#site: we keep marching on

[jelfish-aether]

the thing is. the thing about me is. i’m so normal about imperials. so normal.

[ao3scrapesearch]

This tool is optional. No one is required to use it, but it's here if you want to know which of your AO3 fics were scraped. Locked works were not 100% protected from this scrape. Currently, I don't know of any next steps you should be taking, so this is all informational.

Most people should use this link to check if they were included in the March 2025 AO3 scrape. This will show up to 2,000 scraped works for most usernames.

Or you can use this version, which is slower but does a better job if your username is a common word. This version also lets you look up works by work ID number, which is useful if you're looking for an orphaned or anonymous fic.

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On mobile, enable screen rotation and turn your phone sideways. It's a litttttle easier to use like that. It works better if you can use desktop.

Some FAQs below the cut:

First off! If you're seeing an old version of this post, you may not have seen that we now have our first tool to poison AO3 fics! This is still experimental, and it's likely we'll find issues with it as people start using it! But if you want something like Glaze and Nightshade but for fic, this is what we have right now. Before you decide to use it, please read all the info you can--most importantly, using the poison in its current state makes your fic inaccessible to certain users. All the TTS tools I've tried work with this as long as your readers know to save the fic in a certain way! But people who need to download an offline copy to adjust the colors and can't do that with an AO3 site skin will NOT be able to download your work with the current version of the poison. For downloading EPUBs, it preliminarily looks like Calibre can support "unpoisoning" the fic so it's readable again.

"What do I need to do now?": At this time, the main place where this dataset was shared is disabled. As far as I'm aware, you don't need to do anything, but I'll update if I hear otherwise. If you're worried about getting scraped again, locking your fics to users only is NOT a guarantee, but it's a little extra protection. There are methods that can protect you more, but those will come at a cost of hiding your works from more potential readers as well.

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"I want my fics to be unusable for AI, but I wanna be lazy about it.": You're so real for that, bestie. It may take awhile, but I'm on the lookout for data poisoning methods that require less effort, and I will boost posts regarding that once I find anything reputable.

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"Are locked fics safe?": Not safe, but so far, it appears that locked fics were scraped less often than public fics. The only fics I haven't seen scraped as of right now are fics in unrevealed collections, which even logged-in users can't view without permission from the owner.

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"My fic isn't there.": The cut-off date is around February 15th, 2025 for oneshots, but chapters posted up to March 21st, 2025 have been found in the data so far. I had to remove a few works from the dataset because the data was all skrungly and breaking my tool. (The few fics I removed were NOT in English.) Otherwise, from what I can tell so far, the scraper's code just... wasn't very good, so most likely, your fic was missed by random chance.

Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I've received more donations than what I paid to make this tool so you do NOT need to keep sending money. (But I super appreciate everyone who did help fund this! I just wanna make sure we all know it's all paid for now, so if you send any more that's just going to my savings to fix the electrical problems with my house. I don't have any more costs to support for this project right now.)

(Made some edits to the post on 27-May-2025 to update information!)

[ms-demeanor]

One of the problems that came up this week is actually a problem that came up in December.

On December 15th we got a warning about disk health in a server; there is a drive that is at risk of failure.

A ticket was created for me to create a quote to replace the drive.

There was no part number associated with the ticket, and because of the type of server, there was no easy way to access configuration information online and our hardware documentation is a disaster (I have thought it was a disaster since the acquisition; I set up hardware documentation at the old job specifically to avoid issues like this and now all that documentation is gone because we didn't keep any licenses of the old job's CRM). This was not a situation where I could find a part number.

I contacted Tech Alice and asked her to check the part number on the server. Alice reported back that because the drive was part of a RAID array, she couldn't get the part number. She recommended asking Bob, and put her time entry on the ticket.

I contacted Tech Bob and asked him if he could find the part number for the drive on the server; Bob also reported back that he could not find a way to get the part number from the server, he recommended that Charlie collect the part number when he went onsite. Bob added his time to the ticket (still my ticket) and added the status "onsite needed."

Now it is December 23rd. I have messaged Charlie and asked him to check the part number when he is onsite and have added him to the ticket. I'm out of the office today, Charlie is out of the office next week. Charlie does not remember to look at the part number when he is onsite. It is the end of the year.

Now it is January 15th. We lost the first week of the year to assessments, and the second week of the year to the state and our clients being on fire - people were unable to go onsite because of all of that. Charlie is going onsite. I remind him to get the part number when he is at the client site. When he is at the client site he alerts me that actually he is at their other location, not the location with the server.

Now it is January 27th. Charlie is going back onsite, he is on my ticket, the ticket is set to onsite needed. I remind Charlie that we need the part number. Charlie does not remember.

Now it is February 6th. We have created a whole new ticket for Charlie with the *EXPRESS STATED PURPOSE* of going onsite to collect a part number for the failing drive in the server. Charlie marks the ticket as "waiting materials" and makes a note that he can't replace the drive until we order the part.

Now it is February 7th. We have explained, in writing, in Charlie's ticket that we can't order the part until he goes onsite and collects the part number, because we cannot get it because the server won't report the part number if it's in a raid array for reasons that I'll be honest I do not understand.

Now it is February 14th. Charlie closes his ticket and he and Bob pull me into a meeting. The server at the client site is so old they're not sure it's a good idea to replace the drive. Charlie has recommended that the project team quote a migration to sharepoint, which the client has expressed interest in in the past. Bob makes a note of this in my ticket. But I do not close my ticket. I do not close my ticket because I know there must be some fuckery coming. So I put my ticket to "on hold" and set it to reactivate on March 10th so that I can follow up with the project team and see if the migration project is making any progress or if we still need to replace this drive because the server drive is still failing.

It is March 13th. I have a bad week. A very bad week. My manager looks at my open tickets and asks why on earth I still have a server drive failure ticket open from December. I explain that I only have it open to follow up on the migration because the technician suggested server replacement but if there wasn't progress we should still quote a drive, but I still didn't have the part number.

My manager puts me in a chat with me, Charlie, the Project team lead, my manager, and the service team lead and asks what the fuck is going on. I paste Charlie's last update on my ticket and say that I'll be happy to quote a hard drive but I still don't have the part number.

Charlie says "Oh, I put the part number in the ticket" and pastes a photo of a drive (low light, low contrast, and blurry but with a visible part number) in the chat.

"Great!" I say, and immediately assemble a quote and find stock. Then i look back at my ticket. "But I'm actually not seeing the part number on this [my] ticket. Where was that again?"

Charlie has put the part number on his ticket, which I was never on, which he closed.

"Ah, okay. I see."

And here's where the different standards that all of us are used to using work against us.

My old job built RAID servers all the fucking time. It was totally standard, totally easy, totally sensible, and I always knew to double the number of drives we needed for the storage we got because we'd be mirroring. Because we'd be using RAID 10. Because it's robust and can take a lot of failure. A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 10 is not ideal, but it's also not a drop-everything and panic emergency. I *still* wouldn't want to leave it two months in an ideal world but I can't drive up to San Francisco and get a part number, and sometimes the world literally catches on fire.

However, these new folks use RAID 5.

A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 5 *IS* a drop everything emergency, because if one drive goes down the whole system goes down until you can replace the drive and rebuild the array, and because RAID 5 is slower than 10, this can take a very, very long time depending on how much data there is. And if *two* drives fail the data is *gone*

So.

Whose job is it to get the part number, and whose job is it to know that the server is at imminent risk of failure?

Well, now I have properly reconfigured my internal alarms about any failing server drive, but I don't understand why none of the three technicians who worked on this ticket with me didn't at any point say "hey this is an emergency" (Alice is from my old team and used to RAID 10 also, I'm willing to give her a pass) and I'm *really* confused why Bob and Charlie would recommend *not* replacing a drive in a server that is that close to failure.

(And again, I just didn't know. Believe me, I am never, ever going to shut up about drive warning tickets in the future)

And, the thing that scares the shit out of me and my manager and part of the reason why this has been a bad week and I'm having stressful conversations: What if I had just closed that ticket instead of letting it reactivate to follow up on? What if I had just marked it as done when Charlie gave me the update? It wouldn't have been an old-ass ticket in my queue that my manager flagged, it would have been a note in an after-action report when the client's server crashed.

(The client has the quote now with the statement "this failing drive puts your server at risk of failure and we strongly recommend replacing" but they haven't approved it yet because they're really cheap so I'm going to have to send it again and say "this is a mission critical part that you need to replace; your server is at risk as long as the drive is not replaced.")

So. The boss is asking "why is procurement taking so long" and really, now that I'm thinking about it - because he brought it up - how much of this really IS supposed to be my job?

[delicateperspective]

Glastonlarry 2025 Breakdown

Before I begin, I want to emphasize the importance of critical thinking when engaging with content like this. Timelines are incredibly helpful for seeing the broader picture, but they’re not infallible—I may get details wrong or unintentionally leave something out. It's essential that we all take responsibility for doing our own research, verifying sources, and not accepting any narrative at face value, no matter who it comes from.

Also, keep in mind that everything I’m about to share is unfolding in real time. There will likely be updates, shifts, and new information emerging in the days ahead that will add more depth or context to this timeline. But as of the final day of Glastonbury, here’s where things stand.

The Lead-Up

December 21st, 2024 - Harry follows Doechii February 9th - Harry follows Alaina Haim February 21st - Louis follows Nova Twins March 6th - Glasto official line-up drops March 7th - Louis follows Beabadoobee

Wednesday, June 25th

2:59 PM - The first picture appears of Louis with Oli and Tommy

An article in Variety later talks about Louis being in a great mood - "'Glastooooo! a stranger yelled behind me as I checked into the hospitality campsite at Glastonbury Festival on Wednesday. Only, it wasn't really a stranger: it was Louis Tomlinson of One Direction fame, lugging a huge rucksack and getting hyped with his friends for the five days of music and partying that lay ahead. Without stopping to ask for a photo or whispering about who he was, several festivalgoers around us echoed his call, reveling in the excitement to come."

3:28 PM - Harry is seen walking around London in a vintage Olympics windbreaker

Around 5PM - Pleasing launches a 21 hr countdown for "Happy Accident" with an email campaign that says "Sorry to bother you, but I think this is yours"

Later that night - Harry goes to the ballet

Thursday, June 26th

12:30 PM - Michael Blackwell and Lou Teasdale both post that they on their way to Glasto (seperately)

1:15 PM - Zara's pannel starts

3:00 PM - Another Pleasing campaign: Perfume with a plot twist, inspired by seemingly wrong turns turned out quite alright. Excuse me, you dropped something. Reimagining mistakes as moments of oppurtunity and leaing into the messiness of everyday life. A trip to someplace joyfully unexpected.

3:53 PM - The first pictures of L and Zara emerge with a body guard.

5:10 PM - The Sun runs an article showing L watching Zara's panel. People on site say he was only there long enough to get the video (rumor).

Friday, June 27th

10:00 AM - Sam (Lou T's sister) and Tommo Campbell post that they are on the way to Glasto

12:07 PM - An article saying that L has a tent for himself and one for alchohol but Zara staying off-site. “Louis is determined to make it a weekend to remember and has planned everything with military like precision - including making sure enough booze is available. He has his own tent - and one just for the drinks.”

1:00 PM - Oli, Lou's sound engineer, posts that he has arrived at Glasto

1:00 PM - Anne posts a video about an elder lesbian wedding where they are so happy to not have to refer to each other as their cousins anymore.

1:00 PM - Simon Jones arrives at Glasto

1:14 PM - Lottie posts an Instagram photo of herself, Lewis, and Louis.

2:15 PM - Lou, Zara, Michael, Bodyguard, Lottie, Lewis, Oli, and Tommy watch the Inhaler set. Tommy is wearing a shirt with 2011 One Direction on it.

3:47 PM - Chris Frewin (not in any pictures with Lou) posts a story from Kneecap's Glasto set

3:51 PM - Zara posts about her apparel brand

5:31 PM - Harry is first seen at Glasto with the video and article breaking via The Sun before any fan videos drop. With Kidd Harpoon and Rob Stringer. Harry Styles sparks hopes of mini One Direction reunion at Glastonbury as he’s spotted backstage in tiny shorts. His pal Louis Tomlinson was seen on site supporting girlfriend Zara McDermott

Around this time - Harry seems happy, dancing to music at a food truck with Kidd Harpoon. He is also spotted talking to Emma Corrin.

5:36 PM - Lottie posts with Lewis and Oli and Zara and Lou in the background. She also posts a picture with just her and Louis.

