a shake of his head at just how unapproachable you actually are and your efforts to keep it that way. It was extremely clear to him now that you were single by choice, not allowing him or even other men to approach you. 

That's how the rest of the week goes. You promptly put a stop to all of Toji’s advances without sparing him much of a glance his way. His favorite rejection from you was when he approached you in a pastry shop as you were scrolling on your phone and so Toji asked “can I get your number?” To which you responded without skipping a beat, “I don’t have a phone.” You didn’t even look at him while rejecting him. Because of you Toji realizes that he has absolutely no game when it comes to picking up women. All he really had going for him was his height, face, and god-like build. That was all he had going for him and that was all most women needed to give him their attention. He tells himself that he’s giving up and going to look for another potential bride if you continue to not acknowledge him. He’s desperate and willing to accept eye contact at this point as a sign to keep pursuing you.

He arrives at the grand opening of your sixth playground, Megumi clinging to his leg. Toji spots you quickly as you do interviews with the kids about the park. You look different than your usual appearance, long gone are your usual heels and slacks. Today you're in some straight jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, your hair neatly styled like always, but the expression on you is soft and kind. You smile encouragingly to the small kids.

“Hey brat, go talk to that lady over there.” Toji orders Megumi with a shake of his leg to get his son to release him. The two year old releases his fathers leg but just stares at the lady his dad pointed at before his attention drifts to the playground watching two other kids his age running and playing. Toji goes to squat to get to his son’s level but Megumi waddles away towards the two kids. He was only two years old so he couldn’t really blame his son for not being able to follow directions.

Toji lets out a frustrated groan before walking towards an empty bench to get a better view of you entertaining some random kids. You’re playful and happy interacting with them, some of the parents even coming up to you to give their appreciation for the new playground in their neighborhood. 

It isn’t until he hears the familiar cries of his boy that his worried eyes leave your form to search for his son. Said son is in tears as he looks at the spot Toji previously stood, great, Megumi probably assumes that he was abandoned. “Dumb kid”. Toji relaxes with a scoff and is about to go get his crybaby of a son until Megumi turns and waddles over to you. Your face immediately fills with concern at the sight of the heartbroken boy. Maybe my son wasn’t completely useless. Toji smirks as Megumi holds his arms up to you seeking comfort and you act quick by bending down and lifting him into your embrace. He can’t make out what you ask Megumi and he definitely can’t hear what his son responds with but Toji takes it as his time to step in and make a move. 

The closer he gets to you and his son he can hear that your soothing words are actually comforting Megumi. You rub his back as he rests his head against your shoulder and his tiny arms wrapped around your neck. Lucky bastard. “It’s okay baby, we’ll find your daddy, don’t worry.” You rock him gently in your arms as you look around the playground hoping to spot his father. You were a natural at this, the complete opposite of what Toji expects from someone so cold and out of reach.

Toji finally makes it in your line of sight and your movements falter, you physically grasp Megumi in a tighter hold, and shift your body so that your shoulder would shield the boy. As if you were attempting to protect him. “You trying to steal my boy?” Toji teases with a smirk stopping a few feet away not wanting to scare you into running away with his son. He isn’t an idiot, he knows that his appearance is intimidating. 

Your eyes narrow at Toji before looking down at the boy in your arms who has stopped crying a while ago and is now playing with your necklace. “He’s your son?” Your cold tone has returned and your eyes flutter back to look at Toji. “He came to me crying looking for you.” Your body goes back to a more relaxed state and you turn to completely face Toji, he watches with a smirk as your eyes slowly trail up his form. “Sweetheart, is this your daddy?” Your gentle soft tone seems to only be reserved for kids, Toji notes. 

Megumi lifts his head up to look over at Toji and he lets out a small sigh of relief. “Yea, my daddy.” However, sweet little Megumi goes back to resting his head against your chest. 

Toji lets out a deep chuckle. “Here let me grab him, your arms are probably getting tired.” Toji steps closer to you to grab his son but again your body reacts instinctively as you tighten your hold on the small boy and subtly lean away. 

“N-no! It’s okay, I’m okay holding him. I’ll let you know if I get tired.” 

He couldn’t help but to smirk at the sight. So all it took for you to speak to him was his little brat. “You have any kids?” Toji asks even though he already knew the answer, standing right next to you. He observes you and notes that your small smile that is directed to Megumi falls. 

With a shake of your head you look up at Toji. “No I don’t. How old is he?” Toji is slightly taken back at you actually giving him the time of day. There was a big chance that you still would have ignored him even while holding his kid like he expected.

“He’s two, just had a birthday recently. Honestly, it was sad since it was just us two, now I’m trying to take him to more parks so that he can make friends to hopefully make the next birthday not so lonely for him.” He easily lies to your face and your eyes soften a tiny bit. 

Your eyes land on his chest as Toji crosses his arms, he grins glad that you were a tiny bit attracted to him. Makes things slightly easier. “Oh, what happened to his mother? Nevermind that’s personal, you don’t need to answer that I’m sorry!” You rush out slightly embarrassed. 

He shrugs. “She passed away about a year ago.” 

Your lips drop to a sympathetic smile looking down at Megumi who is slowly falling asleep. “I’m sorry, that must have been tough for you both. If you ever need help with him, please let me know.” Your tone dripped with kindness that Toji couldn’t help but to take advantage of.  He chuckled with a glance down at the concrete before turning to look into your soft eyes before the scarred corner of his lips tilted up into a smirk.

“Ima need your number for that, doll.”

next

a/n : so this is just the prologue but I’m very excited to post more very soon! I’d love to know your thoughts and depending how well this chapter does I might make a taglist if you guys would be interested in that :)

[maxtermind]

SCENE 2 :: HOW MUCH TRAGEDY ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their way back to each other? ★ : a/n :: text posts are going to return from tom till then you can enjoy this<3 taglist form is in the series masterlist btw!! HATS OFF TO EVERY SINGLE SMAU WRITER BECAUSE THIS IS SO HARD LMAO

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1 10 mins ago

f1 LET'S GET THE EUROPEAN LEG OF THE SEASON STARTED! 🇮🇹

username oh the admin knows what they did with carlos at the front lmao username can't wait for the races! let's goooo! 🇮🇹🏁 username so excited for this leg of the season! bring it on! 🤩 username hoping for some amazing races! good luck to all the drivers! 🙌 username here for the racing, not y/n’s drama ⤷ username ugh yes like can we focus on racing and not y/n’s drama? username italy, here we come! forza ferrari! ❤️ ⤷ username poor carlos, dealing with y/n’s drama and still racing username ready for some intense racing action! 🏎🔥 username who else is here for the drama? carlos and y/n's relationship update please! 😂 ⤷ username i hope carlos and y/n figure things out. it was so nice seeing her at the race again

yn.user 20 mins ago

yn.user behind every successful man is his loving fam❤️ congratulations papa sainz

username this is a joke, right? after all the drama? lilymhe wow such a hottie and a MOM? smash! ⤷ yn.user date and time🙏 ⤷ alexalbon uhm... im right here? username weren't you just out with another man? hypocrite ⤷ username loving fam? like she didn't just get caught with another guy? 😂 username wow, pretending everything is fine now? ⤷ username guess she's trying to clean up her image good luck with that username this is so fake everyone knows the truth username acting like a loving family after everything? sure, y/n ⤷ username like who the fuck are you fooling, y/n? we know the real story username you're so pretty, y/n! i bought the tickets just to see you irl username didn't take long for the fake posts to start

carlossainz 20 mins ago

carlossainz victory feels even sweeter with my kids by my side!🏆❤️

username congrats, carlos! the kids are your ONLY real supporters. username so glad you’re focusing on the kids and not the drama. ⤷ username victory without y/n? this is peak comedy😭 ⤷ username way to go, carlos! the kids are all you need! username finally, a win focused on the right people. congrats, carlos! username oh god we really lost the great war huh username great win, carlos! the kids must be so proud. ⤷ username this is the content we love. kids over drama! username well done! no need for distractions we're so proud❤️ ⤷ username the kids are his real mvps so lol username congrats, carlos! the kids are your biggest fans.

twitter

boo is typing... (y/n's pov)

lily is typing… (y/n's pov)

yn.user 20 mins ago

yn.user as my boys said: finally a worthy opponent✨

username this is why some people shouldn't have kids. username she's a mess. no wonder they broke up ⤷ username using her kids for attention. disgusting! carlossainz so you're also bad at scrabble? ⤷ username oh shit carlos didn't come to play ⤷ username you tell her carlos!! username no stability for those poor kids with her around. ⤷ username kids must be so confused with a new man every week username pathetic attempt to make carlos jealous. GROW UP, Y/N!!!

carlos is typing… (y/n's pov)

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©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[its-actually-minicika]

Hi, love your works so much! Can't wait for more updates 🥰🥰 I was wondering maybe you'd like the idea where book!Aemond and Velarion!(Strong?)Reader are in an arranged marriage. But Reader just knows what to say and how to act so that Aemond is wrapped around her finger (kinda thought of Margaery and Joffrey situation, she was such a talented schemer, worthy of winning the Throne 😭). I don't really know about the setting, like if it's before, during or after the Dance... just thought it'd be interesting to see this kind of plot with our beloved Prince 🤴🏼🐉

If you don't like it, just ignore me 🙈

Dragon Sickness (18+)

Pairing: bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader

Warnings: No usage of (Y/N), Greens win AU, bookcanon Greens, the obvious Targaryen incest, mentions of major character deaths (we're entering spoiler grounds, but not really), blood, gore etc.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: I fell in love with this idea the moment I saw it! I ended up altering the plot line for this one-shot a little bit - the reader will definitely grow into the Margaery architype, but today you shall see her as she was when she just learned how to make ends meet with her newfound life at Court.

I don't know if I should turn this into yet another series, but if you guys enjoyed this, let me know

Also, thank you so, so much for your kind words ♡ i'm hugging you to the moon and back!

PART 2 IS OUT NOW ♡♡♡

Who could ever blame you for your indiscreet acts? Alliances change when the world you know suddenly turns upside down.

She remembered how weak she was. How scared she had been.

How her eyes widened into two brown specs of uncertainty, how her mouth fell agape, as she mulled over Alicent’s words.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her. Much less her demanding and scornful father.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead. Driftmark wouldn’t matter, her legacy wouldn’t matter. Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

Never mind that he’d never partaken in a fight; save for the one that killed her stepfather, Daemon, and sent her poor mother in a downward spiral. Aemond had chosen his adversaries wisely, and managed to go through the whole war without as much of a scratch upon his silver armour.

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out.

‘You will do exactly as demanded.’

‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

A monstrous beast. That is what Aemond was.

And that is what he shall remain. No matter how many gifts he brought to her. No matter how many hours of their days and days in their weeks and weeks in their months they spent promenading those ghastly gardens.

‘You will if you know your best interests. Your own head may hold no value to you, but a single swing of my son’s sword would be enough to bring forth the ruin of House Blackwood.’

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

The slight breeze of the cathedral mended her flesh from the heat of summer. And no one dared to approach or talk to her. The quietness was a welcomed deed.

During the first night of their betrothal, her glossy eyes scanned Aemond’s face. His hands wantonly gripped at his thighs and a slight twitch of his mouth, accompanied by an elongated hum escaped his lips.

There was no other discernable expression. And when he led her to the chambers of her early girlhood, he merely bowed and kissed her hand.

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months. Her wedding date was approaching swiftly, and she found herself faced with the abhorrent truth. She had no allies. No more friends at Court. The girl had shut herself in her tiny room, losing her mind with the pain and grief that flooded her at night: the faces of her mother, her brothers, her father. The sound of their screams and their endless pleas for help.

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in.

‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

The echo of his mellow voice deterred her to let out a blood-curdling scream, that would have rivalled even the one of the late Queen Rhaenyra, after Aegon the Usurper ceased her at Dragonstone, and reeled his dragon to eat her whole.

‘Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck out of my room!’

Her sobs pierced into the man’s heart, but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn. He clenched his fists ruefully by his side, and spat out an apology in a low and dangerous tone.

‘As you wish.’

And how dearly he loved those words:

‘As you wish.’

'As you desire.’

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

Her face contorted into the mirror, and a faint sigh beleft her lips. Carefully she turned around, reflecting his stance with a subtle arch to her shapely brow.

“It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding ceremony.”

