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yourpenpaldee · 5 months ago

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION.

I don't usually put myself out there as it makes me nervous. But I've been a lurker for way too long, and it's about time I step out of my comfort zone. So, hello! I'm Dee (she/her), twenty-two, and have found my voice with storytelling.

Writing has always been a passion of mine, and continues to be the tool I turn to when I need an outlet to freely express myself. I have, unfortunately, hit a rough patch with consistency, and I'm here to bring all of that motivation and inspiration back. Especially since there are one too many WIPs sitting on the backburner, and they're all calling my name.

As someone who loves to dip their toes into every genre of fiction, I will read anything that peaks my interest. However, when it comes to creating, my works usually fall under romance and mystery. With practice, I intend on branching out into other genres I don't write often. There's a lot to explore in the world of writing, and I don't want to limit myself to only two categories.

Creating this blog provides me the space I need to accomplish the many goals I often dream of achieving. I acknowledge that it all starts with the ability to hold myself accountable. To show up for myself. To become comfortable with the uncomfortable. Putting myself and my projects out into the world is only the first of many steps, and it feels quite liberating.

I aim to use the voice I've found to not only contribute to the progression of POC representation, but to touch on several topics that remain heavily stigmatized in today's media. There’s a joy that runs through my veins every time I see someone like me on my screen or in a book. I feel seen, heard, and proud. I feel important. But as a creator, there’s that itch that can only be scratched when I create. When I make something that lets the next person know that they’re not invisible. That they're valued, loved, and appreciated. That's what I hope for when someone reads a project of mine. For them to feel the same rush of joy flowing through them as it does me.

Wow, I’m a yapper. I'd like to close this intro off with some fun facts, so here are some of my top five favorites with sidenotes because I still want to yap a bit more about the things I adore.

SOLO ARTISTS:

ARI LENNOX ✧ ˚ · . CHOCOLATE POMEGRANATE — GET CLOSE — GOAT — POF — UP LATE

HALSEY ✧ ˚ · . 100 LETTERS — I HATE EVERYBODY — NIGHTMARE — ROMAN HOLIDAY — THE LIGHTHOUSE

HOPE TALA ✧ ˚ · . CHERRIES — EDEN — I CAN'T EVEN CRY — LEAVE IT ON THE DANCEFLOOR — SUNBURN

MELANIE MARTINEZ ✧ ˚ · . ALPHABET BOY — DEAD TO ME — EVIL — NOTEBOOK — STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE

HALIMA ✧ ˚ · . DOWNTOWN — FORD CARDINAL — IF LOVE WAS GREEN — SAMANTHA — TALK

BANDS:

5 SECONDS OF SUMMER ✧ ˚ · . AIRPLANES — BETTER MAN — KILL MY TIME — LONG WAY HOME — TEARS!

FALL OUT BOY ✧ ˚ · . BANG THE DOLDRUMS — CHICAGO IS SO TWO YEARS AGO — HEADFIRST SLIDE INTO COOPERSTOWN ON A BAD BET — NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER — WHERE DID THE PARTY GO

FLO ✧ ˚ · . CARDBOARD BOX — FLY GIRL — IMMATURE — SUITE LIFE (FAMILIAR) — WALK LIKE THIS

PARAMORE ✧ ˚ · . BIG MAN, LITTLE DIGNITY — CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE — FRANKLIN — MISGUIDED GHOST — PART II

THE INTERNET ✧ ˚ · . DONTCHA — HOLD ON — LOOK WHAT U STARTED — SOMTHING'S MISSING — SPECIAL AFFAIR

GAMES:

CORAL ISLAND ✧ ˚ · . IF I START LISTING NAMES, I'M GOING TO MENTION EVERYONE. BUT I'M A LOYAL MARK GIRL. AND NOAH... AND MILLIE, EVA, BEN, Y—

DISNEY DREAMLIGHT VALLEY ✧ ˚ · . THIS IS SUCH A COMFORT GAME THAT SOOTHES MY INNER CHILD.

DON'T STARVE [TOGETHER] ✧ ˚ · . I MAY OR MAY NOT STILL SUCK AT THIS GAME AFTER A SOLID THREE YEARS, BUT I'M A WIGFRID MAIN.

STARDEW VALLEY ✧ ˚ · . I LOVE SEBASTIAN AND LEAH, AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL IF I HAVE TO.

THE SIMS 4 ✧ ˚ · . WHERE I SPEND A LOT MORE TIME IN CREATE-A-SIM AND BUILD MODE COMPARED TO PLAYING THE ACTUAL GAME.

TROPES:

FAKE RELATIONSHIP ✧ ˚ · . MHM... JUST SAY YOU LIKE EACH OTHER ALREADY.

FATED MATE ✧ ˚ · . I'M A BIT PICKY ABOUT THIS TROPE THOUGH. THINGS TEND TO MOVE VERY QUICKLY BUT I ENJOY IT NONETHELESS.

FRIENDS TO LOVERS ✧ ˚ · . A CLASSIC THAT DOESN'T NEED AN EXPLANATION.

REUNION ✧ ˚ · . ESPECIALLY IF THEY WERE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AND THEY REMINISCE OLD MEMORIES, OH MY GOODNESS. I EAT THIS TROPE UP EVERY TIME.

SLOWBURN ✧ ˚ · . NO DOUBT THIS IS MY MOST FAVORITE TROPE. THE BUILDUP TO EVEN THE TINIEST PIVOTAL MOMENT ALWAYS MAKES MY HEART THUMP.

TV SHOWS:

CRIMINAL MINDS ✧ ˚ · . YES, I’LL WATCH ALL 16 SEASONS FOR THE MILLIONTH TIME AND FALL IN LOVE WITH PRENTISS EACH TIME. WE WERE ALSO ROBBED OF BEARDED HOTCH CONTENT.