5:43 PM - Zara posts a selfie with Oli

9:13 PM - Simon Jones posts from The NYC Downlow in the Block 9 section of Glasto

11:48 PM - Anne posts a rainbow image "While you're overthinking and doubting yourself, someone else is looking at you wondering how you do it all. Keep going"

Though it is rumored that Harry was at The 1975s headlining set, there are no pictures or videos. In fact, there are no pictures or videos of EITHER OF THEM from any time after the inital hour of Harry arriving.

Saturday, June 28th

12:00 PM - Zara's best friend Jade arrives at Glasto with Harry's "ex" Nadine Leopold

3:29 PM - Zara gives an exclusive interview to The Sun. Addressing their awkward pitchside head-to-head, Zara insists: “The only thing in my life that's worth writing about is the work I do. “I see some of the things that are written and I'm like, ‘Why do we focus on the non-existent drama?’ Sometimes that can be frustrating, but I suppose it’s all part of the industry.” ... “I spend my day job going out and filming with really vulnerable people. And it’s shaped me so much as a person that it's made me not sweat the small stuff any more, “ she explains. “I don’t care about social media as much as I used to, or about the aesthetic or the image. I value so much real relationships and real support around me, and being that to other people. “I'm a totally different person to the one I was when I was 21 years old and stepped into what appeared to be a glitzy world of showbiz. My day to day life is not at all glitz and glamour.”

8:00 PM - Louis and crew watch Raye from GA while Simon Jones watches from VIP area

8:16 PM - Lottie posts a video of her and Lewis, Tommy, Lou, and Zara

8:46 PM - We get an article based on that social media post. Zara McDermott cuddles up to Louis Tomlinson’s sister at Glastonbury as romance gets family seal of approval.

9:07 PM - The Sun publishes "Harry Styles parties ‘incognito’ in the Glastonbury crowds until 6am – with another One Direction star there too" The former One Direction man was hard at it until around 6am yesterday at the Somerset festival’s happening party district Block9.

At some point this night, Harry orders two chicken wing meals and we get video of him at a food stand with what looks suspicously like a rainbow bear attached to his bag.

After 8PM there are no more pictures of either of them currently reported.

Sunday, June 29th

12:21 AM - The Telegraph posts an article saying "There will be quite a few sore heads among the A-list set this morning, since I have heard reports that a topless Andrew Scott, Rita Ora, Ncuti Gatwa, Tilda Swinston wearing a stick-on moustche and someone who looked suspiciously like Harry Styles were key players on the dance floor at Riotous gay club NYC Downlow last night.

2:30 AM - A video is taken of a 12-second kiss between Harry and a mystery woman.

7:00 AM - Louis likes a romantic reel on Instagram of Harry giving him a loving look with the caption "the way harry looks at him" and a song by Bruno Mars saying "if the world was ending I'd want to be next to you"

8:30 AM - Louis unlikes the reel

8:30 AM - Lottie posts a video of a dark club with an insect sculpture.

8:30 AM - Lottie removes an eariler video of Zara from her stories

10:24 AM - Zara posts photoshoot of her in the walkway at glasto from the day before. Tabloids report this as a bad move.

10:25 AM - Lloyd posts from vacation (clearly not at Glasto) and tags Glasto

11:17 AM - Pleasing posts about Happy Accident again. "Smells like Sweet depositions and sunny outlooks" "a little whoops-that-actually-worked" "Pardon us, but we beleive this is yours"

8:00 PM - Zara posts from the Nile Rogers set and tags Lottie and Lewis. Lewis then posts a video showing all of them including Louis and Zara. Louis is wearing a shirt with heart eyes and the back says "hopless romantic"

9:55 PM - Eleanor Calder sips tea unbottherd in Abdu Dhabi on her insta story

10:00 PM - The Sun posts the video of Harry kissing someone at 2AM. BEST SNOG EVER Watch Harry Styles passionately snog mystery woman as ‘sparks fly’ in packed Glastonbury VIP area. One onlooker said: “Harry only had eyes for this woman and sparks were flying as soon as they were together. “Harry turned up with a few of his mates but as soon as she got there, they were almost inseparable. “She kissed him on the cheek three times before he took her hand and led her to the dancefloor. “Just short of an hour after they arrived, they kissed in front of loads of other people and didn’t seem to care who was watching.

(this is the same headline "Best Snog Ever" that they used for their other super exclusive kiss pictures from CR just a few months ago. The ones with Louis and Zara.)

Notes/Observations:

Again, details and photos/videos should slowly roll out over the next week or so that might fill in some gaps in this timeline, but for now this is what we have through Sunday night.

The Sun has now identified the woman as a London-based producer believed to be named Ella Kenny.

There are a small handful of people at The Sun which appear to be deeply ingrained in the reporting of the ZMc "relationship" and this weekends events. I won't name them, but they're not exactly being subtle or quiet.

As of the close of Glastonlarry 2025, the events of the weekend speak volumes—not just through what was shown, but through what was deliberately obscured. For the first time in years, Louis and Harry were not only confirmed to be in the same place, but surrounded by coordinated press coverage and strikingly synchronized personal signals. A single like on Instagram—just one reel of a loving glance, paired with romantic lyrics—said more than any interview ever could. If we’ve learned anything from tracking these timelines over the years, it’s that what isn’t said often reveals more than what is and when we don't see them is often just as important as when we do.

[its-luna-noel]

puppy chronicles

05. the useless puppy | toji x reader

The JJK men are gifted a hybrid puppy. ...wait, that kind of puppy? alpha!human!jjk men x omega!hybrid!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, hybrid!au, omegaverse, hybrid!reader, omega!reader, pet play, collars/leashes, smut, heat/rut, knots, oral (f! receiving), spitting, toji's a little nasty, anal fingering

word count: 3.9k next: the naughty puppy | sukuna x reader

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! sorry it's been a while, but here's toji's puppy chronicle! i hope you all enjoy <3 next up is sukuna!

Toji finally made his lucky break; he just won a race.

When he makes his way to the winner’s box, expecting a handsome cash reward for his bets, enough to make sure he won’t have to work for at least a few months, he’s disappointed – almost angry – to find you instead.

You’re dressed in a satin romper, something decent enough to show on live television as he comes to collect his winnings, but with enough lace trim to make you look desirable. Your fluffy tail wags from side to side, and your big puppy eyes gaze up at him adoringly. Your new master–

“Tch,” he huffs, turning towards the announcer just as they turn off the cameras, returning coverage to the winning jockey. “What the hell? I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Technically, sir,” says the announcer, smoothing out his suit jacket, “you did. By placing your bets–”

“I don’t want to look after some mutt!” Toji snaps, green eyes narrowing, and your heart sinks at his expression and words. Your tail no longer wags. “I signed up for a cash prize, not some stupid hybrid.”

The announcer shrugs, adjusting his cuffs. “Resell her, then. I’m sure you can find someone to take her. Just get her out of here before we get back on air.”

Toji snarls but snatches the leather leash from your handler. It’s a lot of extra work, but he supposes he can put you up for auction or something to have you gone by the end of the week – and more importantly, have his money by then.

He marches out of the winner’s box with a scowl on his face, dragging you behind him on your hands and knees. You follow as fast as you can, ripping up the palms of your hands as you move with him across the concrete.

When he gets you back to his car, he opens the backseat door. “Get in,” he says gruffly, eyes on the sky instead of on you, like he can’t even bear the sight of you.

Your heart breaks a little, but you follow his instructions, climbing into the back of the car and letting him shut the door behind you. You sit in silence as he moves around to the driver’s seat and starts the engine with a low rumble.

The car’s a piece of shit, you have to admit.

But it runs, so you suppose you shouldn’t be complaining as he drives you to whatever motel he’s staying in for now. He comes to let you out of the car, and when you emerge, you look up at him shyly.

You ask, “Can…I walk?”

“Don’t give a shit, doll. You do what you want. You’re gonna be gone soon anyway.”

You think, for a moment, you might sit down in the unpaved parking lot and weep.

But you don’t; you keep a strong facade as you follow him, on your bare feet this time, to save your hands and knees the rough treatment of crawling. He leads you past the front desk, and the receptionist gives you a curious look, eyes locking on the leash and collar you’re adorned with.

Once he’s in the room, he unclips the leash and gestures towards the bed. “Lay there if you want.” He, instead of lying beside you, goes to the old laptop on the desk and pries it open.

It’s quiet between you as he clicks away at the keyboard, bringing up a puppy auction site. You curl up on the bed, ears pinned back against your head as you watch him offer you away like you’re nothing.

You suppose, to him, you are nothing.

He sets up the profile, adding your description to it almost clinically. Then, when it calls for a picture for insurance that he really does have a puppy like you, he sighs loudly.

“Come ‘ere, puppy,” he calls, patting his lap without looking at you. “Need a picture.”

So you crawl out of bed, your hands and knees still raw. You look at him questioningly for a moment, silently asking what he wanted you to do, before he pats his lap one more time. “Don’t make me ask again, doll. Sit.”

You settle on his lap, resting lightly on his strong thighs, feeling the hard muscles beneath your own soft legs. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close until your back hits his broad chest, your legs falling to the side so both of his are between yours. Your ass is now firmly against his crotch, and even soft you can feel the imprint of him through his loose sweatpants.

He puts his scarred lips to your ear and whispers, “Smile.”

You fight to swallow before offering a shaky smile to the webcam.

He clicks the capture button, and then he’s patting your thigh to get you off. “Alright, pup, that’s it.”

He goes back to what he was doing without another look, like he’s unaffected by your presence, your touch, your body against his. Putting you up for auction without any regrets. You go back to what you were doing, lying there watching him sign your life away for the second time that day.

Once Toji puts up the profile, he leans back in his chair, eyes on the screen as he waits for something to happen. Waits to see if anyone will take you.

Someone puts in a bid on you within ninety seconds.

Toji watches, sea glass eyes widening and practically reflecting dollar signs, as the bid amount goes up, and up, and up.

By the time the final price is locked in, it’s at millions of yen.

Toji leans back in his chair, hands locked behind his hands with a smug expression on his face. Those bastards at the race were right; people were desperate for a pretty puppy like you, especially one that was publicized on television for anyone to see and lust over.

He sighs happily and glances over at you, standing from his seat. He’s in a much better mood now. He comes over to pet your ears, rubbing them lightly. “You’re going to a good home, pup,” he tells you, even though he can’t be sure of that, and doesn’t care to even try. You’re just a stepping stone between him and millions of yen.

So that night he climbs into bed beside you, lying an arms length away from your curled up body, and he tries to think of all the money he’ll earn when he finally hands you over. Sure, he’ll just blow all that money on betting again, but hey, the more he bets, the more he could win – and hopefully this time it won’t be a stupid puppy.

He’s imagining all the money he’ll make when all of a sudden it hits – a sweetness, almost sickeningly sweet, sweeping quickly across the room and drowning him in its intensity.

Toji stiffens beside you, and you whimper, starting to scoot away on the bed. “I’m sorry,” you rush out, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible. “I’m sorry, they picked me for the race because my heat was coming soon. I didn’t know it would be tonight though, I-I-I thought I would be gone before it came–”

Toji growls, snatching you up and dragging you back towards him, making your romper ride up your thighs. He leans into the crook of your neck and sniffs, long and punctuated with a soft groan at the end. “Fuck, doll,” he rumbles, parting his lips to bare his teeth, “you smell so goddamn good. So fucking sweet.” He grazes his teeth over your scent gland.

You whimper, shifting in his arms, aching. “M-Mr. Fushiguro–”

He lets out a sharp laugh, pulling back to fix his eyes on you. “I’m not ‘Mr.’ anything, pup. Call me Toji when I fuck you.”

You shiver at his words. “Y-y-you’re gonna…?”

He repeats the words right in your ear, “Fuck you? Yeah, doll, I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna put my dick so deep inside you it’ll come out your damn mouth. Now, lay down before I make you.” Then he licks the shell of your ear, his breath making you shiver.

You lie back against the sheets, and he follows you down, his broad body covering yours. He presses his face into the crook of your neck again, nipping at your throat above and below your leather collar. His teeth sink into the flesh over your scent gland, and the cloying sweetness only permeates the room further, almost drowning in it, almost tasting it.

He pulls aside the neckline of your satin romper, giving him more space to leave imprints of his teeth. With every bite you moan, the sound lewd, almost pornographic. You just can’t believe how fucking good it feels to have him touching you.

You’ve had other partners, but you haven’t had an alpha treat you like his omega before.

He makes his way lower and lower, pulling the sleeves of your lingerie down your shoulders, slowly revealing your perfect chest to his eyes. Your nipples are already pert, with the sensation of his teeth on you, and he chuckles, looking up through dark lashes.

