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msbigredmachine · 1 year ago

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Sugar & The Chief - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

Reader is a best-selling erotic author reflecting on the success of her newest novel, which is based on her secret affair with the man who became her muse.

PAIRING:��Roman Reigns x OC

Warning: A LOT of smut

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: I started this goddamn fic in late 2021! 😭 I'm so glad it's finally out. This one is a little different and I hope you enjoy!

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It took you approximately three years to finish it. At first, you didn't want to, because through the smoke of mirrors of the raunchy literature was hands down the most personal piece you’ve ever done. But your team insisted that you go through with it. Your publicist Sheree told you it was one of the best works she’s ever read. On top of that, the dividends from your last book were starting to dry up, so you didn’t have that much of a choice.

You finally relented, and soon after it was published, the novel exploded. Your rabid readers had been waiting impatiently for your next offering and they gobbled it up. Your face and the novel were all over social media, TV, magazines and even on the huge Times Square billboard just down the road from your multi-million dollar penthouse in the Upper East Side. It wasn’t long before you were doing interviews and signing autographs in bookstores, malls and libraries all around the country. You were scheduled to be in London, Paris and Madrid next month promoting the book. It was a comeback for the ages.

And you had him to thank for that.

Sugar & the Chief was an erotic tale about an intense love affair that ended in disaster. Critics viewed it as Fifty Shades of Grey with better writing and much better sex and found the protagonist, Erica, relatable and three-dimensional. Erica was an ambitious albeit mentally unstable escort in an illicit relationship with Roman, a married Hollywood superstar she codenamed ‘the Chief’. This wasn’t your bland Mills & Boon romance tale...This was so smutty and so nasty you couldn’t read the first few paragraphs without wanting to masturbate thanks to Roman and Erica’s graphic sexual antics. It was so detailed that some theorists believed the Chief was based on a real person. When asked about who ‘Roman’ was, you played him off as a completely fictional character. No one needed to know the true identity of your muse. But you were one hundred percent sure that if he read this book, he would know it was about him. After all, you had incorporated some real-life dialogue between you in the novel. Without a doubt, he would know. You wondered, not for the first time, what his thoughts were if he had indeed read it.

Your fans did not hesitate to relay their own thoughts. Tonight, you were busy reading quite a number of them. Sheree had collated readers’ reviews, emails and feedback and sent them to you for your entertainment. Each one had you smiling from ear to ear. Women from all walks of life gushed about Erica and Roman. Housewives, attorneys, college students, septuagenarians, book club members; all of them had something to say and you felt all warm and fuzzy inside to know you still had it, that the magic hadn’t left your pen yet. Of course, they all wanted to know who the Chief was. They were so impressed with how he fucked you, dominated you and yet doted on you…They all wanted a man like him.

They all love you so much, Leati…just like I loved you…love you…

Closing your MacBook, you stood up from your desk with a smile. You stared out the ceiling-to-floor window and kept sipping from your Olivia Pope-sized glass of red wine, sinking deeper into your thoughts.

Truth be told, you should have known better than to fall in love with Joe Anoa’i. Your first meeting all those years ago on a week-long vacation should have ended on the island between the soft rumpled sheets of his bed. What happened in Hawaii should have stayed in Hawaii. But then, you couldn’t stop gravitating to him and he couldn’t stop gravitating to you. You went running whenever he called and he came running whenever you called. It was wild, passionate, addicting, exciting…too good to last, really. And it wasn’t long before the fantasy came crumbling down.

So many factors came into play. The demands of his job as the face of WWE. The meteoric level of his fame. And then, his discovery of your coke habit, your discovery of his wife Nicole and his three children, your increasing jealousy, his decreasing interest in you. After five tempestuous years, your relationship came to a bitter end, and the difficult healing process put an end to the writer’s block you’d been suffering from for a while.

You missed him deeply, and wished the dull ache in your heart would go away. As morally questionable as it had all been, what you experienced with him needed to happen to every woman at least once in her lifetime - indulging in forbidden fruit and all the delicious things that came with it; the danger, the thrill of secrecy, the earth-shattering sex, the emotions of love, lust, possession, and of course, the inevitable pain and heartbreak…

You captured all of that in Sugar.

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Chapter 22

Erica pushed the button, shuddering out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. The elevator doors clunked closed and the cables began to whir. She ascended, floor by floor. Light goosebumps littered over her arms as she was filled with a morbid mix of dread and anticipation.

Their big fight from three weeks ago kept playing over and over in her head like some kind of evil loop. He didn't want to leave Gaelle for her and she'd taken her frustrations out on him. However, after what she'd just discovered, he was going to have to change his mind. Because of him, she had broken the ultimate rule in this treacherous line of work. This little game between them has been turned on its head, and tonight was the last time she would play by his rules.

The door opened before she knocked, and she felt her pussy purr involuntarily as they locked eyes. That big, sexy ass body of his leaned against the doorframe, his huge arms crossed over his equally huge chest. His dampened long hair flowed past his shoulders, and he smelled fresh, like he'd just had a shower. It didn't matter how long they'd been apart for; he always took her breath away every time she saw him.

"Well? You gon' stand there or you comin' in?" he sassed, that smooth country-boy drawl of his making her body temperature rise. Shaking it off, she walked through the door, right past him and into the open layout of his new, lavish penthouse, the night lights illuminating her brown skin through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

"Nice place," she commented, looking around with mild interest. He had found another hideaway where he could fuck around behind his wife's back. It didn't matter, because Gaelle was never going to leave him no matter what he did and he knew it. She could feel him trailing behind her, his bare feet moving catlike and silent on the cool hardwood floor. He had a prescence like no other, that was why he was the biggest movie star in the world today. And you so happened to be the mistress of the biggest movie star in the world today.

"Champagne?" he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she answered, her crossed arms pushing up her already generous cleavage. Roman's gaze longingly raked over the A-line trench coat concealing her curves, traveling down to the sinful looking high heels adorning her feet. Her hair fell in luscious, tempting waves down her shoulders. A deliberate move, surely, as she knew he loved her hairstyles down. His dick hardened as he imagined bending her over, pulling her tresses and spanking that fat, juicy ass of hers as he pounded--

"I'm not stayin' long, so talk." Her statement yanked him out of his lurid daydream.

"You got all dressed up for me, beautiful," he asked, scanning her up and down again.

"Not everything's about you, Roman," she scoffed.

Not her giving him more lip. He would do something about that later. "I called you a buncha times last week but you didn't pick up. You left my texts on read," he accused with narrowed eyes. "You ignored me."

Erica tilted her chin, her stance defiant. "And why does that surprise you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her biting response and chuckled at her audacity. Sugar was quite the firecracker and honestly, he couldn't get enough. Walking towards her, he smirked as he caught on to her struggle to keep her eyes on him and not on his thick dick print, clear as day in his gray sweatpants. He reached out and rubbed her arm with his hand before tugging her closer to him.

"Sweetheart, don't ever ignore me again. Especially when you know that pussy belongs to me."

"Does it? Funny, I thought I was 'just another pricey whore'. Did you forget you said that to me?"

He rolled his eyes with a huff. "Sometimes I say shit I don't mean, baby girl, you know how it is."

Taken aback by his dismissive, nonchalant attitude, she yanked her arm away. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? After everything we've been through? That shit was foul as fuck!" she said incredulously.

"I know. That's why I texted you to come over so I could apologize in person, but you refused to answer me. I hate it when you shut me out, Erica."

"You shut me out, too! For weeks! And now that you're bored you summon me like I'm your fuckin' toy. I am not your toy, Roman! I don't give a damn that you're a Hollywood star, there's plenty of other A-listers out there who will take care of me and not treat me like shit."

"And yet, you come back to me every time," he pointed out, the smug curl of his lip just as panty-wetting as the rest of him. "None of your other clients take care of you like I do, make you feel the way I do. That's why you dropped 'em all, for me."

Erica started to retort but stopped herself, realizing that this was in fact, the truth. But she'd be damned if she let him have the last laugh. "Ya know what? This was a mistake. I should go. I had something to tell you but I dunno why I even bothered to come here."

She turned around but he grabbed her before she could go far, drawing her back to him. Seeing her getting worked up always seemed to fuel his desire for her. The angrier she was, the hotter the sex, and he was horny as fuck for her right now.

"Look at you, gettin' all riled up," he drawled, his tone tinged with amusement. "I love it when you're mad, that shit turns me on, baby."

This man was as infuriating as he was sexy. "Fuck you! Everything is a joke to you!"

"This feel like a joke right here?" he demanded, snatching her hand and pressing it against his throbbing length. The little whimper she let out as she cupped him sealed her fate.

"Feel that? Feel what you do to me?" His voice was rough and needy, matching the look in his eyes. "I need you, Erica. It's been weeks and I've been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

"Go home to your wife, then," she bit back with a lot less conviction than she aimed for. The pull was much too strong, quite literally too as he wrapped both arms around her slender waist, his face nuzzling her neck and making her hiss as his soft beard tickled her skin.

"She don't make me feel like you do." His voice was needy and almost pathetic as his mouth pressed her throat. "Let me make it up to you, baby. I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?" His tongue was warm, his breath hot and heavy on her skin, and her arousal flared against her will.

"Roman..."

"Come on, baby, kiss me," he murmured, his lips sliding over hers. It was a slow but deliberate assault, and Erica felt her body yield as a soft gasp escaped from her. She sagged against him, gripping his shoulders for balance as their mouths smacked oh so sensually together. Fuck, she missed this, missed his delicious kisses and his assured touch as he grabbed her round, fleshy ass, kneading and caressing in his hands and pressing himself harder against her.

Roman growled softly as he released her mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips as his eyes flitted down to her chest. "Take your clothes off," he commanded.

Wordlessly, Erica's hands slid over the leather belt on her waist to slowly unbuckle it. Then, she opened up her coat, eased it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, leaving her in nothing, absolutely nothing, but her heels. Roman's darkened orbs blazed to an onyx black as they scanned her naked body, drinking in every smooth, delicate, voluptuous curve. Grabbing her by the waist, he backed her up against the nearest wall, his hardened dick straining against her exposed center. A shiver ran through her as he crashed his mouth back to hers, his huge hand squeezing her throat briefly before tracing the valley between her breasts, and she finally let go of the groan she was holding back as his hand came in contact with the intimate spot between her thighs.

"Damn..." he smirked as he found nothing but wetness, pushing his palm against the slick mound and sliding his fingers along her slit. She moaned in response, her hands gripping his tattooed bicep as his thick finger pushed into her, her pussy quivering around the digit as he thrust it at a maddeningly steady pace.

"Mmm-hmm you like this, don't you baby?" he said, nipping at her bottom lip, coaxing yet another moan from the back of her throat as he slipped a second finger home with deep, languid thrusts. She whimpered helplessly, her vision blurring as her walls dripped and tightened around the invading digits. Her forehead dropped onto his chest, battling to hold on to her sanity. "Fuck..."

Buoyed by her whines and soft cries, he pumped his fingers more earnestly, hissing softly when her walls rippled around them again, signaling her end. "You 'boutta come already, huh? I told you this my pussy. Squeeze my fingers Erica, come for me."

Damn him and his ability to control her with just his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her shout of pleasure came from somewhere inside her soul as she spasmed uncontrollably. She could hear his triumphant snicker as her juices flooded his fingers, brushing his mouth against hers as she leaned into him to regain her tenuous balance. He scooped the round, soft flesh of her breast into his eager palm, with his other hand leaving her pussy to suck her juices, humming pleasantly at the familiar sweet taste.

"Remember what I told you in my text?" he breathed, his gaze trained expectantly on her.

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me," he insisted, now massaging both her breasts. "Tell me what I said to you. I made you a promise. What was it?"

Erica fought through the thick haze of passion to recall his exact words from the raunchy text message. "You promised to make me come at least three times before we ever make it to the bed," she recounted.

Roman smiled smugly, satisfied with her response. "Uh huh. And Daddy always keeps his promises, don't he? That was the first. Two more to go. Now, let me show you around my new crib."

He showed her around, alright. First, on the plush sectional in the living room area, with her on her back and her head hanging off the edge as he slowly thrust his dick in and out of her mouth. She let his groans wash over her as her jaw relaxed to take more of his intimidating length down her throat. Even upside down, her gag reflex was superb, so each time he thrust inside her, her tongue lapped at the base of his cock, soaking his balls with her spit. Willing to give as much as he was receiving, he leaned forward and rubbed her clit in quick circular motions, making her moan around his cock with the vibrations causing his neck to extend, looking up to the ceiling as pleasure licked his spine.

"Unnnh fuck, suck my dick, take it all down your throat, baby," he encouraged her, sliding his other hand over her breast and toying with her nipple, all while fucking her face. His knees weakened at the sight of his length bulging her throat, she always knew how to take him well. "Shit, Sugar, you look so fuckin' hot like this..."

Erica moaned again through her stuffed throat, waves of heat washing over her as her pussy pulsated beneath the pleasure of his long thick fingers. In all her time under the bright lights and the seedy bowels of Hollywood, she had never been captivated by any one human being. Until him. Their escort-client relationship had long since grown into something more. She had given up on resisting him and let him do anything he wanted to her in bed. But tonight she craved some semblance of control, and this time, his famed charms would not stop her from getting it.

Pushing him away so he slipped out of her mouth, she sat up straight and tugged him onto the massive couch with her. Straddling his hips as he sat up, she placed one hand on his barrel-like shoulder while using the other to curl her fingers around his pulsing dick. He groaned and bucked his hips as she flicked the head of his dick along her slit just to torture him a little. Then guided him against her opening and slid down.

The moment felt heavy and tense, like a tightly twined coil as her wetness opened up for him. At the end of her slow descent, she stopped to adjust to all the emotions and sensations wracking both their bodies. Unconsciously rocking her hips into him, she gasped as the pressure immediately started to build. Their hands and mouths were all over each other. Roman ran his hands up and down her back, rubbed her tits, squeezed her ass. Erica raked her nails over his nipples, sucked on his neck, bit his shoulder. Fuck, it felt so damn good already. Ass rested comfortably on his thighs, chest to naked chest with his dick lodged inside her, it was clear they were not going to last very long.

Leaning back slightly on her other hand placed on his thigh, she began to ride him. Slow and steady at first, making him absorb every drop of her ass, every crevice, every sensation. The lust and pleasure consumed them both, their mouths colliding with hot, sloppy kisses, her moans pitching higher as the tension thickened. His own groans grew heavier and gruffer, his hands leaving her hips to slide underneath her ass and lift her up and down. Exquisite torture, with his strong grip on her making her wet pussy take every inch of him. The angles of his upward thrusts as he bounced her on his dick had her making noises like a bitch in heat. He was so snug and warm and deep inside her, it was as though she could feel him in her soul.