“An old wives' tale. And one that applies only on the day itself.”

“Perhaps we should encourage tradition more. Make it so we don’t cross paths at all til then.”

Just as fast as it came, the feral look dissolved over his tired face. Aemond heaved out a heavy exhale and merely settled to growl at her maids.

“Leave us. Now.”

A discontented look painted over her fair features. His niece opened her mouth in protest, to try and stop the fleeing girls from truly making their escape.

“I must remind my Prince that the engagement assembly will be held in less than an hour. I believe I should like them to stay.”

The gathered women exchanged lost and protruding glances, until the former King Regent spoke again.

“They will leave us at once.”

“They’ll do no such a thing. They must make haste to get me ready. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

“I’m more than capable of lacing up a loose bodice.”

The tight expression on her face deserted her features with the leave of his smug retort. She swallowed thickly in enraged abandon, and silently beseeched her ladies not to leave her all alone.

Still ravishing her with his bold stare, Aemond stepped another foot into the cosy confinements of her tidy prison. “If I’m to turn around now and find any of you standing before me, I’ll arrange that you’re all flogged and defiled beyond the utter of salvation.”

Brisk footsteps swallowed the room, echoing wildly through the narrow dark hallways. The former Velaryon shook her head in disarray, and graced her soon-to-be-husband with a tight smile and a nod.

“Congratulations.” She uttered humorously, “I should enjoy looking like a fool tonight much more than being proper by your side.”

As if drowned below a trace, Aemond took another step in the direction of the frowning Princess. His face remained impenetrable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice ran meek, unsure and hoarse.

“Turn around.” He commanded her gently, whilst grabbing a deep green garment from the cluttery made on her bed. Despite her lack of desire to abide by his request, the woman turned her back to him and muttered slowly, though much softer than intended.

“I don’t like that one. It’ll make the skirts look out of place.”

“Which one do you want, then?” His whisper had made her draw in a sharp gasp; the warmth of his breath fell soothingly over the nape of her neck, caressing her delicate skin in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“The red one with black lacings.”

His hand came to spin her back around, and their noses nearly touched together. A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

“Your petticoat won’t be those colours.”

A conceited scowl graced her face. She reached her hand behind him and skillfully snatched one of a different design. “Fine. I want to wear this one, then.”

The obnoxious blue and silver danced across her paling skin. And if Aemond weren’t so dazed by their proximity and lack of air, he might have laughed at her feeble attempts of vexing him.

“Those are Velaryon hues.”

“Perfect. I shall honour my house well.”

“You are not a Velaryon to grace them with such a feat.”

“No, you are absolutely right. Your brother did name me a Targaryen.”

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

“Yet I can’t wear black and red either.” A prompted look disarmed the Prince, “It is all very confusing.”

His lone orb descended to her puffing bosom, but Aemond soon directed himself upon a more elusive image. His fingers twitched with the need to grab a hold of her – to pull away those last pieces of cloth that shielded her away from view.

“You know full well why I can’t allow that.” He hummed in unmoving disapproval, “As much as I enjoy your voice and the raptures of your closeness, I must say this conversation bores me.”

“I should be able to wear what I want.” Came her prompt and swift reply, “But of course, Your Grace, forgive me. ‘Tis not for men to pounder on laces and brims.” Her palms took to rest upon his bulging chest, and the girl nearly removed them at once, as the thrumming of his heart enterlaced with her slim fingers. Still, she furrowed her brows in a most perplexed of mockeries, and insatiably drove on, “Indeed resilient men such as yourself occupy their time much better.”

The callouses of his hands fell heavily upon her cheeks.

“Fucking their ways through brothels, getting their pricks wet, and fantasising about wars.”

The harshness of his next tug nearly broke her brave facade – her eyes widened in mistrust, and a slight recoil braced over her straightened back. Her small fingers clasped over his shaking wrist, which held onto her face with a gentleness untoward; one completely mismatching with the predatory glimmer in his eye.

The man he was, and the man he was trying to be would surely never mend to one.

A Kinslayer. A monster. A divergent freak.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

His thumb played absent-mindedly at her lower lip, and the young Princess tried her damnest not to bite him. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?”

“You are as imprudent as you are beautiful. A family trait, I assume.”

“You have my gratitude for the flattering commentary. I’m very proud of my heritage.”

His lilac orb bore into her, and the man let out a reserved laugh, “Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.” The rough end of his hand gripped her own painfully, before she could make for a swing at his handsome face. “Lost in the seas, rotting at the bottom of an ocean, nestling inside Sunfyre’s belly.”

While her hands were clasped together, her mouth wasn’t sown shut. With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

Though his nostrils flared up in disdain, the man graced her with a calculated smirk. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?” He mocked her with feigned interest.

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

“Oh, but I have every right to talk about your family. Given that I will be yours quite soon.” Once more he forced her to turn around, and kneeled over to her spasming form, to begin dressing her up; in nought else, of course, but the mundane silks of his choosing.

"Doesn't the prospect thrill you? To become my lady-wife, to finally bear a true Targaryen inside your royal womb?"

So hopeless and defeated she felt, that the youth jerked herself relentlessly, while repeating him the same plethora of words. “You cannot force me to be your whore. You cannot force me to wear this. I will not bear your Hightower green.”

Aemond could feel his patience running thin – and when her foot came into contact with his setting knee, the man let out a ferocious growl, and promptly trapped the girl in his arms, with the aid of a nearby wall.

“So you want to be difficult? You don’t want to wear this? Hmm? Well, who am I not to abide my Lady’s burning wishes?”

The sharpness of his dagger came into quick contact with the milky skin of her thighs. And she might have almost screamed, if Aemond didn’t immediately pull himself away. His hard chest grazed hers for but a moment, as the Prince cast his attention to her moving shadow.

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

She huffed out a dispensing pant and pursed her lips into a tight line.

She remained rigid and poised, until a spark of amusement swirled into her eyes.

The first crack was that of a lax smile. The next, a tremor to her lips. The calm before the storm approached, until all rattled down with a mirthed laugh cascading from her reddened lips.

“Do you mean to frighten me with this promise?” She asked through the arch of an uncertain brow, “As if every man in this cursed Keep won’t get to watch me whore myself out to you anyway, when our wedding night will come?”

His face suddenly hardened at the notion of their reality – as if he didn’t give much thought to the bedding ceremony. To his Lady being watched by a thousand other eyes but his.

Aemond suddenly darkened, and his fist came into contact with a near spot on the wall, so awfully close to her frightened, paling face.

She watched with wide eyes how his stare contorted from one of realisation to one of fury. He stiffly peeled his body away from hers, and strained himself to leave her be. The jealous and possessive knots that churned painfully inside his stomach burned his skin upon the surface, and constricted the air he brashly took in.

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him. Behind his eye danced a look of seldom shame – he gnawed harshly at his bottom lip, and pondered, for a while, on apologising to his niece; for his lack of princely conduct, for his show of impropriety – for his inability to keep himself at bay.

Still his thoughts failed to merge to words, and so the man ran his eye one final time over her defensive pose, and merely left her standing there.

As if turned into a statue, the girl barely registered the lethargic closing of the door, the hurried and heavy footsteps that travelled further and further away from her quaint and cluttered space, and the animated curse that slipped past her uncle's throat.

Did he just dare to leave her there, with her petticoat half up her legs, in nought else but a flimsy nightdress?

At first she thought that his avoidance was a blessing in disguise.

For after clashing wits with Aemond, and after his swift hurried departure, the man had barely graced her with another word.

His hand held onto hers for the whole duration of the procession. He wordlessly forced her to dance two dances, and led her to her Quarters as soon as she mentioned that she was tired.

But his palms didn’t linger on the shape of her narrow waist – his lips barely grazed her knuckles, and Aemond turned with lest a word to add after their fake sympathies were exchanged.

Had he gotten bored of her? Realised what a terrible match they made, and begged his mother on his hands and knees to break off their ill engagement?

For the first time in a while, a new notion of fear engulfed her.

The Greens couldn’t kill her. Of that, she was almost certain. It wouldn't be a wise move, and it would anger the North beyond the power of salvation. The war had had its say on every army that fought into it, yet the Crownlands were especially weak.

But if Aemond were to sever their solidary alliance, then her future would be most uncertain.

Otto Hightower would make her join with an old and withered Lord, no doubt – one with more than enough sons to further on his pesky line. One who couldn’t even get it up to her, who’d never procreate and mend their blood, who’d make sure Rhaenyra’s line would end with her.

Or perhaps she’d be sent to join the Faith – become a Septa or a Silent Sister, among the infamous Maris Baratheons of the Realm. Yet another girl who wouldn’t keep her tongue when asked.

And history might remember them as ‘the women who couldn’t be tamed’, but their lives would be thrown to ruin. Their existence would remain a sham.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

… And if she had to whore herself to him to do it, she would obediently assume her role.

“I beg your pardon?” Aegon asked through another gulp of bitter wine, “Gods be good – I believe that now I’ve heard it all.”

Aemond paced about his brother’s room, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his face set into a deep grimace. He hummed in admission to his brother’s words, and glanced his way with the instance of a hooded eye.

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

His brother smiled and raised his brows in nothing else but blinding wonder. A small shake of his head indicated his perplexion, and a sharp inhale his drawn decision.

“Mother insisted upon it. You know that well.” The man steadied himself in his chair as he spoke, whilst letting out a small grunt at the contact that the wood made upon his burnt remnants of skin. “I don’t see any reason to annul it. Especially now, an eve before.”

Another sip of the stinging liquor interrupted his smooth and ready trail of thought. The Targaryen brushed off Aemond’s concerns, and gleefully bided his teasing.

“It’ll do the two of you good – you’ll get to see she’s as pure as a bastard girl can be; and she’ll have no deniability that any of her future heirs are yours.” He pointed his weary digit in the direction of his stiffened form and swallowed down a hefty laugh. “Not to mention that Lord Redwyne and Tarly already placed bets on the state of her maidenhead. Would be a shame to disappoint them both, don't you think?"

“What mother thinks is of no consequence. And the amusement of the Realm matters not to me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

“Nonsense, Aemond. It is our duty to upkeep the Realm – and to entertain its inhabitants if need be.”

When his reckless teasing was met with glacial silence, Aegon sighed as he briskly leaned forward. He watched his sibling with an indiscernible expression across his scorched veneer, and yawned greatly at his indisposed behaviour.

“Of course, we’re here to talk it out. But after so much time spent in your company, I fail to see the necessity for such a thing.” A sly smirk danced across his puffy lips, “Are you concerned that she won’t bleed? Or that you’ll be too cunt-struck by her to last enough to make a statement?”

Aemond’s fists descended upon the polished wood of Aegon’d desk. He thrashed his brother with a defiant glare, and hissed through his gritted teeth, and tight-set jaw.

“There will be no bedding ceremony for my niece and I. Tell that to every Lord that wishes to glance upon my wife – if they do so much as to cast their eyes on her, they’ll be fucking their own wives with a wooden cock.”

Amusement laced with grave concern – the finality of Aemond's words ought to have vexed him, irk the King in his sibling's weighty insolence. Instead Aegon nodded, pushing back the feeling of dread that settled deep within his bones. His head jerked towards his closed oak door, signalling to his brother that his visit had been overstated. “What sort of brother would I be, to not grant you with this simple whim?”

The younger Targaryen mirrored his stance, and turned abruptly on his heel after a low grunt of gratitude.

His hand reached for the golden handle, but Aegon's words deterred him to a halt.

“But be careful with that one, Aemond. She’s brash and wholly unpredictable. Make sure the blood that stains your sheets come morning isn’t somehow your very own.”

Perma Tag List: @welcometothelioncage @kravitzwhore ♡

[thatliftgirl]

B0osting update #3!

Ok so first of all, there will be no haul this weekend bc I extended the semester and I got exams this upcoming week (,:

Anyway:

On P0shmark I just sold my first clothing items today- a cashmere sweater for a profit of $85 and another sweater for $20 profit. I’ll be shipping those tomorrow.

As for èbày- holy shit you guys it’s insane! I’m actually shutting it down for a little while because I can’t keep up with the orders. Today I had to pack and ship 12 packages (I failed, I only got five out lol) and I got I believe 7 or 8 new orders today. Total profit of $750 on makeup alone.

