#os: we bare bones

[hopingforrainydays]

birth of the bone-breaker | general kirigan

pairing: general kirigan x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of blood and gore

word count: 2.3k

summary: soft times with the darkling as he comforts a traumatized grisha; in other words, a story in which a healer becomes something else and finds solace in the shadow summoner

author’s note: so so excited for shadow and bone season two. this one has been sitting in my drafts for a long time, and i’m happy to finally share it with y’all!

requests are open!

--

You were dragged through the palace gates at Os Alta, your limp form tugged forward--and held up--by the red-clad Grisha on either side of you. You barely registered their forceful motions, keeping your chin tucked into your chest. It was sodden with dirt, blood, and what could only be assumed to be some other form of bodily matter. But that wasn’t a bother. You barely registered that either.

It had been a long enough journey, but you had not fought the Grisha hauling you by horse, carriage, and on foot. You weren’t a fighter by nature, and even so, any of the adrenaline that flowed through your veins had ebbed away. Besides, you deserved whatever they had planned for you. The iron grip of the Corporalniks prevented any attempt of a struggle. The black detailing of their keftas marked them as Heartrenders; they could take the air from your lungs or crush your heart in a matter of moments.

But you could do the same, couldn’t you?

The shadow of the Little Palace loomed over you, and yet your gaze did not falter from its focus on your muddied feet. It was the only thing grounding you to this moment, no matter how you wished to glance upon the palace one last time. Once inside, you found small purchase on the smooth marble floors, the tips of your toes tripping at the quick pace set by your companions. A part you, deep inside, was apologetic of the mess you were bound to leave behind: muddy, bloodied footprints.

It wouldn’t be your first mess.

The First Army soldiers flanking the grounds had kept their hands on the trigger of their rifles and any Grisha that now flock through the halls followed your every movement, hands clasped in front of them. The dark forms of the oprichniki walked ahead, leading you to your doom. A strategic hold on your arms forced your hands to be kept apart.

You understood, in part, their caution. It still pained you. The presumption that the Grisha--your family--looked at you as though you were a monster clogged your eyes with tears.

Saints, you deserved whatever awaited you.

The Grisha soldiers brought you to the end of the hall. Ornate double-doors pushed open, and you were marched to the center of the large room. The bruising hold on your biceps ceased, causing you to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. You caught yourself against the ground, eyes trained on your bloodied fingertips. Your fingers folded into tight fists, the jagged edge of your fingernails cutting into your palms. You winced at the throbbing pain, but dug your fingertips further into the soft flesh. In the wild panic that rose in your throat, in the unsurety of the future, and in the potential meeting of your gruesome fate, you found that it was the one thing that reassured you.

“What is this?” The voice came from in front of you. It was cold and calculating, and one that you faintly recognized from your years spent training at the Little palace. General Kirigan.

“Forgive us, moi soverennyi. It’s a matter of grave importance,” said one of the Heartrenders. From what you could tell, they were stood not far behind you. Ready, in case you were to attack. 

There was a shuffle of feet behind you. One of the Grisha, a Squaller, stepped forward. Her voice cracked as she said, “We were meant to deliver a few supplies to the Second Army regiment posted outside Chernast. When we arrived, they were–” she paused, taking in a shaky breath. She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “Saints, they were all dead.”

“Except for them,” the other Heartrender spat. There was a sharp tug to your hair, yanking your head back. You let out a yelp, wild eyes meeting the cool stare of your general. “We found this one near the Fjerdan border, not far from the rest.”

“Release her.”

“General, you should know it was a massacre.”

“Release her.”

The hand in your hair released. Your head slumped forward, a throbbing pain forming at the back. General Kirigan stepped toward you, his finger reaching out to lift your chin. You flinched. He hesitated, the finger hanging in the air for a moment before retracting entirely. Instead, he crouched, his eyes now level with your own.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now than when he spoke to his soldiers.

“Our best guess is drüskelle-”

“I wasn’t asking you,” the general snapped at the Heartrender. He turned his attention back to you, waiting patiently for your response.

You shook your head back and forth, frantic. The memories of the attack had plagued your mind throughout your journey from Chernast to Os Alta, but you were always quick to shove them away. You didn’t want to remember.

The general’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His dark eyes roamed your indiscernible features, watching as your eyes darted to look at the Grisha beside you. With a frown, he rose to his feet.

“Leave us.”

One of the Corporalniks made a noise of disagreement, but with one look from their general, quieted. The remaining Grisha left the room in slow, hesitant movements, as if they thought General Kirigan would change his mind. With a final bow, the Squaller closed the door behind her.

There was a tense silence as you remained on the floor and the general leant back against the round table. You were afraid to move, though most of the stress in your muscles had eased at the near-isolation.

“Can you stand on your own?”

You didn’t respond.

“Are you injured? I’ll send for a Healer.”

“No,” you were quick to dismiss the idea. The voice that left you did not feel like your own; it was rough as sandpaper, and a lot louder than you intended. Noticing the general’s taken-aback-expression, you were quick to whisper an explanation. “The blood isn’t mine.”

With a sigh, he moved towards you. He reached his hand out in front of you, mindful to keep his movements slow and stay a respectful distance away. You eyed his hand before placing your palm into his own.

He turned it over, brushing his thumb over the deep crescent marks left by your fingernails. A trail of blood ran from them down to your wrist. The look he gave you had your face burning in childish embarrassment, as if you were getting scolded by a parent.

“You’ll visit the infirmary later. I’ll have a servant come to clean you up, lest you’re hiding anymore injuries.”

You wanted to scoff at his choice of words. A small mark of self-mutilation was hardly an injury, and would never compare to the harm you brought to those in Chernast. Instead, you settled on a frown. He hoisted you to your feet and set you straight. As he moved to leave, you caught his arm.

“Wait,” you said. He looked at you expectantly, and you found yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t sure where you were going with this, but the idea of being left alone terrified you. The idea of being left alone with one of the servants terrified you even more. You wanted to believe it was because of the looks the other Grisha had given you upon your arrival--distrust, discomfort, and horror. You would never admit it, but you knew the true reason: you weren’t afraid of what they’d do to you, but of what you’d do to them. “Stay.”

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat, pulling away from the powerful man. It was foolish, you were foolish. You leaned against the table, propping yourself up with both arms. The strength it took to hold yourself up became too much, though, and your arms trembled with exertion. 

General Kirigan reached out to catch you, balancing your weight on his forearms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react to your request, or reprimand you for being so forward. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your back, supporting a majority of your weight as you leaned into his side.

He mumbled encouragements as he led you to a side room, resting you against the cool surface of a sink. You observed the new environment, the realization that he had brought you into his washroom dawning on you. The room was large enough, with a tub seated in the center. General Kirigan was beside it, turning the handle to allow water to pour from the faucet. As the tub filled to a level of his liking, he set out a variety of soaps and sponges off to a table on the side.

He took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though he were approaching a wild animal. Maybe he was. He gestured to the door you had entered through. “I’ll be in the other room.”

With a flustered expression, he shut the door behind him. It took you a while to get the motivation to move, to make any progress toward the bath. The ruined garments decorating your body would not budge under your trembling fingertips, so you eased into the tub fully-clothed. The water was scorching hot against the exposed parts of skin, but as you adjusted, you found that you preferred it. The bitter cold of the Fjerdan border still bit into your skin, so you welcomed the hot pain.

Cold. Chernast. Pain. Burn. The connection formed before you could stop it, and you were plagued by the memories from days before. You whimpered, curling into a fetal position. You remembered your weak attempts at healing the fatal injuries that littered the bodies of your fallen friends; the Fjerdan warriors charging you, axes raised to cut you down; the burning rage as your hands moved in ways they never had before; Fjerdan blood mixing with Grisha as it splattered into the snow.

The rap of knuckles against the door startled you out of your trance. The general’s voice sounded from the other side, “Is it okay to come in?”

You froze. Had it really been that long?

The door creaked open. He stepped into the room, his eyes finding yours. He let out an exasperated sigh at your state: curled in the tub, clothed, the water barely warm, and skin still dirty. His figure disappeared into the other room, bringing back with him a wooden chair.

He took a seat by the tub, reaching forward. His hands rested on your shoulders, smoothing over the fabric as his fingers moved to work at the buttons of your ruined kefta. The general was close enough now for you to smell him. A whirl of musk and spice filtered through your nose. You inhaled deeply, the scent strangely calming you.

The rest of your layers were stripped from your skin, and he folded the garments--Saints know why; they were beyond the help of any Fabrickator. You were left in a loose shirt and pants. The muck and grime caking your skin itched, and it took everything in you not to scrape it off. Your fingernails dug into the fat of your calves, jabbing through the thin material of your pants. You curled further into yourself, head rested against your knees. The pain brought you to the present, and it was all you could do to focus on that.

“What did this to you?” the general asked, rolling up his sleeves. He rubbed a bar of soap against a damp towel until the suds grew to his liking. He pressed the cloth to the skin of your hands, gently rubbing away the grime.

It was a different way of asking what happened, with an implication that you were not the cause. If only he knew that you were. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“You’re a Heartrender, no? You must remember the attack.”

“I’m a Healer.”

The confession stalled his movements. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he continued his work in the silence that followed.

“I do,” you whispered, after a moment. “I do remember.”

Kirigan didn’t say anything. He glared at the bruises marking your arms from the Heartrenders’ grip.

“Fjerdan warriors attacked in the night. We never saw them coming. There was so much blood, so many bodies.”

“But you weren’t one of them.”

“No. I was trying to help those still alive. Heal them, if I could. Saints, at that point I was saving them just for them to die again.” You swallowed, thick and teary-eyed. “One of them found me, in the midst of it all. He pinned me to the ground. I saw the axe raise. And I just…panicked.”

By now, Kirigan had moved to cleaning your face. He dabbed carefully at your forehead.

“My hands were on his chest, and I felt every bone in his body break.”

You were disgusted with yourself. You were a Healer, not a Heartrender. It was your chosen specialization because you could not stand the thought of causing another person pain–you wanted to help. And yet here you were, one massacre later.

His finger smoothed the crease of your brows. “That sounds like self defense to me.”

“It could’ve been. If I hadn’t hunted down every warrior after that.” He gestured for you to stand. A fluffy towel wrapped around your shoulders, soaking in the sopping wet material of your clothes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked as you stepped from the tub.

“Taking care of me.”

“Someone needed to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A pregnant pause. You thought you may have overstepped or offended him. He pulled you close by the towel on your shoulders, fingers gripping the sides of your jaw. His thumb rubbed against your cheek. “I did. I know what it’s like to feel like the monster.”

“General–”

“Kirigan. Just Kirigan.”

“Kirigan.” You smiled, if only a small one, for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

--

buy me a coffee

[accio-victuuri]

year-end sugar rush round up 🍭

it’s time for the last round up of 2023. we have made it through another year filled with clownery and love for the boys! as per my tradition in posting year end candy recaps, i am releasing early 31st cause i am gonna be busy with nye shows. i hope you enjoy looking through all the happiness the final month gave us. have a great new year’s eve everyone!!!

if you wanna look through the past months or year/s then go to this link. 🔗

i’m adding a little exercise to this post tho and ask you, what are your top 5 cpns of the year? please comment or reblog with your answers!

