#not my most polished chapter

[starryserenade]

Myth and Magic Ch. 11: Puppetmaster

Fic Description: When Tir Na nÓg--the fabled land of the fae--falls to a dark power, the destinies of two young mice are set in motion. As each struggle to make their way in an ever-darkening world, they must learn to trust one another, or risk forever losing that which they hold most dear.

Chapter Description: Oswald continues down an ever-darkening path

Links:

AO3

Prologue

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

~~~

Gentle moonlight graced the earth in milky light and a soft-footed figure made her way through its midst. She swept along, humming lightly all the while, her thick tail brushing against the leaves at her feet as it swayed in rhythmic time. When a breeze rustled through the forest, she twirled mindlessly along with it and the hood of her cloak slipped from her head to her shoulders. Silky black fur met the silver of the moon, and when she paused to savor the beauty of the night, her amber eyes sparkled as brilliantly as the stars she gazed upon.

She drew in a breath then narrowed her eyes and, with a smirk, fixed her stare on a particularly shadowy patch of canopy. 

“Nice try, hunny bun…I know you’re there.”

There was a light chuckle and a rustling of leaves, and then Oswald leapt down in front of her, bits of twig and foliage scattered all about his fur. “Awww, you couldn’t have at least pretended to be surprised?”

The girl, small ears twitching, giggled, and flicked his nose. “I’ve got to keep you on your toes! You’re getting sloppy!”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, then smirked right back. “Is that right?” 

In a moment, he had swept her off her feet and with a beat of his wings, taken to the sky. She squealed and clung to him, though he could see the smile on her face only widen. When they’d risen just above the treeline, he picked a sturdy branch upon the tallest oak and landed upon it, taking a seat in the place where the branch met the trunk. The girl in his arms was laughing and gasping for air at the same time, her once-neat fur now disheveled and windblown as she leaned against him.

“Was that sloppy, too?” the rabbit that held her chuckled.

“No…” she gasped through giggles, tears of laughter streaming from her eyes. “No, I think…I think that one was just right.”

“Great! Now, Grand Judge Ortensia…” She was still laughing, and he blushed at the joy painted across her face. “What’s my prize?”

Gradually, she came to recover her composure, though she still had to stifle a giggle every other second or so. “Take a guess!”

He feigned thoughtfulness for a moment. “Hmmm…is it a…crown?”

“No.”

“A bag of gold?”

“No…”

“A magical jewel?”

“No, you silly bunny!” she laughed, making a face as she lightly punched his arm.

He echoed her humor, and chuckled along. Then, looking deeply into her eyes, he softened his voice and put a gentle hand to her chin. “How about this?” he breathed, and then drew her in for a kiss.

She melted the moment his lips met hers. The drifting clouds had long since changed places by the time they finally pulled away, both blushing profusely as they held each other's gaze. 

“That…hm…that was it all right,” Ortensia stammered at last, and seemed surprised by her own scattered words. 

“I’d take that over my other guesses any day.”

Ortensia smiled at that, then sighed and snuggled into his chest when a light breeze swept through the trees.  Sensing she was cold, Oswald brought a wing around her to shield her from the chill and ran his fingers through the fur along her neck. She hummed contentedly, and drew her tail beneath the safety of his feathers.

“I wish you could stay with me every night,” she murmured. Her heartbeat thrummed gently against Oswald’s skin, and he thought his own might beat out of his chest.

“Mmm…someday,” he replied, his voice slurred by pleasureful drowsiness. “When I’m king, things’ll be different.  I’ll turn things back around. Your people won’t have to be scared of us anymore, and I’ll remind the fae of what they used to be. We’ll never have to be apart again.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Ortensia breathed. “But everyone is still so frightened of your fairies… they’ve been causing so much trouble lately…”

“They don’t mean to.” Oswald fiddled with the ring of his finger, the perfect match to the one on Ortensia’s own hand. “But father…he’s got them all convinced it's better to drown out their sorrows in careless revelry than to face them head on. They're blind to what they’re doing, Tensie.”

“Even so,” A shooting star streaked across the night, and she glanced up at it past Oswald’s feathers. “I fear for what will happen if this goes any longer. It’s all our king can do to keep the people from hunting down the fae. His daughter may sympathize for them now, but she’s young. If she grows to despise them…Oswald, your people won’t be safe. You won’t be safe.”

“I know,” was all he said at first, his tall ears drooping. His grip on her tightened, as if he was scared she might fall. “I’m…I’m doing my best.”

Ortensia let out a light puff of air then cradled Oswald’s cheek in her palm, eyes softening. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not been easy.”

“You can say that again. Father won’t listen to reason. And then there’s Mickey…”

The cat’s ears perked up and she squeezed Oswald’s hand, concern written across her eyes. “Is he all right?” 

“My dad still acts like he doesn’t exist,” he replied bitterly, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Mickey’s too young to know why. He doesn’t understand, but…it’s hurting him more and more. And his magic is so strong, even now. I’m worried what he might do once he gets older. It’s all I can do to try to keep his hope alive.”

“He’s got a kind heart…he’ll be okay.”

Oswald clicked his tongue, and sighed. “I hope so. Sometimes I feel like this is all over my head. Like there’s more to it all than I know.”

After a few moments of silence, Ortensia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again and bit her lip.

“What is it?” 

“Er…nothing,” she stammered, somewhat nervously.  Before he could argue, she let out a loud yawn, complete with a tiny little squeal at its peak, and nuzzled into Oswald’s neck. “Enough dreary talk for tonight.”

“But what were you going t-”

“It can wait,” she murmured, then slid her fingers to the snaps of his tunic and began undoing each one until she could slip a hand through to his heart. With a scarlet flush of his cheeks, Oswald grinned softly, and shifted so she could rest her head on his chest.

~~

The scene vanished in a whisper of mist, scattered by Oswald’s hand as he dragged it through the apparition.  Branches became snow-ridden stone, and peaceful silence transformed into the clattering sound of horses’ hooves and creaking wheels. He frowned, sliding the orb he held beneath his cloak and glancing over the edge of the tower he’d commandeered (which had been easy, seeing as there’d been no one there to guard it). 

In the courtyard below, the prison carriage he’d been following finally rolled in, and from it were dragged the two figures for which he’d come. Guilt was something he’d gotten good at suppressing, but he flinched when he saw Mickey’s state. He’d not meant for it to get so bad, but there wasn’t much he could do without ruining everything. The mouse would just have to hold on a bit longer. 

Silently, Oswald drifted to the ground and transformed into something a bit more inconspicuous. A little rat would hardly be noticed, he thought with a bit of a smirk. After all, one was already king.

He followed them into the throne room without notice, tucked himself away in a corner where he couldn’t be seen, and listened intently. As usual, Mortimer was cruel and manipulative, and while Oswald cared very little for the girl called Minnie, he was surprised when she so quickly backed down from her own self-preservation when Mickey’s life was placed on the line. He had assumed her affections to be little more than a careless fling, but the desperation in her voice when the blade was held to Mickey’s throat… even Oswald found the bare truth of that sound hard to refute. 