BRIDGERTON ✧ ˚ · . DO I CRY EVERY TIME I WATCH GEORGE AND CHARLOTTE'S STORY? YES. WILL I CONTINUE TO REWATCH IT AND RECITE THE LINES EVERY TIME SOMETHING REMINDS ME OF IT? ASOLUTELY.

THE BEAR ✧ ˚ · . I WISH I KNEW OF AYO EDEBIRI BEFORE THIS SHOW BECAUSE THAT WOMAN IS AMAZING??? LIKE, HELLO???

THE EQUALIZER ✧ ˚ · . *mini spoiler* STILL CAN'T STOP THINKING OF DANTE'S GRIN WHEN HE GOT TO SEE MEL, ROB, AND HARRY'S LITTLE WORK SPOT FOUR SEASONS LATER.

SWEET MAGNOLIAS ✧ ˚ · . HELEN, MADDIE, AND DANA SUE IS HOW I PICTURE MY FRIENDS AND I IN THE FUTURE. MARGARITA NIGHTS, BEING AUNTIES TO EACH OTHER'S CHILDREN, UGH. I LOVE THEM WHOLEHEARTEDLY.

And that concludes this introduction on me and this blog. I would love to connect and befriend other authors, so please don't hesitate to reach out as my DMs will always be open! I'd love to support and read your works, so don't be hesitant to share them with me if you'd like.

I hope you all will enjoy reading my works as much as I enjoy the process of bringing my ideas to life.

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

#writeblr #blog intro #writeblr intro #writeblr community #writing community #writing on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing #authors #writers #i did not expect for this to get as long as it did my oh my

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abubblingcandle · 7 months ago

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I would love to hear more about your thoughts on Jamie’s loan being terminated

You do not know the box you have opened my friend. I've been talking about this a lot today as fic may be coming but the one word summary is that it is all about the ✨optics✨

Because if we step outside of the AFC Richmond bubble and just look at the sequence of events that goes on, it looks so bad for our boy.

He fights with his teammate on the pitch over his treatment of another teammate. They are both booked for this fight. Jamie is then yanked in the first half of the game very close to half time. This looks like disciplinary action. It looks like the blame is being placed at Jamie's feet and he is being pulled off the pitch as 'punishment'. Because if it is a tactical change, if it is a problem with the play on the pitch then you wait until half time so it can be a more thought out decision. And looking at the quality of Jamie's play during the match, he's not playing badly so it can't be because of that. So it must be disciplinary.

Then, in the press conference post match Ted makes the comment "Jamie knows what he needs to do". Which is just so Ted but I'm not going to get into the Jamie side of that now because that's not relavent to this argument. SO from a press POV, that sounds an awful lot like this being a recurring problem, internal disciplinary action had been threatened and Jamie continued with this behaviour and so it would be taken further. It also places the blame for problems squarely on Jamie's shoulders.

Next couple of days, Dani Rojas. Dani would be plastered all over social media about his return. Running around training, scoring goals, being hugged by his teammates. And who's missing from these scenes ... Jamie Tartt. The striker brought in when Dani got injured who has been walking a fine line. Whispers will start proper now, where is Tartt? He wasn't injured at the game, Kent didn't even touch him. Is this disciplinary as in being barred from training in which case that is ten times worse than anyone thought or is he choosing to miss training in which case that shows a major break down and potential breach of contract. Bad news.

Then ... Jamie's loan is terminated. Now from all the vagueness about Ted not being told, no one knowing if it was City that called him back or Richmond that terminated it that likely means there was a vague as fuck statement likely just saying "Jamie Tartt's loan has been terminated, all of us at Richmond wish him well". Which screams (say it with me now) disciplinary issues. The rumour mill would be going a mile a minute but what conclusions do we expect them to draw with that being the image that was painted in the lead up.

Jamie then barely plays for City the rest of the season which doesn't fill anyone with confidence that Jamie has been 'forgiven' for his transgressions.

SO - the point being, if any other team looks at Jamie during the summer loan/transfer window after S1, his record screams DISCIPLINARY ISSUES which for basically every team out there is a deal killer. Why would you want to spend premier league salary and transfer fees for a player that might come into your team and be hostile, refuse to train, fight within the team ... you just wouldn't.

Being returned from a loan for disciplinary issues is a career killer and it adds so much to beginning of S2 Jamie because what if he had looked for a footballing way out of Manchester but no one wanted anything to do with him for the money that Man City were asking and so ... what else was he to do? But then in running away to LCA ... he just proved all of those issues right and gave Man City a real opportunity to void his contract

... for ... disciplinary issues

#jamie tartt #meta #ask box is always open!

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 months ago

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I'm dying for a My Lady Jane fic of Stan Dudley doing things to try and get Frances Grey's attention. Just progressively more bold, more ridiculous, and more unhinged as he tries to get her to admit she likes him.

Yeah, this needed to happen. Good call. Thank you for the prompt!!

So, Hey, Check Me Out

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Stan x Frances Rating: T Word Count: 4837

Summary: The kingdom may be in turmoil, but so is the heart of one Stan Dudley! Kicked out of Frances Grey's bed before he's ever actually gotten into it, Stan's had enough. He embarks on a courtship designed to make the woman of his dreams truly see him for the first time, learning, along the way, that he's someone worth seeing.

When Stan Dudley was naught but a knee-high, flaxen-haired lad, his mummy and daddy would take him and his big brother Guildford to summer fairs. (This was before his happy childhood went tits-up and he cried in his nanny's arms while the wooden box he had been told contained his dearly departed and freshly embalmed mummy was shovelled over with mounds of uncaring earth. How he had wailed!) Anyway, he particularly enjoyed the puppet shows. He loved the bright fabric of the puppets' costumes, their gibbering voices, and the way they would spring up out of nowhere to make surprising announcements or play dirty tricks!

Despite his mummy's death, his brother being sent away, and what seems to him the disproportionately unfair amount of bullshit that's come his way since, Stan has never forgotten those puppets with their happy or sad painted grimaces (he could never tell). This is very fortunate, as their inspiration now stands him in good stead with the first real goal he's ever set himself: making Lady Frances Grey fall utterly in love with him.