When it comes to what sells, I’ve noticed a few patterns but I haven’t sold quite enough yet to be sure they’re consistent. I originally only listed eyeshadow palettes and a few other things here and there because I assumed most people wouldn’t want the other stuff bc it’s harder to return and to know if it’s your color. But it turns out, lip stuff sells really well- and not the Dior stuff either, it’s mostly the mid-range brands because people want those anyway and if your listing is the lowest price, they go for it. My top lip sales have been Laura Mercier and Ole Henriksen.

Also, I originally thought that I could put the ideal price as the buy it now price and just turn offers on and I’d get all the business I would get if it were a lower buy it now price- but it turns out a lot of people are actually pretty shy (lol me too) and they simply won’t make an offer no matter what, so I’ve lowered some prices for the socially anxious folks and those listings sold.

Now moving on to the shadows and palettes- most of my sales have been one or two items, but surprisingly I’ve had buyers who bought 8 or 9 items, usually palettes, at once. One poor girl begged me to hold onto stuff for her until she gets her paycheck, which made me feel kinda bad because girl why are you spending your obviously very little money on makeup?? But hey maybe she’s in high school or smth, idk. At first I assumed they were reselling (which, I mean, I can’t really complain cause I got it for free 🤷‍♀️), but it kind of seems like they’re just foreigners in big cities trying to look rich lol. Each time it’s a Chinese name and it’s from nice areas of L.A. Idk I could be wrong, but I think some people just want a lot of makeup I guess. Anyway, my most popular items were rare or limited edition (I didn’t even know they were but thankfully èbay told me haha). Dior limited editions went super fast for $75 each, and people LOVE YSL stuff but only in the common colors, they don’t want couture clutches in the less popular colors. I learned I have to price rarer colors for less sometimes, not more, because people search for the shade they want. All my Pat McGrath and Anastasia palettes have sold. I have a ton of Dior and Lancôme and Clinique in stock as you guys know- like probably at least 30 palettes from each brand. Quite a few Dior palettes have sold, but not a single Lancôme or Clinique product has- except for one individual eye shadow shade from Lancôme- no matter how low the price. We’ll see if that keeps up. Surprisingly again, Dior lip products and blush are simply not popular.

I’ve been packing them really nicely and throwing in a nail polish in each one and a lip balm in the big orders, but nothing has arrived at its destination yet so I’m just hoping I get good reviews! Also like an idiot I lied about my age on eBay so I’m scared my money will go out the window because it’s on hold while they verify my SSN.. I really hope not /:

Oh and I did start an èbay for my clothes, but I just listed six things to kind of gauge how it goes. So far I just got one comment on an item asking for measurements, but idk how to take those (,: same thing happened on p0shmark- if anybody knows pls help a girl out and hmu 🥲

That’s all I’ve got, and of course these are just my observations, they might not be completely accurate since I’m just starting out, but I’m hoping these updates will be helpful for some of you thinking of b0osting on these platforms. If anyone has any questions, just wants to chat, or wants me to nab smth for them even- hmu, I’m always happy to chat (:

[spectrechosts]

Heaven Sent - Chapter 6

Full Series

Grezayla jots down a status update on the angel job in her notebook; notably that while Feathers shows some amount of interest in yoga conceptually as both a meditative exercise and something that it can display skill in, when placed in a group setting it gets upset because the succubi keep feeling eachother up in front of it.

"Dolls, can your pal Vicky speak candidly for a sec?" Vixitana asks, lounging across the meeting room couch. She continues without waiting for an answer. "This job fucking sucks."

"It doesn't suck!" Azaerixia pouts. "We're like, getting close to maybe being Feathers' friends!"

"Yeah!" Grezayla agrees, joining her in pouting. "Besides, isn't this like, your regular job anyway?"

"This is like my regular job if nothin' happened for weeks and weeks and my client was a huge pain in the behind." Vixitana says. "Do you know what I usually do to clients who aren't upfront with what they want?"

"…Whatever they summon you for?"

"No." She says. "See, I get two types of clients: The first kind knows they wanna be a girl, they summon me to make 'em one, we have some fun with their new parts and go our separate ways; them with a new lease on life and me with a contracted soul to collect on later."

"Alright..?"

"Now the second kind is the referrals. Someone else answers a summon, feels out the client's desires, and finds out they wanna be a girl- but that's not what they're summonin' a succubus for. Whoever they summoned puts a note on their file, and the next time they try to summon 'em they get my cute ass instead. You with me so far sugar?"

Grezayla sticks her tongue out at Vixitana.

"Now this is where the key difference comes in. These people, these girls, these sweet sweet angels- and I mean sweet like a metaphorical angel, not our stuck-up shit-for-brains angel- they summon me and they're so sad, sugar. They're so sad and they don't even know it, they've been sad so long."

"I get that, that's why we need to help Feathers-"

"Shhhh shh shh shh." Vixitana shushes, sticking her hand out. "And you know how I help 'em? These poor unfortunate souls, they summon me and they say 'Oh Vicky, can you give me a handjob with maybe some backdoor tongue action (but only if that's not a weird thing to ask for)?', and I convince 'em to let me out of the circle and then I say 'No. We're puttin' you in a slutty little outfit and I'm doin' your makeup', and they say 'But-', but I don't listen because I'm already pinnin' 'em down and conjurin' the outfit onto 'em. And I get out the makeup kit and I grab 'em by the chin if they're too squirmy and call 'em good girls when they stay still, and I make them look fucking gorgeous."

"Okay, well, Mistress already told us why fleshcraft won't work in this situation, so-"

"No, hang on, I- I want to hear where she's going with this." Says Helneth, almost as interested in the tale as Vixitana is in telling it.

"So then I get the full-body mirror out," Vixitana continues, completely ignoring their interruptions, "let 'em admire my handiwork. Let 'em see what's possible before we even start doing magic. And they cry, most times. They cry and I hold 'em while they let all those pent-up feelings out, tell 'em it's okay. It's a whole process, y'know? Can't just put 'em in a dress and fuck 'em stupid and then just… leave 'em to navigate things on their own. I talk to 'em for hours, sometimes."

Grezayla feels a twinge at that, snuggles up to Azaerixia. She can't say she fully knows what that's like, but… having a succubus to help her understand her feelings was certainly life-changing for her. She wants to be that for Feathers, she just isn't really sure how.

"Then I jackhammer their fuckin' prostate with my tongue while milking every single drop of cum they can make outta them. Like they asked."

Okay, she doesn't particularly plan on doing that for Feathers. Maybe once it starts being nicer to everyone.

"And like I do a good job, y'know, do my due diligence as a succubus and all; but I level with 'em, I say 'Listen, I can give you waaaay better than that, doll'. That's when I hit 'em with the big guns. Fleshcraft 'em the most perfect body a mortal girl can get and show off eeeeverything that body can feel, how much better it is for 'em. And once I'm done and they can think straight again they're obviously wonderin', 'Oh fuck, this is so much more than I asked for, what am I on the hook for now?', and I tells 'em, 'That was aalllllll free, doll', and they're like 'What? There's gotta be a catch!', and I say 'Nope! Tonight was on the house, just 'cause you deserve it. Buuuut, if you want it to be more than just tonight, if you want to keep this body forever, aaaalllllllll you gotta do is sign this contract. You get to be happy with your new body for, let's say forty years, and then when that's up I come collect your pretty lil' soul and take you down to hell, and you get to be my pet'." Vixitana leans back against the couch armrest, smug. "They always sign."

"Wow." Helneth says breathlessly, flustered within an inch of her unlife and visibly tenting her skirt.

"That's so niiiice!" Coos Azaerixia. "Good for them!"

"Uh-huh." Says Vixitana, basking in the praise.

"And Mistress lets you do all that?" Asks Grezayla.

"Uh-huh! Since I don't ask for payment for what I do to 'em without asking and I did some extensive focus-testing, got the data that says girls would have really appreciated having this happen to 'em, it's all above board. You should get in on it sugar! I may not look like much right now since it's still a pretty new division, but once the time's up on all those contracts? Ooooh, lil' Vicky is gonna be drownin' in souls."

"Wow." She says. "And you think we can workshop this into something for Feathers? Since it doesn't require any fleshcraft at the start?"

"Huh?" Vixitana says blankly. "Oh, sure, maybe? I mostly just wanted to talk about how fun the job usually is."

"Ah."

"It-" Helneth squeaks. "It does sound really fun. Both for you, and for, um, whoever, is um, lucky enough to-"

"Wanna roleplay with me, doll? Get some hands-on experience with what it's like?" Vixitana asks, making a jacking-off motion to emphasize what she means by hands-on.

Helneth nods meekly, and Azaerixia claps her hands together in excitement.

"Ohmygosh can I help? It sounds so so so fun!"

Grezayla manages to scribble down a quick note about giving Feathers a bit of a push into a makeover before she's dragged, giggling, into helping to undress Helneth.

[yourlocalartsonist]

MFIP (and life) UPDATE✨✨

1/13/25 | Update 3 | Next Update | Last Update

Oh-ho-ho notice how I didn’t have “monthly” in the title this time~ Yeah, we’re not doing these that frequently anymore. I realized I have a lot going on, and MFIP doesn’t really have progress done every single month; I’m writing a fic, so it’s even harder to show progress without spoiling shit honestly, and I don’t make a new art piece every month. I’m still gonna be doing these updates, though! They’ll happen every 3-4 months—not including hiatuses—so I’ll actually have stuff to share with you guys and not have to worry about scraping for dimes.

Anywhizzle, today’s update is gonna be a long boi, and I wanted to just yap about what was going on this semester in general. I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty for not working on the fic as much as I wanted to, but I still wanna give you guys an explanation as to why I randomly disappeared for a good few months. Unlike what I usually do however, Imma start with the life bullshit this time instead having it at the end. We’ll get to the actual progress update afterwards, and boy oh boy was progress made. So strap in for the ride folks!

Now Presenting: “What The Fuck Happened To You⁉️”

Okay, so, I’m a little bit of a dumbass—

Dudes if any of you are gonna start college or are currently in college, please think twice before making the same mistake as me. Last semester during the fall, my teeny tiny little apeshit brain thought it would be a good idea to enroll in six courses, four of which are online.

“I can handle it!” I thought, “How bad could it be~” And much like the Onceler, I got motherfucking humbled.

See, I dunno if it’s different anywhere else but for my college, online classes typically mean you get a fresh new load of work to do and hand in every week. Two of the classes my little Einstein heart enrolled for AS ELECTIVES were Criminal Justice and Creative Writing. Ya know! For fun! It’s not like I was enrolled in Calculus Level 2 and the Calc 2 Lab Class for my career requirements at the same time as those or anything—Oh, wait.

Anyways, me being the little genius I was thought that wasn’t enough, and enrolled in two more elective classes. To give myself some credit, one of those classes was Geography which would be a very easy grade. To immediately take that credit back, the other class was Physics: Energy and Environment literally because they wouldn’t let me enroll in an actual Physics class until the Spring semester and my moronic ass was impatient, so gave myself a supplement💀

As you can probably tell, I had massive regrets lmao. The workload was extremely hefty considering both Creative Writing and Criminal Justice had a LOT of reading and writing; both classes would have around 3-4 assignments due for each class at the end of the week. The Physics class took place hella late in the day twice a week, so I’d have to get all that work done before that class started ‘cause I’d be way too exhausted to do anything afterwards.

It was a living hell.

I was working on studying and homework almost every single day for hours on end. Being real with y’all, it added to a lot of stress and irritation, and admittedly a few breakdowns where I legitimately had to just cry to relieve the stress. It’s why I hope no poor soul bites off more than they can chew in a moment of overconfidence or just poor judgement the way I did ‘cause man that semester was so rough. I actually love college too, so getting me to dread it meant I def fucked up with choosing classes. Needless to say, I barely got to work on MFIP for four months. Progress was slow, if any at all.

I’ve talked about this before too, but my mom’s a breast cancer survivor and I’m an only child. Since my dad’s the sole breadwinner, I’m the only one who can take care of my mom. AKA on top of all the pressure from college, I had to manage doctor appointment after doctor appointment, and it only adds up to more chaos as more doctors have to get involved.

BUT HEY!

I got through it in the end! And without withdrawing from any of my classes or getting a low grade! So the torture is thankfully over and I now know to literally never do that again for as long as I live— Now that it’s winter break though… 👀

🎉CONTENT TIME BABYYYYYYY🎉

So the good news of all of this is once winter break hit I uhhhhh got silly.