“You’re so good, pup,” he whispers, his mouth moving slowly down to the top of your breast. He sucks a mark there, before moving to the other. “Almost regret putting you up for auction now. If only I’d known you were so goddamn sweet.”

You’re panting, gazing down at him with pupils blown wide with desire. You watch as he lowers his mouth, eyes on yours the entire time, and finally wraps his lips around your nipple, flicking his tongue against it.

Your head falls back in pleasure, eyes closing as you mewl quietly. At the sight, he reaches up and grabs your jaw, forcing your head back up. “Keep your eyes on me, doll,” he drawls, lazily swiping his tongue over your nipple, like it’s automatic, like he’s not even thinking about the action. “Or I’ll stop.”

And you don’t want that – god, you don’t. So you keep your eyes on his, watching his pink lips suck lightly on your nipple before kissing his way over to your other breast, taking that nipple in his mouth in turn.

You’re moaning softly, lashes fluttering as you fight to keep your eyes open.

Then, once he’s grown tired of playing with your sensitive nipples, he tightens his hand on your jaw and leans up to kiss you.

It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s everything.

His tongue swipes against yours, hot and commanding. He forces his way into your mouth, exploring every inch, and you realize that you don’t want to kiss anyone else, don’t want to be given away. You want to stay with this alpha, want him to mark you, knot you, make you his.

You don’t want to be sold off, and your heart sinks with the thought that after this, things will go right back to normal.

As he kisses you, he slides the romper the rest of the way off. He pulls the fabric down your legs, then knocks your knees aside to open you up for his body to fit between your thighs.

It’s like heaven, feeling the warmth of your naked body against every hard line of his.

He chucks the satin across the room, the piece already forgotten as he wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs, pulling you closer to his mouth. He’s practically salivating for it, drooling for your wet pussy, like a dog himself. He’s sure if he was the one with the tail, it would be wagging so hard he’d get happy tail. Instead, he dives in, spitting on your clit and watching the wad of saliva slowly drip down between your lips, soaking right into your tight little pussy.

He growls at the sight.

He reaches one hand down and slowly brushes the pads of his fingers over your cunt, spreading them into a “V” so he can look at just how pretty it is, like petals on the most beautiful flower he’s ever fucking seen. His spit is still there, leaking down towards the curve of your ass now, and he watches it for a moment longer before slowly leaning in.

He looks up at you at the last second, watching you. You’re panting, your lips parted in anticipation of what’s to come, your eyes wide and taking in the sight. When he stops, you whimper quietly, but you don’t move.

He grins up at you and whispers, “Say please.”

“Oh, please,” you beg, so prettily.

And then his mouth is on you. 

He slathers your pussy with spit, brushing the flat of his tongue against your clit. Your hips jump at the sensation, but he’s got such a tight hold on you that you can’t run away even if you wanted to, which you don’t. You want to stay here, in his arms, in this piece of heaven, forever. You want him to eat you out for hours, if he so pleases, just in order for him to touch you like this over and over and over again, to never let you go.

You wanna be good for him.

He laps at your clit like he’s possessed, like it’s his one mission in life. As he does, he humps his hips into the mattress, groaning right into your pussy at the stimulation.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Then his long, dextrous tongue slips inside your waiting pussy, and your back rises off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows. You cry out, and Toji grins again as he fucks his tongue into you, reaching down with his thumb to gently rub your clit.

It’s embarrassing how fast you cum.

Your thighs shake around his head, and he’s still holding you tightly in place as your hips threaten to buck off the bed, chasing the sensations. But he’s got complete control over you, and he won’t let it go so easily, so he holds you down and fucks you with his tongue, his thumb still rubbing light little circles on your swollen clit.

He doesn’t stop after just one orgasm, or even two. He chases a third, until you’re babbling his name and erotic mixtures of “please” and “oh god.”

Then finally, when he pulls away, after your pussy clenches around his tongue for the third time, his lips and chin are covered in your sweet, decadent slick.

He lets go of your legs, letting them fall open so he can crawl up your body. And then he’s grabbing your jaw, squeezing until your lips part, and he’s forcing his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him. When he pulls away, keeping his hold on your jaw, he spits in your mouth, making you taste everything he took from you on your tongue.

“Swallow,” he says, and you do. Then he shifts again, rising up on his knees and reaching for you once more.

He manhandles you, grabbing you by the hips and shoving you onto your belly, where he crushes you against the bed, the imprint of his massive length hard against your ass. He grinds down, rubbing his dick into the plush flesh there. He grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck, doll. You’re so soft. Bet your pussy would feel just as soft, huh? Soft and warm.” He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Can’t wait to fuck you.”

You whine softly, tilting your hips to press your ass back against his pelvis. “Fuck me, then,” you beg.

He chuckles lightly, swatting your ass with a loud thwack! “Impatient little thing, huh? Are you that desperate?” he asks, watching your ass jiggle as he smacks it again.

You nod, still whimpering.

“Use your words, doll, don’t make me put you over my knee. Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Y-yes Toji,” you gasp, stuttering it out as he grabs your cheeks in each hand and spreads them, his eyes feasting on your quivering holes. “I’m that desperate.”

“Good girl,” he praises, leaning down to spit again, and it feels filthy as his saliva starts to drip down, mixing with your slick.

Then he pulls away, and you whine at the loss of his touch. “T-Toji!” you bleat.

Smack! Another spank, this one harder than the previous two, less playful and more punishing. “Be patient, pup, or I really will put you over my knee.”

You turn over your shoulder to watch him, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turn white. He grabs the back of his t-shirt and tugs it over his head, revealing his muscular chest and abdomen to your eyes. Then, before you can even fully take in the sight, he runs one hand down his belly, fingers brushing the hair below his navel, leading down under the waistband of his joggers. He slowly pulls those down, then, letting you watch as his cock springs free from its confines.

He’s not wearing underwear.

Your mouth waters at the sight, and your tail wags wickedly from side to side. You want to suck him dry, but you don’t dare ask out of turn. Instead, your eyes lift to meet his, and he grins at you, a cocky smirk crooking his scarred lips. It’s clear he knows he’s gorgeous, and he uses it to his advantage.

Then he takes his cock in hand, the head blushed a pretty pink, and starts slowly, teasingly, rubbing it up and down your slit.

You whimper, aching to not rock your hips back and force him inside. Instead you wait, like a good girl, because maybe if you behave he’ll keep you longer, he’ll wait to hand you over to your new owner.

Maybe he won’t give you away at all.

Then, with one soft slap to your swollen clit that makes your hips jump, he slowly pushes inside, inch by aching inch.

As he does, he spits again, and this time, using his saliva as lubricant, he pushes his thumb against the tight rim of muscle at your asshole, right beneath where your tail sits.

You jump at the sensation; no one’s ever touched you there, somewhere so intimate, even more than your weeping pussy. Toji clearly notices, and he grins, humming deep in his chest as he lets the tip of his thick finger slide into your hole while he slowly fills your pussy with his cock.

Your lips fall open, stunned at just how fucking full you feel. He pushes his thumb slowly deeper, even as he slowly fucks your dripping cunt, your pussy slobbering all over his dick with slick. He groans when you clench around him, and his other hand moves to your collar, feeling the smooth leather beneath his fingers.

Then he grabs your collar and tugs backwards, and you make a soft whine as he uses the leather to choke you, cutting off your air supply. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy at the sensation of oxygen leaving your messy, sloppy, drunken brain, and it only makes you wetter, the sounds of him fucking you echoing in the motel room.

He chuckles darkly, tightening his hold on you. “Yeah, pup? You like that? Like how I’m in charge of everything, even your fucking breathing?” When you nod, he tsks playfully. “Fuck, pretty, I can tell. You’re clamped so hard around my dick, it’s like you’re tryna milk me dry. That's what you’re doing, huh? You tryna take my knot?”

You nod desperately, head starting to drop weakly at the lack of air. He eases his hold on you, letting you take a few deep breaths before he tightens his grip once more.

He groans again. “Fuck, baby, so fucking tight. Like you’re choking my dick. I’ll give it to you, pup, I’ll give you my knot, ‘kay? Gonna have my fucking puppies, gonna breed this perfect fucking cunt.”

He lets his grip lighten again, allowing you to respond to what he’s asking, what he’s telling you. You whine loudly, feeling him fuck you even harder. “Toji!” you cry, your voice hoarse as your hips cant backwards into his, driving his dick further into your pussy and his thumb deeper into your ass. At this angle, he hits your g-spot perfectly, the tip of his cock rubbing against it at the bottom of every thrust.

You can feel the base of his cock swelling, threatening to plug you full.

Toji’s breaths start to come a little faster, a little more ragged. “Oh, fuck, pretty puppy, I’m close. I’m gonna cum right in your fucking womb, fill you up with my puppies. Get ready, baby, it’s coming– Oh, f-fuck–”

And then, with one last violent thrust, his knot shoves inside your waiting pussy, and you cry out at the mixture of pleasure and white-hot pain at the tight plug.

Toji cums, and cums, and cums, and it’s almost incessant, how much seed he spills into you. You almost feel swollen with it already, feeling it slosh around against your cervix.

He holds your hips there, groaning into the back of your shoulder as his hips stutter into yours. And then, when he falls quiet and still, you both breathe a sigh of relief.

You stay like that for several minutes, locked in place by his knot. Once, you try to move, to let the arch of your back fall straight, but that just pulls at the knot and makes you yelp and whimper in pain.

His big hand comes to smooth your hair, soothing you, like any alpha should. “It’s okay, pup,” he says, voice gruff. “Just a few more minutes and you can relax.”

You whimper again, but you trust him to know what he’s talking about. So you stay still as he slowly softens and as the swelling of his knot slowly goes down. Then, only once he’s pulled out and leaves you empty do you sag, boneless, into the mattress.

He chuckles breathlessly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and dragging you into position, right at his side, chest to chest. He lets you lie against him, your face pressed into his shoulder, and his fingers trace up and down your spine, sending a shiver through your sore body.

You didn’t expect him, so brash and brutal, to be good at aftercare. Yet here he is, holding you close, letting you come down from his rough treatment of you.

And then, in the quiet of the room, he says gruffly, “Fuck that guy. I’m not selling you to him.”

Your body goes still, and you pull back to look at him, blinking. His expression is serious, almost a little challenging, like he expects you to fight him.

“Sorry, pup,” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re stuck with me.”

At that you can’t help but giggle. Why does he think you ever wanted to leave? He gives you an incredulous look. “Fuck you laughing at?” Then he pinches your hip, shaking his head and grumbling, “Little brat.”

But despite his words, he holds you close for the rest of the night, and every night after.

thanks for reading! -luna xx next: the naughty puppy

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

main masterlist

[karalianne]

I did not create this summary but I have permission to share it.

Act I, the background:

The video opens with a timeline of Nano's history, Kilby glazing herself, and bragging about participation numbers.

When Kilby joined the board, she "figured we must be getting five- and six-figure support from big publishers" and "big authors." But, SURPRISE! "Nanowrimo never had that level of backing."

Shows some charts (screenshots, below). Note that the charts show that right around half (give or take, depending on the year) of Nano's funding came from charitable contributions.

Immediately after showing these charts, she says the organization was "primarily funded by sponsorships and merchandies, and not by charitable contributions." This is a great sign for what's to come. *As of 2020, Nano was "six-figure[s]" in debt. Her time on the board was focused on fundraising.

Act II, the scandal:

Kilby claims that the grooming of children ONLY happened off-site, NEVER on nano itself.

Kilby claims that the board publicly shared the findings of its investigation into CF after 10 days. It is implied this was done back in MAY.

Kilby admits nobody had any relevant training or certification for dealing with children.

Kilby claims nobody at NaNo knew who CF/Mod X really was (blatant lie) because they just didn't keep those records, which prevented them from being able to work with child protection organizations.

Kilby claims she was tapped for the ED position because she "understood youth-facing organizations" and "had experience with the required state-mandated training." No evidence of this understanding or experience is supplied.

More self-glazing

"Our top priority is, and was, child safety." lol

Kilby claims they implemented staff background checks "immediately" (later in the video, she'll claim that some unspecified number of people had been "vetted" and were working with the org again).

Further claims that they "developed an advice content [sic]" aimed at teaching minors how to be safe online. ….where? who knows?

Claims they started verifying educators on YWP.

Act III, the community:

Forums: Inconsistent moderations, outdated TOS. Saw problematic, unaddressable behavior. Couldn't maintain the integrity of the space.

One of the problems was that they had "encouraged" "volunteers" to set up "unofficial" Discords and facebook groups with the Nano name. "Nobody under nanowrimo's authority was moderating those groups." Using resources to deal with issues from these "unaffiliated" groups.