Taking a page from the puppets' book (what a silly thought—puppets can't read!), Stan bedecks himself in colourful doublet and hose, then proceeds to pop up throughout Frances's day.

"This is a surprise," his lady love tells him when he accosts her at the juncture of two palace corridors.

"Yes! It's meant to be," he replies eagerly.

But then she turns away.

The same thing happens when he inserts himself into her routine twice more that day, and four more times the next: Stan gets the attention he desires with every fibre of his being, but only for as long as it takes for Frances to spot him, adopt an exhausted sort of expression, and turn away as though he's not even there. It's rather disheartening.

Fortunately, the sensation of being disheartened slips right off Stan Dudley like water off a swan's backside.

The thing is that he learned Frances's schedule. Now, an outsider might not expect the Queen's mother to have a schedule. After all, what is she? Not an official adviser or politician, not a servant or lady-in-waiting. In Stan's mind, Frances is capable of any of that—all of it!—but he's aware that, to others, Frances is just a particularly privileged, live-in member of the court. Alas, those people do not know dear Frances as he does. His clever vixen of a sometime-lover keeps herself as busy as a bee. (Coincidentally, tasting the output from the royal hives to ensure the highest standards of quality for the Queen's table is something Frances does at 10:00am sharp, every Wednesday.)

It was quite easy; Stan followed her around (at a respectful distance), watched her every move (respectfully), and committed it all to memory. He didn't take notes, of course. He isn't some sort of deranged stalker.

Thanks to the diligent study he's made of her movements, Stan is able to continue popping up in the places he knows she'll be, just exactly when he knows she'll be in them! The scheme is satisfying and effective... until the sweet lady begins altering the schedule to avoid him. But, ha HA! Stan bests her once more in this charming game they play; the erratic schedule is simply too annoying to Frances, who finds it impossible to get anything done, forced to structure her day around Stan's madness (madness? Perplexingly, it's the word he overhears her maidservants using) instead of completing her tasks at the most logical times. It turns out that the most defiant thing she can do is stick to the original schedule, which absolutely suits Stan down to the ground. Tremendous!

The great misfortune of his life (recently) is that putting himself in Frances's path is not and never has been enough—except that first night at Guildford and Jane's wedding; nothing makes sparks fly like a fistful of greasy meat and the chance to observe a blood relation's between-the-sheets tumble. No, now he must command her attention. He must compel her. He must engage her. Frances is so hot and cold in her carnal desire for him that Stan knows he cannot rely on something as novel as a decorative codpiece. (Though, should he maybe try... no. That time has passed.) She must at last be taught a difficult lesson: Stan Dudley is more than his penis!

—

He begins his war of rose-scented attrition in the evening. Frances can't flee from his dinner conversation without being horribly rude. Besides, the venison pie is not to be missed. Stan has to pull quite a few strings to get next to her (one is tied to the back of the chair meant for Margaret, and he earns a vicious look when her bottom strikes the flagstones), but he manages it.

"Do you like wine?" he inquires in a seductive tone.

Frances turns to him, expression already sour as though she expected to be irritated by the exchange. Wounding!

"Of course I like wine," she says. "Everyone likes wine."

"Oh, you slay me with your wit, Frances! Then I must tell you, I know of this spectacular vineyard in Italia and I've written, asking for a shipment."

Frances looks almost impressed.

"You're importing Italian wine? I shall look forward to—"

"So sorry," Stan chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Actually, no. I'm importing the grapes used to make the wine."

"The grapes? But why?"

"I'm so pleased you asked," Stan all but purrs, leaning in close to Frances for the big reveal. "It's so I can crush the grapes for your wine with my own feet! Doesn't that sound— Frances?"

Against all his expectations, and certainly contrary to good manners, she rises from her chair and, after a slight curtsy to Jane as she excuses herself, fucks right off out of the dining hall. Shocking, shocking behaviour! Stan is saying as much under his breath, having half-risen as he debates chasing after her, when vengeful Margaret kicks at his chair leg with all her might to send him sprawling.

"Yes, I suppose that's fair," he conceeds.

Margaret condescends to reach down and shake hands to prove their quarrel is done and there will be no hard feelings going forward.

—

Stan's next attempt is a do-over of something he tried before. That time, it was an unmitigated, meteoric failure which ended in Frances rejecting his proposal of marriage, and rubbing additional salt in the wound by telling him he's "just not husband material." He's since forgiven her her harsh words (she could not have meant them to be quite so brutal, his dove), and he's learned something besides. Reflecting, Stan was able to isolate a trio of criticisms from what Frances said to him: she does not appreciate grand gestures (maybe he should write back and cancel the import of foreign grapes), the nonsense about him not being husband material, and that she doubted his sincerity. She had the nerve, in fact, to tell him that he doesn't love her. Clearly, what's needed is a tasteful demonstration of his resolve, doing everything he did before almost exactly the same.

And so, he will serenade her once more.

Like any suitor who knows the odds might be against them and that it's therefore pretty critical to await the ideal circumstances, Stan takes his time picking just the right moment. He takes almost four hours. Then, bursting with urgency and armed with his lute, he slips into Frances's chambers. He's elected to pounce at night this time, and is pleased to see Katherine and Margaret are elsewhere. He shuts the door through which he entered so softly that Frances, seated doing needlepoint with her back to the doors, doesn't immediately notice his presence. Stan alerts her to it with a soft strum across his strings.

Frances jolts and twists round to fix her eyes upon him, which is when Stan throws her a reassuring wink. Her face says, Stan Dudley, why didn't you knock? His replies, Because you would have opened the door only to slam it closed again at the sight of my lute, you slippery thing!