DUDES you won’t believe the sheer level of fucking insanity that took place once I was finally able to finish this semester, go on break, and actually write. I uh…

I finished Chapter 10 in two days🦐

Yeah I uh finished the fucking chapter in two days I am not shitting you. My ass went on break, sat down, and accidentally finished this long ass chapter that’s above 11K words within two days. It’s even funnier because I was tweaking so badly to work on MFIP the entire semester that once I finally sat down, I figured out exactly what I want to happen all throughout the rest of the arc. To properly explain, Imma just say how I usually work on my chapters.

I don’t actually have an organized outline for MFIP! I have a Google Docs full of ideas and certain beats I know I want the story to hit, and I generally know in my head what’s gonna happen. The details are what I figure out as I go, it’s like improv but for writing. Why don’t I just make a proper outline for the story? Because my brain genuinely can’t work that way for MFIP🦐✨ I’m not sure why; it’s not like I suck at outlines or anything, but MFIP just gets overcomplicated when I try to make an outline for it. There are so many different threads all tying back to each other that the only way I can properly comprehend it is by trusting what’s in my head.

I’m not going into detail to avoid spoiling, but I know exactly what most of the story is gonna be. I have an endpoint in mind, albeit one that’s very far into the future.

I knew what was gonna happen in the end of Arc One all the way from when I started the first chapter. That’s why the entire arc is building up or spiraling down to the events of Chapter 14. The difference is, now know 90% of the details for each of the remaining chapters too! It basically means I’ll have a very smooth writing process ‘cause all I have to do for these final chapters is to write them.

I’ve completely finished Chapter 10 and am currently around 5K+ words into Chapter 11.

Once my team finishes editing it, it’ll be published here and on AO3 as usual. I’m anticipating for it to come out sometime in late February!

HOWEVER, THERE’S ✨MORE✨MOTHERFUCKERRR

💥ONESHOTS💥

THAT’S RIGHT! We’re getting canon Oneshots along with the chapters! I’ll be posting them in a specific order, but I’ll say between which chapters the Oneshot takes pace in the author’s note so y’all can keep track easier~

The Oneshots will vary in POV. Sometimes it’ll be Salena, sometimes someone else.

I’ll make it obvious which character it is if it’s a relevant character at all but I’ll also, once again, leave the info in the author’s notes! We’re not tryna recreate FNAF here-

They’re a cool way to show more content to the story that’s either too short to fit a chapter, or just not from Salena’s perspective. They don’t HAVE to be read in order to understand the story of MFIP, but they do add a lot more substance to the events that transpire. It’s like peeling back to see another layer and more context.

The first oneshot Dear Moon will release soon after this update!

It might even release the next day, honestly. I really can’t wait for you all to read them! I think they turned out really well ;w;

✨To Art, or Not To Art? That Is the Question✨

Yeah I’ve been a bit indecisive on the whole art in the Updates thing

I’m not gonna post any art for this Update bc it’s already getting like WAY too long, but I’m debating the whole thing altogether. I don’t really think it’s necessary, and I would much rather make art its own separate posts on Tumblr and yap about ‘em there. It’ll def take off the pressure of creating a new art piece to talk about considering this is a fanfic not a comic. Otherwise my ass was scavenging through procreate for art like a hyena scavenges for meat💀 I might try out showing off all the art I posted here and link to the posts where I yap about them.

It’ll be like a gallery for all the pieces made between the Updates~

I think it’ll be more fun to post stuff that way instead, and also reduce how much I procrastinate with these Updates—

And That’ll Be All Folks~!

I think that’s everything for this Update. You guys have no idea how happy I am to FINALLY be back😭

Classes start again for me in around a week, but I’ll probably still have time to create stuff so won’t need a full blown hiatus again. It’s gonna be a bit tricky since my classes are very math-heavy and intense this semester, but I tried being smarter about my schedule to not overwhelm myself.

So yeah, I’ll keep working on MFIP and posting whenever I can! I’m so excited to finish off Arc One of the story and finally get to the part I’ve been building up to for around two years now. Only five more chapters to go~!

Some last little reminders!

Dear Moon Oneshot will be out within this week

“Are You Free Tomorrow?” Oneshot will be out sometime in late February

MFIP Chapter 10 will be out on the soonest Friday within that same week of February

ROTTMNT: Moths Fly In Packs

[bergdg]

Analyzing Invention: Jan-Aug 2024

We are now two-thirds through 2024. Each week, a new challenge has appeared as part of the Inventor's Fair, a Magic: the Gathering card design contest blog here on Tumblr.

For the uninitiated, each week, a design challenge is announced on the blog and members of the community create cards meeting the design specifications. At the end of the week, a few winners and runner-ups are selected from the submission.

So let's take a look at some of the trends so far this year - January through August.

Art. Katerina of Myra's Marvels. Illustrated by Gaboleps

The Contests

Through August, there have been 33 contests: 11 being led by @abelzumi, 10 being led by @spooky-bard, and the rest led by an assortment of judges (Note: there were 6 contest in which the judge didn't identify themselves).

Throughout these 33 contests, there have been 723 entries, spread over 110 unique participants. Of those participants, there have been 17 who have submitted at least 17 submissions (50+% participation). A special shout-out to @nine-effing-hells for their 33 submissions.

On average, there have been 22 participants per contest, with the highest being Common Wonders (30 participants) and the lowest being a tie between My Better Half, War Never* Changes and Spoiled for Choice (16 participants).

Fig. 1 - Line Graph of the Number of Entries Per Contest. Blue dots represent the number of entries for a contest, and the green line represents the 3-contest average.

The Submissions

As previously mentioned, there have been 723 unique entries (some of which had multiple designs, such as all the ones submitted for My Better Half).

In previous evaluations, we looked at all sorts of data: such as card types, mana value, and rarities. While prepping for this iteration, I asked what folks would like to see. The request: let's see some color breakdowns. So let's deep-dive!

Starting off, let's look at general color identities. If they are at least partial in the color, they'll be included here. In order:

Black: 232

Blue: 224

Red: 215

White: 211

Green: 156

Most of the colors are pretty close in the number of entries, except poor ol' green. This is the same from what we saw in the January-April update as well. (The order then was almost the exact same, with just blue and black swapping places).

The pattern is similar when we look at solely mono color entries, with Blue and Red swapping places:

Black: 91

Red: 87

Blue: 83

White: 80

Green: 55

Fig. 2 - Image of Kermit the Frog, with text saying "It's not easy bein' green".

Now let's dip into a well we haven't before: multi-color entries!

Based on our general color tendencies, you might think Dimir (blue-black) OR Rakdos (black-red) would be in the top spot. And while they do make a good showing (at #2 and #4 respectively), the top spot might surprise you:

Orzhov (W B): 35

Dimir (U B): 34

Izzet (U R): 30

Rakdos (B R): 26

Azorius (W U): 24

Boros (R W): 23

Simic (G U): 22

Gruul (R G): 20

Selesnya (G W): 16

Golgari (B G): 13

Unsurprisingly, all 4 green guilds were lowest on the list. I was surprised that Golgari was lowest though, with the general black designs being the most prominent.

For three colors, most of the 10 options are fairly close, between 3 and 5 entries each. The slight stand-out was Abzan (W B G) with 6. There has been only a single 4-color design, Atraxa's Command designed by @khyrberos (g w u b), and four 5-color designs.

There have also been 35 colorless cards designed. I'll give a note here on lands - since we are looking a color identity and not mana cost, many lands are in a color bucket, not just here in colorless land.

Well, that about sums things up for this time around. It's always cool to see everyone's submissions each week as part of the @inventors-fair! Y'all are awesome, and I can't wait to see what designs you come up with through the end of the year. And maybe, just maybe, think about adding some green :).

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Pitch Manor Progress (which is sort of like Six Sentence Sunday but also not)

It's still Sunday for five more minutes, here. SO....

Okay, I haven't written anything on the Haunting of Simon Snow in awhile. But I have been working on my floor plan for Pitch Manor, which is more than tangentially related to the potential progress of that fic. And today's a rough one for me, so I'm going to post about it like it's progress so I might feel a tad better. Ahem.

OKAY. SO. I've been working on a floor plan for Pitch Manor for... pretty much forever and a day. I ran into trouble when I was writing chapter 2 of Haunting and Simon (Construction Worker!Simon) began to describe the house. I realized... I had no idea what he was describing.

(Warning, there is a long winded geeky ramble ahead. It's just how I do things. Ahem.)

What was supposed to be a quick "let's find a floor plan that I can just copy with some minor adjustments" project has since turned into my special interest project. As a history nerd, that means a lot of research, looking at dozens of floor plans for other houses ranging in origination from the 16th century to the 20th (and probably a few older than even that, since a ton of religious buildings were repurposed into estates. Think Downton *Abbey*.)

But this past week, I feel I've really pushed through a lot of the issues I kept running into. (I've ridiculously been trying to make it as true to the descriptions in Carry On as possible, and something that fits the purposes of my fic, which of course I have envisioned in many, sometimes incompatible, ways.) I've had to make some "this or that, you can't have both" choices, but I'm finally happy with the basic shape and layout.

Whew.

Just for funsies, here's a cross section snippet of my floor plan WIP. It's pretty messy still, but I'm still excited LOL

And (finally), instead of six sentences, I will instead offer you all six tidbits of information about Pitch Manor, as I've envisioned it:

There are four (4!) different sitting rooms. Because the aristocracy just loved their sitting rooms. (Parlor, Withdrawing room, Drawing room, and Reception/Receiving room.)

There is a ballroom. Try and stop me.

The original manor house was built in the 17th century, and has been refurbished and updated a few times.

The most extensive refurbishment happened in the 19th century, which is how it gained its current stylings. (Baz is a freaking troll and I love him for it. The most popular architectural style in the Victorian era was "Gothic Revival." "It's not Gothic; it's Victorian." Hah.)

Some rooms were added on during the Victorian refurbishment, including a Smoking room. They were very popular at that time.

The largest room in the house isn't the ballroom. It's the library. (It's two stories. Try and stop me.)

(I do hope to release the floorplans into the fandom wild after they're complete, in case anyone else wants to make use of them.)

I want to ramble more. But it's almost midnight. Sooo.... Gratitude and hellos under the cut!

Thank you to @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @monbons,

and @cutestkilla for the tags. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on!

Thank you also to those of you who have willingly (I hope) listened to me ramble on about this damned project of mine for ages. Because boy howdy, do I ramble. @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ic3-que3n,

@best--dress, @monbons, and @mooncello. It's good there are a few of you, that way no single poor soul has to bear the full weight of my obsession special interest. (If anyone reading this actually wants to join these ranks, hit me up on Discord XD)

Thanks also to everyone that has tagged me even when it's been ages in between progress posts from me. I appreciate being kept in the loop on what you all are up to creatively!

Hellos and howdies to @noblecorgi @bookish-bogwitch @that-disabled-princess @bazzybelle @messofthejess

@imagineacoolusername @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife

@valeffelees @fiend-for-culture @bubble-gumhead @brilla-brilla-estrellita @aristocratic-otter

@j-nipper-95 @whatevertheweather @ivelovedhimthroughworse @drowninginships @alexalexinii

@facewithoutheart @angelsfalling16

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 27: catchall (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: somehow my progress has slowed slightly from writing two chapters in a week but I still wanna update faster... 😔

Summary: School is back in session, and you catch up and catch someone's eye.

Warnings: blanket series warnings

Word Count: ~3400

The end of August—and summer vacation—hurtles towards you at breakneck speeds. Before you realize it, you're once again in uniform, sitting at a desk, and trying not to stare out of the window instead of paying attention to the teacher. It's harder to focus since you hit your head, you think. That, or you're just finding it hard to care.

It's this—and the dearth of notes in your English notebook—that leads you into classroom 1-4 as soon as lunch hits. First, a peek, a quick scan of the room for one of two potential saviors.

A guy near the door glances your way. "Need something…?" he asks.

You pause. Flash a smile. "Sorry, I'm looking for—ah! There he is! Please excuse me!"

You brush right past, make a beeline for where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are talking.

"Tsukki-san! Yamaguchi-san!" you sing, holding up both your lunch and your notebook. "Can I ask a huge favor?"