When the two were sent to the dungeons, Oswald lingered to see if Mortimer happened to share anything else of interest. After all, his plan hinged on what the mortal king decided to do. At first, Mortimer did nothing worth paying attention to. He grumbled to himself a bit about a spot of mud on his robe, and then rang for his servant.

The duck that approached the throne room was disheveled to say the least. She looked like she had been running, and her feathers were all ruffled and out of place. Immediately, Oswald recognized her–she was the one who had accompanied the princess to Tir na Nog. She should have returned here without a single memory of that encounter…but Oswald didn’t trust that she was all she claimed to be. Too much was amiss and out of place for her to be blinked or spell-ridden like the rest of the people. And if she did remember, then without a doubt, she would have a plan to free her friend. Still…this could work in his favor.

Of course, Mortimer was far too into himself to notice any of this. “Daisy, go get a wardrobe ready for that Minnie girl. I want her looking like someone��almost suited to be my queen for the banquet tomorrow night.”

Oswald thought he saw a grimace, but then the duck curtsied. “As you wish,” she replied coldly, and when she set off, Oswald followed closely behind. He tarried outside the room she entered, hiding behind a curtain hanging from the hallway’s window just outside. For half the night, she rushed in and out, sometimes carrying a heavy load of silky fabric and others, mortal beauty supplies Oswald could never have put a name to. On her last trip, she carried a tray of food and drink that looked nothing like anything kept within the walls of the castle. The duck, though visibly drowsy, took a moment to look carefully about her before taking it inside. 

Oswald’s suspicions were confirmed. If she was avoiding palace food, she knew more than she was letting on. He waited until she had exited the room once again, and managed to scurry through the doorway before she closed it behind her. This would be his key to getting to Minnie. 

Alone, he transformed back and shook the tingle of magic from his fur and feathers, grateful to be rid of the itch the facade had brought him. He took in a deep breath and looked around him. The room was mostly empty, aside from all the things Daisy had brought in to prepare for Minnie’s inevitable arrival. Most were all the typical things a person of well-standing might need to prepare for a banquet–dresses and tiaras and all sorts of jewels. But there were other, smaller things, too, that he was certain held no real purpose. Like a bouquet of white clovers, tied with a dainty pink bow, or a silver bracelet with a dangling blue jewel. And on the tray, tiny little dairy cakes with honey drizzled over the top. All trinkets that served only to be someone’s favorite things–the heartfelt gifts of a true friend.

He was loathe to taint the presents, but he had no choice.  He moved to the tray and took the orb from his cloak. Power swirled within it, fueled by the stolen memories it held. He’d missed some when it came to that little princess, its influence shattered when she’d fallen from the ruins to the lake on that fateful day. But here and now, that was helpful. Where there were gaps in her mind, he could fill them in with ‘memories’ of his own design.

With a wave of his hand over the decadent treats, he muttered the twisted words of a spell, and let out a breath as the power flowed through him. A breeze rushed through the room, and then it was done. He straightened his posture, blinked, and lowered his hand. 

The window in this room was barred, but the gentle light of dawn still managed to slip through. With it came the sound of footsteps in the hall outside, and Oswald flinched. He’d not expected anyone to return until much later in the day. Under normal circumstances, he would have simply shifted into something small and fluttered outside without a second thought. But that was the problem with his limited reserve of magic–it was limited. That spell had taken quite a bit out of him, and there was still another, more secretive enchantment, he had to uphold.

He crossed his fingers that the guests were not any who could recall his face, and used the little bit of magic he could spare to hide his wings and transform his attire into something a bit more palacelike.

When he heard the footsteps just outside, he beat them to the door. There was no hiding now, and he’d found that confidence was key to convincing people of many untrue things. So Oswald swung open the door with a grin, and greeted the two visitors with a bow.

He had to resist a sigh of relief. It was only Minnie, escorted by that foolish captain of the guard. 

Pete seemed taken aback at first, and scowled at Oswald as the rabbit rose from the bow.  “Who are you?” he grunted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. 

“Ah, just another humble servant of the king,” Oswald replied in a far too elegant tone. “His Majesty’s maid asked me to finish preparations for the prin–er–prisoner.”

Minnie looked at him with a bit of surprise when he fumbled over his words, and he knew she’d caught his mistake. Even so, she remained silent as Pete thought this over and, apparently finding it a good enough excuse, finally waved his hands dismissively. “Damn king never tells me anything…” he grumbled, and took the door in his hands. “Keep ‘er out o’ trouble, y’hear?” he growled loudly, shoving the mouse into the room before he slammed the door behind him. 

Minnie nearly fell, kept from saving her balance by her chains. But if only out of instinct, Oswald managed to reach out and catch her, then gently helped her to her feet. She shook her head, stunned at first, then looked up at him with wide-eyed curiosity.

“You…” she breathed, and for a moment Oswald worried that maybe she had retained more of her memories than he thought. “You’re not like the others, are you?” 

Someone else had said that to him once. Long, long ago. But he shook his head and chuckled, pushing the memory from his mind. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I heard what you started to say. You know who I am, don’t you? You know I’m the princess.” 

Oswald drew in a deep breath. This conversation could play right into his hands…or it could loose his grip on everything entirely. He needed to be careful.

“It’s okay,” Minnie spoke softly, spotting his hesitation. “No one has shown me any sort of kindness here. But just now…I have a feeling everyone else in this palace would have let me fall. You didn’t. I know you can’t be one of them.”

She was smiling, and Oswald felt a war beginning to rage within him. When she had come to Tír na nÓg, things had been different. She’d been ready to fight him from the very moment they met, and he her. But now? The trust in her voice and the gentleness of her words; they reminded him of someone else. 

Ortensia…

What would she think of him now? Of all he’d done to try to bring her back, and all the hearts he’d broken along the way? For the first time, he found himself wondering…

Is it worth it?

Of course. Of course it was. Of course she was. He was in too deep now, there was no backing down.

“You’re right,” he responded to Minnie at last. “I’ve…I’ve come to warn you.”

The mouse’s grin faltered. “Oh…” she laughed quietly, voice shaking. “Well, you might be a bit late for that. “After tonight, there won’t be much more they can take away from me.”

“You don’t understand,” Oswald hissed with mock desperation, and he hated every lie that escaped his lips. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? You’re being played. Your whole kingdom is in danger.”

Minnie’s eyes narrowed. “What…what do you mean?”

From outside, a rooster crowed, and Oswald knew Daisy would be returning any minute. He was out of time, but he didn’t need much more of it either. 

“Take this,” he whispered, abruptly shoving a small bell into her hands. “The truth will come out eventually and when it does, just ring this bell. I’ll know when you do, and I’ll come explain everything.”

Oswald turned to leave, unlocking the door with a small flicker of magic he hoped she didn’t notice. She ran after him, but the look in her eye told him she didn’t dare try to escape. “Wait!” she shouted desperately. “I don’t understand. Who’s trying to use me? Someone other than Mortimer?”

He looked back at her, bitter lies heavy on his tongue. “That mouse you came here with? The one you’re trying so hard to save? He’s not who he says he is.”