Knowing he has not a second to lose, Stan clutches his lute like the lover he hopes Frances will again become hereafter, launching into the sweet melody he has composed for the occasion. He closes his eyes to ignore the rolling of Frances's and croons the first poignant lines to cover the sound of her objections. He hears her rise, but continues to sing. It's not until he feels her near him that he opens his eyes to deliver the rousing chorus:

"For I'm just Stan!" he belts. "Anyone else would see a man! Is it God's will for me to live and die the one unmarried Dudley? I'm just Stan! When I said, "Wife," she turned and ran. What will it take for her to see the lord behind these chords and marry me?"

"OUT!" Frances shouts above the sound of his moxie, of his pain. "I told you once already! You're only embarrassing us both!"

At that, Stan's expression softens.

"You do care," he interprets hopefully.

But then Frances is attempting to snatch the lute from his grasp, so he's forced to retreat. He contemplates persisting, picking up where he left off even with these heavy doors between them, or even returning to the spot in the courtyard from which he sang up at her window the first time. It's with a sigh that he admits to himself that, though he gave it two good attempts, he will not woo his love through song. Frances must just hate music. It's horribly sad for her, and, in lieu of his melody, she has his sympathies.

Unexpectedly, she is the reason his despair over this latest failed attempt to win her is quick to subside; the next day, before she spies him trailing behind her, lovelorn, he hears her humming the chorus.

—

With cautious optimism, Stan decides to proceed. He has a long list of tactics that he routinely reviews, adding on and scratching out with a zealous quill. The one he selects this time will require a little help to pull off.

His clever sister-in-law's court is positively crammed full of all the people who claim to know best regarding what to do about Ethians and national defence and tariffs and things of that nature, but upon his request, she invites some other types to court—artistic types. Stan narrows his eyes in competitive suspicion at the musicians before making the acquaintance of the painters. The second most important thing when commissioning artwork, Stan decides, is to peruse samples of the artist's work, but the most important thing is to find someone you think you'll be able to tolerate for the length of time it will take to sit for your portrait.

For it is a portrait Stan commissions. He selects his brush-twirling, paint-daubing fellow from the bunch and makes an appointment with him for a time when Frances is doing something particularly boring that he doesn't mind missing. In practically no time flat, the artist captures Stan in miniature. All his handsome features are accounted for. There! Would an unserious man commission a portrait of his own tiny face? Would someone who isn't "husband material" come up with such a thoughtful gift as having that miniature framed in a locket and left on the vanity of his heart's desire? No note accompanies his gift; he wants her to wonder about the gold locket's provenance, to drape it about her lovely neck as a mysterious token from an admirer.

When he comes upon her as she perambulates about the palace grounds, the gleam of gold immediately catches his eye. Stan tries to neither stare nor look too smug that Frances selected his quiet gift from amongst her many valuable baubles. He's burning with curiosity over whether she has yet unclasped the locket and studied the painted face within. It's a curiosity he doesn't hide well. By the by, he's very bad at cards.

"What are you looking at?" Frances asks, assessing him squarely.

Stan shoots his gaze skyward in a dramatic and ultimately ineffectual attempt at innocence. But his eyes were on the locket, and she knows it. With the blend of fear and horniness his precious Frances so consistently inspires in him, Stan watches her unclasp the locket and find the miniature concealed therein.

To his great delight and considerable relief, Frances laughs to discover his painted features.

"It's me!" Stan announces unnecessarily. "A fair likeness, wouldn't you say?"

"You had this made for me?"

"I hoped you might wear it close to your..." Stan chokes back the word "heart" and opts for one Frances might find more palatable, more descriptive of the narrow parameters she's placed on their relationship. "...breasts."

She glances up from the miniature, smirking.

"Alright," she says. "You may visit my chambers. But no lute."

—

Though he agreed to her terms without debate, Stan dislikes them. He feels undervalued by them, or perhaps incorrectly valued. He knows exactly what Frances has in mind: he'll come, she'll come, and then he'll be discarded once again. She is persistent, his pussycat, in treating him as a walking erection, useful for one thing only. He does so like to be useful to her in that way, but when they caressed each other's bodies that first time, he never imagined what he was experiencing was the furthest Frances ever planned for their encounters to go. It leaves him feeling slightly empty. He's always thought there would be more to love, since love it most definitely is.

Katherine catches him moping.

"You don't have to let her hurt you," she says, intuiting that her mother is the subject of his thoughts. "You have a choice. Not all of us are so lucky."

"She's still anti-William then? Goodness, that's a shame. You make an awfully cute couple."

Katherine gives him a half-smile. "Thanks, Stan."

"Even when she is cruel," Stan sulks, thoughts back on Frances, "I want her still."

"That's ridiculous." When he casts wounded eyes her way, Katherine sighs and takes pity. "You should stand up for yourself. If she still treats you like nothing after you've told her you know you're worth something, maybe you should think about ending it."

"Ending it? What, taking my own life?"

"Your infatuation with her."

"Oh." He considers this, not for the first time, but the first at someone else's prompting. It really is so much harder to end a relationship, he feels, when you get on with your girlfriend's family, and he knows, as difficult as Katherine's words are to hear, that she's trying to do him a good turn. "You know, she's invited me back to her bed."

"I neither knew nor wanted to know that."

"Makes it rather more challenging to be strong when she's on her knees—"

Katherine puts her hands up to stop him. "That's— Yes. Alright, Stan. Please, no details."

"I just wish I had some way of being strong in the moment, so that I might keep a clear head," he laments, dropping his chin into his hand.

She contemplates him a moment, then grins and says, "Come with me."

—

That night, Stan arrives at Frances's chambers empty-handed, but not unprotected. Thanks to Katherine, he has a trick up his sleeve—or rather, down his breeches. It could be, though, that he won't even need it. Perhaps, when Frances answers the door, the pair of them can sit down and have a real conversation about their feelings, then decide together if and how they want this relationship to progress in a way that does justice to each equal participant's expectations, needs, and five-year plan. Stan exhales a quick, readying breath and knocks.