Tsukishima sighs. "If it's about class notes—"

"Please? It's been really hard to focus since the whole concussion thing. You wouldn't make the poor concussed girl suffer without knowing what's going on, right? And Yachi-san's busy with her other friends, so I don't wanna bother her." You bat your eyelashes. "I can't pay you, but I can do some special drinks for the team or something next week. You like strawberries, right?"

"How did you even—"

You grin and point to the strawberry milk on his desk. "Observation. C'mon, please?"

"You can't get me to do things for you the way you do Nishinoya-san, you know."

"I know!" you chirp. "Why do you think I'm bribing you? I just have to emphasize the -senpai and he'll do whatever. You're not that easy."

He sighs. "Fine. Pull up a chair and stop the cutesy stuff. It's weird."

~

You spent the whole of lunch sitting with that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, going over notes and eating. He'd tried not to stare, really, but—I mean, come on, really? He had to.

If you know those two, it's probably a club thing. You seem way too sweet to be friends with Tsukishima, of all people, unless forced to. And, well—

He crosses the room the second you leave, with two minutes before the bell. "Hey, Tsukishima."

The guy in question raises an eyebrow. "Do you need something?"

"So that girl who was here—"

"Not interested. Go ask someone else."

"But—"

"Dude, if you wanna talk to her, figure it out yourself. She's basically taken, anyway."

His heart falls, but only a little—

Basically taken isn't the same thing as taken. He'll need more information.

~

At Karasuno High School, you quickly learn a few important things to stay street-smart. It's not that things are dangerous, but, well, if you want information, asking around is always going to lead you to the same place.

That place, naturally, is classroom 3-4, in the fourth seat from the front, next to the window. She's built up a reputation—if she's not otherwise occupied, look for the girl with the bleached streak in her hair, usually eating some kind of lollipop. Bring tributes—information, if you can, but she also accepts money, candy, and—if you're a girl—hookups. Ask for Nishinoya Satsuki, and if you're an underclassman, you damn well better call her "senpai".

She likes to think it's her second-best talent, the first being too racy to advertise outside of specific circles. She knows who's single, who's open to fooling around, who's looking for a real relationship or a fling, who's gay, who's denying it. Crushes are obvious enough—the crushing and the crushed, and if she puts her mind to it, she can usually guess who the next crush will be on repeat customers. For a price, she can either tell you what she knows or walk right up and ask the right people.

It's not even hard. Most of the time, she just asks, which is something a solid 80% of the students at this school find completely impossible. She's not sure what's so mystifying about it—she gets a name and a year and the information she's supposed to look for, she walks around at lunch and starts asking until someone can tell her what she needs to know. Sometimes, she leverages a favor or a curiosity or two, but it's never much harder than that. With her reputation, she hardly needs to seek anyone out anymore. She flirts with the cute ones, she hangs out, and when someone comes looking for cupid, cupid provides.

She tries her best to be understanding, no matter what. She doesn't judge, doesn't ever say "you think you have a chance"? She's not like that. Everyone deserves someone, and she does her best to get the information for anyone, no matter the request. At worst, a "sorry honey, that one's gay". Being the premier Out Lesbian at school gets her access to about ninety percent of the Karasuno Gays by default, and after she broke a guy's wrist for outing one of the closeted ones, she got just about the other ten percent. Having an ear to the ground and a reputation for breaking bones and giving out black eyes keeps her good side attractive, too—she's ruined at least one person's dating life with a few well-placed bits of (true) information.

So she's understanding. Very understanding. She's never once laughed in someone's face at a request.

Before today.

She crosses her legs, leans back in her chair. Takes the lollipop out of her mouth and points it at the first year in front of her, who's just described someone around your height, your build, your hair and eye color, who's friends with some volleyball guys and recently had some issue with her head.

"Oh no, honey," she says to the fresh-faced first year who's made the trek to her floor for this. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but that's Yuu's girl. Pick someone else, she's off-limits."

The kid has the audacity to look affronted. She sizes him up carefully. Athletic build. Obviously not a volleyball guy, or he'd know you already, and likely not close to any of the volleyball guys, or he'd have gone to them first. She'll have to do some recon. "I don't know who Yuu is. They're not together, though, right? Tsukishima said she was basically taken. Not taken taken."

Tsukishima. There's a thread. She'll ask Yuu which one Tsukishima is later. In the meantime, she raises a dangerous brow, lifts her chin. "Not taken yet."

"So, she's currently single," he presses. "Right?"

She drags her lollipop across her bottom lip as she thinks. Same year, not same class, or he'd have seen you before, and likely have seen you with Yuu. Probably the same class as this Tsukishima. He hadn't given his name or introduced himself properly. Smart enough to figure out to come to her, but not smart enough to figure out that he's coming to your Senpai's older sister.

"What'd you say your name was?"

"Doesn't matter. If she's really committed to him,  it won't be a problem if I ask her out, right? She can just say no."

…so he has something he's hiding. Red flag, and not good enough for you.

"Well, Doesn't Matter-kun," she drawls, "you're looking at a path that's gonna end with a broken heart and a broken nose."

She pops her lollipop back in her mouth, crunches it under perfect teeth. Reaches into her pocket and begins unwrapping a second lollipop. "I have it on good authority that she's prepared to leave anyone for him if he just asks. You'd be better off just getting over her now."

"C'mon, just tell me her name."

She shrugs. "I have prices, you know. You were able to figure out to come to me and ask about her, surely you heard that I need tribute for information. You won't even give me the information of your name. You got a sister?"

"What?"

"Do you have. A sister."

"Not for you," he sneers.

She raises an eyebrow. "Okay, wow. Fine then. Import me something. Rare candy and I'll consider getting you any information on Yuu's girl."

"Rare… candy?" He seems thoroughly bewildered.

"I want something American. I'm getting bored of the current stash. Find me some good American candy you can't get at the little foreign section at the konbini and I'll get you her name."

"Fine," he sighs. "I'll be back, then."

~

Satsuki doesn't waste any time. That afternoon, she finds her way to the volleyball gym, waits by the door with arms crossed as volleyball boys file in. A few shoot her odd looks—the third years she recognizes from her class, Sawamura and Sugawara, seem to understand the reason for her being here. They were there during lunch, she thinks—Sawamura looks to one of the younger guys, a tall blond dude, and says something, and then he's heading over her way with a look of confusion. She loves it when she doesn't even have to ask.

"Hi," she says, extending a hand to shake with her best smile. "Are you Tsukishima?"

He shakes her hand awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. Can I help you…? Sawamura-san said you were here for me."

"I am," she confirms. "Nishinoya Satsuki, third year. I'm looking for information about someone, and he mentioned your name, so I think you might be able to help me out. You told a guy recently that our beloved [name]-chan was, in his words, basically taken."

He already looks irritated. "Yes. Was this a problem?"

"I wanna know what you know about him, that's all." She tilts her head, smiles sweetly. "You did the right thing, and I told him the same, but he wouldn't give any information about himself, and I need that information."

"I wouldn't tell him anything about her. I don't even know him. He just showed up after I helped her out with some notes and started trying to ask about her."

A new face appears beside Tsukishima—shorter guy, freckles, darker hair. "Who?"

"That guy who was asking about [surname]-san the other day," Tsukishima says.

"Oh! He's never really talked to us before, but he's on the baseball team. His name was… Ashita-san? Asuka-san? Something like that. He's in our class, 1-4."

She reaches forward, clasps the guy's hand with a charming smile. "You're a huge help. I'm gonna check out the baseball team. Thank you, um…"

"Yamaguchi," he replies.

"Thank you, Yamaguchi-kun."

She turns, prepares to leave. Runs right into—who else?—Yuu, walking with you. "Oh! Hi Yuu, hi [name]-chan! I was just leaving."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really? What's up?"

"Nothing. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Yuu, I'll update you later when I'm not on the hunt. See you!"

She tosses a little wave over her shoulder, redirects her path towards the baseball field. She's gonna go home today with more information if it kills her.

It takes a few minutes for baseball guys to show up. She catches sight of Mr. Doesn't Matter among the guys—baseball it is. Her instincts about him being an athlete were right on the money. She skims over the guys coming through—one or two she recognizes, one of whom is a Kirijo-kun who she's pretty sure owes her a favor she can collect on.

Yeah, she's gonna figure this out. Anything short of dropping a dossier on Yuu's lap would make her a failure of a big sister. And she can't let that happen, now can she?

~

Kirijo on the baseball team does, in fact, owe Satsuki a favor, and she collects—not just this Doesn't Matter guy's actual name, but, even better, just a bit more info than that. His sister's name and phone number and where to find her. She walks away with a spring in her step, tapping out a text message to the number she received.

Satsuki to Unknown at 16:04

Satsuki: hi! Is this asuka-chan in class 3-2?

Satsuki: this is nishinoya satsuki. I got your number from Kirijo-kun under duress

Unknown: this is her. What can I help you with?

Satsuki: are you free? I have some questions for you and can make it worth your while

Unknown: what did you have in mind?

~

The bag of candy is dropped on her desk five minutes after the start of lunch that Friday. It takes Satsuki a moment to scan the labeling properly—Ring Pops is emblazoned on the bag, lumpy with the candy inside. She tears it open, plucks out the first blue individually-wrapped candy she sees. It's a lollipop on a little plastic ring—cute. Packaging is in English, so it seems like he actually came through. She unwraps the candy, slips it on her finger to admire it. It's beautiful in the light through the window behind her.

"Impressive. So you can't give your name, but you can follow directions. What were you looking for from me, again?"

"That girl's name. The one you said was Yuu's girl. And these were expensive, so I want more than just that."

"Do you think you get to make demands of me, Asuka-kun?" She tilts her head sweetly, pops the ring pop into her mouth for an initial taste. The flavor's intense—blue raspberry, she thinks it's called—and blooms on her tongue pleasantly. "Ooh, good choice. I'm gonna have to find more of these."

"How'd you—I know I didn't tell you my name."

"Same way I find most information, dumbass." I fucked your sister, she wants to say, but Hitomi had quietly asked for no marks with an air of shame and a I'm still figuring this out, please don't tell anyone. So she won't tell anyone where the new mark on her neck came from. Not this time. "You're in 1-4, you're on the baseball team, you don't like to talk to people outside your little bubble of athletes. You've had three exes in the past year, the most recent being two months ago, and you have a type, which includes the girl you're asking me about. Honestly, I don't want you going after her, but she's the type to totally hate meddling, so I'll keep my end of the bargain since you did well and leave it at that. You're asking about [full name], and you don't seem to understand that you need to give me information in return for information."

"[full name]," he repeats, testing the name on his lips.

"She's a personal friend of mine. Set to come over for dinner with my family tonight, as it stands. To make myself clear, I won't be putting in a good word for you."

"What, did you talk to my exes?" he snorts.

"No, nothing like that, though I plan to. It's just, see, she's really close with my little brother and the rest of my family. I'm sort of banking on making her a Nishinoya one way or another, and I have no intention of seeing her get her heart broken by some random catcher with a mid batting average. But, you did go above and beyond with this pick, so I'll also tell you—she's a manager for the volleyball club. From what I can tell, she adores them, and the sense I'm getting is that they adore her right back. If you hurt her, that's…" She hums, counts on her fingers exaggeratedly. "Fourteen guys ready to kick your ass, plus me, plus the fact that she can kick your ass. You know, assuming you even get the chance. Don't say you weren't warned."

He shrugs. "I think I'll be alright."

She watches him turn and go. Asshole.

~

Satsuki to Yuu at 12:48

Satsuki: hey, so heads up

Satsuki: keep an eye out for any first year guys trying to get close to your girlfriend

Satsuki: had a guy on the baseball team asking about her. His family's got pretty decent money, he ran through three (!!!) girlfriends in the last year, and when I told him, verbatim, that she was your girl, he insisted that almost taken isn't taken so he's going after her anyway

Satsuki: also, his big sister is almost definitely gay and afraid of anyone in her family ever finding out, so there's that little red flag

Satsuki: damn good kisser too. Anyways.

Satsuki: I'll give you the full rundown later. Just wanted to warn you.

~

God, but Noya has been clingy the past day or two. You don't mind it, really—it's Noya, he does that—but you can't figure out why. It's almost a bit of a relief when you manage to convince the girls to let you go grab a package for the team. It's just some more powdered sports drink, so it shouldn't be too heavy, and you've been doing great lately. So great that you've been having to pretend you're not doing all that well to stay out of gym and be excused from Sports Day next month.