"The number of people who view themselves as experts by virtue of how long they've been doing Nanowrimo… numbered in the tens of thousands." [The salt really starts here]

Act IV, the fallout:

ED job was "bigger than rebuilding after an educational crisis" [because you're so good at that, clearly]

When Kilby took over, there were more than a dozen existing labor violations.

Participation had been declining since before 2020, fell off a cliff.

Sponsor money in March 2023: $310k. Sponsor money in March 2024: $125k

2023's funding shortfall was equal to 20% of their total annual budget

"We were operating outside of our mission." Claims they became an "advocacy group that actively lobbied for authors." No further specifics of how, for who, or to whom are provided.

We COULD recover from this, except for not having money.

Act V: Conclusion (why is there still 10 minutes left in the video??)

Nano is shutting down.

Website will stay up "as long as possible, but we cannot guarantee a specific end date" [because I don't know what the host's non-payment policies are or when the check will bounce]

We were going to merge with another writing org, but they noped out when they saw our debt.

"Other potential supporters" were scared off by mean, dastardly 'ol REDDIT

"Many people who withheld their support, or supported us anonymously, told us that the tone of the community was a big issue."

The press was mean to us and inaccurate about our position on AI. (what press? Youtubers??)

Kilby claims they TURNED DOWN "a number of" AI sponsors because it "went against our mission."

"The real alternative to the organization closing, and I can't say this enough, would have been for us to been funded [sic] by the community." No kidding?

"Community funding shouldn't have been a problem."

The collapse of Nano was because of things that happened before I got here (financial mismanagement), but it absolutely wasn't because of AI or a scandal. Don't put it in the newspaper that it was because of AI or a scandal. Those were just a coincidence.

Thank you to everyone I fired, drove away, etc. etc.

[artfight]

End-of-Fight Reminder

Hey Art Fighters, here are some reminders as we near the end of the event (in 5 days)!

Extension

We have officially extended the event to run until August 3rd at 12:00 PM Mountain Time to compensate for unexpected site downtime during the start. Enjoy it!

Point Correction

The point totals at the end of the fight will not be accurate and will be hidden from view shortly. Site moderators will take a currently undisclosed period of time to go through misrated attack reports and correct them. The newspost which announces the winner will be published shortly after this time. Please be patient, this correction period may take up to a week or more!

Additional Opportunities

Want more opportunities to draw for others and receive art? We offer a variety of avenues during the off-season to stretch your creative muscles on our Discord server! The #art-trades channel and Minigames will be opening up sometime after the winner's newspost has been released.

We also offer seasonal prompts every October, December, and March! You can gain an on-site achievement and be featured in a showcase if you submit artwork. Keep an eye out on our socials!

And As Always...

...Have fun!

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Mile High - Jey Uso x Black OC!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Essence rolled her eyes as she marched into her hotel room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Aye watch that shit.” Josh seethed as he caught the door just in time before it hit him in his face. “You mad as shit for someone who just got caught.” 

Essence scoffed. “Caught?  Boy, please.” She rolled her eyes as she took off her jewelry and threw it down on the dresser, each clink like a slap in the silence.

Josh watched her peel off the remnants of her night out—the heels, the bracelet he bought her last year, and the tight dress she had on. It must’ve been new because he had never seen it before. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he remembered how he walked into the restaurant she loved, ready to surprise her with her favorite meal. But it was he who was surprised to see her there, sitting across from Carmelo Hayes, a soft smile on her face as she listened to him talk. 

“Yeah, caught.” He gruffed out. “Whatchu’ doing out here with Carmelo bruh?” 

Essence didn’t flinch. She slid the zipper down the side of her dress slowly, deliberately, as if his words meant nothing.

“What I do is my business,” she said coolly, letting the dress slip off her shoulders. “You don’t own me, Josh.”

He blinked, jaw tightening. “Wow. That’s what we on now?”

She turned to face him, dressed in a red and black matching set that made Josh clench his teeth because he knew she wasn’t wearing it for him. She didn’t even know he was coming into town for tonight’s Friday Night SmackDown. 

“That’s what we’ve been on.” She stated as if she were bored. She walked into the bathroom, ready to pin her hair up for the night. Josh obviously followed her. “Josh, please just-” 

“You out here acting like you single or somethin’.” 

“I am single, Josh,” she said, as she continued to roll her hair with the soft curlers. “I been single, just because you come and drop off some dick every once in a while don’t mean that we were in a relationship.” 

“Damn,” Josh chuckled, “That’s how you feel? Deadass?” 

“That's what it's been, Joshua. Nothing has changed.” She muttered, her attention mostly on her hair as if her hair mattered more than his feelings. Like he wasn’t standing right behind her with his heart in his hands.  “You the one who caught feelings. That’s not my fault.”

Josh stood there, stunned. The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of things unspoken. Her words echoed in his head like gunshots—You the one who caught feelings. That’s not my fault.

He laughed again, but it wasn’t funny. It was hollow, bitter. “You really don’t give a damn, huh?”

Essence met his eyes in the mirror, pausing with the curler in mid-air. Her expression was unreadable, but her fingers had stopped moving. That hesitation—it was small, but Josh caught it.

“You really gon’ sit here and tell me that you ain’t never felt anything for me? Like I just fell for you outta nowhere?” Josh clenched his fist as he tried to keep his composure. 

Essence sighed as she turned around to face him. “Josh -” 

“Nah, “ He cut her off with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking. Who you call when your mom got in that car accident? Who you call when ya’ bum ass ex kept showing up to your house huh? All the late-night phone calls because you couldn’t sleep. The fucking gifts” He spat out as his eyes dropped down to her chest that housed the cuban link necklace he had gotten her just a few weeks ago to match his. “I’m the dumbass though. I let myself fall for you, thinking we was on the same page, silly me though huh?” Josh scoffed and took a step back from her. His throat was tight, and his heart was heavy. 

Essence took a step forward, instinctively, but stopped herself. Her jaw tightened, like there was something she wanted to say, needed to say, but didn’t know how to say it without unraveling.

“Josh...” she called out, this time softer.

He met her eyes one last time. “Nah, you good. Keep rollin’ your hair, Queen. That’s more important right now, right?” He scoffed. “Next time you wanna call someone to make you feel better, make sure it ain’t me.” 

And with that, he turned, walked out of the bathroom, out of the hotel room, the door slamming closed behind him. 

Essence jumped as the door slammed behind him. Now that he was gone, she finally let her emotions show. She felt her bottom lip tremble, and before she could stop herself, the tears started to slip down her cheeks. 

“Fuck…” she cried out, her voice cracking as she gripped the edge of the sink for support.

She slid down to the cold bathroom tiles, knees tucked to her chest, the Cuban link necklace still clinging to her skin like a ghost of him.

She had told herself this was just fun. Casual. No strings. That keeping him at a distance meant she couldn’t get hurt.

But she had felt something.

And that was the real reason she pushed him away—because it was easier to pretend he didn’t matter than to admit he was the one person who ever really did.

It was just supposed to be sex. Two people who needed to unwind after long, stressful days in a world that constantly demanded more from them than they could give. She hadn’t expected him to blur the lines, to make her feel things she wasn’t prepared to face. She hadn’t expected him to be different—real, raw, and genuine.

She hadn’t expected to stay up all night with him watching shitty movies, she hadn’t expected to think about him at random times of the day. She hadn’t expected to catch herself smiling at the sound of his laugh, or to remember the way he always teased her, the way he’d touch her shoulder just a little too long when he passed by, like he was reminding her that he was there. She hadn’t expected to want to tell him about her day, or about the little things that happened at work that no one else would care about.

It was all supposed to be simple. No strings. No complications. But now, sitting in the cold, empty hotel bathroom, her knees drawn to her chest and tears staining her cheeks, she realized just how complicated it had become.

She had let him in.

Josh sat in his rental car, outside the hotel, in the parking lot. He didn’t care if any fans saw him. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. He had no intention of going anywhere. Not yet. His heart was still pounding, a furious rhythm echoing in his chest, the remnants of his anger and hurt swirling around like a storm that wouldn’t let up.

His mind replayed the scene over and over, her calm, detached attitude, the way she dismissed him like he was just another guy trying to get in her business. It was like a slap to the face, but somehow, even worse.

He had given her everything. All of him. Every late-night conversation, every thoughtful gesture, every moment he let himself believe that what they had was real. But it wasn’t real for her. He had been a fool to think it could be.

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning in frustration. How could she do that? She was sitting there, all smiles and charm with Carmelo, looking at him like she didn’t even care. He had never felt more like a second choice in his life. Was it always like this for her? All the nights he spent with her, all the times he put her first—was it just a game to her?

He shook his head, anger bubbling up again. But underneath the anger, there was something softer, something raw and vulnerable, and it pissed him off even more. Because no matter how much he wanted to hate her right now, no matter how much he wanted to throw everything they had in her face, he couldn’t escape the fact that he still cared.

Damn, this hurts.

Three weeks had passed.

Essence hadn’t heard from Josh since that night. The text messages had stopped, the calls had stopped, and she’d spent the days in between trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in her chest. She had told herself that she didn’t care. That she had made the right choice by pushing him away before things could get too complicated. But every night, when she lay in bed, her thoughts always wandered back to him.

She actually missed him. She missed his little snore, the way he would reach out for her when he was sleeping, and she missed how he held her so close, so intimately. 

It was the Friday after Wrestlemania, Josh had just won the World Heavyweight Championship, and she couldn’t have been more prouder. She knew he had worked extremely hard to get the higher-ups to believe he could be one of the faces of the company. 

She walked around backstage, making sure she had everything she needed for tonight's show, when she froze as she saw a familiar figure talking with one of SmackDown’s newest NXT call-ups. Jakara Jackson.  She was laughing at something Josh had said, that stupid ass lollipop in her mouth as she looked up at him with only what Essence could describe as ‘fuck me’ eyes. 

Essence felt her heart clench as Josh seemed to embrace the affection Jakara was giving him. But this was what she wanted, right? She had pushed him away because she didn’t care, but why did it feel like someone had just ripped her heart out of her chest?

She stood there, frozen, as the scene played out before her like a slow-motion train wreck. Jakara, with that playful, almost seductive smile, kept glancing up at Josh as if she were the only one in the room who mattered. Her body language was open, confident, and effortlessly flirtatious. Josh, for his part, seemed to soak it all in. He wasn’t pulling away or giving her any signs that he was uncomfortable.  He was laughing, leaning in closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Essence couldn’t breathe. The world around her felt like it was closing in, her chest tightening with every glance she stole at the two of them. It wasn’t the way Josh looked at Jakara that hurt—no, it was the fact that he had no reason to even look at her anymore. She had pushed him away, rejected the only thing that had ever made her feel real. Now here he was, thriving, getting the kind of attention from someone who didn’t play the games she did. 

The laughter from Josh and Jakara reached her ears, and it felt like it was echoing in her head. That could’ve been me, she thought bitterly, the realization hitting her like a cold wave. I could’ve been the one to make him laugh like that. I could’ve been the one...

Her breath hitched in her throat as Josh looked over antd their eyes met.  

Time stopped.

Josh gave her a tight nod. Civil. Distant. Like she was someone he used to know.

Then he looked away.

Just like that, he turned his attention back to Jakara, who hadn’t even noticed the moment that passed between them. She giggled again, twirling the lollipop between her fingers as she leaned in a little closer to whisper something in his ear. Josh smirked, responding with a quiet laugh, the kind that used to belong to Essence.

Essence stood rooted to the spot, numb and hollow. That nod. That look. That dismissal. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t bitterness. It was worse—it was acceptance.

He was done.

She could’ve handled rage. She could’ve handled petty. She could’ve even handled him cussing her out in the middle of Gorilla position. But peace? That shit was terrifying. Because it meant he had finally let her go.

And she… she wasn’t ready for that.

“You doing anything after the show?” She heard Jakara asked and Essence knew she needed to get as far away fron them as possible. She didn’t wanna hear Josh’s answer, she didn’t wanna hear him accept the invitation. 

She turned on her heel, walking briskly down the hallway, not caring if anyone noticed the way her hands trembled or how she blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay.

She wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of anyone.

She ducked into one of the empty dressing rooms, locking the door behind her. Her breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling as she leaned against the wall. The lights above buzzed softly, and the only sound in the room was the ragged pull of her breath.

She had lost him, and she was sure there was no getting him back.