• The tattoo rumor resurfaces ( new clue? )

• Bowing to the crowd as thank you

• 13 fake rumors - from the vault

• potential wedding photoshoot and “superman can’t fly”

• not really cpn but a media account on tiktok posted a video of xz’s appearance in MBS. they used the tags related to xiao zhan for more views, but they included one that has wang yibo’s name on it. 😂 i know that they might have just chosen an already existing tag with xz and wyb name on it and forgot to edit it. but it’s still a funny incident.

• 12/3 ZSWW Fake Rumor ( pre singapore timeline )

• 12/4 fake story contribution ( wolf mates for life )

• Washing candies only make it sweeter

• An example of bjyx being an open secret ( sort of )

photos were going around of a yibo vcr played in a chanel annual meeting in china. we were all happy to see wyb lookin so good and fresh faced, but what we noticed is his top.

the style of top he was wearing (p1) is very similar to that of GG’s (p2) at the airport when he was flying back to Beijing. it’s probably because the weather is getting colder so they wear this instead of their usual esspensive t-shirts?

the point is it’s kind of like the same-style in a close timeframe from each other. so it seems like their tastes in casual clothes are still very close.

• 12/7/23 Candies ( GQ MOTY + XZS Singapore vlog)

• The GQ MOTY hat was a gift from XZ 🤍 // Part two : I have to say that this has become a favorite one among cpns and has become notorious since so/os from both sides are trying so desperately to wash it. those on xz’s side using rocco’s 227 kadian to dispute everything even if it was their fault they were called out while xz was busy working his ass of shooting LOCH. this is just a reminder that the celebrity is not equal to their fans. whatever drama both sides do to each other, has nothing to do with us and does not reflect the boy’s relationship. 🤍

• Coffee from Singapore CPN ☕️

• All the things that happened Monday Morning of 12/11 which includes the magazine covers, pants, xz going online for a moment etc.

• xiao zhan’s snowman ⛄️

• The fact that WYB was wearing the bone necklace tho hidden during his BAZAAR photoshoot. The ones in focus were of course Chanel, but those who pay attention will see it. A proof of how special it is. Imagine WYB being bare faced and only had stuff that he actually needs, and he decided to keep the necklace on.

• Not exactly CPN but more of a similarity i love to see. cause Shandong Satellite TV decided to air BAH right after SBMS! We love to see their works not only be shown in online platforms, but also in satellite TV stations.

• Candy Throwback : Alexander Mcqueen shoes, Nike off white & WYB’s missing mole

• 12/15 double attack of stock photos from XZS and YBO. The black and white theme! Anytime these two decide to give us some update is a happy day!

• Du Hua describes WYB’s looks as that of a rabbit

• Tencent Video All Star Night CPNs 💛

• 12/19 they both went back to Beijing. ZZ was in Shanghai to film and WYB also filmed CCTV stage. The thing is WYB started filming at 2:00 AM and then he was back at the airport to leave at 10:00 AM. They both arrived to BJ so close to each other. CPN is they tried really hard to be back home & be together that day ♥️

• throwback cpn : wyb prepares xz’s room in hengdian (2021)

• their studios posting so close together for winter solstice! tho wyb’s is a preview for his new single, ybo still greeted people.

• Winter solstice CPNs ( WYB’s song preview and GG’s photoset )

• Clowning about a possible secret message from a 9key code

• “Everything is lovely” similarity from xzs caption and yibo’s new single and more clues like a possible connection to an lrlg post & what looks like a rabbit and character for ox.

• black and yellow similarity!

• 12/26 WYB EP cpn post ( teaser lyrics )

• FAE : Free and Easy sweater

• Same style of editing between XZS and YBO who we all know are dating ☺️☺️☺️

• 12/28 candies

• Marie Claire x Xiao Zhan issue 🍭🍬

• Yibo’s new singles : Bystander & Everything is Lovely

• LRLG 12/30 translation and short commentaries

• LRLG responding to cpf comments

• Wang Wang Xianbei 😂😂😂😂

• Similar clothes and Participating in the same single for a nye song

That’s all for now, See you next year!!!! ❤️💛💚

[stromuprisahat]

If Zoya is so stupid and useless, why was she chosen as one of the Darkling's main people?

Where?

Because in books, she was strong, yet ordinary Squaller. Perhaps promising, but hardly highly ranking, no matter what she likes to believe.

“You look amazing, Zoya! How are you?” gushed Marie. “We missed you so much!” squealed Nadia. “I missed you, too,” Zoya said. “It’s so good to be back at the Little Palace. You can’t imagine how busy the Darkling’s kept me. But I’m being rude. I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

What stings, is that everyone knows it. It shows, when Zoya attacks Alina. If she were SOMEONE by herself, wouldn't at least one person note that?

to Ivan “... Please tell me you were there when he [the Darkling] told Zoya she’d be leaving Os Alta.” “I was.” “And?” I urge as we head down the hill to the birch grove. I’m a greedy thing, but how can I be expected to resist this gossip? Ivan shrugs, scowling. “He just made it clear that she’s replaceable and Starkov isn’t.”

The Tailor

Marie rolled her eyes. “She can’t bear the idea of anyone being the Darkling’s favorite.” I laughed and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I’m hardly his favorite.” “Of course you are. Zoya’s powerful, but she’s just another Squaller. You’re the Sun Summoner.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

She's rash, and to lead or bear considerable amount of responsibility, she'd need to unlearn that, start thinking about others and most importantly about impact of her (in)action. It might be why she was stationed near the Fold. I've theorised about it a few months back- it's the ideal position for her. She's (partly) answerable for the skiff and people on it, but danger comes in predictable form of volcra. It's the perfect place to learn what she's lacking.

She's barely out of school, she lacks experience- why would the Darkling give her important position, when he has hundreds of people to choose from? What's "main" about the person, who's driving a skiff?

Now where did the notion she's the Darkling's super special girl come from?

“Zoya Nazyalensky, who was one of the Darkling’s most favored soldiers.”

Yuri Vedenen; King of Scars- Chapter 9

That's an information coming from religious fanatic, several years after the Darkling's death AND merry application of current regime's propaganda.

Have you ever noticed how there's not a single mention of Ivan post-his death? We don't even know his surname. Aside from him, there's not one (1) named Grisha from his side.

It's easy to be remembered as the favourite, when you erase existence of anyone else.

Even in her memories, she's among the promising ones, yet not favoured, not hand-picked.

“... I was the youngest of the group and so proud to be chosen to go. I was half in love with him already. I lived for the rare moments he appeared at the school.” She shook her head. “I was the best, and I wanted him to see that … The older Grisha were all in contention for the amplifier. It was up to them to track the tigers and see who would earn the right to the kill. ...”

King of Scars- Chapter 27

The interest is one-sided, Zoya draws the Darkling's attention by stealing three amplifiers from other Grisha, her recklessness and short-sightedness, not her capability.

The closest we get to some sort of recognition, is in Aleksander's chapter in RoW, when he points out her deficiencies and admits some of it made her work hard.

And if Zoya ever learned to harness the power she’d been given? She was still vulnerable, still malleable. Her anger made her easy to control. When this war was done and the casualties counted, she might once more be in need of a shepherd. She had been one of his best students and soldiers, her envy and her rage driving her to train and fight harder than any of her peers. And then she’d turned on him.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 26

I have one (rather big) objection- Zoya has never been a good soldier. She failed twice on rather important occasions- the amplifier and Alina incidents-, proving her self-control is lacking. That rage he's for some reason praising here, makes her dangerous to those peers she's trying to outdo.

But hey- he barely crawled back from the dead, his mental skills won't be at their best- why would he plan to manipulate Zoya without a single mention of Juris? The Saint isn't gonna disappear any time soon (if ever), and he's hardly Aleksander's fan.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

I’m already back to talk more about rewatching shadow and bone (s2) about two minutes after the previous post I have more to say about the stadwatch

We’re still barely into episode one btw, as I’m writing just got to Wylan’s introduction

Ok so my original perception of Pekka’s control over the stadwatch was that the showrunners had decided to extend his fake persona of Jakob Hertzoon and I thought that was going to be a really interesting angle, but then he references the Dime Lions and the general vibe changes quite quickly to an awareness of who he is. For me this has more of an effect in making the Stadwatch unlikable and untrustworthy to the public (excluding our characters since we know the stadwatch aren’t safe for them) than it does to make Pekka unlikeable. Like yeah he‘a clearly a bad person and presented so in the scene, but he’s alongside corrupt and dishonourable people acting in the name of the city and the government. I think it definitely perpetuates the idea that nowhere in Ketterdam is safe; not the Barrel, not the upper echelon, not the government. Of course the presentation of Wylan is also really key to that and I’m utterly heartbroken we won’t be able to see his characterisation taken even further than the brilliance of it in season two.

“You were in the boat with us from Os Kervo” “you were with the funny guys and the angry hat”

Side note: Lowkey was so distracted by thinking about the Crows that I was surprised when the Darkling showed up

[riality-check]

more grishaverse au thoughts, continuing from this

If a person were on a quest to find the most boring place in Ravka, the dry docks at Kribirsk would more than satisfy them.

Eddie thinks this as he hauls yet another crate onto a skiff. Then another, then another. It’s slow, monotonous work, but Eddie supposes he should have been more careful about what he wished for. He wanted something different than the idleness and isolation of the Little Palace, and here he is, constantly busy and constantly surrounded by people.

Most people, he has learned in the two years he has been here, smell awful. 

“Munson! Work a little faster, will you?” Ivan, the man next to him, says, passing him another crate.

Are we hauling bricks? Eddie thinks, nearly staggering under its weight.

He doesn’t miss the way that Ivan laughs at him. Hell, if it were anyone else, Eddie would laugh with him. It’s been two years since he came into Kribirsk with three gold coins and no work experience and took a job on the docks because they were always hiring. Two years, and almost no muscle to show for it. Then again, Eddie had always been a little sickly.

Eddie loads the crate onto the skiff. As he lifts his straining arms up, he feels the sweat roll down his back underneath his shirt. 

He looks up at the sun, annoyingly cheerful and annoyingly hot in the bright blue sky. It can’t be any earlier than midafternoon, so he has at least five more hours of work. The same work, day in and day out.

What joy.

“Munson!”

Eddie fights to not roll his eyes and turns to see Dmitri, his boss, standing on the skiff and looking down on him in the condescending way he’s so fond of. Eddie wants to mouth off, say something to wipe that look off his face, but the last time he did that, he was mysteriously out of work for a week. He could barely afford the bread he made stretch through that week, and he shudders to think about how hungry he was.

So, he bites his tongue so hard he might be tasting blood.

“Yes, sir,” he grits.

“You’re on the skiff this time,” Dmitri says.