Minnie opened her mouth, but the rabbit was gone before she could utter another word, leaving her with nothing more than unanswered questions and lingering seeds of doubt. Oswald sighed as he slipped outside, let his wings return, and took to the skies. There was little more to do now besides wait for those seeds to sprout. Her distrust would grow, and her love for Mickey would falter. How could it not, when she’d soon remember him as the one who’d once stolen her life away?

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

.:The Legend of the Green Ninja Lives:. ~Chapter 7: Lloyd Garmadon and the House of Marvells~

Summary: Nya dwells on the reveals from the day before, the Ninja spend a fun-filled evening over at a friend's house for dinner like normal teens...and only two people cry about it.

. . .

Finally getting through the beginning arc with this one! Full steam ahead next time onward *-*)9

[savvylittlecoxswain]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I was tagged by @arokel to post something from my WIP so here’s a chunk from my wing au fic that I’ve been working on forever and will continue to be worked on for even longer :)

"You're wet." Don stood just inside the door to the locker room, brows drawn together with a confused frown. Bobby tossed him lazy grin and then returned his focus to wringing the water out of his sweater.

"Took a shower, Don," he responded cheerfully.

"In your clothes?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Don," he nodded as he dug through his locker. "You oughta try it some time." Don let out a huff, leaning his shoulder against the lockers beside Bobby's. His face scrunched a bit, brow dropping and wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he watched the coxswain.

"Just Varsity being Varsity," Bobby sighed as he turned away from Don back towards his locker. Don looked like he wanted to say something, but Bobby spoke before he could formulate his words. "C'mon. We keep them waiting any longer they'll start getting ideas," Bobby teased, shutting his locker and grabbing his duffle bag off of the floor. Don frowned, ignoring stray thoughts fantasizing such ideas in favor of focusing on the concern at the forefront of his mind.

[organised-disaster]

Okay after much stalling here it is. @randosfandos was responsible for about 90% of the encouragement so this is their fault. The first chapter of my Hunger Games fanfic

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER I

I finally knock my opponent's feet out from under her with one sweeping kick, then rush behind her and catch her into a chokehold. She turns bright red, frothing at the mouth, then rapidly taps my arm after only a few seconds.

I drop her. She rubs her throat, gasping and coughing as she slumps over on the ground. I sit down next to her, trying to catch my breath. I underestimated how difficult that would be. I pull my black hair out of its high ponytail, wrapping the band around my wrist.

It reaches my lower back when I'm standing, although my slouched sitting position means it now brushes the ground. I would always absent-mindedly play with it when I was younger. I tend to do that less now.

I massage my sore chin. It took far too many hits in that fight. My sparring partner is no better off, one of her eyes squeezed shut and my handprints on her skin from every harsh grab. I probably clawed her up more than was necessary, now that I think about it.

But we're not training for a competition, are we? We're training to be deadly on our own without weapons. There always has to be a certain sense of urgency when it comes to training, but today we felt it most. We had to finish fast, after all. This was a last-minute session.

She punches my shoulder. I glance at her. She's holding out her hand for me to shake. I take it, the wrapping on both our hands rasping together. She stands up, stretches her back, and walks out the door of the den.

Fair enough. I should leave to get cleaned up, too. A good shower and a lot of soap would do wonders for me right now. I crack my neck as I rise. Then my knuckles. Then my wrists.

As I finish twisting my left wrist around, someone in the audience catches my eye. She waves meekly at me, one hand on her knee and clutching at the hem of her blue dress. It's quite a nice summer dress. She's wearing it for a good reason today. I wave back at Sera, smiling at her. She looks like she laughs, tucking some of her curly dirty-blonde hair behind her ear.

Her warm, amber eyes crinkle when she laughs. She's always been a good friend of mine. Always. But... I mostly only call her my friend because it's the safest option. I don't truly know how I feel about Sera, only that I trust her. That I love her, platonic or otherwise.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. It's not important right now. I'll have time to figure it all out later. Sera stands up and starts to walk down the steps from her row in the seats.

She's never been stable on stairs, giving her an unsure step down. It's careful and controlled, however, so that she doesn't fall. She has to hold her hair behind her ears while she walks down. Otherwise, it obscures her vision.

It's always so pretty, the way she gets down stairs, all things combined. The way she carefully tests her stability with one foot, gently bringing the other down and hesitating before repeating the whole thing again.

She's quite a graceful-looking girl, Sera. Even if she trips over, as she likes to say, "particularly thick patches of air." She always manages to recover immediately, popping up with some bright comment about the quality of the pavement or the situation with the ants.

Sera reaches the bottom of the stairs and smiles at me. She closes her eyes when she smiles. It's a sweet, although slightly childish, trait that's persisted even to the age of seventeen.

"Did you see that, Rumes? Made it to the floor this time," she says, the light tone of her voice suggesting she's not serious.

"Yes, you did very well, Sera. Would you like an award?" I jab playfully back. I theatrically spread my hands in the air, acting like I'm showing something off. "Sera Kaishurr, great at not tripping and snapping her neck during basic physical activity!"

Sera elbows me, annoyed but still amused. I can't disguise the pained groan that comes out of my mouth. I must have bruised pretty rough after my sparring partner hit me in the ribs.

Sera tsks disapprovingly.

"Is it that bad, Rumes?" she asks, genuinely concerned now. Her playfulness has vanished, being replaced by mild sadness. Sera has always looked out for me.

"Oh, just hurts a little. I'll be fine in no time, don't you worry," I say clunkily. I may as well have told her with how bad that lie was. I'm not a bad liar, but I just can't seem to lie to Sera.

As expected, she's not convinced. She rolls her eyes.

"It's okay if you got hurt, Rumes. You don't have to act like you're invincible," she says. I give a short, quiet laugh.

"Nah, I'm immortal. I'm indestructible. Infallible, even," I jokingly boast.

"Ah, yes, Rumi Erudite, famous for never ever making a single mistake in her whole life, ever," Sera shoots in response.

We both laugh. She takes one of my hands, her fingers between mine, and starts leading me out the door of the building.

"Oh, also, happy birthday, you jerk. Your present's on your bed," Sera says, trying to sound annoyed.

"Aw, you shouldn't have," I say. Sera laughs softly, tucking her hair behind her ear again. I study her face, unable to tear away my eyes.

Some people think we're sisters, if only for a short while. Their main justifications are our heights and how close we are. I can sort of see it with our similar statures and frames. But there are differences aside from our hair colour and attitudes that make us easy to tell apart.

Sera's eyes are that gorgeous dark gold. Mine are just a foggy green. Sera is healthily tanned, spending all her time out on the open ocean, while I am an alarming type of pale for someone my age, spending my time indoors learning all the ways to kill someone with a fishhook.

Sera is strong with calloused hands, handling nets and heavy loads of fish. I am fit and scarred, exercising and fighting every day of my life. Sera is broad-shouldered and round-faced, I am lean with a narrow face and sharp cheekbones.

Sera is capable, definitely, but her body has a pleasant softness to it that she can't seem to shed, always eating well and in large quantities. My body has nothing in excess as a result of a tight diet and tighter exercise.

Sera is bright and brilliant, always smiling or laughing. I always look outwardly hostile, my default expression of a scowl making me unapproachable. We lead very different lives, Sera and I. We couldn't be sisters. And... I think I'd prefer we remain that way.