"Oh my fuckin' god," she half-groaned, half-cried, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his neck as he bounced her even harder. Up, down, up, down. His dick stretched her walls, his fingers deep into her ass cheeks enough to leave a bruise or two. The dizzying sensations spiraled her into another orgasm, and she sat all the way down on his dick and rolled her ass desperately, literally riding out her nut. She couldn't stop herself from biting into his sweaty, salty skin as she came, making the big man growl in reaction and smack her ass hard.

"That's your second nut," he declared.

He flipped her onto her back, still deep inside her. He looked down at her with hungry, blown pupils, letting his hands dance along the meat of her thighs and her calves. Throwing her legs onto his shoulders, he leaned forwards, folding her in two as he fucked her into the couch. Her hands clawed the back of his head only for him to grab them and pin them above her head. The sweat clung to their skins as he steeled his thighs and grinded himself into her wet heat, his face lowering to suck both of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around each peaked bud. Her groans snowballed with his groans as he drove his dick impossibly deep inside her with primal intensity. When she managed to speak, her voice was unrecognizable. "Oh fuck, I'm coming," she moaned hoarsely, her toes curling behind his head as she exploded again, "Oh my god, Roman, ohhh..."

"I'm 'bout to come too, don't fuckin' move," he panted, holding her down to piston his hips and pound into her. Erica basked in the sound of his tortured groan when his big body tensed up and she felt him pour into her warm confines, his hips stuttering as he found sweet release.

"Got you to three quicker than I expected," he said when he caught his breath, kissing her cheek. "We just gettin' started, baby. I'ma remind you why this pussy is mine."

He gave her an up close and personal view of the city's remarkable skyline, her breasts crushed against the glass window as his juicy lips ravaged her from behind. She could only imagine how she looked right now. Her legs wide, ass spread open, her battered pussy wet and swollen and pulsing for more of his oral onslaught. Nobody ate her out the way he did, with so much passion, covering all the bases, her clit, her inner lips, and even her asshole. The warmth of his breath had her walls clenching as he licked and sucked and kissed everywhere, painting her slickness with his spit. The relief she felt as he finally detached his mouth from her center and got off his knees was replaced with his heavy cock tapping her pussy lips before breaching her entrance with the thick girth. Each thrust dragged her sensitive nipples across the cool, hard surface of the glass, but Erica was so lost in the moment that she didn't care.

"Mmmph, fuck me, baby, fuck my pussy," she exhaled another pining moan, her nails scraping against the glass where he had ordered her to place her hands. Her mouth fell open when he slapped her backside, that deliciously dangerous dick of his pounding into her in full view of the bright lights of Los Angeles. His dick slid in deeper and deeper, his hips circling each time he was buried inside her, making her knees buckle as her climax inched ever closer. She tried to speak again, but words failed her, reducing her to a whimpering, shivering mess as her pussy clenched greedily around his dick. Roman merely chuckled arrogantly, reveling in his handiwork.

"You sound so fuckin' sexy, baby girl, keep moaning for me like that," he purred, his hands clamped on her shapely hips to make her take his lethal strokes. He was a man on a mission, punishing her for assuming she had any sort of control over him. Tears sprang to her eyes as he slowed down his thrusts, his pelvis mashed up against her soft backside as his cock worked inside the sensitive walls of her pussy with a more tender rhythm. He filled her with stroke after long stroke, making them both moan as she squirted all over him this time, her orgasm breaking her into a million pieces.

He showed her the stripper pole next to his bed. He had it installed specially for her, he said, so she could show off her elite lap dancing skills for him and him alone. Watching that itty-bitty waist and all that ass bounce on his dick like her rent was due would be the end of him; He couldn't resist massaging the soft cheeks in his palm, one after the other as she gyrated back and forth on him like a professional.

"Uh huh, go off, baby, pop that pussy on my dick," he drawled from his spot on the pouf he lounged on, his sturdy thighs spread wide apart to give her all the space she needed to ride and grind while she held onto the pole for balance. He watched the streaks of his cum trickle down her gyrating ass, and it made for quite the visual, slapping against the mixture of her juices smothered over his groin. He rubbed in the remnants of his seed on her cheeks, biting his lip as the skin glistened and made her big booty look even bigger. "Mmm, damn baby, this pussy so good, I should throw a dollar at your fine ass..."

"Fuck!" Erica had the pole in a death grip as yet another orgasm rocked her body. She had to get off his dick because she was shaking so hard. The tremors had her mewling pitifully as she bent over, gifting him with the sight of her pink pussy quivering as her cum ran down her inner thighs.

"Get back down here," Roman ordered, smacking her leg and then her ass as he stroked his dick in his hand, "You ain't done. Sit your ass back down on this dick."

He'd been wanting to break in his new California king bed since it'd been installed, so it was apt that he was breaking her back in it. He had her on her stomach, her asshole stuffed with a purple-colored butt plug as he stuffed her pussy with his hard, long cock. She moaned and gasped beneath him, clutching the comforter with her fists as he fucked her like a savage, her plump ass trapped in his possessive grasp.

"Daddyyyyy..." Her moan was loud and long and desperate. It became too much. Roman's dick seemed to double in size inside her and both her holes felt too full to the point of another explosion. A sob tore from her chest.

"Why you cryin'? Huh?" He slapped her ass. "Don't cry. You wanted this dick. Ain't that why you came over? Daddy told you to come and you listened like a good bitch, Daddy's sexy ass bitch. Come here." He hiked her hips higher to force a deeper, more painful arch in her back, and rammed his dick into her sweet spot over and over, demolishing her pussy. Too spent to throw her ass back, she could only lay there and take it, and her eyes squeezed shut, certain she was about to pass out from pleasure.

A big square mirror stretched across the ceiling directly above the bed. His hand slithered into her hair, tugging her head back, almost hyperextending her neck to make her look up. Her mouth dropped open in a moan as she watched that big thick shaft glide in and out of her, the soft skin of her ass rippling against the smacks of his pelvis. Just the sight of him and her together in such an erotic moment had her leaking again, soaking the silk sheets on the bed. He was fucking her so good. She hadn't come this hard and this many times in a long, long time.

Sitting back on his heels, he brought her off the bed and flush against him, assaulting her neck with his hot mouth. "You make me so fuckin' crazy, Erica. Don't nobody else make me lose control like this," he whispered, his grip tightening around her throat as the other hand gripped her breast, making her whimper. "Love this pussy so fuckin' much. You love this dick, baby?"

"Yes Daddy, I love it, I love you," she choked out.

"Mm-hmm, I love you too, baby. You gon' make me come all up inside you, girl," he grunted, his brain growing fuzzier as his end neared. He wrapped her up in his big arms, engulfing her with his heat, lavishing her panting mouth with tongue kisses as his hips rocked upwards, teasing her g-spot. Erica found enough strength to rock with him, grinding back against him, the lovers moving together in the most intimate, sensual dance. Roman groaned with pleasure when he felt her incredibly tight pussy pulling on his cock. It was almost difficult for him to continue thrusting inside of her, but her warm slickness eased the way for him. His hand left her breast and slid down her sweat-slick body to play with her clit, dragging her weak body over the edge.

"Unnnnhhhh..." Erica moaned out, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. Roman moaned with her, his soft lips trailing wet, frenzied kisses along her throat as his balls tightened, craving fresh release. "Come, baby girl, come for Daddy," he whispered shakily.

His wish was her command. Her body went limp as she detonated one more time, creaming all over his dick in the process. Roman let his head fall forward, his groan muffled against her throat as he came hard, smearing his warm cum all up in her walls. Erica murmured incoherently as she felt him pulse inside of her, giving her everything he had like he always did. When it was all over, he grabbed hold of her hair and planted yet another searing kiss on her lips, before releasing her to collapse on the mattress. Admiring her thoroughly fucked disposition, he massaged her backside tenderly before slowly easing the plug out of her, watching her wince from the pain. Running a hand over the back of her head, he brought her face to face with his groin. "Suck all this shit off my cock," he ordered.

Erica licked her lips at the sight of his thick member, semi-erect and slathered in a milky cocktail of her juices and his semen. Grasping it obediently, she lowered her mouth onto it, moaning softly at the taste of herself on him. Roman looked on with a bite of his lip, stroking her hair as she licked him clean. Afterwards, he lay on his side and pulled her into his chest. Erica sighed happily as he kissed her gently, soothing all her pain away. This feeling right here was the reason she could never let him go. Their connection was too deep, too special. No man had ever made her feel like this and she didn't want to lose it; the high of having him, the euphoria of belonging to him. It was why she was willing to quit today, right now even, and start a new life with him. She needed him to be with her forever, and she wasn't sure she was going to take no for an answer this time.

After what she was about to tell him, she doubted he would say no...not when the life they had created together was done out of the love they shared.

"Baby?" she whispered softly to him, watching him closely.

"Hmm?" Lying flat on his back, his eyes were shut and he was in a state of complete relaxation.

"Look at me," she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes before speaking. She needed him to understand the words coming out of her mouth.

"Roman, I'm pregnant, and the baby is yours."

End of Chapter 22

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Erica's unexpected declaration spelled the beginning of the end of her relationship with Roman. His behavior took a complete 180, having security drag her out of his new apartment, denying all ties to her unborn child and cutting off all communication with her. A distraught Erica terrorized him, stalking his family, poisoning his wife Gaelle and getting him fired from a lucrative film project. It all came to a head when Erica took Gaelle hostage in Roman's vacation home where he had fled to escape her rampage. She forced him at gunpoint to have sex with her in his marital bed while his wife watched, but died when he deliberately strangled her in the middle of her orgasm. It also turned out that Erica was never pregnant, and the positive test she'd shown Roman belonged to her friend and fellow escort, Tiffany. Erica's story made headline news all around the world. It was an incredibly shocking end and it worked well with the dramatic plot of the story.

You were glad for the artistic license, and though what really happened with you was less chaotic, it was not any less heart wrenching. You never even got to break the news to Joe. In fact, he was gone from your bed before the crack of dawn, vanished like a thief in the night. Never returned your calls or messages until three days later, when you received a text message from him that put your heart in a blender.

Nicole and I have decided to work things out. For good this time. I hope you understand. Thanks for always being there for me. Take care of yourself. ❤

How you recovered from that blow, you would never know. How you dug yourself out of the hole of darkness he dumped you in was still a mystery to you sometimes. It really was a testament to your mental strength, because not many people would have survived the unimaginable pain he inflicted on you. The sinister side of you wished you had been brave enough to do exactly what Erica did, to take out your rage on him and make him hurt like he hurt you. But instead you redirected that energy to your work, pouring every second of your anguish into the book. It took a long time for you to get to this point of fulfillment and success in your life, and the book had been your therapy. Now, you were at least making good money from your pain and it softened the blow a little bit.

When you thought about Joe these days, it wasn't with as much resentment. It seemed he had a few problems of his own anyway, as his beloved Nicole was reportedly threatening to upgrade their separation to a divorce and take his kids with her. How the tables turned. Nonetheless, you wished him the best. You still had love for him. You would always miss him. He changed your life, and there was no doubt that you would forever carry him with what was left of your heart.

"Mama?"

You heard her little voice before you heard the shuffle of her tiny feet. Quickly placing the wine glass in the sink, you turned as the love of your life came into view, her favorite blanket dragging behind her as she searched the room for you.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, little lady?" you asked, fighting back a big smile to look as serious as possible. She was in her "I wanna stay up late" phase and you couldn't afford to fold, not this time at least.

Her little dual Afro puffs jiggled as she rubbed her hand over her eyes, "Come sweep with me, Mama," she pleaded, staring up at you with her big, expressive brown eyes and a pout that was the spitting image of her famous father. She was starting to look so much like him.

Your heart swelled as she padded over to you with her arms outstretched. You lifted her up and held her small body tightly, absorbing her innocence and unconditional love. She smelled so fresh and delicate, like roses, sunshine and baby powder. Her scent has filled your life with joy and purpose since the day you brought her into this world two years ago.

And to think you had almost taken those pills to snuff out this beautiful life in a fleeting moment of weakness. Now, you would give your own life to protect hers without question. Always.

"Okay, kiddo, let's get you back to bed," you cooed softly, kissing her chubby cheek.

"Read me a stowy, Mama?"

"Of course, baby."

As you retreated to your daughter's bedroom, your phone vibrated beside your MacBook. Three letters you had not seen in years flashed on the Home Screen, cutting through the empty room and calling out to you.

❤️Joe❤️

THE END

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Alternate Sugar & The Chief book cover

Please leave feedback/comments. I appreciate them as they help me improve my writing.

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healrod · 2 months ago

Text

Title: Beleaguered Secretary Laurinaitis

Chapter: Chapter 1 - Excelsior

Pairing: LietPol

Characters: Lithuania, Poland, Latvia, Estonia; minor appearances from America and Prussia

Summary:

Ex-wizarding prodigy Toris Laurinaitis just wants to be okay with living a normal life. After suffering a career-ending breakdown during his city’s annual Wizarding Tournament, he’s forced himself to forget the life he could have lived by starting a new one as a secretary for the Department of Magical Emergencies – a glorified paper-pusher position where he sorts through mail all day. It’s not a bad job for a burnout who lost his confidence to use magic… or so he convinces himself. But Toris’s normal life explodes when he starts receiving hate mail. A week after he starts his new job, anonymous wizards bombard the Department with magical weaponized letters that, quite literally, bite Toris in the ass. The worst part? They’re not even meant for him. They’re all addressed to Felix Łukasiewicz, a wizard criminal mastermind who might not even exist. Toris tries to bear it for the sake of his job – until the receives the most violent letter yet. With a new life to live and a brother to put through college, Toris realizes he can't afford to deal with any of this fanged hate mail nonsense. So he'll do what he's always done: he'll handle everything. He'll track down Łukasiewicz himself.

___

After many years of taking break from fic, I've returned with a multi-chapter LietPol fic!! I'm so excited to write about these silly little guys again, nyehehehe :D

Quick Disclaimer #1: I'm focusing on writing fanfiction for fun again, so I'll be uploading chapters with minimal editing. Characters will also deviate slightly from canon (Latvia and Estonia in particular). I welcome constructive criticism, but please keep those two things in mind if you constructively review this fic!

Quick Disclaimer #2: Because I'm writing this fanfic for fun, uploads will be sporadic.

In addition to linking to the fic on AO3, I'll also upload it to Tumblr. So if you're interested, click the read more to read Chapter 1!!

Thank you so much for reading! (^w^)

As the winged envelope chased him through the office, using its gaping maw to snap at his head and spit fire balls at his face, Toris couldn’t help but scream.

“What did I do to deserve this?!”

The thing was spitting foam and guts out of its fanged mouth. Instinctively, he reached into his right pocket for his wand, but it was empty — as it had been for the last year.