Eddie feels his heart drop in his chest.

It’s not uncommon for dockworkers to accompany cargo every once in a while. More valuable products need more protection going across the Fold, and sometimes the skiffs come into Kribirsk with less men than they started with.

Eddie tries to shake that thought out of his head, but it’s a little difficult when the Shadow Fold is right in front of him: a wall of roiling darkness stretching up to the sky and as wide as Eddie can see it. Going around means crossing the borders into brutally cold Fjerda or the brutally hot Shu Han. Going over is impossible: the darkness can’t be scaled in any way.

The only way to the coast and to West Ravka is through.

Eddie thinks about growing up near the coast. He remembers the smell of salt and the constant noise of the waves, remembers the way his hair curled up in the salt air, remembers days spent playing in the waves and lazing on the sand.

Hell, if he goes through the Fold, he’ll get a job in Os Kervo and stay near the sea. He’ll miss a letter from Steve, but he can always send a letter with his new address.

That sounds like a good idea, except for one thing: going through the damn Fold.

Eddie would rather freeze his toes off in Fjerda than go through. The darkness is unnerving and unnatural, chilling him to his bones in a way that real cold never has. He has heard every story about it, about the disorientation of it, about the long, long time spent there. He has seen corpses come out of it daily, bodies deposited on the dry docks of Kribirsk, and he has seen every sketch of the volcra that has ever been published.

He shudders to think of the volcra, of their sickly pale wings, of the sickening amount of teeth in their mouths.

“Did you hear me?” Dmitri asks.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, rather than voicing any of that. He’s a coward to be afraid of a little darkness, and they’re better defended against the volcra than they ever have been. Eddie has seen fewer bodies this month than he has in the past two years, so that must mean something good, right?

Eddie is a coward. He has known this since he was very young, but he won’t let anyone else find that out.

“Good,” Dmitri says. “Grab your things, then get on. We leave in ten minutes.”

He walks away before Eddie can ask anything about how many provisions he needs, if he should bring a weapon, before Eddie can ask anything at all.

Prick.

Eddie grabs his bag, the one he’s patched with various scraps of clothing, the one that has little bits of gold thread sewn into all of the patches. Every time he sees it, he smiles because that gold thread was Steve’s.

If you’re going to go, he had said, plucking some of the embroidery out of the cuff of his sleeve, then take me with you.

Eddie had wanted Steve to come with him, and Steve had wanted Eddie to stay, but they had moved past the screaming matches about that to not talking about it. Instead, they write letters. One a week, more if they have time. Eddie tells Steve about city life, the good and the bad because he is nothing if not honest, and Steve writes back about the happenings in the Little Palace.

From his letters, it seems like not much has changed since he left, except for the fact that Steve seems to talk to more people now. That’s good. They were both two lonely boys when Eddie left, and now they at least have friends outside of each other. Eddie has a group of guys he goes drinking with after the day’s work ends, a group that will happily accompany him on whatever he chooses to play that night.

Steve writes about other Grisha he’s friends with: an Alkemi named Robin, a Durast named Jonathan, and a Heartrender named Nancy. They seem to be wonderful in all of Steve’s letters, even Nancy, who he was seeing for a while. They’ve since broken up and seem to be good friends.

Eddie was deeply jealous of her, but he really had no reason to be. He’s been in love with Steve since he was sixteen years old, but it means nothing because he hasn’t told him. He doesn’t want to tell him in a letter, not when it’s unclear if Steve has someone else, not when Eddie still can’t make himself return to the Little Palace, not when Steve still can’t leave, for whatever reason.

It’s a paradox in the worst kind of way. Eddie Munson, long-distance lover with nothing to show for it.

He shakes himself out of those thoughts and climbs up onto the skiff. They’re strange structures, halfway between boat and sled. When he climbs on, he moves to right his feet, but he doesn’t need to. The sand might shift, but it is much steadier than the sea.

It’s so strange, and they haven’t even started moving.

He walks over to the stairs in the deck, but he’s pulled back by the strap of his bag.

“Nope,” a woman with dark hair says. She’s dressed in a blue kefta with red embroidery, so she must be an Inferni. “Can you fire a gun?”

“Yes,” Eddie says. He’s known how to do that since he was eight years old, thank you dad.

“Then you’re staying above deck.” The Inferni turns to walk to the bow of the skiff.

“Do guns fend off volcra?” Eddie finds himself asking.

She says, over her shoulder, “They don’t hurt. Grab one from the rack on deck if you don’t have one already.”

Eddie sighs and grabs a pistol. It seems woefully small and ineffective in his hand, but he loads it with ammunition and releases the safety.

He stares ahead at the Fold and tries to breathe.

“We’re off!” Dmitri calls.

Eddie turns back to see the ropes be untied from the docks, to see a blond man in a blue kefta, evidently a Squaller from how the sails billow when he moves his arms, push the skiff into the dark.

The Fold swallows them, blocking out Kribirsk - good riddance - much faster than Eddie expected.

And the Fold is much louder than Eddie expected.

He assumed that complete and utter darkness came with complete and utter silence, but it doesn’t. The Fold feels alive in a very awful way. Volcra shriek close by, shrill enough that Eddie nearly covers his ears, and the skiff hisses on the sand, a quiet rush that matches the louder one in Eddie’s ears.

People mill about on the deck, holding swords, guns, and, in the Inferni’s case, fire. The Squaller continues to man the sails, and they make their way through the Fold in eerie silence.

The fire in the Inferni’s hands glows orange. When she extends them, it billows out into beautiful shapes, fractals on fractals resembling snowflakes, until she curls her fingers, forces the fire to coalesce into a scene, that of a fox chasing a rabbit. It makes the people near her on deck laugh softly.

Eddie doesn’t miss much about the Little Palace, but he does miss seeing the extraordinary on an ordinary basis. He has long grown past wanting to be Grisha, though, so he watches with the rest of them and privately, and a little pettily, thinks that he has seen better from Wayne.

The fire makes him nervous before he remembers that the volcra are blind. The fire will do no harm. The laughter, however, sets him on edge.

The skiff continues to rush over the sand, and the laughter subsides, and the fire resumes a normal shape, and Eddie relaxes, just the tiniest bit.

And that, of course, is when it all goes wrong.

Even with the light of the fire, Eddie can’t see the volcra as it swoops down. He does, however, hear the ear-piercing shriek it lets out, followed by the scream of a man plucked off the deck like a piece of candy out of the bowl.

“Fucking idiot,” the woman next to Eddie swears, immediately raising her rifle. She uses the light from the Inferni to fire at the volcra. Her aim is true, and the volcra and man fall as one to the sand.

Eddie privately thinks that the gunshot might have been dumber than the scream because the scream was involuntary, but it doesn’t matter what he thinks, not when the whole deck erupts into chaos.

The Inferni’s flame grows bigger, lighting the whole deck. Eddie sees the way they all cluster around the Squaller, the way the Squaller doubles down his efforts on getting them through this cursed place, and the volcra swooping down. Gunshots ring out, as well as the shrieks of volcra and the screams of people taken or sliced open.

It’s madness, so Eddie does what he does best: he runs.

He runs to the bow of the skiff, where there are fewer volcra. The Inferni burns them with her fire, over and over again, but more swoop down near the Squaller. Eddie watches as she swears and runs toward the stern of the ship, largely leaving him alone.

And in the dark.

He shoots what he can manage to see and runs out of ammunition very quickly. He fumbles to reload his pistol, swearing as he drops bullets, and tries to tune out the sounds of people calling for more guns and ammunition, calling to the Saints, calling for their mothers.

As soon as Eddie reloads, there’s a volcra in front of his face.

He can smell its rotten breath, so he raises his pistol and fires where he thinks its mouth is.

The noise is deafening. Its corpse falls onto his legs, and Eddie scrambles away from it before the blood soaks into his pants.

Then, there’s another. And another. And another, and another, and another-

Eddie fires at every inhuman shriek he hears and runs out of bullets, for good this time, very quickly.

He makes his way over to the stern of the ship, surrounding the Squaller like everyone else, and hopes that the protection of other bodies is enough.

Something screeches in his ear, and something slimy and sharp grazes Eddie’s shoulder, drawing blood.

As soon as he realizes it’s a volcra, he throws up his hands and screams.

The world behind his eyelids grows very bright, his hands feel very warm, and then-

Everything.

Goes.

Silent.

Eddie can feel himself shaking, can feel the sweat all over his body and the buzz in his ears from the shots and the screaming, but he refuses to open his eyes.

Someone hauls him up by the arm.

“Look,” a woman’s voice hisses in his ear. The Inferni.

Eddie opens his eyes, and he sees the sky.

Did they make it to Novokribirsk already?

But then he lowers his gaze and sees that, on all sides of a perfect circle, the world is pitch black.

He looks down to see that same perfect circle on the ground, surrounding the skiff. The sand is awfully gray.

He looks back up to see everyone on deck staring at him. The Inferni’s grip on his arm is bruising.

“What are you?” the Inferni demands, shaking his arm.

“I’m not Grisha,” Eddie says because that is a fact he has known since he was nine and was sent to live in a place he did not belong.

“We’ll see about that,” she says. Then, she looks at the Squaller, and says, “Turn us around.”

So much for getting a job in Os Kervo, Eddie thinks.

The other people on deck brace themselves for the darkness. Eddie hopes he’s taken by the volcra.

Because he knows exactly where he’s going. Back to the Little Palace. Back to that feeling of suffocation he’s only just gotten rid of. Back to not belonging, to being something other, something less than.

But, the annoyingly optimistic voice in his head says, that means back to Steve.

And while that should definitely be a good thing, the thought makes Eddie want to check his hair and his clothes, two things he wouldn’t care about otherwise, in the pitch black.

Oh, Saints. He gets to see Steve again. He’s going to have to tell Steve he loves him because that’s what he promised himself he would do if he ever went back to the Little Palace.

He only ever thought he’d go back for Wayne’s funeral.

But now, he has to wrestle with the fact that he very well could be something neither otkazats’ya or Grisha, something entirely new, as well as brace himself for the likely possibility that Steve does not love him back.

After all, it’s been two years. It’s been two long years of letters, and Steve could have anyone in the world, since he’s the most beautiful person in it.

Why on this earth would he even consider picking Eddie?

[yermes]

PAC: 🍁

School started for me and starbies just came out with their seasonal fall flavors so even though I am a victim of broke college student fevar I went to starbs bc whats $15 when yr already in a fuck ton of debt. So I went to starbs with my roomie to get some PSLs. But while we were there one of the baristas was just losing their absolute fucking mind at another barista who was just trying to help these young highschoolers not be late. Like???? Screaming at her not to touch anything and she can’t fucking jump the line my heart literally broke. If I had any money like fucking dollar bills I would have given them to her. Like so fucking awful. But honestly so many people are under appreciated. I literally spend my life taking care of people who claim that. “They only think of others, and they never put themselves first, or I am JUST SUCH A CARE TAKER.” But when push comes to shove they’re no where to be found. A READING FOR MY UNDER APPRECIATED MOTHER FUCKERS SO YOU KNOW HOW LOVED AND VALUED YOU AREEEE.