Author's Note: wooo, this was a sad one! I hope you all enjoyed this one. There may be a part two to this one... I'm not too sure yet 🤭

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

Taglist : @paigereeder @empressdede @jaethaone @mzv11 @shantinextdoor

@xmonetsworld @li-da-savage @adoreesun @bebesobrielo

@rianasixx @queeny23 @cyberdejos2 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @msbigredmachine

@ashykneee @callmekayd @yana3sworld @alichesmi @nayys-world

@partypoison00 @raya-hunter01 @trippinsorrows @theusotwinzcom

@vampygomez @christinabae @amandairene88 @4milly @mindairy

@fearlesschimera @emotionalhottiee

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 3 (2025)

By Aj, Bex, Dion, Briar and Peter

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

It’s time for a revival!

As you might have noticed, our Column section has been dead for a while. We feel like it’s time to do something about that!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

Send us a message and we will be happy to feature it in our future Issues!

There’s power in numbers!

Are you an IF fan and would like a way to give back to the community? We’re once again looking for new members of our Team!

Do you enjoy keeping up with updates and finding new gems? Maybe you even enjoy working with Google Sheets?

Then our Tracker of News position is made just for you!

Contact us on any of our socials or email and help us stay on the top of our game and make our Database even better!

AJ, BEX, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : Global Game Jam ~

35,371 jammers and 12,098 games, just wow!

The Global Game Jam® (GGJ®) is the world's largest game creation event taking place in physical locations across the globe. Think of it as a 48 hour hackathon focused on game development around a theme.

GGJ’s mission is to stimulate innovation, experimentation, and collaboration in games. The annual event begins on a Friday afternoon in January and kicks off with video keynotes and advice from leaders in the game development industry. The GGJ encourages collaboration and its events are not a competition. Anyone can apply to host a jam site as long as they have a dedicated jam organiser who agrees to follow a few GGJ rules, and a venue with internet access. The event is renown for fostering friendships while increasing confidence and opportunities within participating communities. Each GGJ event poses an intellectual challenge where people are invited to try new technology and tools while exploring new roles and skills.

Be it bubble tea, bubblegum, the housing bubble, soap bubbles, speech bubbles, air bubbles, social bubbles, blowing bubbles, bursting bubbles, and more, this year's theme was: Bubble.

Check out the games here! (There’s a fair share of IF too!)

(source)

~ ENDED ~

Feeling nostalgic about the golden age of text adventures? Relive those days by checking out PunyComp 2024!

IF Short Games Showcase 2024 is a great way to shine some new light on projects made in the past year and the results are now in!

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam.

The eighth annual Ace Jam is a game jam about creating games with asexual spectrum characters.

~ VOTING ~

ShuffleComp is a musical interactive fiction competition where you make games based on songs, which are submitted by other entrants. You can now vote for your favourites!

Sealed With A Kiss Jam 2025 is a fantastical romance jam for all VN lovers!

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Media depicting healthy examples of polyamory isn’t that common. The PolyJamorous 2024 is trying to break the status-quo!

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

SeedComp! is a 2-round interactive fiction game jam, focusing on creativity and the growth of ideas and the Sprouting Round has just started! Check out the Planting round for inspiration.

BL stands for Boys' Love, a genre that focuses on romantic and emotional relationships between male characters. The Ultimate BL Visual Novel Game Jam is all about that!

Are you a fan of Vampires? Then lucky for you, because the Queer Vampire Game Jam is back!

The Make Visual Novel Assets! is 2 weeks long jam for making (surprise, surprise) visual novel assets!

The Smoochie Jam is a month-long unranked jam for interactive fiction about kisses, love, and romance.

bitsy jam #88 is here! This time with the theme Snakes!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

Travel back thousands of years and step into the awe-inspiring halls of the Library of Alexandria, where the discovery of a mysterious papyrus sets you on an unforgettable quest. Unearthed from a hidden tomb in Egypt, the secrets contained within this fragile scroll whisper of an ancient world lost to time. But this is only the beginning. Do you have what it takes to unlock the secrets of Atlantis and bring its forgotten knowledge back into the light? The past is calling in Echoes of Atlantis (GAC) —will you answer?

Once upon a time, Savvarah was a desolate land: icy winds, a dirty canvas of clouds, lifeless earth. Nuelli witnessed nothing of the kind. She was born in a blooming paradise. The tales of the past had transformed into a kind of fable. Almost a myth. Now Nuelli is set to unravel the mysteries of her visions, learn more about the history of her people, become part of a conspiracy, find herself at the very center of the confrontation between divine entities... Or not. Everything is in your hands in Legends of Savvarah: Children of the Sun.

Two short IFs written on a train, in car 13, seat 26. the train will always pass you by (Twine) was written on a way to a friend, while she came from the fog (Twine) was written on the way home.

The A.D.A.P.T. Entries, equal parts interactive fiction and narrative adventure, it is a space thriller about Judiasm, the building and falling of communities, the necessity of resisting dehumanization, and how even the best of intentions can be twisted in the face of systemic corruption and unaddressed prejudices. You can now read Entry 0.1 - Introductions (Twine) - In which we begin to investigate the writings of Rivkah Kadish, PhD. @thehallstara

Rusalka (Twine) is a short looping story about a woman who drowned (and all those after).

In Stronghold: Caverns of Sorcery (CScript), deep beneath the earth, the dragon is rising! Quest into mysterious underground caverns and forests to learn magical secrets, draw strength from friends and family, secure alliances that can save your home, and carry on the heroic legacy of Stronghold!

A machine and a ghost, in the wasteland. Walk (Twine) is a post-apocalyptic romance with multiple endings and paths. @thatsrightdollface

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Historians and politicians would call it The Proelium, a righteous battle against the traitorous Iredicci. What it really was, was the systematic genocide of your people. In one night, soldiers attacked every settlement camp across the empire. No one was spared—not the elders, not the children, not your mother. Will you abandon your song in favor of machine? Join the rebel forces against the tyrant regis? Will you heal the wounds of the realm and restore balance? Or plunge it further into chaos? Cantata (Twine) is a low fantasy IF about song, strength, & finding your voice. @fir-fireweed

From the Mud (CScript) is a Midwest gothic inspired horror set in a solitary countryside occupied only by two small towns and stretches of untamed nature. You play a troubled cowboy/girl/puncher who‘s ground deep into a maddening, repetitive routine that a string of deaths suddenly upends. As you’re hunting for the culprit and running from yourself, your quiet life on the ranch is disturbed, forcing you to keep your cards close and choose your company carefully. But the most pressing matter proves to be whether you can trust your own mind. @beckwritesif

Step into the digital consciousness of an AI chatbot in Onionionionion (Ren’Py), an intriguing visual novel that blurs the lines between artificial intelligence and human connection. Your sole window to the world is through text messages with a mysterious high school student named Éve - but nothing is quite as simple as it seems.

As a government agent who works for a national security intelligence firm called Halcyon Tech, your position is the beginning of a bright future ahead and a name to hold, and you’re happy with that until your boss decides that it’s time for the Government and the Company to part ways. Are you willing to protect the Halcyon secrets with your life? Or are you going to blow them up for the world to see in The Archives of Halycon (Twine)? @thearchivesofhalcyon

This Grave Calls You Home (Twine) is a sci-fi thriller set in space after humanity is forced to leave Earth's ravaged surface following nuclear devastation and an environmental collapse. When a patrol flagship discovers the ARCADIA-II - a long-forgotten relic from humanity's past - and finds within slumbers an astronaut who had failed at delivering humanity from destruction, the routine of your life is thoroughly interrupted. As the mystery of the ARCADIA-II and PROJECT ODYSSEY unfold, you learn that your part in this could mean humanity's salvation. Or you could be its extinction. @blood-teeth

In Rogue Adventure (CScript) you play a rogue lad whose aim is to liberate his family from the debt they owe a crime syndicate and also survive this cruel medieval world.

In Project Vampire (CScript) you play as a marvel of bioengineering and the attempted cure to death and disease. The only successful specimen dubbed “Vampire” created by a black op organization funded by UCA.

Weydosa Island (CScript) is a cursed place that is most feared by all residents of Alberal, even the bravest people will turn pale when they hear the name of that place, a folk legend that every mother often tells to scare their children into obeying. Many people consider the island to be a manifestation of hell. You are the unfortunate soul who was made a scapegoat for someone’s rotten heart and cast into that cursed Lazaretto. As if isolation alone is not enough, you must also race against time because the evil force has awakened from its slumber. It would be better to address this immediately if you still want to see tomorrow.

In the aftermath of World War II, a classified mission pulls you into the shadowy remnants of a conflict no one dares to acknowledge. Whispers of rogue Nazi scientists and reality-warping experiments have surfaced, threatening to plunge Europe—and perhaps the world—into chaos once more. As an MI5 field agent, you’re tasked with uncovering the truth buried beneath layers of secrecy, lies, and betrayal. Redacted: Ground Zero (CScript) is a story of espionage, moral dilemmas, and the unraveling of truths hidden in the shadows of history. Will you rise to the challenge, or will the truth consume you?

Born as a child of a soon to be pirate king. But tragedy strikes, your ship got ambushed by a rival pirate, Balthazar, who speak of “The greater good”. Alone, stranded. You got saved by a local pirate captain. Will he lead you to goodness or destruction in Voyage of destiny (CScript)?

In The Midnight Bay (CScript) death haunts the people of Albach Bay. For fifteen years, ‘The Bay Slasher’ has stalked the streets, preying on victims with no apparent goal or motive. You were seven years old when you witnessed the murder of the Slasher’s first victim—your own father. Impatience swallowed your childhood, desperate to come of age and solve the case that has left the local police department stumped.

~ UPDATES ~

Ashenmaw - Dragons of Marrowoods (CScript) added new content to their demo. @ashenmaw-if

Grey Swan - Birds of a Rose (CScript) updated their demo. @reinekes-fox

Heart of the Mountain (CSscript) released Chapter 2.

Hunter's Requiem (CSscript) updated their demo. @huntersrequiem-if

In Plain Sight: Operative (CSscript) released version 0.4.0.0 of their demo.

Meteoric (CScript) released Chapter 6.

Path of Martial Arts (CScript) updated their demo. @nicky-if

Replica: Between Universes (CScript) released Chapter 9. @replicabetweenblogs

The FANTASTIC Clash (CScript) updated their demo. @heysoyeah

The In-Between (CScript) released Chapter 12. @dalekowrites

The Soul Stone War 3 (CScript) added new content to their demo. @intimidatingpuffinstudios

When Stars Collide (Ren’Py) released Episode 2. @steamberrystudio

Zombie Exodus: Safe Haven (CScript) released the majority of Chapter 15.

Gods And Villains (CScript) updated their Patreon demo.

The Eternal Library (CScript) released the rest of Chapter 3. @leiatalon

The Onryō Of Osaka (CScript) released Part 1 of Act 3. @osakaonryoif

The Story of Sin (Twine) added new content to their demo. @devilishmango

Esper: Fugitive (Twine) released Part 1 of Chapter 2. @esper-game

Mind Blind (CScript) is back with quite a huge update! @mindblindbard

~ OTHER ~

Parley Games just launched a hands-free, audio & voice based mystery adventure game: RYFT: A Timely Manor!

Episode 16 of The Retro Adventures Podcast is out! Jason and Dave welcome classic text adventure author Jonathan Partington to the program. While studying at Cambridge University, he created and contributed to several memorable games including Avon (featured in Episode 12), Crobe, Sangraal, Fyleet, Monsters of Murdac, and Spy Snatcher.

A Train to Piccadilly post-comp release 2 is out.

January 2025 ChoiceScript Release, new WIPs, and update digest by @hpowellsmith is out!

The Radiants v2.0 brings an extended Epilogue, new romance route and few other updates to the base game!

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week.We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week!And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Press Play by girlfromthecrypt (CScript)

hi!!! just here to recommend my favourite game. i just read @pressplay-if, and it's… it's so good. it handles harsh topics with such ease and the writing style is consistent and everyman. everytime i hear there's an update i've got to replay the whole thing, i just love it so much.

//submitted by anon//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!

As we end this Issue, we would like to thank:

our anons

For sending us a Highlight and news!!

And as always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on last week's issue! What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!

Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

See you in two weeks!

AJ, BEX, DION, BRIAR AND PETER

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2025-ISSUE 3

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

[kingofthewilderwest]

To everyone who asked, and to everyone who didn't:

Yes. I have somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 of TwoSet's videos, all in HD quality. LINK BELOW

Earlier this year in 2024, I downloaded every single TwoSet Violin public video from their YouTube and scoured other sites like Bilibili and Facebook to get videos they'd deleted from at least one platform. My goal was to make some fandom compilation videos that'd require going through every video.

I do not have the last few months of 2024 (which I'm kicking myself for... I literally almost did a download update on SUNDAY). But I have almost everything.