It was completely ridiculous. He wasn’t supposed to even need to carry a wand at this job. His former coach had promised him a desk job where he could interact with magic without having to use it. And it had been that way in the beginning. For a solid two weeks, Toris had checked into the glass building, given his daily morning report to Mr. Alfred, and sat down for the rest of the day to catalogue magical incidents. It was the best possible job for someone like him, who couldn’t do much of any magic anymore. But then, on the third Monday of his new job, the first letter came in—

And everything became a disaster.

Smoke rose from the burning papers on Toris’s desk. Vargas and Williams had trampled over their cubicles in their rush to get out, and Toris had to jump over their broken chairs to sprint to the door at the front of the room. The letter was so close that he could feel its hot breath on the nape of his neck.

“Go away! I’m not the person you’re looking for!” he yelled. But his high, panicked voice only made the letter flap faster. Toris had dealt with cursed letters before, but this one was particularly vicious. It wouldn’t stop until it had torn Toris limb from limb.

“Laurinaitis! Stand back!”

Toris turned to the front. Jones shuddered in the doorway. With a flourish, he unsheathed his wand and aimed it at the letter. The tip of the wand glowed pale red with charging fire magic.

Toris’s eyes widened.

“No! It feeds on fire!”

“What?! Shit!” Jones yelled.

He jerked his wand back to try to withdraw the magic. But it was too late. The glowing light pulsated and burst forward — and a stream of white-hot fire magic barreled towards Toris’s face.

Behind him, the letter screeched in delight. It flew ahead of him and opened its maw wide to ingest the flame magic. It was impossible for Jones to cast another spell now. Ingesting the fire magic would give the letter the power to blow up the whole building if it wanted. If Toris still could, he would have thrown up one of his shields. But he had no other choice. He sucked in a deep breath.

And then he yanked the letter back, pressed its fanged mouth to his ass, and ducked – just in time to barrel under the blazing stream of Jones’s fire magic.

The magic exploded into the wall, sending bricks and plaster flying everywhere.

On the floor, Toris coughed violently. Just like old times.

As expected, the letter had also bit into his ass – hard.

“Agh!” he hissed.

It was terrible, but not the worst pain he’d ever felt – what was worse was the ringing in his ears and the bruising on his arms from sliding on the carpet. But at least he could feel everything, which meant that he was alive. Toris propped himself up on his side. With his left hand, he wrenched the letter off his ass, held it up, and gripped it by its writhing wings so it couldn’t move.

“Look, you — agh! Look!” Gods, these magical objects were stubborn! Even while incapacitated, the letter screeched and spat small fireballs at his shirt. Toris was so exasperated that he just gripped it tighter. “Listen! I’m not him! I’m not the person you’re looking for! That’s not his blood, see?! Go on! Taste it!”

The letter’s forked tongue slopped some of his blood into its mouth. It paused to swallow.

“See? I’m not him. So leave me alone. Go home!”

The letter shuddered.

Then, with a gag, it vomited blood and mouse guts and charred paper scraps all over Toris’s hands.

Agh.

Toris had just accepted that there were animal guts all over his formerly clean hands when the letter moved again. It chirped happily… then nestled right into the curve of his hand.

In one go, he’d lost blood, flesh, and new pants… to a fanged letter that was now mewing into his skin like a housecat.

Toris groaned. He slumped against the floor.

Always something new at this job.

“You have to go home now,” Toris pleaded, but the letter just chirped again.

“Laurinaitis!”

Toris looked up. Jones ran up to him, wand at the ready.

“No, no – it’s okay, it’s okay!” Toris said. “It’s not – I don’t know what it’s doing, but it’s not killing me.”

Panting, Jones finally slowed to a stop in front of him. His boss squinted at the letter – and blanched. Toris had never seen someone look so terrified of a cursed letter in all his life, and honestly, he was glad. Only unlucky people were used to mean tricks like this.

“What the hell – is that another cursed letter?” Jones asked. His voice wavered. Even after all his work in the Department, Toris knew that Jones had a naturally weak stomach when it came to anything creepy, so he tried to shield the letter.

“Yes, sir,” Toris said. “It—”

“Is it from that freaking criminal guy?”

“Yes, sir. I sat down—”

“God, are you okay?”

Jones was pale. To anyone else, he would have looked dazed – but Toris watched Jones swallow, then square his shoulders. All the while, his boss was glancing between the blood on his pants and the letter’s mewling mouth. He wasn’t dazed. He was righteous.

“I’m fine, sir,” Toris said. “It just – bit me. That’s all.”

“Bit you? God!” Jones was fuming. “This guy is crazy. Absolutely crazy. I’m sorry, Laurinaitis, this is just – crazy.”

“This is the job I signed up for, sir,” Toris said.

“Yeah, but this isn’t the job that you deserve. It’s not the job that any of us deserve. Fuckin’ Artie,” Jones spat. Toris sighed. At least Jones had a conscience. But before he could say anything, Jones held up his wand. “I’m calling you a medic. They’re gonna be here soon, so just stay put, okay?”

“Thank you,” Toris said weakly.

“I’ll stay here with you until they get here. God, at least we’re competent –”

On the other side of the office, a pipe burst.

Jones groaned.

“Always something new,” he muttered. “Hold on, stay here, Laurinaitis. And keep that thing with you. Artie’s gonna have to give us our damn funding when he sees whatever the hell that is.”

It was a good thing that Jones wandered away when he did, because Toris didn’t have the energy to talk; he slumped back down to the floor immediately, buried his face in the charred carpet.

All around him, his colleagues’ tables burned to smithereens. He doubted he would see Williams again – the boy had been missing more and more days ever since the first letter came in. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Department only had three employees, Toris was sure that Jones would have let him go a long time ago. Vargas would come back because he loved the stress – the running from disasters on one day and fixing them on another.

And Toris?

He was only there because he was too broken to do anything else besides low-level magic work. He wasn’t a hero like Jones. He was just trying to carve out a decent life for himself. If that really existed.

For what seemed like the nine billionth time in the past three months, Toris Laurinaitis laid on the office floor with his broken body and tried to live. He breathed. In and out. And, like always, his eyes went to the upper left-hand part of the address, where that one name continued to taunt him.

Gods.

He really was tired of Felix Łukasiewicz.

___

That night, when he finally limped back to his apartment, Toris stood in front of the door. And for a moment, he just listened.

He shivered in the dimly lit hallway, which smelled like old spices and musty wall. He should’ve walked inside already. But it was nice to have a moment, just one moment, where all he had to do was breathe. He breathed in deeply.

No hurried steps came from inside the apartment – no clinking glasses, no scratching pens. Oskars was probably writing poetry in his room. Thank God for that. All night, Toris worried about how he would hide this injury from this brother. The last time he came home with an injury like this, Oskars sat all night by his bedside to ask questions – first about the Tournament, and then about the injury itself. How did the medic apply the gauze? Does your hand hurt? Did Beilschmidt put up a good fight?

Toris did his best to answer each question dddddddddin kind. Tight across my arm. Yes. The best I’ve ever seen him give. But then Oskars leaned forward and asked, with his eyes round like bowls, Can you still use magic?, and Toris’s breath caught in the soft pit of his throat. And all his words seemed down to die.

No, Toris said.

What? Why? Is it—

No, Toris said, and he turned away. No, I can’t. It’s late, now. You should go to sleep.

I’m s—

Just leave me be. Go to sleep.

And the next morning, Oskars only asked about how the weather felt that day.

It wasn’t malicious. Toris knew that for a fact. Oskars had always just wanted to understand people with his questions. It was why he was such a good poet. But it was better, Toris realized, to stop his brother from getting any strange flights of idea in his head. It was better if he just went straight to his bedroom to sleep off the pain. God knows he needed it, especially when he had to be back at work next week.

The apartment was still. Oskars’ shoes lay slightly askew on the side of the hall; his maroon hoodie was thrown on the first rung of the coat rack, covering the yellow scarf Eduard had paid Toris to repair last week. Other than that, the kitchen and the living room were completely empty. Darkness enveloped him as he closed the door. He locked the doorknob and the door chain, and afterwards he sighed, softly. (He really needed to get Oskars into the habit of locking the door chain when he came back.) If Oskars was in his room, he had probably already scrounged up dinner for himself – and Toris could get away with not cooking up something, just for one night. Slowly, he walked toward his bedroom.

“Toris!”

“Ah?!”

“Hi,” Oskars said. He stepped out of his room. “Welcome home.”

Oskars scratched his head. Harrowing as it was to see him, Toris was still glad. “Jeez, Oska, you took me by surprise… I thought you were writing?”

“I mean, I was, but I just came out to get another snack.”

“Ah. What are you eating?”

Oskars scrounged in his pocket, then lifted his hand. “Pickles.”

Toris squinted. Oskars was holding a sandwich bag stuffed with whole dill pickles.

“What… pickles? Just plain pickles?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re not eating them with anything?”

“Nope.”

Oskars had always loved eating pickles in burgers, but Toris had never seen him eat pickles just plain. “My God, those are salty… but they’re better than potato chips, I suppose,” he said with a sigh.

“That’s why you wash them down with the drink of champions,” Oskars said, and held up a bottle of vodka with his other hand.

Toris’s eyes widened.

“Oh no, no, no, absolutely not,” he said.

“What? Want me to save you some?”

“No! I don’t want you to drink that at all!”

“But you like this combo, right?” Oskars asked.

“Pickles and vodka?! Never in my life!”

“No, vodka and anything salty,” Oskars clarified.

Toris rubbed his temples. Trust Oskars to remember something he tried so hard to forget. “I liked it, yes, but it wasn’t good for me, and it’s not good for you,” he said. Huffing, he dropped his work bag to the floor and turned to switch on the kitchen lights. Even if his leg still hurt, he was not going to let his brother descend the path to alcoholism. “You’re too smart for that.”

“So why’d you like it?”

Toris moved in front of the kitchen counters. How could he explain that stressful time where he drank in between competitions without sounding completely unhinged? There was no way he could, really… so he just shook his head. “It’s more for the effect than the taste,” he said finally. “Anyways. If you want a real meal, there are pierogi and chicken thighs in the fridge.”

Oskars was quiet for a moment.

“I wanna eat pierogi,” he said finally

“Good,” Toris said. He sighed. “It’s about time we got some real nutrients in you.”

And then, instinctively, he started pulling out the equipment – the pans, the bowls, the utensils, the bag of dumplings – and setting them on the counter. There went his plan of sleeping early. But at least he could spend more time with Oskars. They hadn’t seen each other that much lately, if he thought about it. With Oskars at university and him at work in the Department and the library, it was hard to carve out time for an actual conversation.

“What was the last real meal you ate, Oska?” Toris asked. He set a pan on their coil stove, then turned the heat to medium.

Behind him, Toris heard Oskars settle down into one of the wooden chairs around their kitchen table. “Let’s see…. Oh. Emil and I split chicken tenders for lunch today.”

“Split?!”

“I’m broke, Toris.”

“My God…”

“Actually, the pickles were an improvement over yesterday, because yesterday, we had to borrow instant noodles from Leon.”

“Ah… that’s good thinking,” Toris said at last. He was hit by a swirl of memories from his own university days, which weren’t so far away – memories of the big trays of frozen cepelinai he used to share with Eduard during the winter months. In those months, security deposits and health insurance and other start of the year expenses drained their student loan money instantly.

“Isn’t it?” Oskars sighed. “But I wish we didn’t have to do it. I wish I just have it all together already. Like, you were younger than I am now when you started competing, and you were great. But I don’t even know what I want to do next semester.”

The pan was getting hot. Toris added oil, then rotated the pan so it would coat the surface evenly.

“You’ll get there if you just keep at it. I know you will.”

As Toris warmed their pierogi in the pan, the rich smell of buttered potatoes and soft dough blanketed the kitchen. It only took him a few minutes to set everything up. He was so used to putting out literal fires at work that setting out two plates and silverware was actually relaxing in comparison. But the best part was when Oskars took a pierogi, bit into it, and smiled.

“Do they taste good?” Toris asked.

“Yummy. Mm… how do you get them so crispy but soft?”

“Just watch the heat. I’ll show you later, once I finish getting everything sorted.”

“After work tomorrow?” Oskars asked.

Toris hesitated. For a moment, he just watched Oskars scarf down pierogi after pierogi. There was still no way that he could tell his brother about the injury. Well, there was another thing for him to do – find some place to work outside of the office while he healed… “Yes, if you’re not busy with schoolwork,” he said.

Oskars grumbled. “I have so many essays to work on tomorrow that I feel like my brain is gonna burst…”

“So finish them, and we’ll cook after.”

“That’s gonna take forever.”

“You’re only in university for a short time; you have to make the most of it.” Here, Toris took a bite of pierogi, then swallowed. “But I’m always here.”

“I mean, not really,” Oskars said glumly.

Toris paused.

“You’re going to be busy at work again, right?” Oskars asked. He opened his mouth to say more, to launch into one of the unknowingly blunt assessments of his entire personality—

And then tapping came at the door.

Not a knock – but tapping. Repeated, fluttering, and soft-sounding tapping, like the scratchy thump of the broom their mother used to use to clean the floor in the old house. Toris shared a glance with Oskars.

“Is that Ed?” Oskars asked, in a lower voice this time.

Toris shook his head. He hadn’t seen Eduard in at least three weeks.

“Stay here. I’ll get it,” Toris mouthed.

Instinctively, he reached for his wand. It wasn’t there. He pulled out his pepper spray instead, and he made his way to the door, where the tapping came more and more insistently. And with more force.

Toris looked out the peephole.

There was no one standing at eye level.

He stepped back. Stilled.

And then –

A brown mass threw itself into the peephole.

It hit the glass with the softest thud Toris had ever heard. And another. And another. It wasn’t a human, nor an animal, nor any kind of magic. In fact, when Toris leaned forward to squint through the peephole, he saw… that it wasn’t even living.

When he realized what it was, a jolt went through his entire body. Flabbergasted, Toris unlocked the knob. Then, with the door chain still in place, he cracked the door open halfway.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered in exasperation.

And in response –

The letter that had nearly bitten his ass off chirped a lovely tune and smiled.

___

Toris had just barely shut the door when Oskars started asking questions.

“Who is it? Why are they singing? Are they looking for money?”

For once in his life, Toris didn’t answer all of them. “It’s just business,” he said, shaking his head. And he crossed his arms without saying a word until Oskars pouted and tactically retreated to his room. “But I want to know who it is when you get back from work tomorrow,” Oskars said before closing the door.

When Toris opened the living room door again, the fanged and blood-spackled letter fluttered straight into his arms. It meowed. Purred gently into his arms. Toris ushered it into his workbag, where it nestled in between his work files and his blood-stained former pants.

The next day, he left for work even earlier than usual to make an uninterrupted beeline for Jones’s office. It was unlikely that Jones would have the time to talk to him after the fiasco that happened yesterday. Still, he hoped – even prayed – that the stars would align for once to just give him a break.

But it was just as expected. After twenty minutes, when Jones finally emerged from his cavernous office, he was shuddering with caffeine.