The speed with which his darling Frances answers the door tattles on her longing for him. Though she may act aloof when they are in company, it serves her not! What she truly desires, what she pines for, is Stan Dudley: singer of songs, sitter for portraits, hero of the hour.

"My love!" he exclaims, closing the door swiftly behind him. "How I have—"

"Yes, Stan, nice to see you too," Frances says distractedly. Her gaze is fixed low as she throws open her dressing robe and flings it away. "Quickly now, breeches only, don't bother with the rest. I had thought you would be prompter."

In a huff worsened by the fact that Frances takes no notice of it, Stan thinks, Fine. He proceeds to do as she instructs. He sits in the chair she points to (god forbid he take her on the bed, like a real lover ought!), and unfastens his breeches like she tells him too. But he doesn't lower his drawers. No, he waits as Frances approaches, hikes the hem of her nightdress, and prepares to sit astride his lap. She stops with one knee braced on the chair.

"What's that?" she asks.

"What's it look like?"

"I can't bloody read it, Stanley. Get up."

This part might have felt a bit more rebellious, he reflects, if he hadn't sat down. She'd have seen the message clearly, straight off. Instead, he understands her difficulty; you can tell they're letters, but the words are rendered illegible by how the fabric gathers while he's seated.

Frances takes a step back and Stanley rises with dignity to display the message he decided upon—the message which his ally, Katherine, then embroidered onto the front of his underwear.

"'Mine eyes art up here,'" Frances reads out, then scoffs, shooting him a scornful glance. "Now, really, Stanley."

"Well, they are," he retorts. "And it's about time you took note of them! Or anything else up here!" He waves a hand next to his head. "My brain, for instance! I am a person, Frances, not merely a pleasure object!"

Frances sighs like she is deeply disappointed in him, and it doesn't feel good. Actually, it feels end-of-the-world levels of awful, especially when Stan is standing there in doublet and drawers, his breeches a sad, puffy pool upon the floor. He ought to have painted the message on a placard of some kind, or written it on a scroll he might have swept from inside his doublet with a flourish. With some fucking panache! In hindsight, delivering a message while half-undressed does slightly diminish its verve. But he must stand tall, breeches or no!

"What is it?" she asks tiredly, fixing the neck of her nightdress where it's slipped off her shoulder.

"I've just told you!" His shoulders sag a little. "Weren't you listening?"

"You're complaining that I don't want to fuck your brain," Frances summarizes dispassionately.

"I'm complaining that you don't LOVE ME, Frances!"

She appears confused by this.

"But I never have," she points out. She certainly is looking at his face now, assessing him as she questions, "Did you expect that to change?"

"Yes!" Stan cries out desperately. He yearns to approach her, to take her hands between his, but he must resist. "Yes, of course I did! I do!"

"Even when I told you otherwise? Really, how foolish." She chuckles.

Because he somehow believes she can't possibly make him feel worse than he now does, he battles on.

"Then consider me a fool for love, Frances, and consider that sort of fool a fool it's damn well worth being!"

"Though perhaps not worth me having," Frances replies cuttingly. "Do you forget, Stan, that I don't need you? You offer no political protection, no money—"

"I offer you more than those things! I am devoted, optimistic, kind to Katherine and Margaret—the latter perhaps on pain of death... Most importantly, I love you, Frances! I love you whether you will hear it or no."

"I don't believe in love!" Frances suddenly snaps, making Stan jerk back. "Not in a marriage, let alone whatever this is! Love is only in songs, and songs are lies composed by people with too much time on their hands."

"But I—"

"Yes, I know you did, you idiot. I was standing there when you sang it at me."

"But you enjoyed it!" Stan accuses.

"I did not!"

Bad luck her—he knows she's lying, and he says as much: "That isn't true. I heard you humming it. And if that's a lie, then how do you expect me to believe the rest of what you've said?"

"I will not coddle you," Frances states, striding up to him until they're almost nose to nose while she glares. "I have been nothing but honest—"

"I recommend that you be honest with yourself! Hmph!"

With that, Stan turns away from her. He grabs his breeches from the floor and redresses in an angry rush. Meanwhile, Frances just stands there, watching him with her arms crossed. She's so beautiful, so imposing. Gosh, he'd really like to... but no! Stan grits his teeth and heads for the door. Without looking back, he says, "The locket looks lovely, by the way. Noticed you're still wearing it."

—

It's misery without her. What's the good of living in a palace if you can't even enjoy the tapestries and the sumptuous suppers and saying, "You missed a spot," to a guard after inspecting the patchy shine on his armour? All the colour has gone out of Stan's world. It's as though the curtains are parted on the theatre, but the puppets lie limp upon the stage.

Of course, she's easy to avoid. Because he knows Frances's schedule, there's little possibility of them bumping into one another. His days are suddenly wide open. He dedicates his new free time to openly weeping in the corridors and, in a weak moment, attempting to sneak into Frances's chambers to pilfer some small item to remember her by. Maybe even the locket he gave her, because he's sure she isn't wearing it anymore. Unfortunately, this pathetic mission is foiled by her door being locked. Just like her heart! More weeping follows.

He's sure he's being pitied by those who care to notice his suffering, but he refuses to speak about it. He only wants to speak to Frances. But he doesn't. But he does.

The only time he can't avoid her is during family mealtimes. Then, he declines to take the pains he once did to sit near her. He remains next to his father, who will say a low-effort comfort phrase like "There, there," and even that will sometimes set Stan off, forcing him to excuse himself for more sobbing against the unfeeling stones which echo his grief right back to him (and sometimes to people at the opposite end of the corridor—the accoustics are terribly odd).

Stan knows there are things afoot at the palace, that larger wheels turn around him—him, the forgotten cog. And yet he seems to be essential for nothing. When he had Frances, well, he knew he was wanted, and exactly what for. How is he supposed to figure out which side of the Division Laws issue he's meant to be on, which side of the political aisle, when he can't even tell where he stands with Frances? He misses her. He can't help it. Mealtime glimpses will not sustain him.