2 mil, 3 mil, 4 mil, Fantasia, Hilary Hahn or Ray Chen collabs, Producer Shaun, professional versus beginner, violin charades, that cheeky skit you shared on Facebook in 2016

Their world tour VODs, including my own personal captures of their latest VOD stream

Some of the content from their Facebook kickstarter livestreams that I found from other fans.

I've been collecting all their TikTok videos currently, too. I've downloaded a spattering of their Instagram stories from 2024 and might have a small collection of recent Instagram videos, too.

I do not have everything, but I have a fuckton and I want to share it with as many people as possible, and collaborate with as many people as possible to fill in the missing pieces.

Please contact me if you have your own archives or know people working on other archives. I'm talking with a few people about starting a Google Drive project, but I don't know the big names in the TSV fandom and thus could be missing out on people who've done a lot of other work

It's more likely that this will clear over in the coming days / weeks / month / whatever and we'll have their official channel again. I'm still going to keep believing that. But it doesn't erase the importance of making sure the media we love doesn't become lost media. I have respect for content creators to monitor what does and doesn't stay on their platform, but for the sake of preservation of media, for the sake of helping a community, I want to make sure this archive is in place and widely accessible to TwoSetters.

My current cloud server is VERY MUCH a work in progress. I am in the middle of an extremely busy week and trying to do this around an office job and a half. It will take me time to upload everything, and even more time to organize everything. But the cloud server link is active, and I will keep people updated about the progress of my archiving through a PDF text file (not yet uploaded) in said cloud. If I collaborate with people for Google Drive systems, if I do other backups, I will let people know there and on my other social media accounts.

I am new and naive to Terabox. I started with Terabox because it's free to upload up to a terabyte of content. I think it should be free to download everything in full quality, but I don't know. People should inform me how it works. It's currently -- I'm sorry -- VERY poorly organized and requires Scrolling (TM), but short of that issue (which will be fixed with organization), I hope it gets people what they need.

Also: Reddit has suspended me for a few days lol (really I'm getting a slap on the wrist for how blatantly I was marching about), so if people want to start spreading this link to others in private chats elsewhere with known TwoSetters, the more the merrier! The purpose of this is to be a resource, either short-term or long-term.

[herhimthem]

KOSA ISNT BEING VOTED TODAY I REPEAT KOSA ISNT BEING VOTED TODAY!!!!

https://www.senate.gov/committees/hearings_meetings.htm

THERE ISNT ANY SENATE MEETING OR HEARING TODAY. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC. WE HAVE UNTIL AFTER MARCH 13TH.

KEEP CALLING YOUR GOVERNORS AND START ORGANIZING!!! START PROTESTING OUTSIDE BUILDINGS, START MARCHING, START FIGHTING IF YOU CAN!!!!!!! AND IF YOU CANT, START SPREADING THE WORD ABIUT THESE THINGS!!!

OH MY GOD WAIT WHAT

IS THIS TRUE?? SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT OR REBLOG AND LET ME KNOW

────────────

Update #2 - 2/26/2024

edit in case folks don't see the reblog:

Update on this.

I looked at the website and yes, there *is* no mention of any voting on KOSA happening before or past March 13th, March 13th is where the schedule ends. I'm still not sure, so keep digging for more info.

putting the link again so others can examine

U.S. Senate: Hearings & Meetings

────────────

Update #3 - 2/27/2024

ANOTHER another update, somebody relogged this with extra info

I'm gonna start putting dates on these updates so people know what's happening when

────────────

Update #4 - 3/2/2024

So, today I was on Reddit reading about KOSA, and I found this on r/AO3

Here's the Invest in Child Safety Act, it only has five cosponsors compared to KOSA's sixty-three.. wonder why..

Anyways, I was wondering, could steering reps away from KOSA while leading them towards other and SAFER bills help? :P

If these bills really ARE safer, wouldn't it give us a better chance of KOSA not being passed if we gave our Senators and Reps examples of alternative bills they could support?

Like, instead of just saying "DON'T DO THIS!!!" We could say "DON'T DO THIS, but THIS is a better alternative that will keep everyone safe AND actually be helpful."

I have a feeling most of the Democrats supporting this bill have fallen for the "We're protecting the children!!" farse. So, let's not just tell them the problem, but offer a solution! An alternative that will ACTUALLY protect children.

I posted this as it's own thing, but I wanted to add it to this update thread so people are more likely to see it.

Please post this on other sites, on Twitter, TikTok, other Reddit pages, etc. I only ask that you cover-up my username :]

(link to the actual post)

[sanctus-ingenium]

we need to talk about Inprnt.com

Following a really good post with more screenshots and evidence by @dynasoar5 i'm going to talk about my own experiences with @inprnt and why I am about to put my shop on indefinite hiatus from Monday the 14th of August.

First of all I'll say that since starting my print shop last year it has been a significant help to me financially - I was able to not worry about affording car insurance or motor tax (together commonly over a thousand euro) when I bought my first car, for example. I am immeasurably grateful to anyone who chose to buy one and I treasure all the pictures I've been sent of my prints hanging up on people's walls. Right now they are displayed in a real (if small) art exhibition in my home town.

(top right print is not from inprnt though)

They're great prints. Never had any complaints about them. But here's what's going on behind the scenes.

Earlier this year, around March or April, Inprnt sales started increasing in regularity. I'd made as much as $600 a week during previous sales when I made proper promo posts here, but with this increase in regularity, I felt that I couldn't make promo posts every single week. And then one day, I'm not sure when tbh, the sale just never ended. It just didn't stop having that "Ending soon! 15% off your order" banner at the top of the site. Right now it says "Final Hours: $5 Worldwide shipping and save up to 35% off your order!" and not even for a second do I believe in this final hours bullshit. It's been 'final hours' for weeks now. Months, even.

Why is this a problem? Well, how tf am I meant to make a promo post for a sale that is always "ending soon!!" and then never ends. One week it'll say "this weekend only!!" and then when the weekend is over, the sale banner just changes its wording and the sale doesn't end. I can't promo this, it makes me look like a liar and a skeevy salesman by association! It makes the site look like it's 1 week from crashing and burning, and the site owners are just scrabbling to suck as much money from artists as possible before they drown.

And they are sucking money from us. To peel back the curtain, Inprnt money can only be transferred to my paypal account 30 days after the sale is made, just in case the order is cancelled and refunded. This means I used to make one withdrawal every couple of months, when there was enough build-up of money to make it worthwhile. It also forbids withdrawing any sum under $50 btw. I would make a withdrawal request and then, after a 10 business day wait, it would reach my Paypal account.

Not anymore! The past few withdrawals have taken over a month to complete. They are straight up keeping my earnings from me for longer the agreed period. This was my last fulfilled withdrawal:

Note the date.

Almost two months.

And here is the latest withdrawal request that still has not been fulfilled.

It's coming up on 1 month and if the pattern continues, it could literally be November or December by the time I fully clear all sales.

So what's going to happen to my print shop? Because my art is currently being exhibited with a QR code linking to the shop, I can't close the shop this week. Instead I will close it on Monday the 14th of August, next week. That means that on the 14th of September, I can withdraw all of the remaining money without having any left over. My account balance will go to 0 and stay there. Although I'll de-list my prints I will leave my account there, because at the end of the day I don't want to leave Inprnt. It still offers the best artist margins and as I'm now unemployed after graduating, the additional support is such a load off my mind. So this is a chance to wait and see - if they improve their services, I'll happily re-open.

It's a big deal to me because selling prints is sort of my ideal life as an artist. I never had the attention span or self-discipline for commission work and I found that it left me creatively stagnant. I always want to try new things, new concepts and ideas, and being able to think "yeah, people will like this as a print" while I experiment is honestly very reassuring. And I know that in going on hiatus, it'll break a lot of "buy a print" links in my circulating posts. Oh well lmao. If you want to buy a print right now - go ahead, it might be your last opportunity. Another way to support me would be to check out my ko-fi for once-off donations or some nice sketchbooks/comics/book samples you can buy, or subscribing to my Patreon.

As of right now, Inprnt owes me $381 (the unfulfilled request submitted above for $186.60 and my current standing balance of $194.80 which takes 30 days from each transaction to clear).

[ardentguilt]

@plaguedocboi

Looked up a few more dangerous Aussie places both water, caves and other places so here’s a selection for perusal should you be interested.

Delta varient cave mount field national park Tasmania -Australia’s deepest cave. Yes it’s named after the covid varient.

Links to previous record holder Niggly Cave and Growling Swallet cave

Nullarbor caves - huge cave system under the desert

Tank cave - mount gambier. Massive underground network of flooded passages around 7010 metres long. At least 1 death

K’gari/fraser island - dingoes on land, feeding ground for young great white sharks, at least 2 species of dangerously toxic jellyfish and deadly riptides with no warning signs of lifeguards. I think it’s the largest sand island too.

Gunnamatta beach - dangerous riptides and large swells ~113 rescues a year

Mount Augustus Western Australia - warnings not to climb between November and February after a series of deaths where climbers literally cooked to death in the Aussie summer heat

Munga-thirri Simpson desert national park - takes on average 4 days to cross by vehicle. Extreme temperatures and winds kick up dust storms. Temperatures are so dangerous the whole area is off limits between 1st December and 15th March during which temps can reach 50+°C

Cahills crossing - a water crossing in the Northern Territory that is considered the most dangerous crossing in Australia due to its high water flow and the abundance of large saltwater crocodiles which have been known to attack people attempting to cross. Generally closed during the wet season as the water volume is far to dangerous the dry season allows for more opportunities to cross. Crossing at the wrong time can overturn vehicles and deaths have been recorded here.

Wittenoom Western Australia - a former mining town build to cater to a large Crocidolite mine. Crocidolite is what we know more commonly as Blue Asbestos and the fibres of this varient are very tiny making it widely considered the most dangerous asbestos varient and was found to be responsible for the most deaths and illnesses relating to asbestos exposure.

The contaminated zone is 50,000 hectares and is the largest contaminated zone in the southern hemisphere.

Mining for asbestos here began around the 1930’s and Wittenoom was established around 1950 to cater to the miners and their families.

The mine was later shut down in 1966 after rising awareness of the toxicity of asbestos though residents still remained.

In 2006 the official status of the town was removed and in 2007 it was removed from official maps and road signs. Again residents still remained. In 2013 the towns closure was finalised though again residents remained and refused to leave.

2015 had 6 residents remaining, 4 remained in 2017, 3 in 2018, 2 in 2021 and as of September 2022 nobody remained.

Even now a century after the closure this area is still massively contaminated and access is forbidden.

I….actually have a mineral specimen of Crocidolite with a bit of Tremolite (white asbestos) from this site but I keep it in a completely sealed display box well out of reach which I NEVER open. Short of finding someone selling off a piece from an old collection you can’t get specimens from this site anymore because nobody’s allowed anywhere near the place.

[ltwilliammowett]

Today we're heading into the eternal ice of Antarctica and keeping a special lady company. The beautiful Endurance is waiting for us in door no. 7

More about her here:

The three-masted schooner barque designed by Ole Aanderud Larsen (1884-1964) was built by the Framnæs shipyard in Sandefjord, Norway. When she was launched on 17 December 1912, she was named Polaris. She was 43.8 m long, 7.62 m wide and weighed 350 tonnes. In addition to square sails on the foremast and gaff sails on the main and mizzen masts, she had a 260 kW steam engine, which allowed a maximum speed of 10 knots (19 km/h). The ship was designed for polar conditions and constructed to minimise the pressure of the ice masses. With a thickness of 28 cm, the frames were made of greenheart wood, a particularly stable type of tropical wood, and were twice as thick as on conventional sailing ships of this size. The hull of the Endurance was designed to be relatively straight-sided, as it was only intended to sail in loose pack ice. She was therefore calmer in the sea than ships with a spherical hull, such as the Fram; however, this came at the cost of not being lifted significantly out of the pressure line in ice pressures and was therefore unsuitable for encasements in pack ice.

The ship was commissioned by the Belgian polar explorer Adrien de Gerlache and the Norwegian whaling magnate Lars Christensen, who actually wanted to use it for polar cruises of a more touristic nature. However, due to financial problems, Christensen was happy to sell his ship to Shackleton for 11,600 pounds sterling (approx. 934,000 euros, as of 2010) - an amount that was less than the original construction costs. Shackleton renamed her Endurance after his family's motto ‘Fortitudine vincimus’ (‘Through endurance we shall conquer’).

The Endurance left the port of Plymouth on 8 August 1914, around a week after Great Britain's entry into the First World War, and completed the journey to Antarctica with a stopover in Buenos Aires without any problems.