My heart's beating faster now that she's holding my hand. I squeeze her hand tighter, looking to hold it forever. There is only birdsong to greet us. We are awake before the sun.

"Hey, come on. Let's see the sunrise," says Sera, leading me to where we always go.

There's a hill that runs behind the Justice Building. The hill is almost touching it with how close it is, meaning if you know your way through the alleyways, you can get onto the hill and the roof of the Justice Building.

The Peacekeepers don't usually do anything to stop people from just sitting there. Why would they? They have no reason to even bother. The only people who ever go there are me and Sera. And the odd couple, of course.

Sera talks about nothing in particular while leading me there. She goes on and on and on about her latest fishing trip. Allegedly, she caught some kind of shark that was this big. The shark gets bigger every time she mentions it.

Sera talks when she gets nervous. I've found that out during school presentations. Sera once completely froze up and started a nearly irrelevant tangent about muttations. We were supposed to be talking about the core industries of every district at the time.

Her anxious ramblings slowly fade from my hearing. I can see, from my place at her side, the notch in her nose, which makes it a little crooked. I've always blamed myself for Sera's slightly disrupted features. I can very clearly visualise how it happened to her.

We were young, very, and we were playing by the docks. I was only seven while she couldn't have been older than six. It was just after my seventh birthday, I believe.

She called me "Roo" when we were younger. She didn't really have a reason to stop, although I guess she didn't really have a reason to start, either.

We loved to chase each other around the docks. Her father's boat was a favourite landmark of ours. We used it as a final point for any races we ran. We were fully aware that there were rocks right under the dock, just in front of where Sera's father would tie up his boat. It was why it was "his" spot; he was the only one brave enough to risk gouging a hole in his boat.

One day, that boat was missing. Sera's father had taken it out for a fishing trip. Sera loved to come along with him, but she was at my house and hadn't known that he had set out.

We were once again chasing each other.

"You're too slow, Roo! Can't catch me!" I felt absolute outrage at Sera's statement.

"Nuh-uh! Can too!" I said, using my best counter. It was true, I was unable to catch her. She kept running along the docks.

It had started to rain, and the water made the rotting wood at the far ends of the dock slippery. Sera and I knew how to run without slipping, but it didn't mean we didn't still fall from time to time.

"Ser-uuuhh! Wait up! You're too fast!" I whined at her. She giggled and kept going. I ran faster, trying to catch her. One of my feet lost its grip on the dock. It was the old part of it, after all.

I kept running, though. My balance wasn't thrown too far off.

"I'm gonna get there before you!" Sera teased. We kept running together. Sera never seemed to tire, never seemed to need rest.

I was always envious of her stamina. I noticed the ship missing before Sera did, however.

"Sera! Wait, the boat!" was all I could manage. Sera did spot it, but not before she had already veered off to the side that would throw her onto the jagged rocks below her.

She stopped, but far too late.

"Sera!"

The rocks weren't kind to Sera, seeing as nature will have no mercy on a child. All that remains of Sera's accident to remind me of my failure is a crooked nose and two barely noticeable scars on her forehead and mouth.

I attempt to find these scars with my eyes now. I fail, but I remember exactly what they look like. From her right eyebrow to her hair parting is a pink line just about visible against her vaguely tan, freckled skin. From her chin to her nose is an almost invisible scar that I believe also runs inside her mouth. She was lucky to escape with only those.

Oh, and her speech impediment. She was left unable to properly say things with an audible "w" in them. Sometimes, just so she doesn't have to hurt her mouth trying to say a "w" word, she'll pause and actively avoid it. It makes her sound a little like the six year old she was when she got it.

She can't really say "w" sounds, either. It means she has odd ways of saying words like "out." She tends to avoid words she struggles to say. She doesn't try anything when she gets emotional, though, just letting the words tear up her tongue.

Sera doesn't remember a thing of the day she got hurt. Sera doesn't remember about a week before that, either, but that's understandable, considering she was young. I would find it understandable, however, if Sera wasn't able to recall the week before the one she has no memory of.

Sera, for a while after her injury, had memory problems. To this day, she's more forgetful than I think would be reasonable for a healthy person.

"Rumi? Are you even listening?" Sera's voice snaps me back to the present day.

"No, sorry, I stopped listening to you three years ago," I blurt. I watch Sera make a bizarre medley of facial expressions as she tries to restrain a smile.

She inevitably fails, her eyes creasing up as her beautiful smile shows on her face.

"Fine, Erudite, you're forgiven," she says, defeated. I laugh. I glance around. We've walked farther than I thought while I was lost in my thoughts.

We're now right next to the Justice Building. Sera continues to walk, although she speaks less now. I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing.

Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. We'll both be okay today. Sera's face is paler than normal today. I give her hand a tight, quick squeeze to remind her that I'm still here for her.

She smiles back at me. I can't help but notice that it seems ever so slightly forced.

After a short walk through the housing past the Justice Building, we've come to Sera's family home. As is normal, we do an awkward, flattened shuffle between the fence lines of Sera's home and her neighbour's.

We pop into the space behind the homes. This narrow sliver of dirt is the only path not blocked by trees or barbed wire. Sera's property line has no trees on it, making it the most convenient path.

She's no longer holding my hand. It's childish that that's all it takes to upset me, even if it's only slightly. I don't truly care, but a part of me wants to be that near again. For her skin and mine to be that close.

I push that thought away as I follow just behind Sera. We're quiet as we pass behind houses, not looking to disturb those still sleeping.

The ground slopes upwards. Sera runs quickly up the hill, bouncing off each of her feet so she doesn't slow down. I copy her. We reach the top of the hill, almost completely lined up with the Justice Building.

Sera takes a few steps back, then runs up to the ledge. She springs forward, easily clearing the gap. She trips and loses her balance when she lands. She doesn't quite land on her face, although she gets close.

"Uh-oh, Rumes, the roof is cracked! Better not... uh." Sera cuts off her own joking comment, falling into an uncomfortable silence. She's nervous to the point where she won't even make jokes anymore.

I clear the gap also, joining her on the other side. Sera gives a quietly uncertain laugh, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down. She kicks her legs as they hang over the edge.

The silence slowly shifts into peace as I sit down on her right. We don't need to talk, not when we have this view. This view of the docks, the ocean.

The sun. It starts to rise after a while. It strikes the water, letting me see every tiny ripple in the surface I thought was flat as glass. The tide will be coming back in soon. People will start to depart to catch fish.

Well, they would on a normal day. Sera would be one of those people, handling tridents and nets and fish and maps and helms and knots. Sera would come home late, clothes stiff with salt and hands blistered from ropes.

She's been hurt out there more than a few times. Tangled in ropes or cut by her own knife, giving her awful burns or severe lacerations. She once spent a full day recovering in Cod's workspace after being impaled by a swordfish that lodged itself in her shin when she tried to harpoon it.

The swordfish is a favourite story of hers. Her father and Seth can both confirm it as true, and older fishermen can validate that it actually happens.

Regardless of whatever happens to her, however, Sera loves the open water. She's more stable on boats than on land, and such a strong swimmer that it's a wonder she's as uncoordinated as she is.