Events conspire to keep them apart. At first apart because, for once, it is he who cannot tolerate the sight of her; she has duped his pig-headed, horse-bodied brother into going off to his death with one of the Ethians who came to Jane's lovely coronation banquet. Not much later, apart because the whole kingdom seems to be going that way, like one big breakup with the crown a-teeter at the place where the ground has split. It's chaos. Stan frequently wishes Frances's crime were a forgivable one so that they might have each other while the world goes to hell, but that's impossible. There is no clemency for sending to his death the big brother who once sat beside him before cavorting puppets. They buried the same mother.

The revelation that Guildford is alive is too short-lived. He is missing, presumed dead one moment, then there inside the safe house with Stan and their father the next, then gone again, bravely determined to rescue his wife, who's about to die—definite, not presumed. Stan feels like a fraud and a cad next to this display of loyalty. How did he ever leave Frances! How did he ever mistrust her! Actually, there are very good answeres for both of those questions, but since Stan's best plan at his own romantic reunion starts with drinking rather a lot, the circumstances of their rift grow fuzzy. He only knows he needs her. He will go to her at once!

He will go to her when the opportunity presents itself!

In the end, he goes to her plated in armour, while the bonfire burns and bird-people swoop from the sky, while (Queen?) Mary shrieks and Guildford's gallops disappear into the night as he takes Jane to safety, just as he vowed he would. In the smoke and the sound, Stan finds Frances. She appears astounded to see him. He was hoping for impressed, so it's a bit of a let-down, but at least he's had an effect. She's underestimated him for the last time!

Ideally, Stan would like to take Frances in his arms and plant such a kiss upon those lips as all who bear witness are changed, and peace spreads throughout the kingdom. Regrettably, it's bad timing. He ushers Frances, Katherine, and Margaret away instead, protecting them while they wend their way through the conflict. There isn't time to say much. He finds them horses—one for Frances, another for Katherine and Margaret to share—and gives a promise that he and his father won't be far behind. What else would they do? See the fight out to the end? Preposterous! They may be heroic now, but they aren't die-for-the-cause dunces. While sticking around long enough might get Stan extra glory, it would also doubtlessly get him executed. There may be salvagable logs from Guildford's fire, and that basket they put down to catch Jane's head? Not yet sodden with the blood of a beheading.

Stan knows the Greys will be returning to the palace. He mounts up, intending to follow them.

"The safe house, Stan," his father tells him, but Stan shakes his head. "Stanley, you cannot go back to the palace. Frances and the girls may be safe there, depending on how things shake out, but you, my boy, are the brother of an Ethian. You are no special favourite of Mary's. You have no bargaining chip! If you were caught—"

"I must go," Stan interrupts. He gives his father a heartfelt nod. "I hope to see you anon."

And Stan rides. Apparently not as well as the Greys, with whom he never catches up, but he rides with battle at his back and hope before him. He doesn't feel like a jilted lover or a second son or a superfluous courtier, just Stan. As the son rises, it feels like a damn good day to be Stan.

—

He sheds his armour—clanking, tripping—on the way from the stables to Frances's chambers. The corridors are empty of guards, all rallied to Mary's side in London. Even if they were here, Stan believes he'd barrel straight through their crossed pike shafts; he's caught up in his own perpetual motion, unable to stop or slow. There's only Frances and the distance between them. When he reaches her doors, he throws them wide instead of knocking.

She turns and sees him, she sees him and says, "You love me."

"You believe me now?"

Frances nods, seeming almost speechless until she says, "Yes."

Cocking an eyebrow, Stan swaggers towards her. "Anything else to say?"

"I don't love you," Frances begins, "but I like you, Stan. I really do." And from her bosom, she extracts the locket he gave her, letting it rest against her bodice. "See?"

It isn't the utter besottedness he's dreamed about. It isn't the legendary romance of Lancelot and Guinevere, or hell, even the surprisingly successful arranged marriage of Guildford and Jane. But Frances is finally being honest with them both, and her heart has told her that he, Stanley Dudley, is pretty darn alright. He's enough.

"I do see," he says, placing his hands on her waist. "And I'd love to see it be the only thing you're wearing."

Frances smirks in understanding. "I have missed you, you know."

He bites the air playfully in her direction, and Frances hums in anticipation, tipping her face up towards his.

"Ah!" He halts her. "I have one condition."

"Yes?"

"The bed this time, Frances. I've more than earned it."

She studies him coolly. "I believe you have."

At last, Stan kisses her, holds the tempestuous force of her in his arms. The outside world is in shambles, but his inner world is a haven. He is Frances's lover. He is a child, skipping towards the fair.

#my writing #My Lady Jane #MLJ #My Lady Jane fic #Frances Grey #Stan Dudley #Frances x Stan #...Stances?#Franley?

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sumire-no-nikki · 9 days ago

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Treasured Things

I had been reading since 5 am in my study on the day I took the photo of that bird perched on the tree. Bundled in fleece blankets, a candle lit, the world quiet. It was still pitch black outside when I started. By the time I took a short break from reading, the dark had been replaced by a glowing cold blue outside, typical of a cloudy autumn morning. It was chilly. It had been raining for days.

In that moment, a cascade of warblers came fluttering into view. I always thought that the wide window in that room is a living painting for sorts. That’s why I chose that room for reading in the first place. Watching the tree in the backyard go through the seasons is nothing short of art. So when I saw the birds landing on the tips of the branches right as I looked up, it felt so serendipitous. The sight compelled me to my feet. Slowly, I got up from my seat and walked to the window, as if any large movement might disturb this moment. It was a moment suspended. The birds didn’t stay perched for long. No more than a handful of seconds. It seemed like they were in a hurry. They had bird business to get to and bird acquaintances to meet, I gather. In the final second before the last of them flew away, I grabbed my camera and snapped the photo, keeping a tiny piece of the magic with me forever.

It’s just a bird. It’s just a random morning. The tree has been there all this time. Its leaves turn marigold every year before they are shed. What could be more mundane. Yet the picture feels so dear to me.