Besides, it's an easy task! Just head to the faculty office, tell them you're the volleyball team's manager, carry the box back. Easy. Super easy.

Problem 1: The box is a little bit heavier than you were prepared for.

Problem 2: There are three of them.

You're lucky the teacher doesn't recognize you as the girl whose head exploded. You walk slowly down the hall with cheeks puffed out and very nearly make it to the stairs before the top box slips.

You panic, reach for it frantically, and go through many several stages of grief in the moments before an unfamiliar hand swoops in and steadies the stack.

"Woah, careful there," someone says, and suddenly your three heavy boxes becomes one manageable box. "You alright?"

You blink, taking in the sight of the boy in front of you. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

He smiles an easy, charming smile as you take him in. Brown, fluffy hair. He's tall enough that you have to look up to see his face, and the two heavy boxes that had been making your life hell balance easily in just one of his hands, forearm flexing under the weight. "Let me help you with those."

"I can handle them, but thank you," you reply curtly.

"I'm sure you can," he says with a tilt of his head. "I just thought I'd offer. Good luck with those."

He sets the boxes back on top of the one you're still carrying, and you wince under the weight. Honestly, if any of the guys figure out how heavy the load you're carrying actually is, you're never gonna hear the end of it.

"…okay, fine, maybe I do need a little help," you say as he begins to walk away. "Honestly, I shouldn't have gone alone to grab the boxes and I knew it, so…"

Immediately the load lightens again. The guy falls in step beside you as you descend the stairs. "Why not? Are you hurt?"

You laugh a little. "One of the guys on the volleyball team accidentally got me in the face with a spike last month. I ended up with a concussion that's still kind of kicking my ass."

He winces. "That's brutal. They can hit that hard?"

You nod emphatically. "I wish I could tell you I knew from experience, but I mean, he hit me hard enough that I don't actually remember getting hit. But I'm trying to get back to doing things and being useful, so I wanted to at least be able to grab a box by myself. Good thing they sent three of them, right?" You roll your eyes.

"Well, hey," he says as you round a corner, "we'll get you right up to the volleyball gym and I can give you the boxes back then so they think you did it all yourself. You looked like you were handling them pretty well before they started slipping, so I'm sure you can play it off. The stairs are the real enemy, anyway."

You laugh. "That might just work. Thanks."

"No problem. As payment, could I get your name?"

"Well, you're saving me from a lecture, so… oh, what the hell. [full name]. Nice to meet you."

"Asuka," he replies with that boyish grin. "Asuka Chouji."

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[wrestlingarsenal]

In the early Aughts, my favorite Tag Team was "America's Most Wanted" -- James Storm and Chris Harris. These two studs were booked nearly every week to suffer some incredible beatings on TNA Wrestling. In 2004, they were involved in a Handicap Match which I wrote about on my old Wrestling Arsenal website 20 years ago today, on April 11, 2004 (and continuing the following week on April 18, 2004).

It seems James Storm had injured his shoulder and couldn't wrestle, so the promoters booked his partner, Chris Harris, against one guy from their rival tag team -- the Naturals. Harris won, so the Evil Promoter forced him to immediately wrestle the other member of the Naturals! THEN THE POOR WHIPPING-BOY WAS FORCED TO WRESTLE BOTH OPPONENTS AT THE SAME TIME in a HANDICAP MATCH! (I's all worked up because I love unfair 2-on-1 tag team beatings.) TNA was notably homo-erotic in those days, and also got good ratings. Hmm, I wonder if those go hand-in-hand?

To revisit and update my old static images describing this sadistic scene, I went and found this episode of TNA Wrestling (which aired as a pay-per-view on 2/25/2004) and created this edited video, focusing on the "Wildcat" in agony. I mashed the two preliminary singles matches together with the Handicap Match to make it seem like one long, glorious, two-against-one torture scene. I must say, Chris Harris looks great selling in his tight blue trunks and tall shiny boots, and his partner is adorable outside the ring worrying about him, looking like a chubby Jordan Catalano.

[see-arcane]

The Vampyres (PREVIEW)

Something is culling the dead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or merely traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. A phenomenon that has been carving its way through the undead like a belated necrosis moving steadily through the past century and more. One which the Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer may rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the old boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest must be. The Vampyre himself is surely jumping at shadows. So he convinces himself for a single night…

…before a Thing known only as ‘Quinn Morse’ makes itself and its work known.

Surprise! I accidentally finished a novella during what was supposed to be a short story break. Whoops. Updates to come.

Below is a preview of the opening chapters. A link to the Google Doc version is here.

Warnings for some grisly imagery. Keep an eye out for some familiar faces (such as they are).

 The Vampyres

 “Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.

Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God

And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

O Faustus, leave these frivolous demands

Which strikes a terror to my fainting soul!”

 —Mephistopheles, Doctor Faustus

 I

           The phone came alive at midnight. A fact he would mercifully only become aware of well after two in the morning. He followed at least one form of etiquette at the table by silencing the device from start to finish of each game. He broke no rules in any casino, however polished or derelict. It was what preserved his hobby. The gambling itself he could leave or take.

         But the players themselves were excellent sport.

         He beggared every starved and bloodshot player hoping to win funds enough to live off for a month, then played as if blind in order to lose it all to whichever moneyed tick needed it least. Considering how equal the misfortune spread across the board for any who played with him—rich or poor, Good Samaritan or giddy sinner—it was rarely too long before even the least credulous in his circles began to shiver when he showed his face. Or so it was in less congested metropolises where the cattle weren’t so bombarded with other distractions that they couldn’t recognize an ill omen when he took a seat at the felted table. It remained true now, as always, that whoever played against him wound up either penniless or slated for an avalanche of misery the moment they spent the money he’d lost to them. A fact that so many of them never bothered to notice even in this age of conspiracy and wildfire gossip living in their myriad screens.

         Bless their blunted little souls.

         That night he was feeling slightly more at ease than he had in some weeks. Even one of the cocktail girls, whose mind carried a pleasing well of empathy and whose fingernails were still lined with soil from a group tree planting, tickled at his peripheral senses and twitched his appetite half awake. If he wanted, he could talk her number out of her over a drink he would never choke down, perhaps keeping her pinned at a stool with his face and his wallet. He might dance her along for a date or three and then bite her throat out before they struck June. The same could be said for the svelte young man behind the bar who had almost fumbled his showman mixologist pour upon making eye contact with him. He had a tang of hope and action sweating from him, the kind that was destined either to make a hero or a martyr of him someday. It would almost be a mercy to put him down in his prime.

         The girl, then.

He flung a little mental nudge her way. Enough to make her turn her head. At the same time, he fished out the phone to play with. Just to have it ready should the exchange come quicker than anticipated. A small mountain of text messages sat fresh and unread there. This was surprising by its own merit, considering how scant his contacts were. Then he saw the name. Irritation broke out on his mood like a rash.

Taking himself to a private corner, he began to read. And read. And read. Irritation grew into something heavier. Sicker.

At the bottom of the reading, he tapped play so he might watch.

When all was seen and heard, his hand twitched, crunched in the phone’s sides, and sent spider web cracks flying across the screen. A ruddy gentleman stopped en route to the toilet in time to see this and mumble something about how he ought to invest in a device of higher quality. The man had this cousin working for a new startup, you see, and if he was so inclined—

The last mote of joy he took away that night was the look on that rubicund face as it met the eyes of something no longer bothering to pretend it was human. A grey eye might be ignored. Not so for a dead one. He left the man scrambling his way to the stalls.

On his way to the doors, he made sure to radiate every deathly ounce of his presence into the air as he could. A quelling cold that made the glee of the night’s winners crumble into a dread of things they could not name. Then he was out and under the moon. He nursed from that pale waxing wedge in a desperate reflex. It was a thin taste here, lost in the searing pollution of streetlights and neon, but he basked just the same. Still basking, he crushed the phone in his fist and dropped the remains down a sewer grate. Then he was gone, one of a thousand streaks of rolling light and metal on the asphalt.

 II

 He only ever carried phones as a prop.

In this age and those to follow, it would be imperative to keep one of the aggravating little slabs on hand for the purposes of adding the phone numbers of sundry quarries or engage in the back-and-forth patter that so many of them insisted on in those hours when they weren’t side by side. Fortunately, he’d found himself blessed enough to dodge one of the maladies which others indulging in a healthy unlife hadn’t. True, the form he had bartered for had only so many perks, but opting out of extravagant powers had trimmed down the amount of tells.

         Some poor bastards had to walk around without reflections or shadows while grumbling over the barriers of running water and uninvited thresholds. Others only discovered their drawbacks as the 20th century budded, revealing too late that their photographs came out either empty or hideously distorted. Even the audio of their voices came out muted or garbled into static. He’d avoided all of these caveats by trading for a more thinly arcane state of undeath rather than glutting himself on all the powerful options in reach. And why not? It still came with the most desired prize without any need for filigree.

         Given blood and moonlight enough, there was no iteration of death from which he could not rebound. Same as any of the self-made devils lurking about in the shadows. Such shadows as were left for things like them. In a lighter mood, he might have enjoyed the notion of picking at the wounds of those who’d not bothered with the foresight of arranging investments and back doors of identification for the centuries to come. Only fools could miss how tight the noose of bureaucracy was becoming. A body loitering among the mayfly mortals had to be prepared and he had once laughed to himself at how many times the sorcerous types had to gnash their fangs and scramble to cover themselves as time ticked on and their lounging hedonism softened into corrosion.

         But such amusing thoughts had iced over in recent decades.

         He had not gotten as far as he had alive or undead by resting on his laurels. Oh, he might enjoy playing with his food and sowing a bit of casual desolation where it could be nurtured, but he never gambled when it came to things that might inconvenience him. Things like other bloodsuckers, for instance. A few had been proper nuisances of old. The majority of the stray vampiric beauties wandering around crypts and lonely midnights luring gullible lovers into their teeth were invariably the result of irresponsible collecting by the usual harem hoarders. Such carelessness often led to sleeping cadavers staked and slaughtered in their boxes like oversized leeches. Not a concern for himself, naturally—he could enjoy a bed rather than graveyard dirt or casket walls—but the attention itself got too many hackles up.

         Enough of them raised about a certain type of person could lead to inconvenience. One of his older worries had been the notion of an outright arrest. A trial. A boxing away into a great stone cage of a prison where he would have no choice but to resort to his teeth rather than his daggers or risk being found out as a perpetually young and deathless inmate. A bloody break out, an escape, some secret place where he could lay under the moon and heal from the bullets, going on the run for a decades-long stint until all assumed he must be dead, all these he could picture…

         …but frankly would rather avoid. Hence the need for cannier sorts with this unique condition. Those who knew how to take their fun and their fodder between the lines of human living and laws.

It was not against the law that certain formerly-benign persons around you turned apoplectic with madness, horror, or rage after spending a few months in your company. Nor was it against the law to stamp someone’s empty little head with the alien impression of infatuation, lust, or that softly syrupy joke called romance so that they, like the insect drawn to the pitcher plant, would come within reach willingly; regardless of former commitments or fearful kin. There was no law against trances, against the mystic weight of locking an unwitting brain inside an oath with more power to it than hollow words, against having a seventh sense of awareness when it came to the makeup of a soul.

         And, apart from those silly backwards places where superstition still ruled, there was certainly no law against being an accused vampire. Or a vampyre, to go by his preferred spelling. Kate Northcott mocked him for this and other affectations on those sparse occasions when they met.

         Her name was not Kate Northcott any more than his was Gordon Williams, but it was the name she was the most attached to.

         “I turned into a proper ghost story with it in the 1880s. Back when the mesmerist fad was booming, you know. Popped one little stage magician’s blood vessel right there in the middle of his act.” A dainty finger waggled. “I take offense to people playing with my toys. It’s his own fault for trying to walk my poor John around.”

         Her poor John, who had, like every beau before him, been told the exact nature of both their lovely cruel Kate’s being and precisely what she intended to do with them should they go through with marriage and life thereafter. More, that she would see them dead if they abandoned her. Each man had run. Each had died. Perhaps they’d have lasted longer if she ever allowed a trip to the altar before laying out the truth post-honeymoon, but the rules of her own contract demanded the revelation come before any wedding bells. Not a terrible bargain, all things considered.