(I know most of you are mystics who wish to be the most esoteric babe in the mystic forest, who has to work a 9-5 so this is for youu)

Pick a meme

The cards

Nine of Wands (Reversed) 🧸

Yesod, Lord of Great Strength, Moon in Sagittarius, 10°–20°. Angels Yirthiel and Sahiah

You are putting something off in so you can help others. Something is being delayed. You are intentionally abstaining from something which in turn is causing you to spiral. Maybe your ass is working the rush shift everyday and your coworkers are assholes and you cannot bare to leave that anxious toxic ass mess. However, you owe it to yourself to find a better environment. People don’t leave because the security of which is offered but are you actually secure or are you comfortable in your mistreatment?

find people who will do better and will work with you and match your energy.

Futility 🪒

Moon 3. In Aquarius, Netzach in Air, seven of swords

The seventh suit. A notably unlucky suit. You have been backed into a corner and you need to get your way out. Now this isn’t a gun fight its a fight of wits. You need to use your cleverness to escape. Honestly, maybe a toxic friend or person you know led you down a dark path? Maybe you got love bombed so hard and led with the promise of love and compromise you fell so hard and breaking every bone on the way down. Be safe. Get out of there

Back rooms level RUN!

Fortitude (Reversed) 🫁

Daughter of the Flaming Sword, Teth, Serpent

Damn bitch you gave so much of yourself you became ill and have been weakened SEVERELY. You are also getting resentful which is hard. Like you said you were this strong ass bitch who could do anything. So you did everything and now you have egg on your face. Some athletes get trained so hard and so extreme they die. You’ve been giving so much mentally and emotionally you weakened yourself. You wouldn’t workout till death why would you give so much till failure?

Make room for yourself and forgive yourself.

The Star 💫

Jupiter in Aquarius, Chokmah to Tiphareth, Air

Its the hope that guides us all. You have such a deep well of love in that little heart of yours. The way its telling you to go is the right one. However, an off putting aspect is there may be part of the code thats got a bug, which makes your hopeful manifestations plagued by illusions. Live in the moment. Be confident of nature and your gut. Somethings may not be clear now but day by day and little by little you will find out more and more.

Take care of yourself and protect your peace

Extras:

Story/vent: once again athlete student life os difficult and I am shoving this reading in so that I can feel productive. Plus I love yo do it!

Tip Jar

Insta

[the-starless-reader]

Extended Shadow and Bone Timeline [Part 1]

It's autumn when the first trip to the Fold occurs.

At the beginning of Shadow and Bone, Alina's regiment marches from the military encampment at Poliznaya to Kribirsk. It takes them two weeks to get there. Alina gets her first glimpse of the Fold standing on the Vy, the wide road that had once led from Os Alta to the port cities on Ravka's western coast.

It is explicitly stated that the autumn sun was warm overhead. Alina takes notice of both the green and gold smells of autumn and the soft breeze at her back.

Alina almost gets trampled by the Darkling's coach before entering Kribirsk, and she spends the rest of the day at the Documents Tent. At dusk, she gets her first glimpse of the Grisha pavilion. The air is noticeably cooler.

Later at night, Alina sneaks out to meet Mal, and the plumes of their breath are visible in the cold air. In fact, it's cold enough for her to wish she had taken the time to grab her scarf and gloves.

The next morning, Mal and Alina are boarding the sandskiff and entering the Fold for the first time. Barely thirty minutes later, the volcra attack happens, and Alina's power is revealed. The skiff returns, and the survivors are taken to the Grisha tent. The bright autumn sun is clearly visible in the sky, and the flags above the tent are fluttering in the breeze.

Alina meets the Darkling, and her power is confirmed. She doesn't even get to speak to Mal before she departs for the Little Palace.

Additional information:

Establishing the date of the winter fete:

The first Malina reunion takes place in Chapter 14, on the night of the winter fete. In Chapter 13, it's stated that the King and the Queen are hosting the final winter fete at the end of the season. We're not given any specific date, but in Chapter 14, when she's arriving at the fete, Alina takes notice that the spring has barely begun to show itself. She runs away later that night, and in Chapter 16, when the second Malina reunion takes place outside of Ryevost, Alina explicitly states that she'd escaped from the palace well over a week ago. In Chapter 17, she wonders about Mal's life in the past five months.

Over the next few days, they keep a brutal pace, until they reach a village on the northwestern side of the Petrazoi. The festivities of the butter week are taking place. In Chapter 17, it's stated that the holiday takes place in the week before the spring fast. Alina's description of the customs, especially the mention of blini (a form of Eastern European pancake) corresponds with the Eastern Slavic holiday known as Maslenitsa. This suggests that we should probably stick to the Old (Julian) Calendar, rather than the New (Gregorian) Calendar.

Based on the information above, Alina's timeline at the Little Palace spans over five months and two seasons. And if we could calculate the possible date of the winter fete, we could also determine the approximate timeline of the whole story.

Establishing the date of the butter week:

Maslenitsa (also known as Butter Lady, Butter Week, Crepe Week or Cheesefare Week) is celebrated during the last week before the Great Fast. It's the eighth week before Eastern Orthodox Pascha [i.e. Easter].

Since Easter and its holidays are moveable feasts, the date of the celebration has to be computed to the first Sunday after the ecclesiastical full moon that occurs on or soonest after March 21.

In the Northern Hemisphere, the March equinox equals the spring equinox, and while some of the churches have adopted the revised New Calendar, the Russian Orthodox Church still uses the Old Calendar, which sets the date of Orthodox Easter anywhere between April 4 and May 8.

It's explicitly stated that Malina's second reunion takes place 'well over a week' after the winter fete, and the choice of words suggests that we should read 'well over' like 'less than a week, but still more than a half'. However, this is where our timeline starts to blur: all we know is that 'over the next few days' they are keeping a brutal pace, until they reach a village where the festivities of the butter week are taking place. Initially, Alina thinks it might be Sunday.

The approximate calculation says that at least 18 days have passed between the winter fete and the butter week festival. Fixing the date of the fete to the spring equinox sets the festival on the second week of April. This doesn't seem to fit with the Old Calendar, because our Butter Week is the eighth week before Easter, and in this case, Ravkan Easter falls outside the specified frame.

However, given that there is no mention of Easter in this world, we can only assume that the Ravkan butter week actually corresponds more with the pre-Christian celebrations of the upcoming spring, which were later adopted by the Orthodox church. It's worth mentioning that in pre-Christian times, blini were considered to be a symbol of the sun due to their round form. Traditionally, they were prepared at the end of winter to honor the rebirth of the new sun.

To confirm that the Ravkans are indeed using the Old Calendar, and that fixing the date of the winter fete on the spring equinox makes sense, we should take a closer look into the feast of Sankt Nikolai, the only other explicitly mentioned holiday in Ravka.

Establishing the date of the feast of Sankt Nikolai:

In Chapter 13, there's a mention of the feast of Sankt Nikolai, which takes place in winter. It seems to mirror the Christian celebration of the feast of Saint Nicholas, which falls on December 19, according to the Old Calendar.

According to The Lives of Saints, a table should be set for Sankt Nikolai on the darkest night of the year. In our world, this would mirror the December solstice, the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year. On the Old Calendar, the winter solstice occurs around December 25. It's also known as midwinter.

In Chapter 13 of Shadow and Bone, it's mentioned that the feast of Sankt Nikolai is celebrated with huge bowls of dumpling soup and kutya made with honey and poppy seeds. In Orthodox tradition, predominantly Eastern Slavic, kutya is a ceremonial grain dish served during the Christmas season or as part of a funeral feast.

On the Old Calendar, Christmas takes place on January 7, which could potentially explain why it is explicitly stated that the 'final' winter fete takes place at the end of the season. The festivities have probably started with midwinter.

Canonically fixing the date of the feast of Sankt Nikolai on the date of the winter solstice, we are creating a headcanon in which every change of season comes with a big holiday.

Final thoughts:

If the final winter fete happens five months after the events on the Fold, and the date is set to March 21, then Shadow and Bone starts somewhere between late October and early November.

[manonamora-if]

October Check-In

September passed wayyyy too fast again, and almost all my efforts went into completing the DOL-OS remaster. And finishing strong by catching the FLU :D /s

You know the drill... long post ahead:

Recap of last month's progress

Recap of last week's stuff

Other IF stuff done or in the works

Other IF events

Plan for October

- _ -

September progress

The plan for last month was to:

continue to play and review games ✅ (just a few tho...)

finish the DOL-OS remaster ✅✅✅ just in time! also needed one more week from the planned date to finish it properly

continue a WIP or fix another semi-completed game: 😐 (see this week's progress)

add another block to the SugarCube Guide: ❌ (was planning to, but the illness)

- _ -

Last Week's progress

I pulled myself to the finish line by the hair at the end buuuut...

DOL-OS - THE REMASTERED VERSION IS NOW OUT!

It's now beautiful, bug free (i hope), with new content, and translated into English! First completed in a month, remastered almost within a month too!

If you liked it, consider leaving a little rating? or a comment?

Even if you don't care to play it, at least open the game once to check out the loading page :P

Also I have:

redone the intro post (if you could share it around, that'd be lovely)

wrote the extensive dev log

updated the Projects Status page

added the OG Comp Version of the source code on my GitHub

uploaded the OG Comp Version on the IFArchive (processing)

Unless there are raised bugs, this game is also going into the SHELF!

As mentioned in last Sunday's check in, I've gotten the new draft from MelS. It's over 20k words...

So I'm back to editing the file, going through the text and leaving comments. I was about 1/4 through before the illness arrived.

And MelS is continuing making progress on the final chapter in the meantime.

We've also been discussing the future release(s) and potential need for rewrite of the first chapters. MelS style had changed a bit, and he is worried the first chapters are too drastically different from the later ones. We might even get a few beta readers before the final release...

In my plan for September, I mentioned La Petite Mort to be probably the next remaster project I tackle on, with a potential translation release for the EctoComp.

I checked with the rules: translations are considered new works. 🥳 So we are looking at an EctoComp deadline, which is in a month.

So this week, I've gone through the code and:

mapped out the new map of the game (which will include more rooms)

listed the characters/NPC (a few new ones)

listed the different mechanics to (re-)code (esp the inventory)

listed the endings available (currently about 7, 2 are early endings)

listed the beats and actions for each room (more animal petting!)

The plan is to, in order:

Correct the current French writing

Add the new content (in French - about double what there is rn)

Re-code the game (+ accessibility settings)

Upload the French Remaster

Translate the Game into English

Add the translation inside the code

Submit to the EctoComp (depending on how long this takes, maybe I can achieve the La Petite Mort category again :P)

I'll also need to:

update the itch page of the game (right now it's too bland)

update the intro post of the game

Unsure yet:

add sound effect and background music...