“Huh? The letter?” Jones said. “I sent it over to Artie. His guys grabbed it yesterday. Speaking of guys, you’re not gonna believe this shit – those sons-of-bitches won’t expedite our funding request. Can you believe it? Unbe-fucking-leviable. That damn thing just about mauled you to death!” Jones’s eyes burned with a fervent desire for justice. Before Toris could say anything, Jones slapped him on the shoulders and started walking them towards the plaster-covered coffee station. “Ooh, they’re gonna wish they listened to us the first time when I’m done with them! Here’s what we’re gonna say: Dear Artie, you absolute massive asswad…”

And for the rest of the working day, Toris crafted the most diplomatic insults possible for Arthur Kirkland, swept up rubble, and compartmentalized his last remaining hope for bureaucracy into a very small cardboard box in his heart.

That was how he found himself sitting across Eduard’s desk.

Despite living in an apartment on a main city street, Eduard’s office was quiet. Quaint. His desk was made of thin birch wood and only covered with his white Mac desktop. It was the last place that a blood-thirsty, blood-covered letter should be in, but that’s exactly where Eduard decided it needed to be.

Behind the desk, Eduard leaned forward in his birch wood chair. He was petting the letter with his ring finger. The letter purred as it snuggled into a pile of white muslin. Occasionally, it extended its red tongue to lick at Eduard’s finger, but for the most part, it sat quietly while Eduard observed it.

“Well… it’s a well-behaved cursed letter, I’ll give it that,” Eduard said.

Toris exhaled. “You should ask it about the fireballs.”

Eduard’s eyes widened. “Fireballs?” he asked.

Toris nodded.

Eduard raised an eyebrow. Turning back to the letter, he gently patted it with three fingers.

“That can’t be true, can it?” he asked softly. “Did you shoot Toris with fireballs, you little dragon you?”

In response, the letter mewed.

Eduard chuckled. “You’re a courageous little creature,” he murmured.

He gave it a small, generous smile. He opened a drawer beneath his desk and lifted out a golden birdcage with a key, which he set next to the letter. “Prepared especially for you,” he said.

The letter sat up. It floated into the birdcage, peering around it curiously. And once it settled into the muslin that blanketed the bottom, Eduard locked the cage. A pale blue glow that smelled faintly of lavender surrounded it – and suddenly, the letter stilled… and began to snore.

Toris gaped at the cage. Eduard winked at him, then once again lowered the birdcage into the same drawer.

“And you are smart to have neutralized it,” Eduard said, finally fully turning towards Toris. “Had it gone unchecked, it would have burnt off both your legs and your stomach.”

Toris blanched.

“Legs and stomach?”

“Yes. Your wizarding correspondents have gotten their hands on a new breed of cursed letter. It mixes the large teeth of the old breeds with the potent fire magic of the new ones. I identified it by looking at the glands at the back of its throat – they’re large. Quite knotty. So, again – you’re smart to have neutralized it.”

Toris sank back into Eduard’s chair.

“That’s it,” he said. “I need your help tracking this person down, Ed. I can’t… There’s no way I can deal with this anymore.”

“And you know me – I’m more than happy to help you find them.” Eduard pushed up his glasses with his finger. He leaned forward, focusing all his attention on Toris.

Toris sighed. He felt a little better after hearing that Eduard was on his side – but then again, Eduard always was. Even after 10 years of competing together in tournaments, Eduard had never let him down. “Thank you. I just can’t have this happening at work anymore.”

“Of course.”

“Not with Oskars in school.”

Eduard paused. “And with you working, too,” he added mildly.

Toris nodded. “Yes, that, too,” he said. “It’s too, ah… distracting. Every week, a new cursed letter attacks me, and I don’t know who they’re from. All I know is that they’re addressed to someone named Felix Łukasiewicz.”

“Hm.”

“Yes.”

“Based on the first name, I’m going to assume they’re a man. Or they’re posing as one, at the very least.”

“I think that’s true, because the only letter I’ve read called him ‘the most hated man in the city’ and ‘a blight upon all of humankind’”.

“These wizards certainly are eloquent,” Eduard hummed. Tapping his fingers on his desk, he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. “Are there any records of him working at the Department?”

“No, not at all. But that’s not the strange part. There are no public records of him even living in the city, either.”

“Public records,” Eduard mused.

“Yes, public records. Which is why, ah…”

Toris gestured at Eduard. Even after all these years, Toris still couldn’t say Eduard’s nighttime job out loud.

Which is why Eduard did him the dignity of saying it for him. “Understood. I’ll start my investigation as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Ed.”

Eduard nodded. “Do you have any of the other letters?”

“No. I have to destroy them before they can kill me.”

At this, Eduard stifled a chuckle.

“What? What was funny there?”

“It’s an absurd situation, that’s all.”

“Ahh… we’ve been in too many of them,” Toris sighed.

“Well, I’ll make this the last.”

Eduard smiled at him, small but genuine, and it was then that Toris once again realized how lucky he was to be friends with Eduard von Bock. There was no one else who he trusted more. Already, Eduard was opening his desk drawer; he pulled out manila files and a rolodex, and once he had laid them all neatly out on his table, he pulled out a pair of googles, too. When they still competed in tournaments, Eduard always wore those goggles into every fight. They helped him deal with everything.

It was time to go. Once Eduard put his goggles on, no one could distract him from his work.

“Thanks again, Ed,” Toris said. He stood up and grabbed his green jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll leave you to your work, then?”

“Oh – you’re leaving already?” Eduard asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

“I don’t want to distract you from your work. And I have to get back home, too – Oskars asked me to show him how to make dumplings.”

“Understood. Well, could I at least offer you some potato salad to take back? Or some coffee?”

“Ah, not tonight. But thank you.”

Toris finished zipping up his jacket. At that, Eduard nodded. “Well, maybe another time. Please send Oskars my greetings, too.”

“I will. I’ll see you later, Ed.”

“Goodnight.”

Toris quietly shut the door to Eduard’s office. The moment it shut, the sounds of rustling papers filled the hallway. Eduard was already hard at work. And as Toris walked out of Eduard’s apartment and into the night, he decided that he would work hard, too.

For the sake of his job and for the sake of the people he loved, Toris made up his mind:

He was going to track down Felix Łukasiewicz.

#hetalia #lietpol #hws lithuania #hws latvia #hws estonia #healrod.txt #healrod writes #WELL LADS WE ARE BACK

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cyber-corp · 2 years ago

Text

A summary/review of parts 1-100 of Homestuck

~by a gecko who knows what a Megalovania is

Let's start things quick and simple. It is the distant year of 2009, where the date is the 13th of April. It is the protagonist John Egbert (aka Zoosmell Pooplord)'s birthday. How fun!

John's actions are very much based around RPG mechanics (the Sylladex, Captchaloging, etc.), which as indicated by the chatlogs seems to be the norm in this world.

Once he opens the magic chest in his room, he gets access to a variety of artifacts, some of which he'll use later. He only takes the smoke pellets at first because he's stupid.

We get some glimpses of the author Andrew Hussie's dated yet charming late-2000's humour through asking John to shit on his desk.

After nailing a Little Monsters poster to his wall (a gift from his Dad), he gets a message from one of his friends on Pesterchum, TG, who says that he got the beta for SBURB for John's birthday.

However, his dad has just come home and John doesn't want to go through the trouble of holding a conversation with him. In the meantime, he figures out how to use his Strife Specibus by allocating the Hammerkind Abstratus, and reads the GameBro magazine, which John seems to have a loathing for.

However, with the freed up room in his Sylladex, he creates a convincing disguise to fool his dad and grab the SBURB beta (it won't).

He goes downstairs into the living room, examines his father's shitty harlequins, knocks over and picks up his Nanna's ashes and opens a large gift for himself, which is also a large harlequin.

Before deciding to sticking fake arms on the harlequin, John gets a message from another Pesterchum mutual, TT.

TT oddly knows everything that John has done up to this point, including being in possession of the SBURB beta and wearing a funny disguise. They tell him to go get the game from his father from downstairs.

After snooping around his father's study and playing a little tune (which is a great way that Homestuck utilizes its medium), John heads outside to the mailbox, to find that dad has already scooped the mail.

But there's a sense that something isn't quite right. With "Windchime Foley" by Clark Powell playing over empty streets and a main title appearing, it implies this scene is the true beginning of the story. The text mentions a "Desolation" that's playing the tune diegetically throughout the streets/town. Maybe it will be a long day.

John heads back inside to finally confront his father and sneakily get the beta, but oops! The disguise didn't work (who would've thunk it?), and there's only to get pass him, which is with a Strife!

(This fight scene's really cool, I quite enjoy this)

After the Colonel's book activates the smoke pellets, John quickly snatches his father's PDA as a joke, and finally gets his hands on the SBURB beta, which is where I ended off.

So is it good? I mean, yeah.

Even if I only read what is a tiny, tiny fraction of Homestuck's story, I can still see how so many people became obsessed over it. The cutesy, almost surreal art style (complete with low quality JPEGS in the vein of Newgrounds), Hussie combining the mystical with the silly in his writing, and the brief bits of music in it illustrate a very "calm before the storm" feeling. I can definitely see how people like Toby Fox were inspired by it.

Despite what some think, the first little bits of Homestuck are an enjoyable experience which foreshadows something bigger yet to come. Solid 8.

#homestuck #andrew hussie #john egbert #review #summary #i probably won't do this again #i'll read some it later #PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX #gecko

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zurgles · 8 months ago

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Tarot Decks I Own (as of June 2024)

I got most of these (after the RWS) when I last quit smoking a couple years ago (think I made it five years) as a deal with myself - I could spend my cigarette budget on indie tarot decks. I started up again but it was a good incentive at the time.

I have also traded and given decks away so there are more that I’ve had and lost, but this is my current collection of 27 tarot decks (I’ll make a separate post for oracle and misc decks). I also tried to get these in a way that corresponded to the majors order to help limit my spending but it got pretty neurotic with swapping out deck positions and stuff so I’ve stopped worrying about that as much. It kinda helps me remember my collection though.

I put in parentheses the year I got them in, more or less. I added pictures and I'll update with links to other posts if I ever do deck reviews.

1. Shadowscapes (June 2014)

2. Universal Waite (2016-17?)

3. Numinous Tarot (Sept 2018)

4. Britt's Third Eye Tarot (Oct 2018)

5. Sakki-Sakki Tarot (Nov 2018)

6. Ophidia Rosa (~2020, trade)

7. Cosmic Tarot (2019, trade, trimmed)

8. Next World Tarot (Dec 2018)

9. Persephone Tarot (Dec 2018)

10. Fantastic Menagerie, 2020 reprint (2021)

11. Naturescapes Tarot (2020)

12. Thoth Tarot (May 2019, trimmed, rebacked)

13. Tarot of the Sweet Twilight (June 2019)

14. Spirit Keeper's Tarot, Vitruvian edition (June 2019)

15. Halloween Tarot (July 2019)

16. Medieval Scapini Tarot (July 2019) (bday gift - partner)

17. Tyldwick Tarot, first edition (August 2019)

18. Deviant Moon Tarot borderless (Nov 2022)

19. Golden Tarot of Klimt (Sept 2019)

20. Cult of Tarot (participated, gift from forum creator ❤️)(2020)

21. Tabula Mundi - Manus perfectus (2020)

22. Tarot of Magical Correspondences (2020)

23. Baba Studios Fairytale Tarot (Sept 2019, trade) (no guidebook)

24. Dust ii Onyx travel edition (June 2020)

25. Mine (doodlebob tarot) (March 2019)

26. Spirit Keeper’s Tarot, Revelations edition (2021, unopened)

27. Fantastic Medical Tarot (majors only deck, gift)

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charsimsalot · 16 days ago

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RAVENWOOD: ENTRY 14

That really could have gone better! I will review the events of the night here in hope of doing better tomorrow.

The clearing looked like Forgotten Hollow. Or it felt like Forgotten Hollow? Or… somewhere else? I don’t know. But of course, it was nowhere else. I don’t really know what happened. The mist between the trees looked like the mist between a lot of other trees, damp and stuck with fear.

I don’t always think of it like that. Maybe something about Edith brought it out in me. Mist can be quite lovely, the way it leaves cheeks and the tips of noses damp and shiny and bright. But it covers things up, in the distance. I don’t know what’s behind it.

I didn’t see Edith at first. I saw her grave, as I already wrote about, and I saw the well, green and glowing, and investigated it warily. Here I found two more of Lady Ravendancer Goth’s Tarot cards, which the intuition that she gifted me with tells me are the Tower and Evil. This intuition as always gave me some vague explanations of their meanings.

“Chaos. Destruction. The Tower, thought to be a sturdy constant, reveals itself as mere façade. With flames aglow and meteors in flight, the universe has uttered its decree! In the midst of unrest, the only hope remains divine intervention.”

The Tower depicts three people in a tower room, one holding a baby and the other holding a book. They’re running away from a cauldron in a fireplace, spilling over with flame, billowing smoke. Outside the Art Nouveau style windows — Keisha has pointed out this architectural style on one of my trips to the Magic Realm — a meteor approaches. They’re dressed in a Medieval style. Are these spellcasters? Does this depict a real historical event?

Then there’s Evil:

“In the dead of night, Evil may beckon, as if to tug on one’s own puppet string. With his hypnotic stare, anyone can fall prey to his influence. And the longer one stays within his trance, the more susceptible to his power they become.”

I’m not quite sure what Evil depicts. Two people under hypnosis it seems, but who is the figure commanding them? The image is not of anyone I recognise. Must ask Morgyn and Wolfgang — after I help Alice and Edith.

I looked up from the Tarot cards, from the book and the baby and the burning room and the figure pulling puppet strings, and saw Edith, bright red and furious. I don’t think children these days wear nightdresses like the kind she wears anymore, ones with puff sleeves and ruffles. Her having been here so long, I didn’t know if she would act like a child, not that I know much what a child acts like. I don’t remember being one. I don’t really know any. I tried to say a very calm, cheerful hello to Edith, but my voice sounded high and tight. She shrieked so strongly I felt it as a physical force, stumbling back a little, my palm gripping the slippery stone rim of the well. I had the sudden image of being levitated and thrown backwards down into the well, and no-one coming to save me ever.

I ran away.

Sitting at my desk with my framed picture of me and Caleb and the ring binders between the crow shaped bookends and the ceiling light switched on, I think I imagined more danger in the situation than there really was. All she did was shriek at me, but I suppose when a vampire snapped their fingers and commanded me to mop up after a dinner party, it was more than snapping their fingers and commanding me mop up after a dinner party. It was the use of supernatural powers. I have some misted over memories of this, but I can’t see who was doing the commanding. I couldn’t have done anything but what I did. I couldn’t have said, “Clean up your own messes!” I couldn’t have said, “Stop making these kinds of messes!”