Here I am at the edge of a new month. October is so beautiful it’s always a shame to bid it goodbye every year. If I could I would keep it in a bottle. It’s a precious time, a beginning—the real deal after September’s false promises. For someone like me who revels in autumn and winter, October feels like a rebirth. It’s rather contrary to what’s going on outside. The green dulling to decay, trees in the process of losing their soft contours to give way to jagged edges. It’s a period of thinning.

I suppose that’s what got me thinking about the things I treasure in life.

Recently, I was organizing my closet, switching out my summer clothes in preparation for the colder months. While I was sorting it all out, I found this box which held all the letters a friend of mine has sent me in the past two years I’ve known her. A pair of socks and a pair of gloves she knitted for me in it as well. There were other parcels too, which included books and postcards and little other things. They are tucked away in my shelves, each one a token of her thoughtfulness and love. It gave me pause when I saw this box and thought about all it represents. I held the box in my hands. This reused cardboard box—it’s a work of art, proof of life.

And just the other day, I got a video message from another friend, their smile so infectious and so inspiring. I haven’t experienced such joy in a long time. I could watch that video over and over again. The tiny giggles, the look of surprise and wonder, even the awkwardness—I treasure it all. For all the ways I’ve complicated my life, it is that feeling that truly makes life worth it, I think. It is the simple pleasure of seeing someone I love be happy that fills my heart. And it echoes. It radiates. There is good in the world. So much of it. I felt renewed. It felt like I could take flight.

I say all the time that I’m thankful for this and that. I know I run the risk of overstating it, to the point of losing its meaning. But I like to always say it. It is a declaration of intention, it is the path and the goal I never want to lose sight of. It is an affirmation of where I am now, where I’ve been. My life didn’t always look like this. It could get worse, it could all fall apart, I might not have a tomorrow to wake up to. Nothing is ever guaranteed. While I can, I want to be recklessly grateful.

The cool wind is breathing life back into me. I am a creature of bare branches, accustomed to the cold and the depth of night. But I am not lonesome or hungry. When the land is bare and unable to provide, I am ready to give. I am at home in the cold only because I never have to worry about where to find my sustenance. It is in the company of those who see me. They fill my cup.

Here’s to November. Cool and collected November. Wholesome coffee, the familiar warmth of a cat on my lap. Moving reads, little miracles. Flowers in the vase, and heart shaped cakes.

I go into this new month with all these little treasures.

#diary #sumire-no-nikki

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myfairkatiecat · 4 months ago

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Thinking about getting into kotlc. What specifically do you like and find recommendable about it?

Keeper of the Lost Cities is my all time favorite book series. It's not the objectively best story I've ever read, but it's my favorite. Here are a few reasons you should ABSOLUTELY read KOTLC:

Fantastic adoption plot. The process of Grady and Edaline adopting Sophie and the complicated way Sophie grows to see them as parental figures, the ups and downs, the way it takes years for her to decide to adress one of them as mom or dad, the way those moments are portrayed as special... it really clicks, especially as someone from a foster family.

The main character is super realistic and well developed. She undergoes a lot of non-linear character development. She has strong beliefs that sometimes conflict with what she's expected to stand for. Her journey from book one to book nine with how she learns to be a leader, stand up for herself, and do what she thinks is right all the time is super well portrayed.

The characters and their relationships are very well developed and complex. Yes, certain things are made very clear through the narration because Shannon is in fact writing for kids, but after books one and two a lot of the kids series feel vanishes almost entirely. I mean, no, it's still charming and silly most of the time, but it doesn't feel as young, especially as the characters grow older and a lot of darker and more complicated issues begin to arise.

The portrayal of the dystopia is fascinating. KOTLC is not in the dystopian genre for a reason. The Lost Cities are not presented as a dystopia at all. That just... comes out slowly. Sophie goes there and is told that everything about the world is perfect, and since everything is sparkling and glittering, it must be, right? She has a few early thoughts about how certain things seem wrong, and those thoughts continue to grow as the problems with the Lost cities become clearer and clearer. Their government and social systems are very messed up, and Sophie only sees the surface of it because she's usually interacting with the nobility, but the reason for both rebellions formed is fixing those exact societal issues.

The good guys and bad guys want a lot of the same things. There's a focus in KOTLC on doing the right thing, not just achieving the right goal. Which sometimes means characters mess that up! (cough keefe sencen cough) But again, all this stuff is explored in a super accessible way, because it's a middle grade series. It feels like reading something deeply interesting with good messages without having to take a lot of time to wrap your head around what those messages are.

The characters are incredibly well-developed. Their backgrounds and history explain most of their personality and actions in amazing ways. I'm thinking specifically of Sophie, Keefe, Tam, Linh, Fitz, and Dex right now, but I'm sure there are more examples (and I hope it gets explored more with Marella in the future, tbh. We know about her childhood--how does that impact her personality?) It makes it very interesting to rotate these elves around in your head.

There are multi-book arcs, many huge reveals are foreshadowed from the beginning. The books open lots and lots of mystery boxes--there are tons of questions being asked ALWAYS--but in the end, they get answered (some more satisfying than others), really portraying just how much can happen even in a short time frame for these kids. Honestly, the whole three-years-over-nine-books thing feels PERFECT to me. Unlike Harry Potter, each book isn't a school year. Unlike Percy Jackson, each book isn't a summer vacation. All of these things happen one after the other, saturating the characters lives, and I think it's very interesting.

The adults have some crazy lore going on. It's pretty fun to try to piece all of that stuff together because Sophie doesn't take a lot of interest in it.

Everything about KOTLC is interesting to me. I'm not going to say there's no issues with it ever (please followers do not come in my ask box and start telling me there are issues with KOTLC idk why it's so controversial to say that Shannon did a really good job with character and plot complexity) but I hugely recommend giving it a read. Let me know if you read it and what you think!