Most importantly, the game is rated PG and will stay PG. It has some horror-y element, but more of the Hocus Pocus/Terry Pratchett kind than say... Saw or any Halloween slasher.

I will be taking down the itch page of the game closer to the reupload to check everything is in order.

With the IFComp starting soon, expect review over at @manonamora-if-reviews. Last year I managed about 30 before I tapped out (and I had submitted something). Let's see how I do this year!

I would like to try to knock a InkJam + Bare-Boned Jam + EctoComp (mini) entry at the end of October, since the theme of the Ink Jam is revealed at the start of the jam (23rd). One stone, two three birds and all that. And maybe revisit a short story I wrote when I was younger as a base... 🤔

- _ -

IF Events!!

October is filled with IF events, so this will be quite a list:

the voting period of the IFComp starts on October 1st until mid November. I think there are expecting over 50 games? I recommend waiting one-two days before voting, as there are often 1st day bug fixes (speaking from experience).

the Bare-Bones Jam organised by @neointeractives starts on October 1st and runs until the end of the month! It is unranked.

the EctoComp, the spooky IF ranked jam, starts on October 1st and ends on the 28th. There are two categories, and you can also submit in French or Spanish!

the InkJam is a 3-day ranked jam at the end of October, with a theme!

You'll be able to vote for the Spooktober entries in a few hours.

SeedComp! has started again, see @seedcomp-if (we've updated/cleared up some rules)

- _ -

The PLAN tm for October

Play and review more IF games: this one is kinda done before it started because of the IFComp. Also, someone submitted a few games. And there are a bunch on my To Play list both on the IFDB, itch, and the MOIKI Social Club.

finish the La Petite Mort remaster: I think I should be ok? The original LPM was done in 4h (in chunks over a week or so). I plan to essentially double the content, and fix coding issue. I don't really have to worry about the UI at all with this one.

either continue a WIP or fix another semi-completed game: that will be a check mark if MelS and I can make some good progress on the editing.

maybe try to add another block to the SugarCube Guide? I still have a list I could check down... Same with a template. It will heavily depend on the time I have.

(and maybe do an extra French entry for the EctoComp)

Taking the list of August...

To-Do not require much of new stuff:

translate Escape Goncharov! into French. ✅

fix the bugs in EDOC + overall the French version to match

fix the bugs of TRNT + find a way to add the missing pieces (mayyyybe translate into French?)

fix the formatting of DOL-OS + translate into English ✅

update LPM with the missing content + translate into English ✅ (ongoing)

The rest of the To-Do pile:

Finish The Rye in the Dark City (and maybe translate?)

Finish P-Rix - Space Trucker (and try to translate)

Finish Exquisite Cadaver (translation unlikely, current gameplay too complex to port for French)

Add a chapter to CRWL + fix/reopen the blog

Re-working TTTT to its originally planned state (lol, not likety)

Re-working SPS Iron Hammer (samesies)

Coding TTATEH (MelS dependent - shooting for end of year)

Emptying my inboxes

(I am pretty sure the focus for the rest of the year will be to finish the first list. With the addition of a few more small jam entries.)

And that about covers it!

[hibewriter]

Holiday Party

Masterlist   Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 4.9K | E 

Tags: Non-Con | Dub-Con | Age Gap | Daddy Kink | Hotel Sex

From: hr@shadowfoldinc.com

To: corporate@shadowfoldinc.com

Subject: Holiday Party

Come one, come all! We are so excited to have you for the Shadow Fold Agency's fiftieth-holiday extravaganza luncheon at the Little Palace Hotel in downtown Os Alta. All festivities are on the third floor. 

Please remember that valet parking is complimentary! You will receive a validation ticket at registration in the beginning. Final information attached! Remember, the only thing required of you is to HAVE FUN!!! 

Have fun. 

Yes, because there was nothing more fun than cramming into the halls of Os Alta's nicest hotel, surrounded by hundreds of people she barely knew, for the off chance of a thirty-dollar gift card. Okay, that wasn't necessarily true. It could be a substantial gift card. 

But Alina Starkov had only started at the agency in November, and she was already positive her boss (creative director and all-around hard ass, Mr. Morozova) hated her. But that won't stop her from dawning her favorite ugly sweater (lined with various puppies intended to be reindeer), a soft puffer jacket, and her favorite sparkly bag. At least the event was at a hotel. If she makes any more of a fool of herself, she'll at least be able to drink her sorrows away after. 

It was just like she expected, arriving just as the sky opened up, rain pelting her car as she waited in the long line of cars attempting to valet at the skyscraper of a hotel. She was only grateful the valet area was under an awning protecting the attendants as she slipped out, quietly joining the throng of coworkers she'd never seen enter the building. Faceless attendants maneuvered them through the lobby like hoards of cattle, not giving pause to be able to gape at the extravagant decor before being filtered into the elevators up, up, up. 

She barely registered the rush. The ticket was handed to her, moving with the throng towards the h'ordeuvres set-out. Faceless attendants passed around strange-looking finger foods while Alina tried not to seem too eager to make a beeline to the champagne bar. Only to groan at the selection. Sparkling grape juice. Now, Alina was no drunkard. But a drink to calm her nerves didn't seem like too big an ask. Yet, as she contemplated an exit strategy without being noticed, she heard her name, called loudly and brightly through the reception hall.

Genya. 

She adored the team web designer, truly. But, Alina couldn't help but smother her quickly fading chances of escape as it appeared the others on her team had also arrived. David, her kind email manager that frequently got lost explaining the nuances of their system to her. Nikolai, someone she had yet to figure out exactly what he did, but surely it was something. But, luckily, no boss man. 

“Oh my god, have you been here long?” Genya’s breathless words came out in a flurry, her hands hurriedly grabbing her own sparkling flute. Even with the dreary weather outside.  It was with a shake of her head that Genya seemed satisfied, launching into her own story about her journey to the building, barely pausing for breath as the rest of the group crowded around. It was a breath of fresh air when the ballroom doors opened, tables set to take in the influx of people. 

For a moment, she thought her boss just simply wouldn’t arrive as her team seemed to crowd at a singular table. Small conversation as the room settled, waiting to be called towards the buffet lines on either side of the large space. But, to her shock, a steady hand appeared at her back, the other pulling a chair out while her eyes widened and her back went ramrod straight. 

“Apologies,” muttered to her in an all-too-familiar voice. Deep and relaxing as a honey-molasses bath, yet cutting when the owner’s ire was directed towards you. Aleksander Morozov had only chastised her once in the month she’d been at the company, but she much preferred to never hear that voice again. In fact, she definitely preferred the more demure tone he took as he sat next to her. Each other seat was taken, and she tried to relax, avoiding Genya’s playful eye. 

She’d never been so relieved for people to start going to get food. She tried not to let it show, tried not to run towards the food on the opposite end of the room. 

"If you get any more nervous you'll throw up. And the food actually looks good." Genya's voice soothed, falling into step with her as they passed through the line. 

"I don't do well with crowds," she muttered. She wasn't paying attention to the foods she piled on her plate, an assortment of vegetables and starches, only catching herself at the turkey in ham. Genya, for her part, only hummed. 

"Yeah, Aleks is the same way. He only arrives when he has to." At this she wanted to laugh, glancing down the line to see the normally stoic Morozov in a quiet conversation with another department head. It was hard to imagine him nervous about anything. But she quickly brushed the notion aside, slipping back into her seat. 

The food was delicious, once the table sat again. She was happy to have something to preoccupy her mouth as she tried, and failed, to not halt conversation with the topics available. 

No, no family to see so I'll just be home. 

My foster brother might come to town, but he might have better things to do. 

No New Years' plans, thank you for the invitation, Genya. 

By the time the raffles came and went, several of her coworkers winning prizes, she was far more comfortable. She was able to keep her eyes down, muttering small thank yous as hotel staff came to clear their plates. Pouring small fills of actual champagne, a light toast about the success of the agency. Words were lost to her as they spoke of unmatched talent and teamwork involved in bringing in record profits. A voyeur claiming credit for others' hard work. 

It was a relief when it ended. The throngs of people were almost robotic as everyone slipped out of the room. A muffled conversation full of small talk and cliche jokes about coworkers she didn’t know. A huff as she shuffled with the crowd, somehow getting split from her department as quickly as she got to the elevators. Silently grateful to not pretend to smile and nod to more stories. 

She needed a drink. 

Or several. Stepping out of the elevator and already seeing the valet line beginning to curve through the lobby of the hotel, impatient faces and tapping shoes waiting for service. She pursed her lips, eyes scanning the space before abruptly turning towards the hotel bar. The line was shorter, and there was sitting room at the actual bar. A perfect opportunity. 

A seat as far away from the entrance as possible, nearly hidden at the edge of the bar. She lowered her head as more seemed to take her idea, the small area suddenly full of other festive partygoers were ready to take full advantage of the early afternoon off. 

"Mind if I join you?" 

Her head snapped up, the soft article nearly forgotten as her eyes made eye contact with her boss. She could swear they were fully black in the low bar lighting. Sudden dry mouth as she swallowed, a small smile as she gestured to the seat next to her. She glanced down the bar, the buzz-cut bartender slowly shaking the same shaker he'd begun with. The patron in front of him looked no less thirsty than when she sat. 

It was silent between them, minutes passing before they watched the barkeep set a drink down in front of someone. Only to watch the patron frown, mouths fixing, even over the low murmur. I actually ordered a margarita? This looks like a gimlet. A sigh ripped from Alina’s mouth as she watched the barkeep begin again. 

"It seems we might not get a drink anytime soon," Aleksander murmured. She turned to him, noticing his eyes already fixed on her face. It was like he was thinking, trying to determine his next action. 

"At the risk of alerting HR," he leaned forward as if telling her a secret. "Would you happen to want to go to a quieter bar? Perhaps get quicker service?" 

And maybe it was her desperation for a drink. Maybe it was the honey-smooth baritone of his voice. Maybe it was the one champagne glass, nearly twenty minutes ago now.  Or maybe it was her finding a little courage to talk to her boss one-on-one without him yelling at her. Whatever it was, she found herself bundled in her coat, looking at her boss searching the street signs to find his bearings. Though it did not take him long, seeming to have a map of Os Alta's downtown burned into his mind's eye. 

"Hmm, this way," he claimed. He grasped her elbow, lightly, and she found herself following his long strides. Her little legs struggled to keep up until the first intersection, where he was forced to stop and look down at her panting face. One look at her face, inflamed from the brisk city air, and he was moving. 

"You're freezing," he said, slipping his scarf off his own neck. Any protest she had died on her lips as black cashmere met her cheeks. Instant warmth with faint notes of amber and spice filled her nose before he took her hand and started navigating them through the crosswalk. 

She tried not to notice the change in hand placement. She blamed the fire in her cheeks on the scarf.

"How are you settling?" He asked at the next crosswalk, pausing for a breath as cars began to zip down the street. She did her best attempt at a shrug, willing her heart to slow down. A brisk walk would do that to a person, she was sure.  