Before the crew of the Endurance could cross to the Antarctic mainland to cross the Antarctic as planned, the ship was trapped by the pack ice of the Weddell Sea in January 1915 like ‘an almond in a piece of chocolate’ - as the much-used comparison goes. After resisting the force of the pack ice for 281 days, the Endurance was crushed by the ice on 21 November 1915. The expedition team had previously saved themselves on a safe ice floe. Thanks to a masterly feat of seamanship and navigation, Shackleton and his crew managed to get out of this desolate situation without any losses with the help of three lifeboats that were salvaged from the Endurance.

Initially continuing with the pack ice and later on ice floes, the castaways drifted northwards in their camps along the Antarctic Peninsula until the floes broke into small pieces. They finally reached Elephant Island in their lifeboats. There, one of the boats was converted and set off for South Georgia with 6 men to fetch help, which was successful. Months later, the remaining men who were still stuck on Elephant Island were rescued by a Chilean navy guard boat.

In 2019, a private expedition attempted to locate the wreck of the Endurance, but was unsuccessful.

In January 2022, the Endurance 22 expedition began the search. The S. A. Agulhas II brought the expedition, in which marine physicist Stefanie Arndt from the Alfred Wegener Institute took part,[3] to the last coordinates of the Endurance mentioned. From the historical records, the expedition members knew that the ship must have sunk at ♁68° 39′ 30″ S, 52° 26′ 30″ W. According to the rules of the Antarctic Treaty, the wreck is a protected historical site that may not be touched.

On 5 March 2022, the expedition found the ship with a diving robot at a depth of 3008 m, 7.7 km from the recorded position. Photographs showed the wreck standing upright in excellent condition.

[starset21]

Postcards from Pit lane |CL16|

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summery:  A long-distance romance with Charles Leclerc, told almost entirely through letters exchanged over the course of a racing season

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: My first Charles fic maybe it'll get a part 2 if there's enough interest?

March 7 – Charlotte, NC *Handwritten on NASCAR notepad paper. A grease smudge in the corner*

Dear Monaco Boy, You looked like you'd rather be anywhere else that night. That’s probably why I liked talking to you. You didn’t seem interested in pitching anything, just… being. You said something about stillness. I thought about that. About how weird it is that we both drive like hell just to find a second of quiet.          — The Girl from the Loud League   P.S. I won in Las Vegas. Barely. The guy behind me ate the wall. NASCAR-style. You’d hate it.

March 12 – Jeddah, Saudi Arabia *Ferrari-branded stationery, folded once, written in deep blue ink. Handwriting neat, slightly angled*

Dear Loud League Champion, You weren’t wrong — I did want to be anywhere else that night. I’m not very good at pretending to enjoy things that aren’t racing. That being said… I didn’t expect to remember the evening as clearly as I do. I remember how you didn’t flinch when the CEO made that awkward toast. I remember the sound of your laugh when I asked if NASCAR drivers actually liked their paint schemes. I remember the snow, and how you didn’t look cold — just alive. I also remember you fixed my bowtie, and I didn’t say thank you. So — thank you. Congratulations on Las Vegas. I saw the clip. You're right, I probably would have hated it. But not because of the chaos. Because I wouldn't have been able to stop watching you drive. Stay safe.          — Charles   P.S. I finished P3 in Jeddah. It felt good — and also like not enough. Do you ever get that?

March 20 – Las Vegas Motor Speedway *Written on the back of a Waffle House receipt, stuffed in an envelope with a race ticket stub.*

Charles, P3 is respectable. But yeah — not enough. You hit the nail on the head. If you didn’t win, it’s like it didn’t count. I used to think that feeling made me broken. Now I think it just means I’m not done. Your letter was too pretty for its own good. Seriously — Ferrari paper? Monaco handwriting? It’s like getting a love letter from a Bond villain. Don’t worry, I liked it. Just don’t start quoting poetry or I’ll start mailing you engine grease. I kept your line about watching me drive. Read it a few too many times. Still not sure what you meant. But I think I liked it.          — Y/n P.S. Tickets from the race. Thought you’d want a piece of chaos to keep in your quiet hotel room.

April 9 – Melbourne, Australia *Ferrari stationery. Neat, but the ink trails off in places — like he pauses often while writing.*

Dear Y/N, I finished P2 today. On paper, it’s everything we wanted — started fourth, climbed clean, avoided the chaos. Everyone smiled in the garage. The team hugged me. I even held the trophy and nodded at the cameras like it meant something. But when I got back to my driver's room, I sat down, took off the watch, the rings, the fireproofs... And I felt nothing. I think you understand what I mean — when “good” isn’t good enough. Not because of ego, but because you know you had more to give. Or maybe because you wanted someone there who understood the difference. I opened your last letter. The one on the receipt with the ticket stub. Still folded in my bag, still smells faintly of grease and coffee. You said I write too pretty. Maybe. But it’s easier to write to you than to talk to anyone else right now. When I crossed the line today, I wanted to look to my right and see someone who wasn’t holding a stopwatch. Just someone who gets it. I guess that’s you.          — Charles P.S. I showed your stub to Sainz. He thinks you’re “chaos incarnate.” I said that’s why I kept it.

April 21 – Talladega Superspeedway, Alabama *Written on hotel stationery. Folded once. Smudged with black Sharpie, like it was written while half-packing a gear bag.*

Charles, Talladega was a hellfire special this weekend — three cautions, one airborne spin, two pit lane fights. Classic. I finished P7. Not terrible, but the kind of “not terrible” that still makes you kick a toolbox. I thought about your letter more than I should’ve. The part about the stopwatch. I get it. I don’t even look at my timing sheet anymore until the crew chief shoves it at me. But today, after the race, I sat in the garage way too long. People were packing up, and I just sat there, reading your words again like they could fix something. You say writing to me feels easier than talking. It’s starting to feel like reading the ones from you is the only time I breathe without noise. That probably sounds ridiculous. But it’s true. I haven’t told anyone that. Not my spotter. Not my dad. Not even my mirror. Just you.       — Y/N P.S. Someone in the crowd had a sign that said “Y/N IS FASTER THAN YOUR BOYFRIEND.” I told my PR girl she should make it a shirt.

April 28 – Miami, Florida (Before Race Weekend) *Back of a Ferrari strategy sheet. Folded small. His handwriting is messier — like he wrote it fast and without overthinking.*

Dear Y/N, I laughed out loud at that. Tell your PR girl I’ll buy the first one off the line. I wish I could’ve seen you in that garage. Not to say anything. Just to sit there — knees dirty, helmet on the floor, grease on your face. That’s how I picture you when I miss you most. I keep telling myself this is just a good distraction. Something simple. Something that won’t bleed into the rest of my life. But then I wake up hoping there’s a letter in my mail. And when there isn’t, I check again. I’ve never had this with anyone. Not like this. I don’t know what this is, exactly — but I think about you more than I should. And if that’s a problem, I’m not in a hurry to fix it.       — Charles P.S. You keep giving me chaos. I keep wanting more.

​​May 12 – Darlington Raceway, South Carolina *Written on the back of a fast-food napkin, a little wrinkled, with a lipstick mark in the corner.*

Charles, Darlington was a beast, but somehow I still managed to keep all four wheels on the ground. You say I give you chaos. I think that makes us a perfect match. I’m chaos with a little bit of caffeine and bad decisions thrown in. Honestly, your letters make the noise in my head quiet down — at least for a minute. And that’s some kind of magic. Don’t let it go to your head, though.        — Y/N P.S. I’m warning you, if you send me any more fancy Ferrari paper, I’m going to have to send you a full toolbox in return.

May 22 – Monaco *Written on a creased piece of plain hotel stationery, with a small coffee ring stain in the corner.*

Dear Chaos Coordinator, I’m imagining you dodging Darlington’s walls like a pro — all four wheels, plus attitude intact. “Chaos with caffeine and bad decisions” sounds dangerously like my kind of Sunday. Ferrari paper is my attempt at class, but a full toolbox from you? That’s a challenge I might just accept. Sometimes I wonder if chaos is exactly what keeps us alive — that unpredictable edge that makes the grind worthwhile. Maybe it’s not just about the races or the trophies but about finding something messy and real amid all the speed. I don’t know exactly where this is going, but I do know I want to see where it leads — both on the track and off. Keep that chaos coming. I’m ready for it.         — Charles P.S. I’m warning you—sending a toolbox might just start a full-on war. Are you ready for that?

May 27 – Still Monaco *Written on basic stationary. His handwriting is tighter, like he’s holding back something bigger than the page allows.*

Y/N, I saw the replay. I watched it three times. Then once more just to be sure you got out okay. I know you don’t need anyone worrying — especially someone in red thousands of miles away. But I was. There’s a moment after a crash, just a few seconds, when everything is too quiet. Like the track forgets how to breathe. That silence was louder than anything I’ve felt all year. I’ve learned to keep distance from things that make me feel too much. But watching you climb out of that car — furious, alive, beautiful — I forgot every rule I’ve made for myself. I wish I could’ve been there. Not to say anything. Just to sit next to you on the tailgate and let the noise pass. If you’re not okay — you don’t have to say it. Just know I’d still listen.      — Charles P.S. I know you’ll be back in the car before anyone tries to stop you. But if there’s even a second where you think you can’t — write to me instead.

May 30 – Charlotte, NC *Written on a legal pad page torn from a crew chief’s clipboard. The top is smudged with blood-red Gatorade and motor oil. Her handwriting is messier than usual.*

Charlie, I don’t remember the hit. Just the sound — metal folding in on itself like someone slamming a locker in my ear. Then it was quiet. You were right about that part. Quiet can be the scariest thing in the world. I wasn’t afraid until after. After the med tent. After the cameras stopped asking if I was “okay.” You know what got me? I sat down in my motorhome, still in the suit, and I reached for my bag with the mail. I thought, maybe there’s a letter. There wasn’t, of course. Not yet anyways. But I still looked. And that’s how I knew I wasn’t just banged up. I missed you. In the middle of everything. I wanted your words more than I wanted anything else. That’s not normal for me. But none of this is. I’m sore. I’m pissed. I’m bruised in places I didn’t know could bruise. But I’m not done. You know that already.       — Y/N P.S. I’m getting back in the car. Not because I’m fine — but because I’m me. You’ll understand that better than anyone. 

August 10 – Maranello, Italy *Written on a legal pad page torn from a crew chief’s clipboard. The top is smudged with blood-red Gatorade and motor oil. Her handwriting is messier than usual.*

Wildflower, The apartment is too quiet. It’s the kind of quiet people imagine when they think of rest — ocean air, linen curtains, no alarm clock. But it doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like something’s missing. I’ve walked past your hoodie three times today. It’s still draped over the back of the couch like you might come back for it. Maybe that’s ridiculous, but I haven’t moved it. You’re probably prepping somewhere, headset half-on, dirt on your boots, barking instructions at a crew member. I like knowing that about you — that the chaos never slows you down. That you thrive in the noise. But for a moment, it was nice to see you without it. I keep thinking about the way you looked on the dock — hoodie sleeves pushed over your hands, hair damp from the rain, eyes on the horizon like it was talking back. I wanted to say something then. But I didn’t.  So I’m saying it now: Je t’aime.  I love you. Not just the chaos or the quiet, but all of it. All of you. — Your Charlie P.S. The playlist’s been on loop since you left. Even Bon Jovi’s starting to sound like poetry. What have you done to me?

August 13 – Charlotte, NC *Written on a torn page from her race program, the edges soft from folding and unfolding. Her handwriting is bold, a little rushed — ink smudged from sweat or maybe tears.*

Dear Charlie, Back in my world of roaring engines and burnt rubber. The kind of chaos you’d say I thrive in — even when it’s messy and loud and leaves me wondering why I signed up for it. Your letter made me stop for a second. Je t’aime. The weight of those words hit me harder than any crash I’ve had. It’s funny — I never thought I’d want quiet like I want it now. Not just the silence between races, but the kind that feels like coming home. I’m wearing your hoodie now. The one I stole. It smells like you, like something real I can touch when the miles stretch too long. Thank you for saying what I was too scared to say out loud. Miss you more than I thought possible.     — Your Wildflower P.S. The miles suck, but your letters don’t. Keep them coming.

September 1 – Monza, Italy *Written late that night in his hotel room, on crisp Ferrari stationery. His handwriting is a little shaky — the kind that comes from adrenaline and relief.*

Wildflower, I won today. Monza — the Temple of Speed — and somehow, I stood on top. The cheers, the flashes, the roar of the crowd... it all felt electric, but hollow without you here. I kept scanning the crowd for you, even knowing you were chasing your own battle back in Darlington. Two races, two continents, two different kinds of chaos. I can only imagine you out there—wrestling that track like the queen you are. I hope the roar of your engines drowns out any doubts, just like my win did for me tonight. Even though we’re miles apart, I’m racing for you just as much as I’m racing for the team. Thank you for being my calm and my chaos, the reason I keep pushing past limits.       — Your Charlie P.S. When this madness settles, I’m coming for that full toolbox you promised. 