I couldn’t have stayed. If Edith’s shrieks are one of her ghost powers, I need to either get and keep the courage to withstand them or convince her to listen to me before she shrieks. Wishing for courage at the Well of Longing and Regret might help, so I’ll try that, but either way I still need to find the right way to talk to a little girl so angry.

I’m going to call Kristopher. One moment, future Inna!

When I called, the Moonwood Collective had recently finished dinner and Jacob was on his way out the door. Kristopher said Jacob had “plans across the river” and I knew well enough that I might save myself an awkward conversation if I didn’t ask any further. Kristopher probably wouldn’t have sounded so guarded if Jacob were simply going to see his uncle at the library and not his sister. My journal was of great use to me in telling Kristopher what I knew of Alice’s sorrows.

“It’s an especially sad thing to say this about a child, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t say she reminds me of Greg, all by herself, people scared of her.”

My thinking was that since Kristopher has raised two children, he could advise me on how to talk to Edith, but one of those children still goes long stretches avoiding talking to him, the same one who has growled (though not shrieked) quite ferociously at me on two occasions. Calling Kristopher made me realise that he may not actually be the best person I know to advise me on how to get a child with Edith’s personality to have a shriek-free conversation with me.

“Think of yourself as a port in a storm. When waters are high and choppy, you must be solid and still,” Kristopher said, and I understood that well enough, he could be perfectly correct, though it made me think of Caleb.

Solid and still he was not always. I think he wasn’t used to being responsible for anyone else, except perhaps his sister, sometimes. He made his effort though. He was a kind of port, a port in need of repairs. It was a little scary for both of us. I like to think it at least brought us closer together.

Kristopher kept talking. “If you can get her to understand that you know what you’re doing, that should be of some reassurance to her.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said.

About ghosts. About children. About this child especially.

Kristopher cleared his throat. “Saying so will help no-one.”

Then I thought about calling Wolfgang because he’s always been a very involved uncle and, last I heard, he and Rory talk at least every week. Then I called Rory instead.

It turns out Rory and Lou are driving back to Moonwood Mill from Moonlight Falls. Well, Lou is driving. Rory took offense at me thinking for a second that she might have answered my call while driving and insisted she’s a better driver than some people assume.

I suppose those “plans across the river” Jacob has must be welcoming them back!

Apparently, they took off for Moonlight Falls not long after I took off for Ravenwood, Rory leaving Lux Demarco in charge of the Wildfangs. Last time I saw Rory was only a couple of days before I came to Ravenwood; I’d been doing some last-minute research with Wolfgang in his archives at Moonwood Mill Library, and when I passed by the Wildfang gym in the former loading dock, Rory was training very hard at the punching bag. I didn’t pop in to say hello. She looked like she wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

I asked Rory just now what she and Lou had been doing in Moonlight Falls. She said they were there “expanding and exploring” on behalf of the Wildfangs: meeting with local werewolves, meeting non-were Sims who could be werewolves, who could be Wildfangs. They ran into some ghosts too!

“You’re a ghost historian now, right? Wolfgang said that’s why you moved to Ravenwood, that and researching other occult history there. Hey, good for you!” I could hear her smile. “Don’t get me wrong, nothing and no-one could keep me away from Moonwood Mill, I’ll always come back to it, but sometimes you can’t get everything you need where you are, you know?”

Lou whooped in agreement. I said she must be right.

Rory said, “But you don’t call me just to chat. What’s up?”

When I said I’d be very glad of her advice on something, she was obviously more surprised than she pretended. All the same, I was reminded once more what a good thing it is that I keep this journal! It was yet again quite helpful for catching her up on my quest to help Alice with her sorrows.

I told Rory about Alice being tethered to the Guardian Tree and about how finding out what became of her children might let her roam freely. I told Rory about Deimos in the unmade bed of a crypt and Ann with the yellow wildflowers. I told Rory about Freddy in the playground who forgot his Sim nature and about how he forgot most of what he knew about his mother and about how I had to remind him that Edith is his sister. I told Rory that some of the only things he remembered were that his mother loved him, and that Edith used to be his best friend.

Rory took a breath then like she was about to interrupt. She didn’t.

I told Rory about the Well of Longing and Regret and how people go to it to make wishes and how Edith is probably tethered to it and how she’s mean to people and scares them off. I told Rory exactly how I talked to her and exactly how that went and how she scared me off too. The others were much easier.

A few seconds hung heavily, just the sound of her breath and the rumble of the car and the rain like fifty fingernails on my window.

“From what you’ve told me, shrieking is a proportional response to her situation,” Rory said eventually. “I’m on her side.”

“I’m on her side. We’re both on her side. It’s the same side,” I said. “I didn’t say it wasn’t proportional, but it isn’t helping her.”

Rory told me I don’t know what helps Edith. It’s not for everyone, but maybe shrieking makes her feel better. Yes, it scares people away, but maybe she doesn’t expect anything good to come from them talking to her anyway.

“I want to help her,” I said. “I need to get her talk to me about her mother so that maybe her mother can be unbound from the Guardian Tree and come calm her down.”

Rory huffed. “Calm her down…”

Lou asked Rory if she wanted him to pull over. She said no, they should keep going.

People say Rory takes things personally — she does take things personally — but I came to her about this because I think it might be personal. Out of everyone I know, Rory might have the best idea about how Edith might want to be spoken to. I think she remembers being younger very well.

I don’t know exactly what it is she remembers, we aren’t nearly that close, I only know that Rory’s temper is nothing new and that the circumstances of her turning were, like mine, less than perfect. I know that last point because I’d been working with Wolfgang a lot in Moonwood Mill Library, and she overheard me talking to him about my first transformation. I said it would have been better if it had been my choice but, on the bright side, look at all the people I’ve lived long enough to meet! She liked something about that. We talked. She even had lunch with us that day up until we got into an argument about my relationship with Elle.

Rory’s advice for talking to Edith was thus:

Most importantly, meet Edith where she’s at. Rory said she could tell me very little about what Edith might like — or hate less — with certainty for this reason. She doesn’t know where Edith’s at, because all I have are other people’s opinions on her and a brief interaction I ran away from.

Rory said she usually advises people to be themselves, but that my usual looking on the bright side might not be well received. Maybe she loves having ghost powers. Maybe she hates being dead and subject of rumours and separated from her family more than she loves her ghost powers. Meet her where she’s at!

I know I’m on Edith’s side and Rory knows I’m on Edith’s side. Remember that Edith may have every reason to expect that I’m not. Maybe she shrieks for her own amusement, maybe she shrieks because she doesn’t trust me, maybe it’s a combination of factors. I’m in a better position to adapt to Edith than Edith is to adapt to me.

Edith may have been tethered to the Well of Longing and Regret for hundreds of years but remember that she’s still a child, unless she gives me reason to think she really isn’t one. Don’t let those hundreds of years make me surprised at her being childish. Rory says she’s only ever met the ghosts of dogs and that she’s pretty sure the puppies were still puppies no matter how long ago they died. I am ever so curious about these ghost dogs. I assumed at first this was in Moonwood Mill, but no, she said it was somewhere else and that maybe we could get into it some other time. This is an odd one. I’ll just have to see. Vampires keep growing until they reach young adulthood. Ghost children don’t grow up.

Rory really gave me an earful for taking the Tarot cards without asking. She’s right. They could be Edith’s, and I should have asked. I’m to give them back if Edith wants them. Maybe I should open with this?

If I wish for courage at the Well of Longing and Regret, I must be prepared for it to backfire. This was mostly Lou’s advice. He said he once wished for love at a wishing well in Lucky Palms, and a frog hopped out, but instead of transforming into the love of his life like he’d hoped it would when he risked kissing it, his mouth filled with smoke, and he threw it back into the water.

Don’t act like I understand what it’s like to be Edith better than Edith does, because I don’t. I know many things but not that. It was nice to hear Rory say that I know many things, because yes, I don’t think about this much, but I really do! Not knowing what it’s like to be Edith better than herself doesn’t mean that I can’t understand her at all. I am “actually a pretty good listener” according to Rory. I have my research with Wolfgang, I had my research before Wolfgang, and I’ve learned a lot from doing these quests for Alice. I never died as a child and became magically tethered to a Well of Longing and Regret for hundreds of years, but I have my own “stuff to be angry about.” That’s what Rory thinks. I don’t think I really want to be angry about anything. I don’t think it’s ever helped me.

A lot to think about. We talked a little more after that. Rory asked about my research in Ravenwood and whether I’d come across anything to do with werewolves yet. No, I had to tell her, but with all the spellcaster history here I might find something! As I wrote, she’d been chatting with some ghosts in Moonlight Falls. She thinks that the veil might be thinner throughout the whole town than it is in most towns, and that this is partly why so many ghosts have put down roots there.

“But that’s not all. Community’s a big thing,” Rory said. “There are more ghosts here than in a lot of other places, and yeah, they’re haunting, but they’re also living — or afterliving. I don’t know what they call it.”

Rory asked if I’d ever been to Moonlight Falls. I said I didn’t remember. I wonder what the mist between the trees looks like in Moonlight Falls. She said I’d probably like it there because vampires and werewolves and spellcasters and non-occults live together as neighbours.

“Though not, anyone could say, in harmony,” Rory said. “It’s not quite the realisation of the greatest reaches of the Maria-Volkovian dream.”

A failure she sounded bitter about. I find it sad too; it’s a beautiful dream. My undead-life has gotten ever so much better now that I believe in it.

I asked Rory if there was anything I could do to thank her for her help. She laughed at that — I think I surprised her again — and just asked that I let her know how it goes with Edith, and that I ask her if I want advice on Edith again, or advice on something else she’s well suited to talk about.

“I’ll think of you for that sooner if something else comes up,” I may regret saying.

“Think of me…” she repeated. “Who did you think of for this sooner? Kristopher?”

My silence answered for me.

“Did he tell you to be a port in a storm?” She cleared her throat regally, and said in Kristopher’s cadence, “Solid and still?”

I asked her if she didn’t think it was good advice. She said it’s fine advice if you can tell the difference between what’s port and what’s storm and what’s drowning, and that Kristopher thinks he can but he can’t, and that one person’s port is another person’s storm is another person’s drowning. I said, and I was trying to help, that maybe she should make the most of not being magically tethered to a Well of Longing and Regret and tell Kristopher what she thought in those words, because they sounded quite good to me. She said that she could tell Kristopher whatever she wanted whenever she wanted and that she wasn’t my “little ghost kid history project” and that she didn’t need me trying to get her talking to her mother so she could be calmed down.

I did ask her about Edith because I knew it was personal. It wouldn’t be good to blame Rory for taking it personally. Lou asked something I didn’t hear. Rory took a very large breath, said she hoped I’d be able to get Edith and Freddy and Alice back together, and that it was good to hear I’d think of her if something else came up. I thanked her for talking to me about this.

“I don’t bite.” There was a thud on her end of the phone, like she’d kicked the footwell of the car. “No, I do. Most of us do.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that. I stopped myself from asking if she meant most werewolves do, in case that’s not what she meant, so I wouldn’t end up making a generalisation. I just asked her what she meant.

“Us. You and me,” Rory clarified. “The people we know. People who got bit.”

That didn’t tell me if she was being metaphorical or literal. She snorted and said she could be multiple things at once.

I don’t bite as much as I’d like to. I don’t like to. I didn’t say this.

Rory didn’t say anything either for a long few moments, then said she had to go because they’d be getting home soon. Maybe that was true, maybe she was making an excuse to leave. I asked her to say hello to Jacob for me, and she said she would, she was going to stop in to see her Wildfangs, then swing by the Collective Cabin to give Jacob this new recipe book she picked up for him, I Was a Teenage Vegetarian.

“Like, I Was a Teenage Werewolf. He hasn’t seen the movie, but he can play the song of the same name on guitar. I know he’ll get a kick out of it. It’s part memoir actually, and the recipes look good, quick and easy stuff. He’s so busy these days.”

I didn’t spoil the surprise that Jacob already has plans to go see her. Maybe she’ll swing by the Collective Cabin anyway, even after she sees him on her side of the river. I don’t know. She told me to think about Edith instead. I think I’m going to be thinking about really quite a lot of people.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A million thank yous to @dead-lights for cheering me on especially hard with this one and for talking through some of the things I was trying to figure out as I was writing it. Talking to you really helped me find how I wanted to write this part and your support is very appreciated.

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#story: read the ancient archives #inna cents #edith basu #kristopher volkov #rory oaklow #jacob volkov #caleb vatore #ts4 life and death #sims 4 life and death #ts4 vampires #sims 4 vampires #ts4 werewolves #sims 4 werewolves #ravenwood #my posts

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loosesodamarble · 9 months ago

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The Heartless Witch and the Captain of the Black Bulls

Summary: With the paperwork finalized, Yami decides on his first recruit. Yami goes to tell Josele and makes a promise to take care of those close to him. Genre: general, slight angst? Word count: ~1500

..........

“Mm-hm… The Black Bulls, as you said earlier. Oh and the final version of your emblem turned out marvelously!” Julius remarked as he looked over Yami’s formal submission to start his own squad. “You vice captain is… Nacht Faust?” His eyes shot up to meet Yami’s. “That’s quite a choice considering that he’s not established in the ranks at all. And there’s the matter of the house’s current standing.”

“Eh, you know me,” Yami said with a shrug. “Can’t really say I care about what other people think.”

“Right, right,” Julius chuckled. He finished reviewing the paper and looked at Yami again. “Everything’s in order. What comes next is establishing a base and finding squad members. The entrance exam isn’t for a while but you can still recruit outside of that setting.”

“That’s good,” Yami answered, “because I already have a recruit in mind.” He spoke firmly. With resolve. “Julius, I want to make Josele a Black Bull.”

At that, Julius’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open.

“Yami, I know that you’re good friends with her but…” Julius rested his hands flat on the desk. “Can you handle the responsibility of having her in your squad? Her dealing with Forbidden Magic has only been overlooked so far by the Magic Parliament because I’ve vouched for her.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll just tell ‘em to stick their rulebook up their ass,” Yami replied. His smug grin melted away to a serious frown. “Julius, Jo isn’t going to get better by staying here.” He felt a sting behind his eyes but blinked it away as much as he could. “I gotta help her as much as I can. So please…”

Julius’s stern eyes softened. He rose from his seat, rounded the desk, and walked to stand in front of Yami. After placing his hands on the newly appointed captain’s shoulders, he said, “You two best take care of each other, got it?”

Yami nodded. Doing otherwise would have defeated the purpose of Yami’s plan.

…

The ruins of House Faust.

It felt like some sick joke knowing Josele started living in the abandoned manor with Nacht after Thomas had died. Then again, she wasn’t wanted anywhere else. Her soulless expression and lifeless aura scared not only the neighbors near her childhood home but also the members of the Grey Deer. Really, House Faust was the only place where she could go. She came back to it, even after the tragedy.