"Good," she huffed, slightly muffled by his scarf.  "Not used to walking so fast." At this, his eyes crinkled, as if she told a joke.  

"I meant in your role, but we can slow down." She could no longer blame her flamed cheeks on the wind, ducking her head further into herself to avoid his gaze. 

"Oh! Um, good. Good, I think. A little stressful sometimes. But in a good way! I'm still trying to figure out my flow, I think. And it doesn't help that I spend so much time talking to Tante. I think we just need to get used to each other but also I think that maybe it'd be better if things weren't so jumbled. She doesn't follow any of the procedures that I have and I just want to get aligned on the same page! I dunno, maybe I should – oh my God I'm rambling." 

At this he did laugh, fingers gripping hers, tight as he began to lead her through the freshly changed crosswalk. Slower than before, she noticed. Her legs no longer screamed at her from overuse.

"Don't worry, Alina," he finally spoke once across. Humor was still littered in his voice, a sound she found she very much liked. "Tante has had her fair share of…moments in the office. We'll try to get things better aligned." 

"Is that fancy corporate speak for you don't like her very much?" 

Even the layers of scarf could not hide her smile at his laugh. Strange how just five minutes ago she thought to crawl into her own skin to hide from his presence. She didn't even mind that he didn't answer, simply guiding her to a small door along a brick-lined building. The rusted sign proclaiming the tavern to be called The Cut. The oldest bar in Os Alta. 

Immediately she welcomed the warmth of the haggard place. Worn wood with scribbles of marker and neon signs surrounded by glass, steel, or shelving lined with alcohol she still felt uncomfortable trying to decipher their names. Suddenly, she felt homey. The low lighting cast a warm glow, even though the bar barely had more than ten people in it – slow on a Thursday afternoon. 

Reluctantly, she detangled herself from the scarf and coat, hanging them gingerly on her chair. A slide into her seat, held out for her by hands stronger than hers. Hands larger, ones that she could only glance at before shying away, lest her thoughts turned unsavory. 

“This is a nice place,” she said, smiling as the new bartender (a small girl with pigtails and a black t-shirt with the bar logo on the breast pocket) caught her eye. He opened his mouth, seemingly about to speak before the bartender approached. 

“Sasha, this isn’t your usual time,” the girl spoke, pulling two tumblers seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Zoya,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “We decided to grab a drink.” The girl,  Zoya, turned to Alina with a roll of her eyes. 

“It’s like he’s never had manners in his life. I’m Zoya, you must be…”

“Alina.”

“Alina. Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Alina.” Did she imagine a glance at Aleksander?  A joke she wasn’t a part of? She swallowed, a tight smile in response. 

“Now, I know this boring man wants an old fashioned, what can I get you?” 

A small order for a simple vodka soda, handed with a speed Alina was sure would never have been achieved at the hotel. Sips in silence while she attempts to figure out just how often he came to this bar to be on a first-name basis with the bartender in the middle of the day. More than a first-name basis. She called him Sasha.

“So,” she sputtered, choking a bit on her drink before not-so-smoothly recovering. “I’m guessing you’re a regular?”  

“You could say that. I’ve been coming in and out for around twenty-five-ish years.” His eyes twinkled in the light of the bar as he watched hers widen. She wondered if the mental gymnastics she was doing were self-evident on her face, a blush creeping back up her neck as she attempts to school her features. Evidently failed by his chuckle. 

“I’m only forty-three, malyshka ,” he murmured. She nearly choked on her vodka, sipping the rest of the cup as she tried to feign polite surprise. It was evident now, the soft grays streaking at his temples. She cleared her throat, trying not to cough from the sudden warmth flooding her chest. She didn’t drink her vodka soda was that strong, but she guesses she could be wrong. 

“You’ve been coming here since you were…eighteen?” She questioned, startled at the silently placed refill in front of her. She picked it up, looking at him over her glass as she sipped. 

“I never said I was the best kid,” he responded, taking a sip of his own drink. 

“So you’re telling me you’re just a bad old man? Bad kids grow into bad adults.” His eyebrows raised, shock and amusement written over his features. Part of her was proud to render him speechless. The other, still sober part, took a second to register exactly what she said. That part suddenly became mortified. 

“I mean, not to say that you are bad, like just a ‘haha oh bad kid bad adult’. I didn’t mean that you I – um, I–”

“Relax, malyshka .” He interjected with a huff of laughter. “You’re not in trouble. Though I assume it depends on who you ask if I’m a bad man or not. I like to think I just go after what I want. Drinks included.” 

She swallowed, suddenly realizing the relaxed drape of his arm on the back of her chair. His knee, pressed softly against the side of her seat, not touching her but close enough to feel the heat. His eyes, dark and heady as he used his free hand to sip his drink, not wavering from her face. 

“What –” what if something gets in your way? “What does that word mean?” 

“ Malyshka? It means baby girl in Russian.” 

Blaming alcohol was probably no longer viable. The blush across her face, the heat in her chest. 

“Why ‘baby girl’? I can be an adult.”

“Yes, but I’m old enough to be your father, so you can see why I might be inclined to refer to you as a baby, no?”  

She stared, swallowing in her suddenly dry mouth. He seemed unaffected – as if this were a normal thing to say on a first outing with a subordinate. But she…

“I need to, um, go to the bathroom.” Standing to break whatever spell he’d cast on her seat. She followed his silent gesture to a hallway in the back of the bar, trying not to sprint away. 

The bathroom, graffitied and grimy, a small space with two stalls, was just big enough to catch her breath. She leaned over the sink, letting her breathing calm. The muted beating of the bar music flowed in, filling her head. She felt dizzy. She felt drunk . She swore they'd only been gone an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. But her stomach was in knots, twisting and coiling as her mind repeated I'm old enough to be your father. 

She knew what it was. The burgeoning of a crush, wholly inappropriate, likely to end in disaster if he ever knew. Not that she felt particularly stealthy thus far. He was just kind, reassuring, and funny. Just because he looked out for her for one afternoon meant nothing. It was nothing. 

She repeated her mantra. Nothing nothing nothing, as she splashed her face with water from the sink. She patted her face dry, trying not to smudge any of her eyeliner and shadows. The mirror, covered in stickers and soap scum, did little to convince her she wasn't a walking mess. She frowned, noting the tinsel in one of her reindeer drops from its pom pom nose. 

Get it together, Lina. It's just drinks with your boss . 

She sighed, exiting the room and back into the hall. Back to Aleksander. 

It was almost enough to make her smile, his relaxed posture at the bar. His cheeks had just the barest hint of a flush, mostly hidden by the dark hairs of his beard. Though he wasn't paying attention to her, a stranger leaning against the top spoke in a hushed tone. She watched for a moment, following the polite bored expression Aleksander wore as the man continued to speak. Until he leaned forward, offering his own words. Which caused Aleksander’s eyes to light up for a second, before the two broke into a small laugh. 

She wiped her hands against her skirt as she approached, ignoring the flip in her belly when her boss turned his attention to her. 

"Ah, Alina. This is Tolya, he used to work in your position." 

She extended her hand, a soft smile gracing her lips at the introduction. Before the man, Tolya, launched into a diatribe about how much better it was to be working independently with his sister. She tried to nod and follow along with the winding story, but soon she found herself on her third, then fourth, drink. Polite nods and “ hmm, how interesting ”s could only go so far. It was only a slight relief when Zoya came back, pulling Tolya from the conversation to the other end of the bar with excuses of needing input on a new event they were creating. 

It was Aleksander’s sigh of relief that broke her into a smile, a small giggle escaping her lips before she placed her own hand over her mouth. He smiled at her, and she felt like in one of her romcoms when the world would fall away as the two made eye contact. 

"Do you –"

"Do you –"

They both paused, a soft laugh escaping them. He gestured to her to continue, sipping the last of his drink. 

"I was just, ahem. I was just wondering if you'd want to start heading back," she whispered, suddenly aflush. "I mean, to escape the downtown traffic! I'm sure it's going to be a nightmare being right before the holiday and –"

"Shhh, Alina. It's fine, I was going to suggest the same." He stood, and suddenly he seemed so tall. Like a giant ready to pick her up. Was she biting her lip? Her feet felt foreign as she stood too quickly, attempting to match his pace. His hand was on her in a flash, steadying her at the elbow before righting her. 

She stood still, almost in a haze, as he slipped her coat back on her shoulders. She thanked the stars, her eyes only widened slightly as he wrapped the scarf back around her face, his smirk a dangerous thing in a blurry sea of color and sound. Her drinks weren't that strong, were they? 

She hardly remembered him ushering out the door, his two fingers raised in goodbye to Zoya. He must have a tab. Thoughts swam as they walked, her small stumbles prevented by his somehow steady presence. Soon, she was clutching his waist, giggling at words that surely meant something. Crosswalks faded until they arrived at the hotel, smooth steel and golden accents a familiar warmth. Though the area was much quieter, the throngs of coworkers were mostly gone. Few, however, were still in the bar area, nursing drinks that took far too long to arrive.  

"Are you sure you're okay to drive, malyshka? " Was his voice always so soothing? She leaned on his shoulder, eyes closing as she tried to get the world to stop being so spinny. 

"Hmmm," she hummed, breathing in the stronger version of his scent. Fresh from his exposed collar, perfect for her head. "Maybe I should sit down for a bit." 

"Nonsense, I have a room," his voice was a deep rumble in her ear. So close yet so far, was she floating? "Let's get you some water and lay you down, hm?" 

And didn't that sound nice? He'd take her upstairs, and she could lay on a soft mattress for a few minutes. She didn't quite remember voicing her agreement, just the feeling of his hands leading her to the hotel elevators. 

The room was nice. Far nicer than she would've, or could've, booked for herself. She tried not to stumble as he led her through the living room area. She giggled when she failed, clutching his shoulders. But he just smiled, holding her waist as he led her into the bedroom. 

Soft downy embraced her as she fell onto the bed, giggles escaping uncontrollably as she did. It was so nice . Felt so good. At first, she didn't notice his hands, soft against her tights, her calves. Until her shoes were being pulled from her feet, a soft hum when they fell off. That was so much better anyway. 

Another giggle burst from her lips when his thumb pressed into the arch of her foot. Soreness faded away, but his hands did not. Slowly climbing her legs, rubbing the sore muscles away. 

"Mmm, d-daddy that feeellls g-good," she sighed into the mattress, letting him work his fingers. 

"Daddy, huh?" Amusement filled his voice, hands digging into her thighs. She giggled again, it was so funny for some reason. Everything felt so light. 

"You s-said you were old enough to be my d-daddy, don't you wanna?" She mumbled, relishing the way his hands pressed into her.  

"Of course, malyshka . Daddy will make you feel real good." She didn't know what he meant, head fuzzy as he drew soft whimpers from her mouth. But she felt it. Hands climbing higher, under her skirt to her hips. 

"Mhm, wha–" 

"Shh, malyshka, let daddy work." 