The sun turns the water almost white as it finds its footing in the sky, growing larger than the sliver of gold it appeared before. I glance over at Sera. It's getting hard for both of us to see the sunrise as it gets brighter, and Sera's eyes are already halfway shut.

"You sure did get up early just to watch me, huh?" I say, breaking the silence. I hadn't considered it before, but as the sun outshines every other star, I can't help but acknowledge that Sera woke up at an unholy hour just to see me practice fighting.

Sera sighs.

"Truth be told, I never really slept," she says, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I'm just so scared, the idea of keeping my eyes closed never really..." I lean my head on her shoulder as we watch the ocean.

"Hey, you'll be okay. Your odds of getting drawn are lower than mine," I reassure her.

Sera stops looking out to the horizon, glaring down at the ground far below us instead. She balls her hands up, gripping the edge of the roof so hard I'm convinced the stone will break off in her hands.

"That's w-w-what I'm scared about," she starts, briefly tightly shutting her eyes as she concentrates on saying the letter "w." "I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for you," she says, voice wavering. I'm confused.

Sera doesn't look at me, continuing to attempt to melt the concrete far below us with her eyes.

"Rumes. I need you to promise me you w-w-won't volunteer today," she says quietly. There is an urgency in her voice I don't believe I've ever heard.

"Of course I won't, Sera," I reassure her. Sera looks at me. She's crying, I notice. Her expression doesn't suggest sadness, however. She looks more determined than anything.

The light of the rising sun make her tears nearly glow on her face. The loose strands of her hair are made to look like flaming gold, the sunlight reflecting in her eyes. They shine brighter than ever now, in this moment, wet with tears and defiance.

I am left breathless as I stare at her. The word that floats into my halted thoughts is ethereal. Sera is a goddess given human form. Sera is the only true thing in this gorgeous, shining moment. Nothing is as important as Sera. The sun itself has highlighted her against the skyline.

"No. Promise. I w-w-want you to promise me. Promise me that you w-w-won't volunteer even though you're eighteen," she insists. The crack in her voice reminds me that she is just a girl. I take a deep breath in, remembering that I am human also.

"Okay, Sera. I promise you I won't volunteer," I say gently. Sera nods slightly, looking back out at the horizon again. She starts to chew on her lower lip, nervously biting until it bleeds.

She licks the blood off, looking at me again. She looks like she wants to say something. I place my hand on her leg, reminding her that I'm here.

"I'm really, really scared, Rumes," she finally says, burying her face in her hands. Her voice is tiny. I shuffle closer to her and put my arm around her. I let her cry into my shoulder as the sun finishes coming up.

[theconfusedartist]

ok, so

there’s two posts I’m gonna be making for the assassin’s creed rewrite au. one which is just a long post about how the Toba catastrophe happened in the rewrite, as well as some supplementary info about the PoEs and why Desmond was chosen for his specific role.

and the actual chapter I’ve been vaguing about all this time. tbh, it’s not going to be the full chapter, just about 30 pages worth simply bc I realized that in striving for perfection, i wasn’t actually making any more posts about protocreed bc i didn’t either want to spoil anything or get people’s hopes up. but. the chapter ends when Desmond and Alex part ways, rather than when Desmond goes back to pick up Elijah like it was originally meant to, as it transitions a lot better into the next chapter which is in Alex’s PoV

honestly, I was making an assassin’s creed only rewrite before I got back into prototype but it was ideas from the wonderful @teecupangel @wolfofartblock and @neroangelus that made me rethink my entire rewrite to make it protocreed (as well as the art and fic that they had on their blogs that made me feel less like i was going crazy for even having the idea, god bless!) and @zero-saito @dezmondmyles @kingbob2-0 for asking me questions about the au when I started to get a bit lost in the overall process.

Like, if it weren’t for y’all and the entire protocreed community on tumblr, as well as my irl writers group, I probably would’ve never shared anything about this au and would’ve only spoken up about it once the game itself was complete (which is at the very least not coming out for a year, bc I need to make sure all the new mechanics i have planned work out when in testing and are fun to play) and that would’ve been kinda a bummer.

special shout outs to @saturnineaqua who was one of the first people (and my mutual!! :D) who liked my posts about AC and stuff, I was honestly so nervous about posting anything about it, I was about to delete the post minutes after making it, but your initial like was what got me to keep it up.

also, i know i didn’t tag every single person that liked my posts but I just wanna say y’all are amazing! seeing that people actually like this content made me feel better about posting it.

since AO3 is down, i’m gonna post the chapter here on tumblr and ff.net simply because it’s not nsfw and i have little chance of it ever getting taken down or anything. i’ll make a follow up link to it in the following reblog

[rawliverandcigarettes]

I think. I have an idea to push The Empire of Preys out relatively fast and make it more fun and more bearable for me.

[arecaceae175]

HI I just wanna say I love Authenticity so much I’ve read it at least twice now and I’m sure to be going back for another reread at some point pls keep up the good work

AAHHHHHH this makes me so happy, thank you so so so much. I'm so glad you enjoy the fic!!!! <33333333333

Have a short chapter :) (742 words, hurt/comfort with mostly comfort)

EDIT: lol I just realized your username has sleepy in it. That is pure coincidence bc I had this chapter idea before you left this message XD

Summary: Wild needs more sleep than the others. Twilight comes up with an accommodation to help.

“I’m heading to town to restock. Anyone want to join?” Twilight asked. 

Wild perked up. “I’m running low on a few ingredients. Can you pick them up for me? I’ll write a list.”

“Sure, cub. You don’t want to come? I might not get the right thing,” Twilight said. 

Wild shook his head as he pulled out some paper and scrolled through his slate to check his stocks. “No. I’ve had a few night watches this week so going into town would not end well.” 

Wild finished making his list and handed it to Twilight. Twilight was looking at him with a strange expression Wild couldn’t make out.

“What?” Wild asked. 

Twilight shook his head and focused on the list. “Nothing. None of this looks like it will be hard to find. Should be no problem,” Twilight said. 

“Thanks,” Wild said. 

“I’ll come!” Sky said. 

“Me too!” Wind said as he jumped up to join.

“Stay safe,” Time said as the trio collected their things and headed out of camp.

~ ~ ~ ▲ ~ ~ ~

Twilight correctly chose everything on the list. Wild was very pleased, and he cooked one of Twilight’s favorite meals as a thank you. 

Later that night, as the chain was relaxing before sleep, Twilight came up to Wild and joined him beneath the nice tree Wild chose to sit beneath. The trunk was big enough that Wild and Twilight could both comfortably lean against it. 

“Hi,” Wild said in greeting. 

“Hey, cub. I was thinking about what you said earlier. What did you mean that going into town wouldn’t end well? Was it because you were on night watch this week?”

“Yeah, it was. I can’t handle things as well when I have night watch. I noticed the pattern,” Wild explained. 

“How long have you noticed that?” Twilight asked. 

Wild pulled the cube from Four out of his pocket as he chose the words for his response. 

“Um, pretty much at the beginning of traveling together,” Wild said. “Zelda always makes sure I sleep enough because she said she’s noticed it before, too. I have really bad days when I don’t sleep enough.”