         This in mind, he had posited that she might have better luck keeping a paramour if she used her fine senses to detect one of those lot who would trip over their own aching members for the chance to be an eternal puppet to her psychic appetite and the twitch of her riding crop. Miss Northcott had batted her lashes. As always, the lambent shine of her eyes tried to work their magic on his own will. As always, they’d scrabbled for a grip on the frictionless wall that shielded his mind from all such parasites; dead drinkers of blood or soul or otherwise. Following the expected failure, she had huffed and tittered.

         “Now what’s the point if they want it? I don’t see you jumping at the sea of willing victims hoping for unlife eternal draped in your arms at the cost of a hickey and a liquid diet. You could have had a set of twins that one time, no? The brother and sister, whoever they were. The Audreys? The Ambers?”

         “The appetizers,” he said with all the pining recollection of an epicure mourning an especially pleasing steak. “They were a pleasant distraction. It’s the most any quarry can aspire to.” So saying, he made a point of revealing one of the daggers he still kept on his person. Antique and bejeweled, he took some small pride in keeping the whole set gleaming and up to the task whenever the latest game came to an end. He’d unsheathed his current pick, admiring the dead grey of his stare reflected in the steel. “I have no interest in collecting sycophants.”

         “Likewise.” She had sipped at her cup daintily. Perhaps purposefully, the better to show she was capable of consuming more than the spirit of a collared victim. Whether she could taste anything the café had to offer was not a topic he was interested enough to pry for. “But that begs the question of why you’re suddenly so concerned for your fellows that you would bother with the labors of social interaction to pass the warning on.”

         Gordon regarded her stonily over his untouched plate.

         “I’m not concerned for any of our ‘fellows’ any more than I’m concerned for you. I have every belief that I am one of the least endangered of our kind and all its branches by dint of having some amount of grey matter dedicated to not flaunting my reality like those idiots who decided to take Bowie and Deneuve as role models. At most, I give you credit for being canny enough to dwell within plausible deniability with your methods. More, you have senses enough to glean for yourself if this threat is in your midst and have enough intelligence to enlist others to help with culling it.”

         She muffled a laugh and picked at her croissant.

         “Even if I believed you would exert effort to come to my aid, I still fail to see what threat you’ve conjured to be afraid of. Your only evidence so far is that you haven’t been in touch with the others of the old guard in some time. Most have never been keen on letter-writing or trading numbers. The last I checked, the bulk of them prefer the sedentary life to our migratory lifestyle. Castles and manors and villages turned into necropolises and so on. Hermit types by nature.”

         “Hermits would be at home. All the places I’ve visited have been empty.” He was surprised at having to keep his throat from bobbing in anxious imitation of a tic from his living years; back when there was need to fret for his life. “And filled with dust.”

         Miss Northcott had frowned up at him.

         “Dust..?”

         “Dust and growth. There were flowers growing in the messes that were fresh enough in their conversions to have flesh leftover. Compost.” He thought back to the surreal gardens left behind in that sequestered corner of Munich that belonged to Dolingen. Then a Serbian village that had been swallowed by a ravenously loving pack of wurdulacs, stopped short of virulence by their rules of homeland borders. Among others. Dust in piles, dust wearing ancient clothes, dust in coffins. And scattered throughout, the bounty of younger fledglings. Meat and bone converted to soil from which wild roses, ash trees, and garlic sprouted in healthy crops. As for the nobler estates?

         “The chateaus and mansions are either abandoned, passed on to the wealthy living, or museum pieces now. Maybe their former masters left it all behind in the past hundred or so years to dodge modern eyes scrutinizing the family tree. I’d like to think so. Just as I’d like to think there was a less worrisome reason that all the pseudonyms and auxiliary domains I tried to follow up on had no recognizable owners when I checked in. But even if I were dense enough to convince myself of such, there’s at least one case that suggests—,”

         “The Carpathians.” She beamed at him and his stunted oration. “The castle in the mountains has been gutted since 1897, dear. Looted and halfway dismantled to the foundation by the locals. What’s left of it is there for the tourists.” Her slim hand patted his knuckles. “If you’re worried about the handsy old boyar, don’t be. He’s been mobbed and murdered before. A shame about his girlfriends in their boxes, but they were only born of a bite, poor things. No contractual resurrection to fall back on. The Count, if he is still bothering with being a Count, is doubtlessly off haunting some contemporary castle someplace. Probably a nice high rise for him to skitter down or make his batty flights from. Just as the other oldies have likely taken themselves to higher ground. And if their minions really have run afoul of some sterling sorts with hammer, stake, and axe?” Miss Northcott shrugged. “Well, there’s always more pretty chattel to choose from.”

         Now she did laugh aloud. A brittle crystalline sound.

         “Honestly, I’m shocked that you’d be the one to turn jumpy over such a thing. Supposing there was some active force in the world bumping the lower tier wraiths off, it would still be no more than an annoyance for us. We’ve both had our share of murders to prove as much. The dried-up old conqueror certainly had his fill in the warlord days, if I don’t mistake the legends.”

         “He did,” Gordon granted. “And he has reassembled himself plenty of times before. Which is my point. Supposing he is undead and active today, or was a hundred years prior, why would he let the peasants harvest his fortress down into a ruin?”

         “Well, he’s obviously left the place,” Miss Northcott shrugged without looking at him. Her attention had gravitated down to her phone. A manicured thumb tapped and scrolled. More appetite than apprehension lived in her gaze. “You can only pass yourself off as your own descendant so long before things start getting sticky. Everyone hits the point where you have to get on with setting up elsewhere. And really, the warlord days are ancient history. If he’d gone out with a flourish of a massacre on the neighboring towns squirming under his eye, it would only have gotten him more unwanted attention. I recommend you start trawling through top mogul names and see if you can’t spot his picture lurking in there, gone fat and happy slurping up interns.” Her lips pursed. “Supposing he was one of the lucky sorts who can have a photo taken.”

         With that, the topic was dead. Gordon managed to sit through another quarter of an hour in which she lamented the double-edged factor of her electronic allergy, woeful at never having a decent photo to spare for social media or dating apps, but likewise glad of the identity-baffling glamour it leant.

Chirpily, she reminded him that even those who grew suspicious of her would never be able to take a reliable photo or video of anything but a spectral horror with mist for eyes, unlike some. Better still, no one even spoke on the phone anymore. Bless texting.

He held on until she started regaling him with talk of her latest doomed darling—a Mr. Quinn Morse, the mortuary assistant who she had met in the before and after of her latest fiancé’s funeral—and what a scrumptious psychic treat he was to the palate. She was frankly surprised at herself! He had proven so pleasant a distraction she might not even bother goosing his mind into vomiting out a proposal. Not for a while anyway. Why, she may even take up two-timing the boy just to snack on a fiancé behind his back, ha ha.

         Gordon didn’t bother wishing her bon appétit. He picked out a young couple on his way back to the train. Mister and Missus would be found folded inside a dumpster later that evening, chests carved and throats torn. A rejuvenating bout of gluttony that only gave him new energy with which to curse the lack of answers he sat with. Worse still was the lack of competent allies to make up for the former’s deficit. For a while longer he strained to lower his suspicions to the level of Miss Northcott’s confidence.

         His main concern was so implausible as to border on impossible, after all.  

         The turned might be slain, it was true. But those who had commissioned their states from their devil or deity of choice were immune to total destruction by any of the cattle, no matter how endowed in strength or holy accoutrement.

Days and nights were spent rereading these facts in the volumes that still traveled with him to whatever land or identity he haunted. They remained preciously stored in enhanced safes as the centuries ticked on, now handled only with silk gloves and the most delicate turns of cover and page. He scoured the old tongues, some living, some dead, some entirely detached from human script, and took as much solace as he could from the facts laid there.

His contract was one of perpetual function. So long as he drank his dose of blood, he would go on forever. So long as his dead skin was grazed by moonlight, he would shed any injury or temporary death. So long as he was the thing he was, no act of man would have the power to unmake him.  

All these were still maintained. He was safe. As anyone else at his level or higher would be. The more grandiose warlocks and dealmakers who’d glutted themselves on fearsome add-ons available to other forms of revenant had simply moved on and were going about their business elsewhere, under new names. Of course. Of course.

“Of course,” he murmured to the yellowed pages. “They all just happened to do so within the last century. On a whim.”

It could be, couldn’t it? Technology and the microscopic examinations of increasingly thorough systems surrounding properties and owners thereof would make it necessary to move on from old roosts sooner or later.

“Without taking any measures to preserve their estates.”

But then what of the villages? The ones full of living peasantry gleefully peeling the properties down to floorboards. The dead spaces where only silence and specific warding flora bloomed. What sense was there to those, if not the fact that something had been and gone and torn the masters of the land out by their bloody roots?

Something.

That was the prospect that worried him most. Something coming to call, something culling the undead and undying, something roaming across borders of land and water to pick them off year by year, decade by decade. Something that may have been active since the boyar in the mountains disappeared. Something which was not human and so did not fall within the parameters of their sundry pacts’ protection.

Gordon grimaced. It would come down to a technicality, wouldn’t it? Be they gods or demons or Folk in-between, there was always some damned loophole built in to ensure a trade was never quite as advertised. Gordon had studied and sworn and dealt with a god wearing the aspect of one of those horrors that passed for divinities in the Mediterranean. One of tripled faces, of lunar light, of words stitched with power. After so many centuries, he had dared to become complacent enough to think he had gotten away with an impenetrable exchange.

But now came this worrisome century and a quarter in which all those dead who lived off the living were dropping out of sight. He might have dared to make an inquiry to Powers beyond mortal matter if he weren’t likewise concerned that this culling was the work of said Powers themselves. Terminating contracts, as it were. Even if this weren’t the case, what more did he have left to barter with for protection from…

From what?

He didn’t know. Still. The result left him twisting unhappily between throes of frustration at his ignorance and grimmer dread of knowledge that might come in the shape of the long-avoided coffin come to collect.

As always, the cure for his own despondency was to share it with others. Hence the casino. The brief high that had almost transfigured into relief.

And then had come the texts from ‘N.’

Even with the phone safely demolished and abandoned, its final bleak gift stayed branded behind his eyes, searing through his thoughts awake or asleep. The first came at ten past midnight:

R. Need help. My arm’s going black. The knife, it

A lull of minutes followed this. The next message came through at 12:15 AM:

It’s real. He’s here and he’s real. Quinn Morse was a cover. I can’t find any of his pictures in the album now. He replaced everything with their markers. All of them.

Another beat. 12:22 AM:

Pick up, damn it! This isn’t a joke! He’s got all the doors and windows cut off and the police won’t be here in time! I already tried to put him down, but he just keeps going. I can’t drink him. I can’t even hold him. He knew he knew the whole time he

Beat. 12:30 AM:

Pick up you bastard

12:31 AM:

Please, R, he’s outside. He’s got my arm. What’s left of my arm. The door’s breaking and h

The next message came at 12:41 AM. A video. Hitting play, the clearest thing throughout the few endless minutes was the background. Miss Northcott’s plush bedroom stood out in crisp relief compared to the two figures in the foreground. One was a vaguely female haze that Gordon recognized as what was left of Kate Northcott. She flickered in and out of the camera’s concept of her reality. One moment she was spectral fog made of hunger and venom. In the next, she was something far more tangible and suffering for it.

Each flicker revealed a new stage of decomposition twitching in a bloodied sundress. Only one arm was left to flail with as the right was missing, swinging only a necrotic stump at the shoulder. The rest of the body was following suit between spasms. Sometimes a glottal noise that could pass for a voice broke through the static. What had been crystal was now a shrill and dwindling rasp. Dimly, Gordon thought it was strange the noise was not wetter—his cuisine almost always gurgled when enduring the kind of wound he saw staining her breast.

A crimson slit, quickly drying to maroon, had opened where her heart would be. Her remaining hand alternated between scrabbling at the wound and trying to wave off the shape throwing its shadow over her from outside the borders of the screen. As she tried to kick herself back along the floor, the reason for her scuttling along the imported rug was made clear: a bullet hole had gone through one knee. The knee itself was now almost obliterated with decay while the calf and thigh on either side were going hideously spongy. Much like the rest of her.