She could only hum as she felt him tug at the band of her tights. Just a few before they were rolling down her legs, a soft tingling in their wake from the compression finally releasing. She felt him lift away her skirt, down down her legs it went. A soft shiver ran down her spine as the room's AC made contact with her bare ass. 

Had he taken her panties too? 

She went to move, to sit up, but she felt so heavy . And the bed was so soft. She could only lie there as he maneuvered her arms up, and suddenly she was bare to him. Her sweater was removed with quickness, her bra gone faster. She shivered, the room was so cold. She tried to turn her body, into the covers and warmth. 

“Daddy, don’t look” she cried, her hands flying up to cover her bare chest. 

“Why?” He muttered, leaning over her. He grabbed her wrist, pulling them away and up. She wondered briefly if his eyes had always been so dark. She bit her lip, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. “You look so pretty like this, like a kitten. Maybe I should call you kisa , hm?” 

And the room spun at his words. A whine escaped her lips as he leaned back, but her eyes widened as she watched him remove his own clothes. 

“See, we’re even now, kisa. ” Her lip almost bled, as he nudged her knees apart, exposing her cunt to his gaze. It was unreal, the sudden heat she felt as his cock falls between her legs. He angles her hips higher above his knees, his head rubbing deliciously against her clit. 

“So wet, I’ve barely even touched you,” he murmured. More to himself than her, but she still felt her cunt clench from the way he spoke. Breathless, ragged as he spread her wetness around her clit. Her hips squirmed against the sensation, soft whimpers flowing out of her with each pass. “I think you can take me just like this, can’t you?” 

“Uh-huh,” she attempted to nod her head. She could. She would.

The first notch of his cock into her caused her breath to rush out of her. It was unreal, the stretch from just his head as his thumb came to her clit in its stead.  A soft curse left his breath as he began to push. An inch, then out, then in deeper. He was carving a space for himself within her, her body yielding to his assault. 

“So tight for me,” he muttered, lost to the sensation. Before he pulled out just enough, before snapping his hips to hers, fully seated inside of her. She keens, high as her hands fly to grab his forearms.  Her nails dug into his skin as he began a slow rhythm, punishing her cunt with each thrust. 

Soon the stretch turned to something different, purer as she began to feel a coil deep inside her. She nearly cried when he fell forward, changing the angle and hitting just right . He was so heavy, a radiator against her skin as he moved, forcing her to just take take take. All she can do is moan and cry for him to never stop. 

“Daddy please, please,” she cried, trying to match his thrust with her hips. Until he leaned back just enough to look her in the eye, hips moving faster inside her. His eyes crazed, the sound of her sucking him in almost too much as she makes to grab at his face.

“What is it, malyshka? Tell daddy what you need, I’ll give it to you.” 

“A kiss daddy, please?” She didn’t care that she was whining. She’d stared at his lips for too long, all day. The past month, watching as he spoke down to those who did wrong, desperate for his words to infect her space. A cry broke from her mouth, swallowed by his as he bent to give her just what she asked. 

She almost didn’t realize that she was cumming, thought it was more that she was dying. His thumb pressed harshly against her clit as her body seized, clenching tightly around him. The kiss is broken then, his face buried into her neck as he whispers about her perfect her cunt was. How it was made for him, how good a little girl she was being. 

His stuttering hips were the only warning she received before he came, holding tight to her. The warmth flowed deep into her, and she hisses, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. She wondered briefly if her IUD would work, so much of his cum inside of her it felt like it was inevitable. 

Their breaths mixed softly, slowly coming down. Her heart takes longer, beating nearly out of her chest as he laid on top of her, skin to skin. Her legs moved to trap him when he tried to pull out of her, not wanting to let the moment go. If it went, she’d have to sober up. She’d have to think about consequences, about what this meant. It’d change too much too fast, and she just needed it to stay this perfect for just a moment. 

So they didn’t move, and she fell asleep in the warmth of his arms. 

From: amorozov@shadowfoldinc.com

To: marketingdept@shadowfoldinc.com

Subject: Day off

Team, should your work be in a good position to wait until Monday, feel free to take this Friday off as well. I will be offline to enjoy the weekend around town with loved ones, I suggest you do the same. 

Aleksander.

[canongf]

hi liv!!! i just wanted to ask if you had any advice on how to like. reclaim self shipping for yourself. i had a friend i talked about it with all the time but unfortunately we’re no longer friends, and it’s felt weird ever since. but it’s such an important part of my life and it makes me so so happy so i wanna get back into it somehow but im feeling stuck. anywayy i hope everything is going well for you cause you deserve it <33

hiii anon!!!

friendship endings are weird. they make things weird. you're not alone in that. a friendship of mine ended a year ago, and it was for the best, but i'm just now listening to certain songs and albums and artists again because for the longest time it just felt weird. i'm sorry it's weird! i'm sorry you're stuck!

but something that's really helped me is going back to the beginning.

and it doesn't have to be the beginning beginning, 'cause maybe the beginning beginning was with this person and things would still feel weird. but there are probably moments where self shipping was all your own. try to go back to those.

like... the friend that i'm no longer friends with, i introduced them to a band. and when one of their albums came out, we listened to it together the first time around. so that album made me feel weird for a long time. but the first song i ever heard by that band, i listened to it alone. so i went back to that song instead.

maybe your f/o is from a movie or a show that you saw without them. get a snack and a soda, turn down the lights, and watch it again. maybe your f/o is from a game you spent all night playing. pick another night, get comfy and cozy, and stay up playing it again. maybe you bought a piece of merch without them. keep it close. maybe you doodled pictures of your f/o or maybe you wrote headcanons of your f/o, maybe they never saw the light of day. look back on them.

fall in love with your f/os again. the canon parts of them that were decided by nobody else but the creators, like the things they do and the things they say. strip them down to the bare bones and remind yourself why you liked your characters at all. recognize that those feelings are there, with or without anyone else around.

go back to the parts of self shipping that had nothing to do with your friend. it might be hard and there might only be a couple, but they're there somewhere. get reacquainted. be patient and understand that it may take a little while to rewire the wires in your head, but eventually it'll be about you again. 🖤

[jomiddlemarch]

Holiday prompts: snowfall + darklina. ❤️

“You were right, Sasha,” Alina said softly, trying to match her tone to the gentle drift of the snowflakes still visible through the many-paned windows that made up the entire back wall of their bedchamber in what was still called the General’s retreat, though Aleksander had moved far beyond that position and he refused to sleep without Alina beside him in the wide bed with its walnut headboard most delicately carved with all the flowers found in the valley below. Ivan had scowled so fiercely when he first saw the room that Aleksander had spontaneously offered to have David replace the glass with a material of his own design, diamond hard, clear as crystal, impenetrable. It was still cold to the touch, which Alina found both reassuring and provocative when Aleksander made love to her with the glass against her bare back.

“I’m always right, milaya,” he said, with too much joy in his voice to sound smug. Nevertheless, she could not help rolling her eyes just a little, knowing he would not see it, the smallest secret.

“So you believe,” she said. He shifted slightly, finding some impossible way to bring her closer within his embrace, the sense of his shadows around her holding the dark warmth of her sable cloak. There was no name for his scent, but it made her feel the same way the snow did, safe and contented, with a tremulous sense of loveliness inviolate within her.

“I do not believe, I know. Tell me how, though—how was I right this time?”

Alina looked down from the view of the snow falling in the dusk, the peaks of the mountains growing dim, and let her eyes rest on Aleksander’s hands on her wrists. He was so finely made it took the most gifted seamstress in Os Alta to make clothes that did not seem crude and coarse in contrast to his skin, the perfect balance of his sinew and bone, the elegant and vulnerable line of his throat. The boot-maker had an easier time though the man swore there was no noble in Ravka who could match Lord Kirigan’s distinction. Tonight, she and Aleksander lay in their nightclothes, Alina in a shift of unadorned Zemla flax woven to the same sheen as silk, without silk’s coolness, and Aleksander in a pair of the loose trousers favored by the nomads of the fells, his meryno banyan draped across a chair in the corner of the room. If she turned her head, she’d feel his skin against her cheek and then his lips at her temple, the hands at her wrists moving swiftly to her waist, her hip, the curve of her thigh pressed against his. She kept still, wanting the anticipation before the satisfaction, waiting for the night to finally obscure the snow.

“You said we should spend the afternoon watching the snow fall. That it would be better than any other occupation I could imagine, to be quiet together,” Alina answered. “You said I wouldn’t regret staying inside, being idle.”

“You don’t regret it then, umnaya?” he asked. When they were alone, he hardly ever addressed her without an endearment, as if he must make sure she knew how cherished she was with every phrase, every breath. She turned her hand so that she could slide her palm against his, let him feel the light within her beckon his shadow, a subtle and ardent embrace only two Summoners could share, as intimate as climax, his name on her lips when she had no voice left to cry out.

“I said you were right, didn’t I?” 

“I needed to hear you say it,” he said. “I knew it, but I needed to hear your voice, to feel you as you spoke—”

“Why, Sasha?”

“So I could believe,” he said, as simply as the night fell suddenly, the skies clearing. The moonlight was reflected in the snow, the world without silvery. When she turned to look at his face, Alina knew she would see the moonlight in his dark eyes.

[badgraph1csghost]

How to Use a Computer, Part 1: USB Devices

You’ve been brought up around smartphones and tablets all your life, and now you’re in a situation where you need to use a Windows PC. No problem! With a little practise, you’ll find that PCs are easier to work with and can even do more than a mobile device. Incidentally, “PC” in this context stands for “personal computer”. It’s a holdover from the IBM PC in the ‘80s. These are the absolute bare-bones basics of computer literacy and can apply to MacOS and Linux distros as well, but Windows is the most common OS (operating system) that you’ll find on a day-to-day basis.

So, let’s get on with it then!

First, let’s cover the biggest bit of computers: USB devices. The USB standard is even used to a certain degree on smart devices, but they get taken to an absurdist extreme on the PC. Literally everything of practical use these days connects to the PC through a flat USB port. That flat bit that goes into your device charger can also be plugged into a PC for file transfer between your device and your PC. The technical name for this is “USB type A”. At the other end of the cord is either a USB type C connector (if you use an Android device) or an Apple Lightning connector (iOS).

If you have an Android device, try plugging your USB-A connector into your PC instead of the power outlet and see what happens (though, you might have to tell your device that you’re trying to connect to a PC; a prompt should come up on your homescreen).

An aside, what does USB stand for? Universal serial bus. You don’t need to remember that for any reason, though.

The biggest thing we use USB for is file storage. Those little USB sticks they sell at Office Depot expand the storage capability of your PC’s hard disk (main storage unit) by anywhere from 8 to 512 Gigabytes. These are called “flash drives” because they use a memory chip called “flash memory” (SD cards do the same thing). They can also be called “thumb drives” because they’re the size of your thumb. Or “USB drives” if you’re an ageing computer science professor.

We also use USB ports for keyboards, mice, MIDI controllers, detachable webcams, drawing tablets, or really anything at all.