“Cub, why didn’t you say anything? If it’s causing you harm, you shouldn’t be doing them,” Twilight said. Wild glanced at Twilight and saw he had a frown on his face. Wild didn’t want to be the reason Twilight was sad. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I just have to plan for it and make sure I don’t do anything extra on those weeks. No one likes being on night watch,” Wild said. 

“There’s a difference between what you’re talking about and being a little extra tired. None of us have bad days quite the same as you do,” Twilight explained. 

Wild felt his face flush red. He didn’t like it when others noticed his shortcomings. Wild ducked his head and tried to figure out how to respond. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” Twilight said. He put his hand in the grass in Wild’s line of sight to get his attention. 

“If getting less sleep from night watch makes it harder for you to get through the day, you don’t need to do them. It isn’t a problem for me, or most of the others. I guess we don’t need as much sleep as you do. It’s an easy fix to make things easier for you,” Twilight said.

“Wouldn’t that be unfair to everyone else?” Wild asked. 

“No,” Twilight said immediately. “Definitely not. I know everyone will be happy to help you feel better.”

“Are you sure?” Wild asked, twirling the cube between his fingers. 

“Positive,” Twilight said. “If you’re unsure about it, I can talk to Time for you before we tell any of the others.”

Logically, he knew Twilight was right. This was a good thing, and the others would see it that way too. Wild wasn’t used to people being so accommodating for him;  was still working on being comfortable with his differences. 

Wild nodded his agreement with the plan. 

“Good!” Twilight said. “I’ll talk to Time tonight.”

“Okay,” Wild said. He was about to go back to his book when Twilight cleared his throat. 

“Wild? If there’s anything else that we can do to help you, can you tell me about it? Whenever it comes up. I like being able to help,” Twilight said. 

“I can do that,” Wild agreed with a smile. He felt very lucky to have such amazing friends.

[sarcasticdolphin]

Drabble planning (cause I’m too tired to actually write)

Modern mafia au todolf:

“The deal” - Tod persuades a young (~21, which means he skipped 2 years of school) Rudolf who is interning with the prosecutor’s office to become his opera/theatre/symphony date on the grounds of “well I can’t do anything sketchy while I’m at the theatre with you”

“Gilded cage” - Tod kidnaps Rudolf after graduation to take him to study for the bar exam (graduate in late May/early June, sit for the bar in July)

“Publicity” - the one with the two police detectives going to the theatre to spy on Tod and Tod ends up taking the opportunity to publicly blackmail (privately he was already there lol) Rudolf into sitting in his box for the second act.

Other todolf:

“Title TBD” - Tod gives Rudolf a Friesian horse that is a little too smart.

“The jacket.” Tod and Rudolf watch Rudolf’s funeral. 

Mozart/Colloredo:

“Wings” - Colloredo grooming Mozart’s wings

“Performance” - a juxtaposition of Mozart giving a private performance for Colloredo and Colloredo telling Mozart about a public premiere.

[orcelito]

Rereading itnl to get back into the mindset for it and God Damn that first chapter really is smth huh

[thedevotionaltour]

in terms of art alone im sorry. im a jrjr defender to my last breath you be fucking nice to him. i dont wanna hear shit❗️❗️❗️

[margarethelstone-2]

so i've been listening to a random shuffled playlist on spotify and all was fine and good except when it started playing one of my old fanfic songs and now i'm. not fine.

[headspace-hotel]

Okay but like whenever europe and USA are compared in terms of ruins and artifacts it makes me think "oh but what about Native American artifacts and ruins" and it reminded me of another post I meant to make ages ago but forgot

A while back I went thru the library looking at all the books I could find on the history of Kentucky.

My textbooks and most "reliable" sources when I was a kid said that Kentucky was never actually home to Native Americans, it was just a "hunting ground." This is total bullshit, the living Shawnee whose ancestors lived here know it was bullshit, but how did we get there

A lot of the more recent books I found (from like the 1990's) repeated the "it was only just hunting grounds" thing

But heres the weird thing

When you go back further

The narrative is completely different

so here's the first page of a book published 1872, it's "History of Lexington Kentucky: Its Early Annals and Recent Progress" by George W. Ranck

Let the shock of this first paragraph settle in. Like, damn, this is a whole different picture being painted

now, this Rafinesque fellow he refers to, has been widely referred to as the originator of many claims about Kentucky, and an exaggerator and liar, outright dismissed and scorned by many historians.

Rafinesque is considered to be the source of many claims found in this chapter, and the pompous, flowery language used to state them makes them seem a bit unbelievable. But the claims themselves are not highly unrealistic. These are several of the claims found on pages 2-12 of the book

An artificially built stone well was found by settlers

Earliest settlers plowed up pottery fragments

Settlers dug into an old abandoned lead mine

"Stone sepulchers" were found containing human bones

A large earthen mound 6 feet high was found with pottery and burned wood

A stone mound was found containing human bones

An extensive cave used as a cemetery was found under Lexington, containing embalmed bodies

Flint arrowheads were found

Polished and worked fragments of iron ore were found

Sandstone and limestone tools perforated with holes were found

Rough ingots of copper were found

Stone walls were built defended by entrenchments

It is very important to note that this chapter is insistent that the inhabitants that built these ruins and left these artifacts were NOT Native Americans. Why? Because Native Americans didn't build stuff so advanced! Very circular reasoning.

It was a very common myth that there was some kind of "pre-native-american" race of people that existed in Kentucky. Sometimes this was a way of justifying colonization by saying that well, the Native Americans were just taking over land that wasn't theirs too, so it's okay for us to do it.

It seems to me that when it became clear that Native Americans were the first and only pre-European inhabitants, the stuff about an ancient city under Lexington and all that became dismissed as lies. But are they lies?

I tried to find out, and we know for certain that central Kentucky had many, many burial mounds (some of which I had seen the site of without knowing what I was seeing) and quite a few stone ruins. The builders of the stone ruins are referred to as the "Fort Ancient" people because the earliest settlers incorrectly assumed the stone structures they saw were forts for some defensive or military purpose.

The tools and artifacts being referenced are all known to exist, except I think there aren't any confirmed extant examples of pottery.

The most widely criticized claim in the chapter is the underground cave used as a tomb, but I don't see why—central Kentucky is a limestone karst region and EVERYWHERE has a cave under it. The embalming or mummifying of bodies could have been a flourish or rumor, but the essence of the claim is totally reasonable. Then again, it might not have been, since the area had access to sources of salt. The supposed "lead mine" probably wasn't that specifically, but it's known that Native Americans went inside, explored and used caves.

It was really interesting to me how so many later sources dismissed these claims despite most of them being plausible or just true, and how many of those sources repeated the idea of Native Americans using the land for hunting but not "inhabiting" it. It is two different ways of denying Native Americans were here.

[nonsensical-shitposting]

Reblog and put in the tags (or just reply if you don’t want to reblog) what accents, if any, you imagined Bug Fables characters as having the first time you played through the game. I’m curious to see what people’s first impressions there were.

[giantkillerjack]

"The Professor's Workshop"

An excerpt from my graphic novel script drafts, posted here without beta bc it motivates me to write. In this chapter, the protagonists David and Kuruk are being given a tour of Armadillo Island by its mayor.