Yami shook his head free of his depressing thoughts and knocked on the front door. He waited a minute with no answer. He knocked again. And after another minute, the door opened.

“Oh, so it’s you, Dark Mage,” Josele greeted with an empty voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed to talk to you,” Yami answered. “Care to let me in?”

Josele stepped aside and Yami walked in.

The foyer was bathed in a dim atmosphere. Less to do with the lighting and more to do with the state of disrepair the place was left in. Despite Josele and Nacht inhabiting the space, it wasn’t a home. There was no comfort. There was no warmth.

“What did you need to talk about?” Josele asked, also without warmth.

“Not even gonna offer me a drink? Poor host behavior,” Yami muttered, trying to shrug off her coldness. The old you woulda said “How about I get you something to drink before we chat?”

“Did you want a drink?” Josele’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest.

“Nah. I won’t overstay my welcome.” Yami fished through his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. “You mind if I smoke?”

“I do mind.”

Yami almost didn’t catch it but Josele’s monotonous voice softened when she said that. Even now, she could care. Just barely.

“Right then…” Yami removed his hand from his pocket and adjusted his stance. “Anyways. Came here to let you know that I got my squad approved.”

“That must be an honor.”

C’mon, Jo. Not even a “congratulations”? “Yup. You said it. And now that I’ve got a squad, I need squad members.” Yami reached into the bag he brought with him and pulled out two black robes. “Nacht is gonna be my vice captain. And you, well, you get to be a regular Knight on the squad.”

“I…” Josele stared at the robes then up at Yami. “Don’t understand.”

“What don’t you get? Nacht’s gonna be my second-in-command. And you’re gonna be a cool senior squad member,” Yami said before extending his arm further towards Josele. “Go on. They’re for you and Nacht.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want me,” Josele stated, her gaze lowering. “I’ve stopped being dead weight but there’s still other Magic Knights with more accomplishments than me. I mainly use my weapons because the magic I do use can’t be wielded freely. And people say I’m difficult to work with. Logically speaking, I’d be a detriment to your squad instead of an asset.”

Josele didn’t look defeated or sorry for herself. She stopped looking like anything affected her years ago. But even when she spoke of “logic,” her words betrayed feelings that should’ve been choked by her curse. Deep down inside, Josele was still unsure and scared. She still looked down on herself as the woman who failed to save someone immeasurably precious to her.

Because of that, Yami made his choice.

Yami threw one of the two robes over Josele’s head. The fabric fluttered down and rested on her left shoulder. The same way she wore her Grey Deer robe.

Josele blinked. Again, her expression didn’t change. Yami could still tell that she had to take a second to register what he’d done though.

“Don’t sweat the details, Jo,” Yami chuckled as he watched Josele grasp at the fabric. “I don’t care about accomplishments. What matters is that you kick plenty of ass and I like having you around. Oh, and you agree to go out drinking with me whenever I ask. Haha…”

“I still don’t get it,” Josele whispered. However, she clutched the black robe she’d been gifted. “But if you insist then I see no point in arguing.”

“Good to hear. You’re officially a Black Bull now,” Yami said with a grin, one that was hard to pull off, and a nod. He passed the cloak meant for Nacht to Josele. “Make sure that shady bastard gets this. Wrestle it onto him if you have to. He’s my vice captain whether he likes it or not.”

“Okay.”

With the conversation basically over, Yami moved to leave.

But he stopped at the door. He glanced over his shoulder. Josele had begun walking away, deeper into the manor. Deeper into a gloomy shell of a house, like herself.

Without thinking, Yami ran up behind Josele and tugged her into a hug. For a moment, he felt the firmness of her muscles as she tensed in surprise. She relaxed after a few seconds, having registered that there was no threat, only Yami hugging her with one arm. She didn’t return the embrace, merely stood still.

A shaking exhale was heard.

Yami wasn’t sure if it came from him or Josele. Not that it mattered.

He felt the urge to hug Josele tighter but Yami couldn’t bring himself to. Josele already felt so fragile. He feared even a brief squeeze might shatter her.

So he just held her.

“Oniichan…” A quiet voice whispered as a small figure clung to Yami’s shirt. “Itsumo-itsumo… Soba ni ite, mamotte… Onegai…”

Gomen… Yami bit his cheek. Kimi o mamorenakatta, ore wa… Kedo. Konkai, daijina hito o mamorou. “Don’t worry, Jo,” Yami whispered as he continued to hold her. “This squad will be a place where you can belong. Things will get better. I swear.”

Yami let Josele go.

When Josele looked up at him, her eyes were damp.

“I will do my best for your squad, Dark Mage. And good luck with recruiting others,” Josele still had a hollow voice. The wish of good luck, though, had a softness that felt like the person Josele used to be.

“Heh, a guy like me doesn’t need luck,” Yami bluffed and gave a smirk. “I’ve got good judgment instead.” He clapped Josele on the shoulder.

Then, he walked out the front door as he’d intended to a moment ago.

Yami walked through the forest surrounding the mansion alone, head down and thoughts stewing.

The squad that Yami was going to pull together would be for people like himself. People like Nacht. And like Josele.

One day, Yami would find people who could accept Josele for who she truly was. Who would feel her caring warmth through the ice she’d sealed her heart in. Who would see through the mask she’d put on. There had to be people out there who could make her smile again. Maybe not the same grin that Morgen brought to her face. But any smile would be better than that passionless gaze Josele had since she cursed herself.

It wasn’t only Josele’s happiness that Yami hoped to see restored. But everything. Her anger at injustice. Her playfulness with friends. Gratitude for her weapons being repaired. Annoyance at strange noble customs. Sorrow for lost loved ones.

Loved ones whose names and faces she couldn’t recall anymore.

All the emotions that were part of Josele… They would come back to her.

Yami had to believe.

#black clover #yami sukehiro #black clover fanfic #black clover oc #josele canty #julius novachrono #he's there briefly #this is mostly about yami and josele #translator notes for the hino/japanese #first line: big brother… forever and ever… stay with me and protect me… please #second line: i'm sorry. i wasn't able to protect you. however. this time i'm going to protect those precious to me #yami sometimes thinks in hino my beloved headcanon #no beta we die like morgen on this blog

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jetwhenitsmidnight · 1 year ago

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Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada

Source: Audiobook ARC from NetGalley

Release date: 6 February

Genre: young adult contemporary romance

If you like: queer coming of age, explorations of toxic masculinity, pop-punk, flawed protagonists trying to be better, Sk8ter Boy by Avril Lavigne but gay

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5

Synopsis

Stonebridge High’s resident bad boy, Wesley “Big Mac” Mackenzie, is failing senior year—thanks to his unchecked anger, rowdy friends, and a tendency to ditch his homework for skateboarding and a secret photography obsession. So when his mom drags him to a production of The Nutcracker, Wes isn’t interested at all . . . until he sees Tristan Monroe. Mr. Nutcracker himself.

Wes knows he shouldn’t like Tristan; after all, he’s a ballet dancer, and Wes is as closeted as they come. But when they start spending time together, Wes can’t seem to get Tristan out of his head. Driven by a new sense of purpose, Wes begins to think that—despite every authority figure telling him otherwise—maybe he can change for the better and graduate on time.

As a falling out with his friends becomes inevitable, Wes realizes that being himself means taking a stand—and blowing up the bad-boy reputation he never wanted in the first place.

Content warnings

Explicit language

Bullying

Alcoholism

Underage drinking

Racism (as experienced by a Black love interest)

Past domestic abuse

Childhood trauma

Smoking (cigarettes + weed)

Homophobia

Physical violence

Review

Why'd Wes have to go and make things so complicated 😔🤘

I hadn't expected to, but I found myself relating to Wes quite a bit. His experience of being labelled as a bad kid, and then only being seen as such without being given the chance to break that expectation, as well as his feelings of anger and fear and powerlessness, that no one wants to listen to him, that he can't open up to people, that he's inferior and will never amount to anything, took me right back to primary and secondary school lmao. (I'm so glad I'm not a teenager anymore.)

I also empathise with how awkward Wes feels around Tristan, or when he's trying to talk to people who aren't his friends; not knowing the right thing to say, or when he says something that comes off as angrier or meaner than he intends—that's literally me, baby!

A part I don't relate to is the bullying. Wes is like, a legit bully, like pushing kids into the lockers like in american high school movies kind of bully. While he's not the main aggressor among his friends, it still kind of hurt to read about how he hurt people in the past. I liked how his character arc developed, with him facing up to his actions and apologising to his victims, although I do think he was forgiven pretty easily; I personally would have held a grudge until I died, but good for them!

At the start of the book I was worried that this would be a whole "find a bf and magically all your problems are fixed!" kind of story, but while Tristan is definitely a motivating factor for Wes to improve himself, I really appreciate that Wes was the one who decided to take initiative and begin the first steps to becoming better.

There's layers of complexity to Wes and Tristan's relationship, because (a) Tristan is Black, and so deals with racism that Wes could never understand, (b) Tristan is out and Wes is not, (c) Tristan is a perfectionist and has a goal and life plans, while Wes is flunking high school with no plans to apply for college, (d) Wes had an abusive childhood, and Tristan has loving supportive parents, and (e) Wes is poor and Tristan is wealthy.

These are a lot of issues to handle in one book, and while I feel like the author does a good job discussing and resolving most of these elements, there's one point that I feel didn't get fully resolved, and that's the wealth disparity between them. Wes is super aware of this, he constantly notices the differences between the way they live, which makes him feel self-conscious around Tristan.

Spoiler warning, but at one point Tristan dresses Wes up in like a pricey cardigan and a polo shirt to meet his parents, and later Wes is furious and leaves early because he feels out of place and insecure, and that Tristan is trying to change who he is. Later, they talk and Wes comes to the conclusion that he was over-reacting, which, yeah, he was. But Tristan never apologises and is like "you know I would never have made you change your clothes if I knew it would make you feel bad!" He also makes fun of one of Wes's friends, and Wes wonders if part of the reason why he doesn't want to introduce Tristan to his friends was because he felt embarrassed.

I feel like this is a pretty big deal, and an obvious source of tension, that doesn't seem to get fully resolved. Most of Wes and Tristan's discussions about their relationship revolve around Wes apologising, but Tristan, even though he never does so intentionally, never apologises for making Wes feel inferior in this aspect.

I also feel that Tristan was kind of one-dimensional. From Wes's perspective, Tristan is perfect and flawless, and he puts him on a pedestal, while Wes is the one messing up. Tristan's only flaw, as far is I can tell, is that he struggles with anxiety, but he never seems to show it to Wes, for all that he encourages Wes to be emotionally vulnerable with him. I would have liked it if Tristan messed-up, or needed Wes to support him or comfort him in some way (Wes does support him, at near the ending, but that doesn't really count), to balance out their relationship a bit, instead of always having Tristan encouraging him, and having Wes mess up and make up for it.

The climax of this book gets really chaotic, huge shit goes down, like life-ruining shit. He manages to work it all out in the end, but I feel that it came way too easily, especially the problems he had with his friends. I feel like it got dismissed as some sort of misunderstanding, like Wes was the one making a big deal out of nothing. Afterwards, he and his friends talk it out very maturely, but where was all that maturity when shit was going down!!

I realise that a lot of my review sounds like I'm complaining, but this is really worth a read! The way this book discusses toxic masculinity, emotional vulnerability, dealing with trauma (because Wes is very clearly traumatised) is so well-done, and you can tell from the author's note that he put a lot of love and thought into this book. I would discuss this more but this review would get very spoilery.

To finish off this review, here are some nitpicks! These are minor details and do not affect the overall story! Some of these are purely personal issues I have that may not apply to other people!

Wes is stated to be a punk, and a lot of this book (the title, the chapter titles, the marketing) is about pop-punk, or scene music in general. But Wes doesn't seem to listen to pop-punk? The only band he mentions listening to is Metallica, which, last I checked, is a metal band. He wears a Linkin Park t-shirt once (huge slay) and mentions the My Chemical Romance reunion (double slay), but that's about it. He seems to be more of a metalhead tbh, which there's nothing wrong with, but I was hoping for more pop-punk references. (This sounds greedy, since almost every chapter title is a pop-punk reference, and I did appreciate that, but I wanted more!!)

I didn't vibe with the audiobook narrator. I'm kind of (very) picky about audiobooks, so the fact that I didn't dnf shows that he did a decent job at least, but I feel like he missed the mark on narrating the dialogue. Sometimes I couldn't tell the difference between Wes's internal narration and when he was actually speaking which was confusing, and the narrator also read everything in this sad, hesitant sort of voice, which works for the overall vibe of the story, but makes the happy, lighthearted moments in the book feel sad as well.

Minor spoiler, Wes's mom got him and his friends tickets to see Metallica, but later they start growing apart and the concert is never mentioned again (unless I somehow missed it?), so its unclear if they did go to the Metallica concert. I need to know if they went, because if they skipped out on it due to their beef, I will be very sad on their behalf.

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eric-the-bmo · 11 months ago

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The Neighborhood Watch s2ep4: Running With The Wolves

[Summary: Song reviews some memories and gets a rush, while Markus and John decide to do some investigating- with horrible consequences.] Aka, Louis's player had to leave early, and all hell broke loose /pos @gr3y-heron

(heads up, there's some implied domestic violence in this one)

----

Louis and Lestat are lead into a room by Mr Grant (ig he was there with them in the elevator?), one that's very clearly an interrogation room. Upon sitting down Mr. Grant presents them with extremely detailed files about both of them; their lives, their crimes- they even have a note that Lestat is a vampire. There's a picture of Louis outside his house. It looks recent.

Mr. Grant gives his full name- Cary Grant- and there's a bit about how yes, he's named after the old-time movie star, his mother was a huge fan. He, however, doesn't like movies (he's so serious too, does this man not know how to have fun?). Anyway, he just wants to make sure that Loius and Lestat, two criminals, genuinely have no ulterior motives to dating the rich daughter of the casino's head of security. They assure him it's not that at all, and are let go.

-----

Meanwhile, Song is on the 3rd floor with a woman who claims to be her mother.

The third floor is a large office, with extravagant furniture and fine decor; a desk nameplate reads "Melody O'Sullivan," though Song is still suspicious. Melody apologizes for sating; she hasn't seen Song since she was a baby. Song is still suspicious, and Melody agrees that's reasonable, seeing as Song's father destroyed all record of her existence, in both traditional and non-traditional. Melody asks how old Song is now, and Song comments that if Melody were her mother she would know that; the woman apologizes again, saying that time has lost a lot of meaning for her. She wants to be a part of her daughter's life, as that choice for her was taken by force from someone she loved long ago- by Song's father.

["He can be quite... overprotective." Melody sits down in the chair across from her daughter. Song doesn't follow suit. "...And why," she asks, "Would he have reason to be protective of me with regards to you?"]