To use a flash drive, all you have to do is plug it into a free USB port on your PC. Older PCs have most of their ports in the back, but newer ones have at least 2 ports in the front for easier access. Typically, you won’t need to do any more than this, because Windows is smart enough to know what a flash drive looks like and how it works.

In fact, a lot of USB devices don’t need to be installed or formatted; especially the basic ones, like keyboards, mice, and USB hard disks. Specialised devices, like MIDI controllers and webcams, may need to install device drivers, which usually come either on an optical disc packed in with the device or from the manufacturer’s website.

That’s about all she wrote for USB devices. Next time, we’ll cover optical discs and why you need a disc drive.

[iamnathannah]

The main reason for Chromebooks coming in was because Windows is laughably hackable, and kids are smart enough to explore and get rid of any restrictions to do whatever they want on school laptops; us 90s kids knew well how to get Ti-82s to play Tetris and Doom and do whatever we could to have them be anything but calculators.

Google sold schools one thing; unhackable and absolutely boring cloud laptops, which had bombed so many times before as regular Internet appliances for adults that nobody liked (look up the 3Com Audrey and Oracle's Network Computer) because they were restrictive experiences 'for babies'. The market handily rejected the network computer model because people love to customize their computers and have them do what they want at any time. Including nine year-olds. And they don't need a 24/7 Internet connection.

So Google and schools just decided 'we don't want that' and forced Chromebooks on all the kids so that this goddamned dumb computing model would work somewhere, with no file managers, no need to double-click, and very limited customization. So it's that garbage 'network computer' rebranded as a 'cloud OS' basically became the most used platform in schools by default because Macs are now a premium product and a commodity Dell, even in its most bare-bones implementation (terrible processor, anemic storage and graphics which can barely run Candy Crush) can be hacked easily by a smart kid.

Telling them to learn Linux; come on. It's been 25 years. We're not learning Linux unless we want to. You can install Linux on a Chromebook but it's a joke there and as already mentioned, it's locked down on most school systems.

I have a Chromebook tablet I bought during the pandemic just so my tech skills are polished on every platform. It's the most dog-slow platform ever and trying to watch YouTube brings the thing to the brink of death. I only use it if I need to follow multiple games at the same time and need something to show a gametracker or to assist a customer (usually a senior babied to death by their inheritance-wanting helicopter child who doesn't want them to go anywhere but Facebook and can't stand tech support calls) with troubleshooting their own trash Chromebook.

And please don't mention Android tablets unless you hate yourself. I tried to use one from Dell for a year (they only made it because Intel paid them to for a bit) and the moment I could, I raced to get an iPad because Google is NOT good at computers, ever.

We need to lay more blame for "Kids don't know how computers work" at the feet of the people responsible: Google.

Google set out about a decade ago to push their (relatively unpopular) chromebooks by supplying them below-cost to schools for students, explicitly marketing them as being easy to restrict to certain activities, and in the offing, kids have now grown up in walled gardens, on glorified tablets that are designed to monetize and restrict every movement to maximize profit for one of the biggest companies in the world.

Tech literacy didn't mysteriously vanish, it was fucking murdered for profit.

[mugenloopdalove]

People who rp Canon characters don't want to be your emotional and sexual dumping grounds. The reason you don't get people wanting to rp with you is because we, as rpers, don't fucking exist for your fantasies. We want to explore the characters and that doesnt mean bending them to make them fit your fantasy. Because when they don't do what YOU want you get upset. That's why rpers avoid you and avoid the self shipping community. If you want someone to rp a relationship with you ask your fucking romantic partners or pay someone to do it because that amount of emotional and writing labor is akin to sex work without the sex. We don't need someone to double for us because we can just write shit ourselves. It's really easy to find rp partners when you actually want to let people rp freely instead of force them into a relationship with a barebones oc. Hope that helps.

I can explore characters too you know. Like. I like doing that too. I love doing that. But I want to do that with my f/os.

My husband is very limited on who they can rp. They don't really rp ANY canon characters bc they aren't comfortable. They barely even rp anymore bc of some bad experiences they've had.

I mean like it this point if there's people who do rp commissiona I'll take it lmao I just want OC/canon rp already.

Theil isn't bare bones??? Maybe my other s/is are but I've put a LOT into Theil even down to how their magic works. People can rp freely and like... Still rp oc/canon.

[hunting-songs]

"Shall we dance?"

Send "Shall we dance?" and I'll write a starter where our muses either waltz on the dancefloor or engage in a fight.

In the hotels cellar had been build up a gym for the guests; the lowest etage had been turned into small rooms sepperated by thin,moveable walls not thiker than a flat hand. The walls were thin enough that Senritsu could hear the music another guest in the hotel was playing in their sepperated room and she moved after this calm melody-the other guests music in duet with their calm but detrminated heartbeat- herself to carefully go from one yoga position to the other. In her time in the hospital after she had been cursed, Senritsu had been for a much too short time in physical therapy than she could have been considering the pain still grinding into her bones as if her insides had turned into glassplinters cutting from inside into her skin. Accordinly the dotor that had looked after her had made sre she knew that she needed to go through a routine to keep her joints and muscles flexible unlss she would risk them turning stiff and aching even moreuntil every move was like walking through rain made of glassshards cutting, cutting, cutting. She just listened to her spine sending a row os small, only by her hearable popping-noises from her shoulder down her back when she bend up in the cobra-position as the person in the other room changed the musictrack and suddenly something lightly washed into their room that almost made her fall down in suprise. Carefully pulling her knees forward and sitting up Senritsu tilted her head to the side like a attentive bird. "A waltz." The woman noted, more to herself than to anyone in particular- Basho on the other side of the room just acknowledged her words with a quiet grunt as he continued to jog on the treadmill and Linssen who had not joined the activitys but simply lay napping on his back on one of the yogamats did not even blessed her with waking up to acknowledge the music. Kurapika however noticed. Kurapika however, made a comment to the music. Kurapika however asked a question.

She looked over to the other with a amused twinkle dancing in her eyes shimmering in the dark grey like a wisp in a misty bog: "Shall we dance? As in-" chuckling she stood up, lifting her arms as if she was holding a imaginary person close to her for a waltz with one arm before her chest to lay on the invisible persons back and the other stretched out, holding their hand that was just air. "-Actual dancing? Or do you mean sparring, because by all means I do not have a table to throw at you so the stakes are not mhmmmm " Senritsu winked at the other in all good humor, letting the word roll over her tounge as sweet as a petname: "-equal."

"Although", The woman dropped the little, playful act and just shaked her head with a gentle laughter. She walked over to Kurapika, her bare feet shuffling against the mats covering the ground witht he left foot needing a second longer to touch the floor like in an uneven, uncomfortable rhytmn. The yoga had helped soothing her backache but there was still a certaine mildy hurting throbbing left like an echo of th pain. She pointed to the Bokken in kurapikas hand and then let her hand dance through the air to a song only she could hear: " I would love to learn the steps for using those. I like the melody they cause when they cut through the air. It has a rhytmn." [ @skarletchains ]

[rnm-magic-space-xsd]

Purple and Pink for the ask game!! :3

Thank you so much for asking and I’m looking forward to reading about you and your f/os! 😄🍬This was fun to write and I may have gone a little overboard with my writing and added Orange because I really love reminiscing on dates of ours together!

Purple: What is your favorite thing about their personality?

Me (About Keita) : I am so absolutely thankful for how protective, caring, devoted and understanding Keita is towards me! Once when we went to a youkai festival he practically had hearts thudding hard in his eyes with love when he saw me in a yukata for the first time. I felt so shy but also so happy x’). (He looked so dashing too 😍.. My Wolf…)

But during the festivals’ parade it was so crowded that we got separated and I was so anxious 😣..I was basically frozen to the spot but got too overwhelmed by the stuffiness and noise that I had to find a quiet and solitary place to calm down. I couldn’t find such a place so I just stood by the sidelines of the path, next to the food stalls.

Some guys then tried to hit on me and I felt so uncomfortable and scared and anxious. I was breaking out in sweat and mind shocked with fear and trauma flashbacks that all I could say was a weak no.

When they became even pushier and tried to lead me to a darker area my instincts told me to run away but the wooden sandals hurt my bare feet and they were very strong and aggressive.

In a moment of survival-genius I noticed that the food stall next to us had takoyaki and a spicy chili oil sauce pan and instantly, without even thinking of the repercussions; I splashed one of the guys’ eyes with it. He immediately started shutting and clawing his eyes in pain and agony, gaining some of the surrounding people’s attention.

The other guy, seeing that I hurt his ‘friend’, was super mad and his eyes were so dark and menacing.

I was about to run away despite my aching feet when I was suddenly held from behind. My heart literally jumped out of my chest thinking it was one of their ‘friends’, but then I felt such immense relief hearing Keita’s growling and deep voice coming from the warm, sturdy body holding mine.

Keita is a sacred wolf youkai that eats other lesser youkai for both demonic power and for vengeance against culprits that cross his path and hurt his dear ones. He had such a strong and forceful aura that the guy that got mad at me was scared out of his bones. Not to mention how Keita is highly infamous in the youkai world as ‘Hell’s Damnation’.

The youkai (a lesser spider demon) and his scathed eyed friend quickly backed off when they saw Keita’s dangerous glowing golden eyes and sharp claws, alongside a forced mental vision of Keita stabbing them right by their hearts, causing them to fall to their knees in that same vision, struggling to breathe.

“Disgusting swine. You Never. Hurt. What. Is. Mine.”

Then, as if nothing ever happened Keita embraced me even tighter and sighed with relief. “Thank Hells’ Storms that I was able to locate your scent. I was worried sick about you, my love Shiri.”

“Aww, Keita..” 💗 I replied and turned around to hug Keita back. “I’m glad you found me. I was scared to be without you in this crowd too.”

“But love, as I was rushing to protect you I saw how bravely you fought against them. I’m so proud of you. No wonder you’re my to be wife 😌💍👌🏼”

I felt so much love and safety with Keita…I adore him so much and I know he’d never hurt me.

Pink: What is your favorite thing about their appearance?

Me (About Keita) : Keita has mesmerizing golden eyes that shine like the sun and I adore how sturdy and toned his torso is 😍. Perfect bedtime pillow!

Keita (About Me): “Well, to let you in on the know how of our relationship I’ll clear some things up here ; a few years ago Shiri and I got engaged through our families due to Shiri’s special and divine blood running through her veins. She was a descendant of psychic priestesses with the ability to heal and intoxicate youkai by taking in her scent and has the ability to make them stronger by letting them drink some of her blood, or even; through kissing or making love with her.”

(I) “But aside from that, I was attracted to her bravery when facing injustice and for her strength to keep her heart soft despite all of the abuse she went through in the past.”

(II) “She’s so precious when she smiles warmly at me or snuggles up to me for comfort. It makes my heart go racing into a blubbering, frantic mess and I can’t help but want to hug her so tightly and feel her warmth close to me; her heart thudding and racing against me, just like mine: To remind me that I’m not hallucinating or dreaming this magical love I have with her.”