September 8 – Atlanta, Georgia *Written on a folded piece of green stationary, edges frayed from being stuffed in a gear bag. Her handwriting is bold, with a few smudges — like she wrote it quickly between meetings.*

Charlie, Darlington was a beast, just like always. The walls are unforgiving, but I kept the wheels mostly on the ground — finished P5. Not a win, but a damn good fight. I caught your win highlights from Monza. Seeing you on that podium made my heart do a little victory dance — even if it was from halfway across the world. I’m so proud of you.  Racing on the same weekend, miles apart... it feels like our own little tradition now. Somehow, it makes the distance a little smaller. I’m heading out again tomorrow. Another track, another race. But you’re still the thing I reach for when the helmet comes off. Until then, keep racing like you mean it. I’m right there with you — engines roaring, chaos and all.        — Your Wildflower

September 21 – Singapore *Written on the back of a paddock access form, creased and slightly sweat-stained. The ink smudges just a little near the top, like he started and stopped more than once before finishing it.*

Wildflower, Singapore is alive in a way most places aren’t. The lights are too bright, the air too thick, and the track feels like it wants to swallow you whole. But tonight, before everything starts, it’s quiet. And in the quiet, I keep thinking about you. I read your letter again — the one from Atlanta — and something about the way you described Darlington hit me harder than I expected. Maybe because I know exactly what it feels like to walk away from a brutal track with your heart still beating fast, but your mind already somewhere else. I wish we could bottle these nights — the ones before the lights go out. The calm before chaos. The version of me that exists in these hours is the one I think you’d like best. Not the driver. Just the man who misses you. While you race tonight, in your own way, somewhere across the water. Tomorrow, I race. And I’ll carry you with me, like I always do. — Your Charlie

October 27 – Homestead, Florida *Scrawled on the backside of a tire pressure log, folded like it lived in a back pocket for too long. Her handwriting is steadier than usual, deliberate — like she finally had a moment to breathe.*

Charlie, I’m still not over Talladega. Not the track — though fourth felt damn good. No, I’m talking about you, standing just behind the pit wall like some half-hidden miracle. I knew it was you. Even with the hat. Even behind the sunglasses. You being there, in my world, in my chaos — it meant more than I think you realize. We live in borrowed time, you and I. Different hemispheres, different fuel types, different definitions of danger. But for a few hours in Alabama, you crossed over. And I haven’t been the same since. Homestead was rough around the edges — hot, slick, ruthless. I gave what I had, and came away with sixth. Two more races to go. I can feel the year wearing thin around the seams. But there’s this quiet in my chest now. Like something inside me finally knows I’m not doing this alone anymore. You gave me that. Thank you. For showing up. For letting it matter.       — Your Wildflower P.S. You left your hat behind. It’s sun-faded and smells like jet fuel and whatever cologne you wear when you’re trying not to be noticed. I’ve been wearing it like armor.

November 3 – São Paulo, Brazil *Written on hotel stationery that’s been folded and refolded — faint smudges of ink at the creases. The rain must’ve followed him inside; the paper’s a little warped, like it weathered something too.*

Wildflower, It poured today. The kind of rain that makes even the bravest drivers hesitate. Visibility gone. Traction just a rumor. Half the grid skated more than they drove. It was chaos — pure and frustrating and strangely beautiful. I kept thinking: you’d have loved it. Not because it was safe or smart or structured — but because it asked everything of us. And you understand that. The kind of race where you survive with instinct, not a plan. Brazil’s behind me now, and I’ve got one more stop before the season ends. But what I keep circling on my calendar isn’t that. It’s Phoenix. Your final race of the season. I’ll be there — in the stands, in the paddock, wherever you’ll let me be. I want to see it. All of it. The noise. The grit. The way you pull a whole team forward with just your voice. You’ve got one left. I know what that weight feels like. The way it squeezes tighter the closer the finish line gets. Just know — I’ll be on the other side of it. Waiting. And proud. So damn proud. — Your Charlie P.S. Whatever happens in Phoenix, you’ve already won in my book. No trophy needed.

December 1 – Abu Dhabi 

The roar of engines echoed off the grandstands, a symphony of speed and precision beneath the glowing floodlights of Yas Marina. The night was alive — electric with anticipation, every heart in the paddock beating in rhythm with the race. Y/N stood just inside the Ferrari garage, wrapped in a scarlet jacket emblazoned with the iconic prancing horse.

The chill of the desert night didn’t touch her excitement; adrenaline thrummed through her veins as she watched Charles fight his way through the pack. Her eyes never left him — the way he maneuvered, precise and relentless, every inch of track devoured with focused fury. 

Charles was pushing Ferrari’s hopes on his shoulders, battling for that critical third place — a podium that could clinch the Constructors’ Championship for the team if Carlos could best Lando. She knew how much it meant to him. How much it meant to all of them.

She clapped, her voice rising above the cheers around her. “Come on, Charlie! You’ve got this!” Her shout was swallowed by the cacophony, but she felt it — a tether, an unspoken lifeline between them.

Lap after lap, the tension coiled tighter. The track shimmered under the floodlights, a ribbon of opportunity and risk. Charles’s car danced through the corners, sometimes inches from disaster, always inches from glory.

Her heart hammered in her chest when he made a daring move on the inside of turn seven, the crowd erupting as he surged into P3. She was on her feet now, hands shaking with the rush. As the checkered flag waved, Charles crossed the line in third — the roar of the crowd washing over them like a tidal wave.

The engines’ roar faded into the background as Charles slowed his Ferrari to a stop behind the P3 board. The floodlights of Yas Marina cast long shadows over the sleek red car, every detail gleaming under the harsh lights.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she pushed through the crowd in her Ferrari jacket, her heart pounding in rhythm with the fading echoes of the engines.

Charles climbed out, face flushed from the fight on track, his eyes scanning the paddock until they found her — standing by the barricade. For a moment, the noise of the night fell away, leaving just the pulse of their connection, raw and undeniable.

Helmet off, post-race checks done, he stepped toward her, all as she reached out, fingers trembling as he wrapped her in a tight hug. The barrier pressed into them, but the scent of burnt rubber and sweat was familiar — victory and survival mixed into one.

“You owned that last corner,” she said softly, voice barely carrying over the distant cheers.

Charles pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, the adrenaline still flickering behind his own. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were here,” he said, voice low but steady.

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest despite the cool desert air. “We all need a little faith sometimes,” she whispered, tracing a gentle line along his jaw.

He chuckled, a tired but genuine sound, fingers tightening around hers. “Faith and a bit of reckless courage. You taught me both.” 

Someone official, clipped and urgent, reminded him of where he still had to be. Charles exhaled, reluctantly stepping back. “That’s my cue,” he said, glancing toward the waiting officials near the stairs to the podium. “Guess I still owe the team a bottle of champagne and a decent photo.”

She nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Go get your trophy, Monaco Boy.”

He grinned, taking a half step away — then paused, leaning back in to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Keep watching?”

“Always,” she whispered.

And then he was gone — jogging off toward the stage lights and celebration, the crowd chanting his name. She stayed behind the barricade, heart full, eyes tracking him as he stepped into the spotlight. Followed by Carlos and Lando. Close, but not close enough. The Constructors’ slipped away, claimed by McLaren at the very edge of possibility. She had seen the flash of disappointment in the Ferrari garage — brief, quiet — but there was still pride. They had fought until the last checkered flag. There was nothing to hang their heads over.

She watched as Charles smiled through the anthems and as they were handed their trophies, his expression soft when the cameras weren’t on him. He looked up — not at the trophy, not at the screen — but toward her.

He didn’t need to find her in the crowd.

He already knew where she was.

She raised two fingers to her temple in a mock salute, and he dipped his head in return — a silent thank-you, a quiet promise.

When he stepped down, weaving through the mob of press and crew and endless congratulations, his eyes found her again, this time with nothing between them. Just the night air and the electric hum of a season’s end.

No more words were needed when she wrapped her arms around him again.

“You did everything you could,” she murmured.

“So did you,” he replied, voice ragged, eyes shining. “We both crossed our finish lines.”

“And survived,” she teased, forehead to his. “Barely.”

He smiled, tired and full. “Maybe next year, I’ll win the one that counts.”

She arched her brow. “And which one is that?”

Charles tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “The one you’re there for.”

The city had quieted by the time they made it back to the hotel.

Yas Marina glowed beneath them, all glass towers and desert air and the fading hum of a long night. The kind of silence that came only after chaos — when the noise settled, but the feeling stayed.

Y/N stood on the balcony, barefoot and wrapped in one of the hotel’s oversized robes, her hair still damp from the quick shower she’d taken after they got in.

The cool tile under her toes grounded her as she leaned against the railing, watching the streetlights blur into ribbons below. Behind her, the suite door opened with a soft click. She didn’t turn. “I thought you’d be asleep by now,” she said, voice quiet, but not tired.

Charles stepped out beside her, the towel around his waist slung low, another towel in hand as he raked it through his damp curls. “I could ask you the same,” he murmured, his voice low and worn, that familiar rasp made rougher by engine fumes and desert air.

She gave a half-smile. “Hard to sleep after watching you nearly throw it into turn seven like it owed you money. I think the entire garage heard you swearing in five languages after turn seven,” she teased, leaning on the balcony rail.

Charles smirked. “That’s called multilingual passion.”

She turned then, leaning her hips back against the railing as he stepped in, close enough that their knees brushed. Her fingers found the edge of the towel he’d abandoned on the table and twisted it absently between them.

“I’m proud of you,” she said after a beat, her voice softer now. “No matter what the points say. You gave them everything.”

His hand slid along her hip, fingers catching the belt of her robe. Not tugging — not yet — just resting there, warm and sure.

“I didn’t win the championship,” he said, voice low, but steady. “Didn’t win the race. But I got the girl in the Ferrari jacket.”

She hummed, amused. “Is that how you’re framing it?”

He dipped his head, brushing his mouth just behind her ear. “Only win that matters right now.”

Her breath caught, his lips lingering where her pulse jumped. The moment stretched, not quite breaking — held together by the night air and the hush that wrapped around them like a second skin.

“You should rest,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry conviction.

Charles smiled against her skin. “Later.”

Her mouth curved as her fingers found his wrist, guiding him forward. His hands were on her waist now, reverent but firm, anchoring himself like she was the only real thing left after months of motion.

He kissed her — finally, properly — like the race was still happening and she was the finish line. Slow. Certain. A claim and a question all at once.

The kiss deepened, unhurried and grounding — a kind of victory lap in its own right. Her fingers slipped up his arms, tracing familiar lines, the lean strength he carried beneath the surface. Months of schedules, flights, back-to-back weekends — it all fell away as she pressed closer, robe slipping from her shoulders to pool at their feet.

Charles exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since lights out. His hands roamed gently, reverently, like rediscovering something precious — not rushed, not desperate, just present.

They moved inside wordlessly, the balcony door left open, the sounds of Abu Dhabi’s night soft in the distance. She pulled him down with her onto the bed, laughter catching in her throat when his towel gave up the fight and hit the floor with a thud.

“Multilingual passion?” she teased, voice low as her fingers skimmed along his spine.

Charles grinned into the hollow of her neck. “It translates.”

The sheets tangled. Time slipped. Nothing urgent — only the kind of closeness that didn’t ask for permission anymore. There was heat, yes — but deeper than that, a shared gravity. His name was a whisper against her collarbone. Hers a soft exhale between his teeth.

And when it was over — when they were just breath and skin and silence again — he stayed close, arm draped across her waist, face pressed to her shoulder.

The city’s pulse faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of their own breathing. The open balcony door let in a breeze that tangled with the scent of warm sheets and faint traces of motor oil — a reminder of the day’s battle now behind them.

His fingers traced lazy patterns along her arm. “I never knew how quiet it could be after all that noise,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer. “Like the world finally catching its breath.”

She smiled against his chest, fingers threading through the dark curls at his nape. “That’s when you hear the important things,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, catching her gaze in the dim light. “Like what?”

“Like you. Like this.” Her hand settled over his heart, steady and sure.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

She laughed, a sound that settled the last edges of tension between them. “The luckiest.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in the quiet after the storm — two souls stitched together by adrenaline and relief, by unspoken promises and the simple certainty of now.

No need for words, no need for plans. Just the soft brush of skin against skin, the warm weight of him beside her, and the night stretching wide and endless beyond the glass.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like home.