Melody asks Song where she thinks her inclination to magic comes from? She wanted to raise Song with the knowledge of their shared power, but Greyson didn't take kindly to that idea, viewing it as dangerous, and cut contact with her.

Song says this is difficult to believe- Melody says she'd understand if Song wants nothing to do with her, but please hear her out. She then gets an idea on how to prove what she's saying- it only requires a bit of trust. The mage goes on to say she'll allow Song to look into her mind- her memories- however it is a two-way street; She'd be able to see some of Song's memories as well.

Song agrees.

["I have nothing to hide, and an awful lot of questions."]

Melody blows out some smoke from her cigarette, and our Hex enters her mind.

---

Melody looks no different than how she does now in terms of age- meeting Greyson, going on dates, getting married, holding a small child- arguing, Melody crying- a scene of her on the floor holding her arm with Greyson looking over her- Melody walking away from a house as a beam of purple light surrounds it, hiding it from her eyes.

(Song wants to probe deeper, but knows that would allow Melody to do the same to her. She does it anyway, focusing in on the fight.)

It's a jittery memory, but she hears Greyson yelling that "she's far too young to start this," and Melody claims if they "don't get this under control now, she's only going to hurt herself." Greyson continues to yell, and the memory fades as a child starts crying- it goes to Melody on the ground with her clearly broken arm, and Greyson with clenched fists.

["Get the fuck out of my house. I don't want to see you around her ever again, do you understand?"]

Greyson turns to a bookshelf, flipping through the books until he finds the one he's looking for, and the memory ends.

(Song goes further.)

A new scene- Song as a toddler with brown hair, playing with her mother who has a bag of random objects. It's almost like a placement game, with a tiny Song putting the objects around herself in a circle. Before the last object is placed, Melody kisses Song on the forehead- her eyes glow, as does the circle. Greyson enters the room and drops whatever he was holding as he rushes to pick up his daughter, whose hair is now stark-white, disrupting the object circle.

There's the beginning of an argument as the memory fades out.

Song goes further one last time, getting flickers of memories of Melody all over the world in different parts of time- The woman was an archeologist at some point, leading expeditions into jungles and such. She looks the same as she is now, but the outfits are far before this one (1920-30s?).

----

The mind share ends; Melody's cigarette has burned out.

["Who are you?" "...If you're wondering what I am- I'm human, just like you. I learned a long time ago that time and death are more... suggestion than anything."]

Song tells her mother to bring Greyson to the office- upon hearing that it would be a bad idea, she points out that Greyson works for her, and then is corrected that he works for Mr Grant, the manager. Not Melody; She's the owner. She ignores Song saying that she can't possibly expect Greyson to never find out she's here, and says she took a gamble with this casino as a possible chance to reconnect with her daughter. If Greyson finds out, they'd never be able to meet again- she invites Song to meet her later tonight, perhaps.

She also claims she wants to give Song a gift. Song lets Melody sit next to her, and the mage lets out a deep sigh, letting out some sort of red mist. The mist gets into Song's nose and mouth, and there's this feeling of pure energy- a beating as newly-tapped magic goes through her veins. Her eyes begin to faintly glow. (Game Note: Song can no longer fail (nor fully succeed) any Magic checks until she falls asleep. She also does not have to sleep for the next 24 hours.)

Melody says she's been wanting to do that for her for her entire life- Song asks if she's able to do this herself. Melody responds that she can, eventually, if she has the right kind of teacher, and hands her a business card with a phone number on the back; when Song runs her finger over the numbers, they change to Melody's real number before shifting back. Song's mother asks if she'll talk to her again ["I will see you again, won't I?"], and Song replies she'll stay in touch.

Song gets back to her boyfriends, and Lestat gives her a look; with telepathy, he says they need to talk later. But for now, the trio plays some cards, and their luck seems to be exceptionally well...

----

The loud noise of a car starting up wakes up both Markus and John- Markus peeks out their window to see Sammy getting into his car and driving off. Then Markus sees the Sampaths, sans their daughter, and the couple ignores them when they wave hello. There's other people getting out of their houses. John, who's been watching all this with a furrowed brow, does a quick look-back to make sure Shelby's asleep; Normally she's alseep at this time, so he throws on a shirt and meets Markus (who had sent out a bug scout to follow the cars) at the sidewalk. Markus, through the bug they had sent, sees the cars aren't going down the road into the main part of town, but rather to the casino....

John and Markus begin to run, as neither of them can drive, and despite John's superhuman speed he's running a bit slower so that Markus can keep up. Markus says it's fine, takes off their hoodie to reveal huge moth wings, and soars over the cars. John reminds himself that Markus is human, and starts to run at his normal pace. The two of them are about as fast as the cars now, and quickly make it to the casino.

Watching from a distance, the duo can see that everyone from town is entering through a side entrance of the casino. Markus quickly breaks away from John, entering the line and taking on the similar blank-faced expression as everyone else. John has a moment of "what in the world are you- Oh," and mimics this. There's a lot of people they recognize in this line: The firefighters from earlier, the coffee shop girl, the librarian, and two people we haven't met yet (a large man with a tank top who runs the diner, and a tall pale man with stringy black hair- he's the mortician). Inside the building a man in glasses is handing the townspeople staff jackets (custodial outfits?), which they then put on.

The people are beelining to the elevators, where a man is checking off a list and grouping them off into groups of four. Markus and John observe the faces of the others; it's almost like they're sleepwalking.

---

Meanwhile, Song is still on the second floor of the casino. There's no windows or clocks so she has no idea how long they've been there, but eventually she notices that she and her partners are part of the last group on the floor. The final guy in the group who isn't part of the polycule eventually leaves, and the sense of being alone is starting to weird her out. Song notices that there's no security at all on the second floor- odd, since a lot of them were posted earlier.

She heads over to the balcony (which is like a one-way mirror kind of thing) and sees a line of blank-faced custodians heading to the elevator- and within the line she spots the firefighters, Sammy, and John and Markus. She sends out a telepathic message to the two of them-

["What the FUCK are you doing?!?!"]

It's a jarring message- Markus is fine (they're quoting lines from The Mummy in their head, btw), but John's never had telepathy used on him before- he clamps his hands over his head and growls. Unfortunately, this draws the guards' attention to him, and they're approaching quick. They look tough, which makes sense given they're probably part of the mafia; they've got guns.

[Another message: "John, get the fuck out of there!"]

The nearest exits are the way they came through (the side door), and the front doors. There's guards at both doors, as well as more people on the side and a few casino-goers still near the front- and then there's the unguarded elevator. John bolts for the elevator (he uses his What Could Go Wrong? ability)- the guards are drawing for their guns now, but Song casts a spell to freeze people through the water of the fire sprinklers so that he can get there safely; unfortunately, Markus gets caught in the blast. John races into the cage of the elevator and presses the first button he can think of, and as the doors are closing and he sticks his arm out so that Markus, now unfrozen, can have enough time to escape with him- but the guards are able to move now, too, and Markus gets tackled to the floor. They give John a look that pretty much says "go without me," because if he tries to help he'll get captured too, and John gets separated from them.

---

The elevator doors to the second floor open, and John, visibly panicked, runs out to meet Song (meanwhile, Lestat has been trying his best to convince Louis to not do anything impulsively stupid).

A message from Markus, to Song: ["Don't follow me yet, I'll tell you where they take me. I'll tell you what I see- we need more information."] They tell her that the casino's got their neighbors, and that they're not acting right. Song tells them to be safe. She relays the message, and asks what they should do next.

Lestat agrees they should do something to help, and this is when John finally notices the southern monster- and if you recall, the last time he had interacted with this man was discovering he was a vampire, and chatting with Louis over how to possibly kill him. John tenses up, because he's a territorial thing, and demands to know what the hell Lestat's doing here, weren't they going to get rid of him— but Song gets in between them, staring him down.

["Leave it alone, John," she commands, her eyes still glowing as she enunciates each word. "Back. Down."]

John hesitates- Lestat speaks up and informs him the other monster that wants to be better, he has no quarrel with him- he's going to therapy, and genuinely wants to improve. John pauses again, sensing a bit of kinship there, and finally backs down. His gaze is still fixed on the vampire, albeit not as aggressive. They can deal with this later.

---

Meanwhile, Markus gets restrained, and dragged into the now-open elevator by the guards. They notice they're being taken to one of the basement floors, specifically B1— they try to alert Song where they're being taken to via the telepathy connection, but all Song can hear is their message dissolving into static.

Markus makes a dry comment about how there's three guards for such a small person (and are the guards really that afraid of them?). Then they get shown a file— it's one for them, and one of the file notes just says "BUGS" in big letters.

It also has their real surname on it. Markus bristles when they see that (The file has other things, too- their birth country, their address, etc). Markus tries to threaten the guards, saying that they have about 30 seconds, and if they haven't been told what the people are doing at the casino by then, something bad will happen. The guards ignore them counting down, though, and toss them into an interrogation room. The door locks. It's like the one Lestat and Louis were in earlier; very plain, with a chair and table.

There's a glass of water sitting on the table.

The intercom in the corner crackles to life and tells them to just drink the water and then it'll all be fine, they can be let out; but Markus doesn't trust like that, and sends an ant out to get out of the room. It doesn't work, and they end up throwing the glass at the intercom, demanding how they can get out of here. The voice responds the only way out was to drink the water, but now that that's gone-

Markus slams into the door with their shoulder. They're going to get out of here. While the voice on the other end of the intercom tells them to calm down, they continue to insult it and barrel their body into the door.

They manage to break in down, but they don't get far- they race out of the hallway and see four guards, and only have enough time left to have the thought of "Oh. I've been shot by darts" before they collapse.

---

Meanwhile, the doors to the elevator open, and Mr Grant, Song's dad, and a group of security guards all rush in.

"You there," they say, pointing to John. "You're under arrest."

Notes/Commentary:

MAN OH MAN. WHAT A SESSION, HUH?

Never once did I think Louis and Lestat would be taken in not for the fact they're supernatural, but bc they're criminals.

WHY DO THEY HAVE FILES ON US HELLO?

Cary Grant name drop -> that's Percy's face claim -> this is a Blood and Silicon reference. To me /silly

Melody,,, :-(

"Life and death are more suggestion than anything" GIRL ARE YOU A MAGE? WHAT (she's so cool though, i love her)

Sorry i took the chance to have John be shirtless and I took it-

There was a moment where I considered having John turn into a wolf but alas,, I'll have him turn into a freaky creature eventually

MOTHMAN

"Cryptid siblings! We're all cryptids now!" DM: "As if you all weren't cryptids to begin with"

Hey yall. what the hell are yall doing in the casino. are the drones getting paid for this /hj

Markus's player, rolling to stay calm from the sudden telepathy jumpscare: Wow, I'm on fire today! Me, rolling bad: I think you've stolen my luck

I genuinely considered using a Luck point for failing the telepathy composure roll, but I also really wanted to see how bad it could get lmao

"I mean, if John gets shot at I can add more scars to his character design-"

JOHHNNN U SHOULD'VE GRABBED MARKUS AND RAN

Song considered teleportation but that is so risky. She's never done that before and ough. it can be gruesome.

At one point the DM commented "What's a monster game without a monsterfucker?" in regards to Louis, and Yeah

SONG TELLING JOHN TO STAND DOWN LIKE HE WAS A DOG. OH MY GOD IM SO NORMAL

That whole scene was so good to me. John was ready to fight but also ready to back down solely because Song told him to and he holds her in extremely high regard. Seeing a part of himself in Lestat. Oh my god. "Was it a command or a leash?" He's so dog-coded /pos

I want John and Lestat to enter a hesitant friendship. theyre both monsters who want to be better. uwaghhghg ;-;

MARKUS IS SO INSANE I LOVE THEM. I was genuinely in Awe the whole time during the water glass scene

Song's player is So Suspicious of Shelby it's wild. They're saying there's no way Shelby hasn't noticed something's up, no way she's that naive. She's hiding something.

Also hey DM? Why did u imply the possibility that Shelby wasn't in her room? Fear,,,,

DONT ARREST MY SON HE HAS A DATE LATER—

Also did you know that it's uh. It's probably Super Bad if he actually does get arrested? John doesn't have any form of ID or papers confirming his legal existence in America, and he's not really from anywhere else? What are they gonna do? ;-;

Also can you imagine being Shelby. And going to the casino and having fun, and then u find out ur roommate has a date and u cry about it. And then u maybe are gonna wake up the next morning and find out he's gone to jail /hj

Listening back on the recording was so fun, we had a lot of silly little bits (joking that The Mummy existed in-canon, the idea that Song's head voice was different than her actual voice and how thats a psychic damage attack, etc)

Anyway. We're in for a wild ride next session, im sure. Oh my god

#eric finally speaks #the neighborhood watch #the neighborhood watch recap #motw campaign #john doe

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ifuckinglovedinosaurssomuchjesus · 2 years ago

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Reviewing every Dinosaur movie ever: #7 Along the MoonBeam Trail

RELEASE DATE: 1920

SYNOPSIS: Two boys and their uncle camp in the woods where he tells stories of Queen Mab, the fairy of dreams, before wishing them goodnight. While they sleep, Queen Mab appears and awakens them, gifting them a magic ring and the promise to grant any wish. They wish for a plane that can fly them to the moon, which she grants before disappearing. The fly up into space, were they meet Mars, the Roman God of war now nothing but a celestial traffic cop, and the Man in the Moon, who smokes a huge cigar. The cross paths with a witch on a broom before being attacked by a Pterodactyl and land on an alien planet where they hide in a cave from dinosaur threats until Queen Mab returns to save them.

THOUGHTS: If the synopsis didn’t make it clear, this is a weird movie. It’s delightful really, the fairy tale beginning goes into a goofy and comedic space trip, ending with a horror segment on a prehistoric alien world. I do mean that, the dinosaurs are presented as terrifying, with the cast cowering in a cave while scary music plays. This was the film debut of Stegosaurus and Trachodon (now known as Edmontosaurus) with a return of our favorite the T. rex, which quite brutally kills the poor Trachodon with animated blood and all. They make it quite clear, dinosaurs are scary! Slumber Mountain was accidentally eerie and had its moments of action, but this is the first time I think cinema made an effort to cast dinosaurs in a horror light, a role they do fill quite nicely and a trend we still see today.

This is also the debut of Pterosaurs in movies, kind of, because calling this thing a pterosaur feels like an insult...

The story goes that this film is a result of a falling out with animators Herbert M. Dawley and Willis O’Brien over who contributed more to the creation of the widely successful Ghost of Slumber Mountain, the former deciding to take it into his own hands and make a dinosaur movie all on his own. The quality of the effects certainly aids his argument, while maybe not on the level of O’Brien in his prime, they certainly compete with Slumber Mountain. It’s a good looking movie and a monument to how fast stop motion was developing in these years of its prime.