The last noise she made was as close to a scream with dust for a throat could manage—

“Quin—,”

—before a flash of silver-white swept down. It flew in a shining arc from the upper corner of the screen and through the hazy shriveled stem that had been a neck. A moment later there was no haze left. Only the corpse of the thing known as Kate Northcott collapsing in two pieces. The bulk of it flopped to the floor with a gruesome rattle. Her head, the lush tresses now so much grizzled and flimsy white, tumbled away until it struck the nightstand. When it stilled, the sockets revealed that the eyes had dried away to nothing.

Then Quinn Morse stepped into frame.

If Miss Northcott was mist, her killer was a ghost. The impression of a man smeared just out of true. Really, it was the impression of a character; some escapee from a folk legend or a graphic novel. Such was the outline Gordon could make out in the blur of him. He was a strange medley of huntsman and mourner. Sheathed in black, Gordon could pick out suggestions of both the late Victorian and the fantasy of the American adventurer in his attire. Or perhaps he was assuming too much by the hints beneath the hanging duster and the broad brim of a hat dark as charcoal. The only things not some shade of ink were the white fall of hair growing from under the hat in wild drapes and the twin infernos of the eyes floating in the shadowed void where a face should be. Not red, but a sickening grey that might have matched Gordon’s own but for how they burned.

He thought of cats. He thought of foxes. He thought of carrion birds.

He thought of coins not unlike the pair Quinn Morse held up in his gloved fingers. Gold pinched in old leather. They shined just as bright as the long blade gripped in the opposite hand, its helping of blood dripping.

Gordon watched with the camera as Quinn Morse first held the coins up to be seen, then popped one apiece into each of the eye sockets. Finally, a bundle of familiar blossoms and sprigs appeared from the dark mass of the coat. This was tucked neatly into the head’s sagging maw as if arranging a bouquet. Quinn Morse stepped out of sight. The video ended.

A final text message appeared the instant the show finished:

My God, my God! Look not so fierce upon me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! Ugly Hell, gape not! Come not Lucifer! I’ll burn my books!—O Mephistopheles!

He had wanted to laugh. To roll his eyes. To make himself tap out a reply in mocking returned verse. To inform Mr. Morse that he was lacking for proper material to parrot, especially in assuming his gods and devils brushed anywhere near something so young and gaudy as the Abrahamic.

He could. He would.

But somewhere in these plans he had found himself crumpling the phone to shrapnel and racing home to start clearing out his necessities for a trip to distant quarters. He kept more than one residence as a rule whenever he wasn’t taking one of his gourmand tours. A fact Miss Northcott may have known, but not well enough to have learned his other addresses. Or names.

Gordon Williams was thrown away that night.

Mason Darvell greeted the morning.

[ohworm-writes]

alrighty, here goes. there was this one time a firefighter came to my school years ago to do one of those job presentations. And apparently firefighters have to write a goodbye letter in case they die while on the job. they always have it kept up to date, stored in their locker with rest of their gear. but just imagine firefighter! schlatt writing his goodbye letter or better yet, someone reading what he wrote.

Anon, I was getting on a flight after I read this and I looked high I genuinely cried so hard. I didn’t know that was even a thing and it makes me so emotional about it.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spent weeks trying to put even one thing down on his letter. The only thing he wrote consisting of “Engine Co. 219 Ladder 131, Brooklyn, New York City. Firefighter Jay Schlatt.”

Firefighter!Schlatt who has over 100 scrapped letters to signal his goodbye, too stuck on critiquing what would make the letter sound more professional or, simply better.

Firefighter!Schlatt who leans more on a short and sweet letter as opposed to a long and wordy one, but writes one that crosses over 11 individual pages nonetheless.

Firefighter!Schlatt who thanks every single one of his family members, no matter the relationship, and writes the longest paragraph for the one person who got him into computer related things and signs off the letter to them in specific.

Firefighter!Schlatt who names every single person at the station and thanks them individually with so much heart that even he sheds a few tears at his own words.

Firefighter!Schlatt who grabs the two kitties' paws who he's called his own and paints them black, pressing them into the paper with their names written over them, hearts and renditions of them around the paws.

Firefighter!Schlatt who draws a little portrait of himself at the end of the letter, simple smiley faces decorate around it and a (poor) rendition of his gear.

Firefighter!Schlatt who writes down every struggle and success he has dealt with in his letter, some of the words and sentences blurred for the water of his tears disturbing them.

Firefighter!Schlatt who, once he finishes his letter, refuses to touch it after it's done, less he need to update or change it in the future, and shuts his locker with such force and goes about his business as usual, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spends months refusing to touch or even look at his letter, stuffing it in the back of his locker behind and under a random assortment of things.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spends all of this effort to put the letter out of his mind, accidently taking one thing out and resulting in the letter gracefully flying to the floor.

Firefighter!Schlatt who doesn't realize it and leaves to tend to his cats and rest up, leading to one of the members of his crew to come across it- well, at least one of the pages.

Firefighter![X] who finds the first 3 and last 2 pages and nothing more an hour or so later, give or take, being confused by what it was until reading the title of the paper: “Engine Co. 219 Ladder 131, Brooklyn, New York City. Firefighter Jay Schlatt.”

Firefighter![X] who only doesn't want to read the whole amount of pages they have, but can't help themselves as they read their own name and Firefighter!Schlatt's message to them and sobs.

Firefighter![X] who reads through the whole thing and is left in tears by the end of his, moving to clean themselves up before consulting Firefighter!Schlatt.

Firefighter!Schlatt who is disturbed in the middle of falling asleep by Firefighter![X] clearing their throat in front of him, handing him the loose pages with a quiet "I think these are yours... sorry" before vacating the area as quick as the entered.

Firefighter!Schlatt who reads over the first words of one page before shoving them in his pocket, placing his hands over his face and hoping, at the very least, Firefighter![X] won't tell anyone.

Firefighter![X] who keeps their mouth sealed tight with no desire to share a word of what they read.

[sleepyy-27]

Heroes of courage

Chapter 1: darkness in the peace pt. 1

Page 4

Prev | next

IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG WITH A SINGLE PAGE I HAD A LOT OF SCHOOL LAST WEEK AND A FEW OTHER THINGS THAT TOOK A LOT OF MY TIME TOO

(sorry if sounds like I’m making excuses I’ll try to get the next page out as soon as possible)

Sorry about the poor quality of the page and the horrible handwriting

Page transcript:

Old woman: little one, are you alright?

Link Oc POV: wait… those.. eyes.. why..?

Link Oc: Yeah.

Link Oc POV: I’ve never met her… yet.. she seems oddly familiar.

(This comic update was very short sorry)

[pbaz7]

Yayyy cute stuff! Excited

Anything Azzi wanted—or even thought about wanting—Paige made sure she had it.

- lovergirl

And, truthfully, even if Azzi didn’t ask, Paige would find a way to give it to her.

- beautiful

What she didn’t see were the seven texts Azzi had sent her. Or the three missed calls.

- oh p ur in trouble

Hey, Az,” Paige said quietly, her tone soft but unmistakably fond.

- soft little baby aww

What the hell, Paige?” Azzi cut her off, her voice reflecting her clear frustration. “We’ve had this planned for like two weeks!”

- Paige! Put a reminder in your phone!

There was a long pause on the other end before Azzi said quietly, “It’s whatever. I love you too.” And then the call ended.

- never end a phone call without an I love you!!

Paige didn’t respond, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

- aw p dont beat yourself up

Paige’s heart sank when she noticed the faint redness around Azzi’s eyes, a clear sign she’d been crying. The sight was almost unbearable.

- aw Azzi my poor baby

Paige chuckled dryly, standing up. “Yeah, I got that.” As she walked to the door, she gestured lazily toward the flowers on the desk. “You should put those in water before they wilt.”

- oo this got a lil sass in it

The room was completely covered in flowers. Vases, bouquets—there were everywhere, sitting on her desk, lined up on the floor, spilling over onto her nightstand.

- Paige really cannot deal with Azzi being mad at her 😭😭😭

“I rented it for you.”

- my standards are made higher every single day

It was the kind of kiss that spoke louder than any words ever could, filled with love, forgiveness, and a promise to always be there for one another.

- actions and words!! 👏 👏

The two of them continued their private tour, hand in hand, stealing kisses between pieces of art and basking in the quiet intimacy of the night Paige had created just for them.

- l loved this! Manifesting this kind of love (minus the slight overconsumption and mini argument) for all of us!

Can’t wait to see what you do next! Keep me updated! If you haven’t guessed I love a warning before posts (: Hope everything worked out with you and your gf ❤️

- 🫂

paige being soft little baby and lover girl in this 🙂‍↕️

i physically cannot end a phone call without saying i love you like five times

“oo this got a lil sass in it”

yk paige sassy as hell

your standards should be through the roof and not in hell and i’ll make sure of it

ily 🫂

[its-a-me-mango]

(Two Cents Anon) Glad to see we got a response about the workplace allegations! Imo it seemed pretty solid and I kiiiinnda understand why he remained quiet for awhile.

HOWEVER, I still find it odd that Kevin or Luke haven't said anything about the whole situation with Celeste, which, iirc, was what started all of this. I hope they speak up about that soon- I just want her to get a real solid apology :( Also, speaking of the Celeste situation, it really does feel like the result of just. Assuming and jumping to conclusions. Still makes me feel... weird in regards to watching SMG4/Glitch Productions, so I'll continue abstaining from it.

Oh god hi anon so sorry for taking forever to answer, I've been mega busy the past week so everything's been slow as hell </3 I was also waiting at first to see if anything else will happen but things seemed to have quiet down a bit so I'll say something now.

I agree, Kevin's response was a pretty solid one, acknowledging what Glitch's current working situation is like while also acknowledging how it was in the pass definitely show some growth and change since then. I feel that a more dishonest approach would be to completely deny everything and worse yet, not address it at all. I do think the past criticisms are valid and shouldn't be disregarded now, but having a more even distribution between good and bad experiences really helps balance things out.

However I do agree though, the lack of a response to Celeste is definitely disappointing, I get the main focus of Kevin's response was to address the working conditions allegations, but this would've been the perfect time to say something. I mentioned before that Celestes' situation is probably more of a private matter unfortunately, in that any conversations are going to be between Celeste and Glitch privately.

It'll be up to them if they wish to share it publicly again, if they do or don't is up to them, I can only hope that Celeste gets a proper apology and some kind of closure privately at least, it's kinda one of those things that is more personal and therefore doesn't have to be shared publicly. I'm just glad she doesn't hold any ill will towards Lottie, as we know she's innocent in all this, I'll respect any decision that they make in regards to who keeps voicing Tari.

It's sad to think this whole situation started from poor communication, we can all sit here and say how easy this was to avoid because in all honesty, it was very easy to avoid. We can only hope that Glitch learns from this, but it sucks that this comes at the expense of loosing one of their first VA's, and subsequently all the others who quit too. I still genuinely wish all of them the best and that they can move onto greater things.

I do think Jasmine's apology is all we'll get unfortunately, but it's at least something.

I get what you mean about still not feeling comfortable watching Glitch, I'm still not entirely comfortable with it, but for me personally I'm probably gonna go back to watching them soon, even if this never gets fully resolved. Don't get me wrong, I'm still upset and disappointed with Glitch over this, but I do genuinely believe they can improve from this, I'm willing to give them another chance basically.

Part of my reasons to stop watching was because of the workplace conditions, I was under the assumption every single employee was horrifically overworked and underpaid, and I would take no comfort in watching something I knew was made under those conditions. But now that we have clarified that those claims are not entirely true (again maybe for in the past but definitely not as much now), I can take some comfort in that.

I will still 100% keep myself and everyone else here updated incase any new developments happen, but I do genuinely think this is all we're going to get unfortunately. Wether you can continue to watch Glitch or not is entirely up to you and as I've always said, I hold no judgement towards anyone, if you're not satisfied enough to keep watching them, thats fine and understandable.

I don't want anyone to think I'll be forgetting about this just because I'm gonna go back to watching and making content soon, and neither should anyone else forget about this, I just genuinely think Glitch can improve and change from this and I'm willing to give them a chance. Obviously if something like this happens again then I'm done, but I've seen enough accountability this time around (albeit kinda weak) to keep watching them for now.

That's all I'll say for now, I'm still happy to keep hearing from people about this, I don't want this to become "old drama", it's literally 2/3 weeks old now that's not old, I'm old, my back aches.