"Just wait til you meet them!" RJ exclaims excitedly. "They're the mind of a generation - maybe two!" He now adds an additional spring to his step, and David has to jog to keep up with him, despite them both being very short men. Kuruk follows behind, looking deeply skeptical.

RJ leads them down a winding forested path to a more remote part of the village, continuing to talk about the island the whole time while occasionally asking friendly questions of his guests.

They arrive at a secluded building tucked away in the bright green foliage of the island. The building is made in the same unique colorful architectural style as the rest of the island, but it has an odd overall shape - as though it has seen many small additions and renovations over the years. Paint chips in a couple places, but otherwise it looks well-cared-for. Shiny metal vents and chimneys emerge from the roof and sides, gently emitting white smoke. A stone pathway leads from the sign to the door, nearly hidden in untamed tall grass.

Out front, a high-quality colorful carved wooden sign reads:

Doctor Professor Xosha Zapata, PhD

Chemist & Architect Extraordinaire

"The sign was a gift from me," RJ chirps, stopping for a moment to admire it.

"No kidding," David deadpans politely, obviously hiding a smile.

(Behind him, the side of Kuruk's mouth twitches upwards a little for just a moment.)

RJ is marches up the overgrown stone and knocks confidently on the door, which turns out to not be fully closed; it creaks open from his knocking.

RJ stands just outside of the doorway and shouts inside cheerfully, causing Kuruk to wince at the volume. "OH, PROFESSOR!!! Are you in, Professor? I've met the most lovely chaps and I'd love to introduce them to our island's premiere scientific mind!"

There is a distant muffled sound from within.

"... PROFESSOR?" RJ shouts again, looking slightly concerned, "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

An indistinct wobbly speech bubble comes from inside, ending in question marks.

RJ looks both worried and like a man on a mission. "WE'RE COMING IN TO CHECK ON YOU - ALRIGHT, PROFESSOR?" He shouts loud enough this time that David and Kuruk both wince.

RJ hustles in and our heroes follow hesitantly behind.

The small entryway opens into a large room with high ceiling. It appears to be a lab or a workshop of some kind. Skylight windows light the room with soft sunlight, and dust motes float in the air in the brightest of the rays of light.

In terms of the contents of the room, the place looks like if a cartoon professor somehow had even more ADHD than usual:

There are dozens of beakers and vials on a number of desks and tables. A few of the beakers sit on lit bunsen burners, bubbling with colorful substances and sending white smoke up into the vents above them. At least one beaker has bubbled over and created an unidentifiable burnt mass at its base.

There are multiple architectural drafting tables with designs and blueprints on them in various states of completion.

There are several chalkboards full of notes in messy handwriting.

Books, papers, notebooks cover nearly every flat surface and several of the non-flat ones. Many torn notebook pages have been taped to the walls. [I guess this fantasy world has an equivalent to scotch tape now. ... I'm fine with that.]

The only decorations are a cluster of very nice painting on a small section of the wall. (Readers looking very closely will notice they all have the same artist's signature - Epa, who runs the inn.)

There is nothing to suggest nefarious scientific activity. Real "absentminded professor" energy.

In the far corner of the room, a set of scaffolding and a ladder block off a small space.

"H-hello? RJ, is that you?" says a small speech bubble from behind the scaffolding.

"Aha!" RJ leaps in that direction impressively quickly for a tiny man in his 50s.

Before David and Kuruk catch up to him, they hear RJ's relieved and once again cheerful voice:

"Ah, professor! There you are, thank goodness!!! You had us worried for a moment there!"

"...'Us' ?" says the unknown person in a pinched voice.

David and Kuruk round the corner to see three things:

One: an incomplete 8-foot-tall architectural model of a building,

Two: a fallen ladder, and

Three: a very embarrassed-looking non-binary person whom they recognize as the amateur vigilante they last saw getting shoved into the town square fountain by Armadillo Woman. Ze is wearing overalls, safety goggles pushed up on zyr head, a white shirt with some almost neon-colored stains on it, and a safety harness.

Ze appears unharmed, but they are suspended in the air by a cord attached to the back of the harness, and they look exceedingly uncomfortable. Zyr feet are dangling high off the ground, and ze is slowly and involuntarily rotating in place.

"Oh." Ze says weakly at the sound of additional footsteps. "There's... more people to witness this. ...My lucky day." They look as though they'd rather melt away into the earth. As they speak, they continue to spin, and they miss their initial chance to look at David and Kuruk, not seeing their faces until spinning slowly back around.

RJ, however, continues with his introductions, gesturing grandly and earnestly. "Mister David, Mister Kuruk - please meet the esteemed Doctor-Professor Xosha Zapata! Professor, these are my new friends Kuruk and David! They're here for the festival!"

Behind RJ, Kuruk squints at being called RJ's "new friend." David just looks amused.

"Y-You can just call me Xosha actually I'm not really--"

Xosha stops as ze finally catches sight of David and Kuruk - zyr face somehow falls even further. "Ah. We've, uh, met, actually," they say with a pained smile.

RJ is delighted. "Really?!? Fantastic! You must tell me all about it! How you met, what everyone was wearing! Every detail!"

"Um, actually, do you think maybe somebody could get me down first, please?" Xosha says in a small voice.

RJ looks surprised to find Xosha still in the air; he presses his hand to his forehead. "Oh! Oh my! Of course of course - my apologies! - I just get so carried away! Gentlemen, would you assist me?"

David and Kuruk nod. Kuruk looks like he's questioning how his life has come to this.

"Tell us what to do, Professor!" RJ says with his hands on his hips.

What follows is a ridiculous comical sequence in which Xosha explains how this happened and the men help zyr get down.

Ze was standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

They lean too far to reach for something and lose their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause a lot of discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha hanging comically from the harness in the background.

Per Xosha's direction, RJ and David find the pulley controls and begin to lower zyr down in stops and starts. The pulley system is not cooperating with them, and Xosha yelps in a mix of alarm and discomfort with each small drop. It looks very painful, and David winces in sympathy. RJ looks similarly apologetic.

After the first small drop, Kuruk moves quickly to stand under Xosha.

"I will catch you," he says, looking entirely unsure of himself, but ready nonetheless.

"Thank-- you," Xosha squeaks, "It's-- YAAHH--!!!"

They let out a final yelp as they drop the last few feet. Kuruk catches them from behind [either under the arms or by the harness] and slows their fall so they land safely on their feet. Kuruk continues to support them for a few seconds until they seem steady.

As soon as Kuruk lets go, however, Xosha whimpers and lowers zyrself to the ground in a comically pained ball. Evidently, hanging from a pelvis harness hurts one's crotch and hips like a motherfucker, and Xosha is too exhausted to pretend otherwise. They are still clearly embarrassed, but they seem to have accepted their humiliating fate.