Such an old classic once considered lost media, but most of it has been restored and made public for your viewing, so be grateful and give it a watch.

RATING: 7/10

#dinosaur #movie review #tyrannosaurus rex #stegosaurus #edmontosaurus

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fashionablyenigmatic · 1 year ago

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Cadmus Christmas Carol Pt.3

Meanwhile, in a nearby booth, Cadmus sat down with a tray piled up with buffet food. The ghost of Yule Past turned to look at him, stunned. "Did you just miss that whole scene?" It asked as Cadmus took a sip of Memory of Dr. Pepper. "Yes, and? I lived it; I don't need to see it."

"Well, did you at least get the point of it?" The ghost asked, snatching a chicken leg off his plate.

"Hey! Rude. Get your plate, and yes, I did. Stan made a grand point to a four-year-old me about paying deeper attention to people, but again, I was four. Who could barely control a mind-reading curse tha-"

"It's not a curse," the ghost interrupted.

"Hey, I'm the one living with it; I can call it what I want. You are a ghost, or poltergeist, or hell, even a fever dream, who can only pretend to be me, and my hair was never that curly."

"Yes, it was. And you were very adorable." The ghost replied. "So what did you get from this?"

"You probably want me to say something about having a decent support system that I could rely on, but that's only partly true. Sure, I had him, but even so, the man was a mess. Look, you even chose a memory where he had blood splatter on him, and that was a GOOD day. Alphonse, on the other hand, was also a problem."

"Ohh, look at me, I'm so put upon," the ghost mocked. "Most people dream to have a father like Alphonse," the ghost continued.

"Yeah, but those are dreams. I lived in a freaking nightmare," Cadmus retorted, taking a few bites of Memory of Mac 'n' Cheese before wiping his mouth with a napkin and offering a hand to the ghost. "My turn."

The ghost looked at the offered hand, confused. "This isn't how this works. You know."

"I didn't ask." He grabbed the ghost's hand, and they disappeared into another memory.

The two of them found themselves in front of the gates of Ironwood Academy, an all-boys boarding school. It was a school that Cadmus had attended when he was younger, followed by the Triplets a few years after his graduation. The campus was beautiful, but there was a strong smell of smoke and burning rubber in the air, and there seemed to be quite a commotion around the faculty parking lot.

The ghost looked around the memory, perplexed. "What's going on? Where are we? This isn't on the schedule."

Cadmus smiled knowingly. "I take it you didn't do a thorough review of my life before taking me on as a project, did you?"

"I...skimmed...for the right moments, alright? I do this for a living, or unliving, whatever this is," the ghost of holiday past retorted.

"Whatever. I should be coming out of those gates in 3...2...1."

A teenage Cadmus, around 14, burst through the gates, walking fast to get away from a rather irate-looking Alphonse.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, YOUNG MAN!? GET OVER HERE!" Alphonse shouted at him.

The young Cadmus did not slow down or stop, despite not knowing where he was going. He just needed to get away; the inner noise was all too much for him, evident by the way he held his head, trying to block out the signals he was receiving before collapsing on the ground in front of the car.

Alphonse, even though he was still angry, handed Stan a bracelet. "Put it on him."

Stan took it and went to Cadmus, sitting him up, to which Cadmus struggled against it. "NO, I DON'T WANT IT." Stan pulled the boy's arm up and latched the bracelet around his wrist, and the struggle ceased almost immediately. "Sorry, but it's necessary for your own good," Stan said with a small hint of sympathy.

"So, what's the bracelet?" The ghost asked the older Cadmus.

"Oh, nothing too crazy. Just a bracelet that shuts you off from the flow of magic and your own personality," he deadpanned.

"Holy shit," the ghost shuddered.

Stan helped the young Cadmus up and gently placed him in the backseat of the car. The boy appeared to be quite out of it at this point, his mind clouded by the overwhelming sensory input he experienced.

Alphonse, on the advice of Stan, had tried to maintain his composure, but an uncomfortable tension was rising in the car as he drove. His eyes, when not focused on the road, darted to Cadmus in the backseat, his head leaning against the window, looking out at the setting sun. Cadmus lit the fuse with a careless remark, "It's not even that serious. They don't know it was me."

"AND YOU KNEW WHAT YOU DID!" Alphonse shouted, berating Cadmus.

"Al, calm down," Stan tried to interject.

"The bastard who burned my family for the sick thrill of it! Who tried to burn me

and gave me a permanent limp! My son would never misuse his magic to do something remotely as dangerous or stupid! But NO, CADMUS HAD TO TAKE IT AS A CHALLENGE TO BE JUST LIKE HIM!"

"ALPHONSE!" Stan shouted, cutting him off in a tone that was almost never directed at him. The car fell silent, the weight of the accusations and emotions hanging heavy in the air.

#cadmus dolore #Alphonse Monroe #Stan Norman #A rather sad memory

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nepofm · 1 year ago

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SPOTTED at the met steps wearing last season’s jimmy choos ? i’d leave the steps in the next 24 hours before nepoupdates catches them ! if it were me , i’d definitely go back and review the checklist of golden rules.

lucky strike carson lorde , abel fioretti-badeaux’s former love wc

lorde. she/her. cis woman. › spotted at the met steps , lucky strike carson , most likely listening to heads gonna roll by jenny lewis with their airpods pro . the twenty-eight year old gained quite a reputation , known to be -uncompromising yet +inventive to anyone who knows them . you'll easily spot them when you hear about carefully categorized prints of 1970’s horror films stacked neatly in a home theater , the whisper of uncertainty — asking if another miracle can happen , the magic of fame wasted on a girl obsessed with being an outsider , deep insecurity hidden behind cigarettes and snark , followed by old cigarette smoke and vintage perfume . latest nepoupdates article talks about the newest queen of horror isn’t as down to earth as she seems — production assistant tells all! , but i guess any reputation is good reputation . ( ferb , 26 , she/they , est . )

#appless rp #oc rp #rich kids rp #city rp #gossip girl rp #accepted.

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thepermanentrainpress · 2 years ago

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CONCERT REVIEW: BRASS CAMEL W/ CHASE THE BEAR AT WISE HALL - MAY 13, 2023

Chase the Bear and Brass Camel performed at the quirky and intimate Wise Hall on Saturday, May 13th. Tucked away in the Commercial Drive area of the city, surrounded by heritage homes and co-operative housing, the venue is a staple of the local music scene. In a world of mass audiences and global stadium tours, both bands showcased the magic of music engaged with the community.

Chase the Bear kickstarted the concert with blazing guitar riffs and Troy Gilmore’s magnetic, raspy vocals. The bandmates sported trendy retro outfits – a homage to their largely classic rock sound with subtle soul and pop. The band played through their setlist, which included the wild, western-flavoured “Five More Minutes,” the determined and desperate “Underwater,” the spunky and empowered “Quit Callin’,” as well as “Wildheart” – a song of energized longing. Connor Brooks’ drums were consistently confident, skilled, and lively; the beats pulsated through the crowd and into the soul. “It feels like we're in a coming-of-age movie,” I told my friend.

Brass Camel took to the smoke-filled stage with glamour and charisma. Daniel James emerged in a purple suit, white headband, and orange-tinted glasses. The crowd watched in awe as the band performed with their signature steely electric melodies, high-pitched vocals, and vintage synths. The whole scene felt massive and intense, despite being in a smaller hall. The band shredded through many of their released tunes, including the rowdy, sci-fi “Last Flight of the Vulcan” and the bouncy and playful “Dinger’s in the Back.” The melodies and notes had such a beautiful dynamic range in-person. While the studio versions of the songs are fantastic, there’s nothing like experiencing the artistry up-close and firsthand. Fingers maneuvered expertly during complex guitar solos. With each new song, the band transitioned seamlessly and with style.

The crowd was quickly wound up, even starting a mosh pit during the dramatic and feisty “King for a Day.” Brass Camel ended on a high note with the cool, catchy “Pressure Cooker” and jumpy and joyful “I’ve Got the Fox.” At no time was the crowd not bopping their heads or flicking their wrists. Eyes were glued to the stage when James brought out a sleek, double-prong electric guitar. Immediately after the show, the band members ran to work the merch table and connect with fans.

Chase the Bear and Brass Camel teamed up for a high-quality, fun, and inspiring concert. The event brought together a talented group of musicians who don’t get enough credit for the bonds they forge in communities across the country. Sparks were quickly and expertly cultivated and lasted the entire show, the heat rivalling the blistering temperatures of the day.

“So... do you feel brassed?” I asked my friend, as wicked guitar rung out and colourful lights faded at the end of the show.

“I feel brassed,” he declared.

Written by: Jenna Keeble Photo credit to: Heather Horncastle

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strikefms · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 — a twenty-eight year old horror movie director who thinks she's still a regular person, penned by 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓫 for 𝖓𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖋𝖒. INTRODUCTION , PLAYLIST & PINTEREST.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

full name: lucky strike carson

nicknames: mostly goes by strike, unless you've know her a long time. does not tolerate "lucky" except from those very close to her.

birthday: june 29, 1995

zodiac: gemini

hometown: topeka, kansas

occupation: film director

sexual orientation: bisexual

face claim: lorde

career claim: ari aster

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

NEWEST FILM BY LUCKY STRIKE CARSON MAKES $22MIL ON LIMITED RELEASE — The Hollywood Reporter, 15 August 2023 STRIKE CARSON WINS INDEPENDENT SPIRIT AWARD FOR MIDSOMMAR — Sight & Sound, 5 March 2023 STRIKE CARSON SMOKES A CIG WITH SETH MEYERS TO PROMOTE NEW FILM: SEE FULL VIDEO — Variety, 1 December 2022 SURPRISE HIT WITH A24'S HORROR FILM, HEREDITARY: READ OUR REVIEW HERE ! — The Guardian, 19 October 2020 WINNER OF STUDENT FILM FESTIVAL: MUNCHAUSEN WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY LUCKY STRIKE CARSON — The NYU Times, 14 April 2017

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

she's been weird her entire life - and really, with a family like hers, how could she not be? the only daughter in a gaggle of boys, surrounded in her family's trailer by both love and constant criticism. each of them latched onto something - she just picked the old vhs copies of slasher films that her uncle left over, the last time he ever visited. and that would be her saving grace, and her downfall.

she buys a camera - or, well, you could say she sort-of steals a camera - when she's twelve. she pawns a few things she picks up off of the porches around the neighborhood, and then uses that to buy a film camera that's a bit too old and a few rolls of film. and then it begins, she's directing little movies with her brothers in starring roles - everything from war dramas to romantic movies featuring their girlfriends as love interests.

they put up with it, until she's in high school and it's no longer a product of her youth. then, she's got to recruit the losers and the theater kids from her high school - this time, all to make a full film reel. she's got her sights set on film school, on getting out of the town she's in and moving to new york city. and she'll need a scholarship to do it. so she works her ass off, and gets the scholarship, and the rest is a carefully crafted montage of packing up a life and moving it across the country.

film school is everything she thought it would be and more. she's got the freedom now, between her very structured classes, to branch out - try new, more experimental things. and she's got the equipment to meet the ideas she has in her head. nyu loans her real cameras, and she goes a little insane for the first two summers she's there - filming everything she possibly can and entering film festivals with short films that she actually feels meet her expectations.

she meets abel there, in class, and she actually finds someone who she values the opinions of. most people know that strike has never been able to be told she's wrong - too opinionated and hardheaded to actually be reasoned with. but abel's ideas are good, and their delivery's gentle enough that strike doesn't feel attacked all the damn time. they fall into the relationship with ease, like it's something that it's supposed to be. and strike doesn't even mind that misses a class or two, if it means she's actually got something real.

she wins, at the student film festival, with a short about the death of familial relationships - and she feels accomplished in a way she never really has before. she wants more, wants to actually bring some of the horrifying shit she's been writing to life - but she has to finish school first, has to perfect her screenplays and create a pitch, and she disappears for a little while, into her dorm room, to work on that. abel is the only one who actually sees her, for a while.

and then the relationship is over, one random morning, and strike is left alone in her dorm room. and she can't even process the heartbreak - she has a meeting coming up with several production companies and she works through it - works through everything. she's a bit of a workaholic, chasing a legacy that she knows she can leave. only her brother really gets through to her, when he moves up to new york, too. she's glad - he reminds her to eat and... exist, outside of the confines of a film set.

she wins an award on her first feature, and the accolades keep coming in, and being as meticulous and rude as she was during development seems... worth it. yeah, some of her actors hate her - but she got their names out there, by word of mouth and good performance, right? everything can be forgiven if it's a means to an end.

she releases another film with incredible turnaround time, and that one wins bigger awards - makes more money than she knows what to do with. they offer her a ridiculous amount of money - enough to buy the entire goddamn trailer park where she grew up, and she... turns it down. or - tables it, is a more correct way to put it. strike wants to be a person, and not a little worker bee.

so, she takes two years off - or, she gets the production company to agree to her taking two years off - and goes into the city to actually experience it. she'd never even been to central park, before - and she lived not ten blocks from it, during college. and when she starts to interact with the people around her, she starts to realize - she doesn't belong among them, still too many sharp edges and too much history. people think she's grown, a rags to riches success story - but strike's still that same girl, stealing off the others in her trailer park to chases insane dreams.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍��𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

THE ACTORS — people that appeared in her movies! strike is intense on a set, a whole different person than she is outside. you either hate her, or respect her for the way that she's able to push her actors into performances of a lifetime. no matter the opinion, her movies have garnered acclaim, so often those in them might hate her on set, but love her once the reviews are released.

THE COMPETITOR — perhaps another director, who attended nyu at a similar time - someone who's been coming up at the same time. neither of them are sure whether the rivalry is real of something they're both just clinging to - especially since they work in wildly different genres. nevertheless, the two are probably being eyed to be in an oscar race eventually - and that will be a bloodbath, if they don't make nice soon.

PLATONIC — she's hard to like, on set, but off of it - she's completely an open book. abrasive to a fault, strike's friends will have to be laid back and easygoing, able to take a joke ; people who also came from nothing, or who are less interested in living a life of luxury and more into smoking cigarettes outside of dingy bars that remind her of home ; anyone who might be interested in being in a movie - this could be someone who's a little more manipulative of her, she's desperate to feel normal again, and a friendship could get their food in the door.

ROMANTIC — hookups! strike's known for picking up at bars and trying to be completely normal about it afterwards - even worse, she's good at it. sex doesn't mean a lot to her - which could cause some conflict ; an ex that she "forgot" about during production, probably it fell apart due to her just... not ever texting back... could be dramatic!

ANTAGONISTIC — people who think they're better than her, or at least people who act like they're better at her ; people who are way too proper and upper class who might think she's a bit of a street rat (she is) ; anyone who doesn't like a random 5'1 girl swearing up a storm in their general vicinity - no matter what her status is in the movie world.

#intro #nepofm.intro #pinned!#horror mentions tw

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