RJ hurries over to help them take the harness off, crouching on the ground next to them and patting their shoulder consolingly. He asks them what happened, and he asks if they need help taking the harness off. Xosha accepts his help and explains, accompanied by 3-5 cartoony flashback panels:

In the flashback, ze is standing on a tall ladder and working on the architectural model. The safety harness they're wearing supports their torso and pelvis, and it connects to a rope from a clever pulley system on the ceiling that can be manually adjusted by the user. The early light of dawn indicates that this was probably a few hours ago.

Xosha leans too far to reach for something and loses their balance, kicking the ladder out from under them while simultaneously knocking the pulley controls out of their reach.

They are caught by the harness and the expression of pain on their face is ridiculous and exaggerated for humor.

Their legs kick in the air as they tried to release themselves from the harness, but in their struggles they manage only to somehow tangle the straps of their overalls and cause more discomfort.

The final flashback panel is a distant wide shot of the whole workshop - with the lonely defeated figure of Xosha gently swaying in the background.

In the present, Xosha buries their head in their hands and lets out a loud long groan; they lament how stupid their mistake was, and RJ reassures them that even geniuses make mistakes! Xosha insists that ze is not a genius. RJ declares that they are too modest. It is clear that this is not the first time they have had this conversation.

David takes in the absurdity of it all and he smiles at Kuruk across the room. Kuruk doesn't smile back, but he does meet David's gaze and there is a hint of a twinkle in his eye amongst his general bewilderment.

Finally, Xosha manages to get the harness off and sit in a chair, letting out a long sigh.

On the final page of the chapter, a large panel shows Xosha in a detailed, fully-rendered (shaded, inked, colored, etc.) shot with warm natural lighting. Ze looks up from their chair with an attempt at a smile that lands a little closer to a wince. The shot is framed to make them appear endearing in their awkwardness. They are both cute and anxious.

"So, uhh, I'm guessing you have some questions about yesterday?" ze says.

Below that panel, a banner with large font reads:

Tune in next time for Part 3, Chapter 7:

"The Professor."

[End.]

If you liked this and want to read the published scripts with concept art on AO3, you can do that! I get a comment on those like once every 3 months and every time it gives me serotonin for like 3 weeks tbh. If you don't mind an unusual reading format, then you can find sexy men tied up and rescued, gay sky pirates, budding friendships, autistic/ADHD friendship, so many Trans people, sexy fat characters, empowering disability representation, a group of actors who would fit right in with The Ember Island Players, a haunted mop, a magical trauma recovery library, a lesbian biker gang that robs imperialistic museums - AND SO MUCH MORE

Note to self: I think maybe I'll change Xosha's pronouns to they/them and zey/zem, instead of they/them and ze/zyr. Seems to fit better.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe. 

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps. 

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is. 

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss. 

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual. 

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath. 

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat. 

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs. 

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.” 

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed. 

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust. 

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow. 

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week. 

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side. 

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile. 

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you. 

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass. 

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water. 

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off. 

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time. 

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well. 

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you. 

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house. 

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change. 

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face. 

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full. 

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob. 

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb. 

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?” 

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop. 

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek. 

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew. 

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress. 

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances. 

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house. 

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in. 

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them. 

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered. 

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear. 

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek. 

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart. 

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep. 

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more. 

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs  and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck. 

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed. 

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine. 

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time. 

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth. 

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.  

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado. 

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress. 

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire. 

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh. 

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit. 

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over. 

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed. 

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you. 

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock. 

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his. 

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.” 

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust. 

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat. 

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine. 

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words. 

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours. 

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in. 

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you. 

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire. 

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead. 

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs. 

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go. 

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes. 

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please. 

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures. 

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud. 

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means. 

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn. 

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind. 

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day. 

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head. 

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back. 

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

[tiredsmashbros]

SMG34: LIPBITE COMIC WIP UPDATE

oh boy... i know a bunch of folks are hyped for this comic... and boy oh boy are ya'll's prayers going to be heard... kind of... butt for the celebration milestone, and granted majority are from this comic, i thought it was best to give EVERYTHING that i have currently.

starting off STRONG with what you freaks most want: the completed pages. andddd yep that's it that all that i have done LMAO. i've been fixated on my own smg4 oc: tsb, and during the end of my summer was unfortunately fucked over by some personal issues that fortunately got resolved last minute good grief the anxiety prevented me from drawing the gays sigh... aNYWAYS LINEART WIPS!!!!

here are linearts i have completed / in the progress of!! want to aim like i did in the past by finishing up lineart first, and then speed through with color + minor rendering. the reason i have a few colored is to test out what it would look polished and my god... i have improved A LOT. THESE GAY PEOPLE GIVE POWER I AM NOT KIDDING BELIEVE ME IM NOT CRAY- anyways onto wip pages!

jumpscare: tsb stickman sketches. oh yeah. this is how i sketch and i blame sensei eiichiro oda /j. and in case anyone is unable to understand it {i don't blame u LMAO}, smg4 wakes up from the dream and is startled to see mario by his bed. they have a short convo before mario leaves, and we get a job to smg4 in the bathroom trying to put up a brave face. until the moment he leaves he's stunned due to seeing smg3 at his front door. will i elaborate more on specifics or unwritten dialogue? NOPE! gotta keep secrets to make it even more enjoyable at the end!!

currently at 13 sketched pages total, but this is probably gonna be reaching towards 20-ish pages, surpassing part two, but it will depend on how i come up with how to end it. additionally to confirm there will be a PART FOUR / chapter 3, to end this story. my goal is to have it done before i finish my senior year, or at least during the summer after i graduate bc good lord who knows whats gonna happen.

and lastly, before i end this crazy update, SCRAPPED PAGESSS!!!!!

CONTENT WARNING : NSFW SKETCHES !!!! PLEASE LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF!!!

oh boy... dont draw comics while sleep-deprived at 6am... idek what i was even aiming with this ngl other than just for fun, but i scrapped it due to not being what i had in mind for the story. if it doesn't serve a purpose or narrative, its bye bye YEAH BYE BYE THIS IS THE CLOSEST NSFW UR GONNA GET FROM ME HAHAHAHAHA- i say that despite writing a nsfw jojo wattpad smh im only confident doing it in words good lord. btw not watermarking these bc i gen don't care since they're legit scrapped {left top part was kept and completed} so idk what to do with these. im just throwing it and walkin away

now to end with this update, i can hear your question, "when will this be done?" and to answer that question: i'm not entirely sure due to my heavy focus on my smg4 oc: tsb, but my best chance is postponing my oc lore a bit and complete this before november UOIYGJDSIUHJKDWSXYUGHJKCS but we shall have too see...

if you want to join the ping list comment on this post LMAO [click]

ignore below if you're not from the tsb birthday partydddjdhdhdjd

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thurs: smg34 is canon in the tsb universe / au. though most of their encounters are platonic or best-friendy-way, they eventually express their feelings to one another and start dating 3/4’s way of the tsb storyline arc. tsb is a supporter of his friend's relationship and admires and takes inspiration from their relationship heavily to input his future love life. yearning to be in a similar position... to learn what is to really love someone... or what it's truly like to be loved...