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities

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eastwindmlk · 7 months ago

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Written for @jilymicrofics prompt: Melancholy, March 20th Word count: 667

Lily had always loved the idea of moving, picking up your things, and making a new place home. She had more than once considered getting a wagon and just travelling the world until she got sick of it. Have a new view to wake up to every morning.

With the war looming over their heads, that dream washed out rather quickly. Lily could not imagine herself touring the world while there were people hurting. People like her. So, that plan was shelved until further notice.

Her sights were set lower. Get out of her parent's house.

A goal easily accomplished after Hogwarts, she and her friends split rent on a six-story walk-up in a dodgy neighbourhood. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Lily.

A different adventure began when she moved in with James somewhere after leaving Hogwarts. She had been thrilled. This was the first move Lily made, leaving something behind. Shedding her single bed without hesitation.

Neither of them owned much. Which gave them the opportunity to fill their space with things they both loved. Trinkets of their adventures and conquests of many a trip down Portobello Road had made their place unquietly theirs.

Which made it all the more heartbreaking as the target on their back forced them to move out. Having little time to sort through their things. Packing everything they could into boxes. Some of which they left with friends; others were donated.

They left behind things too big to move—things that they’d grown fond of, but nothing they truly held dear.

A few months passed, and they were living in a cramped studio in Elephant and Castle. The old building creaked in the sweltering summer heat. The small room was impossible to keep cool, but they made the most of it.

It almost felt fitting when this one went up into flames. The pyre burned a box of their books and photos of a happier time. A more innocent time.

But they moved on, feeling like every time they moved, they were shedding pieces of themselves. Clinging onto relics in the hopes of protecting the things that they held dear. The pieces of themselves they were afraid to lose.

Even so, they could not help but feel less and less grounded in their lives. Involuntary nomads.

The first relic they lost was a sketchbook, so sacred that James barely dared use it. A final gift from his mother. Now lay forgotten on a desk in Portsmouth. This was the first night that tears were shed.

Which was the start of more and more precious things being lost and left behind. Favourite books, records, and pictures. Keepsakes from a better time.

The last of the relics to be lost was Lily’s favourite mug, which had travelled with her since their fifth year at Hogwarts. Shattering into shards on the linoleum of a kitchen, they never even got to know. Eyeing the shards, her vision was distorted.

She really wanted to feel sadder than she did, but this was the second time they ran in as many weeks, and she was tired. So, she swept the shards up and left them behind.

After all, what was the loss of a childhood trinket?

#jily #jily fic #james potter #lily evans #jple #jily microfic #james x lily

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colourfullsims · 1 year ago

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DAY 3 | It Takes Two (3/6)

Nina: Yeah, a little too late to be repentant now, Tucker: Tori's already booked to fly home tomorrow because of your little in the moment decision. But we'll get to you in a second. Over by the pool, Joey checks in with Manny about whether he's got a shot at capturing her affections this summer. From what I can tell, that's about to be a bit of an uphill battle for him. Though it looks like he's willing to put in the effort to prove that he's got what it takes to be Manny's main man! Not too far away, Tucker and Felicity talk romantic goals, to which Tucker seems to be less than interested in sharing, much to Fe's displeasure. I know we always say this isn't Friend Island, but Tucker probably would have been much better off saving Tori than putting himself in his worse case scenario. Eh, I'm sure he'll survive.

Next, we have one more couple to check in on as we zoom upstairs to the dressing rooms!

@queenofmyshuno @slothseasims @storiesbyjes2g @morrigan-sims

Beginning | Island Schedule | Previous | Next

Manny: So, what did you want to talk about?

Joey: Oh, nothing in particular.

Manny: Seriously? Then why the urgency?

Joey: Uh, well, I guess there was one thing. I thought we were clicking pretty well, you and I, even before today’s challenge. But you don’t seem too enthused over being coupled up with me. Guess I’m just a little confused.

Manny: Well, I would have thought that you would have at least asked me if I wanted to couple up with you before you decided for yourself. That would have been nice.

Joey: [chuckles] Alright, maybe I jumped the gun a bit, but can you blame me? Anyone would be a fool to pass up a beauty like you. And I’m not in the business of making a fool out of myself.

Manny: Uh-huh. Well, word of advice for next time: I’m not in the business of being someone’s conquest.

Manny: [in the DR] Tonight was shaping up to be a real win for me after everything that happened today, and now this. Joey really chose the worst time to go rogue. I know ultimately it doesn’t change too much for me: I’m still free to go and explore some other connections in the Villa. But it really sucks not being with who I really had my eye on.

Joey: Next time? Does that mean I should be expecting this little arrangement to go on for a while?

Manny: Not even a little bit.

Manny: Look, you’re a fun guy, Joey. I’ll admit we have some good back and forth conversation-wise. For that reason alone, I’ll let you shoot your shot. But to be clear, I won’t be closing off any other people from getting to know me. So you better be ready to step up to the competition.

Joey: Hear you loud and clear! And don’t you worry - I intend to sweep you off your feet.

Joey: [in the DR] I’d say I haven’t done too bad for myself tonight! I traded in a controlling redhead for a sexy blonde, and so far, I couldn’t be happier. Manny might be playing a little hard to get right now, but I’m sure it won’t take too much to make her realize just how good we are together. As far as I’m concerned, what competition is there really against me?

---------------------------

Felicity: So! I already have an idea of what your career goals are, but tell me what it is you’re looking for here in the Villa. A future heiress to your culinary empire?

Tucker: [chuckles nervously] Not exactly. I’m not too concerned about my future girlfriend being that involved in my work. I think it’s healthy to have a little separation. I wouldn’t say that I have that many “expectations,” really. It all comes down to whether or not the chemistry is there between us. Everything else is just extra after that.

Felicity: Ahhh, I see. I sorta agree with you to an extent. I’ve definitely got my list of “must-haves,” but if a guy were to check off all my boxes but we had zero compatibility, there’s no way we’d last.

Felicity: [in the DR] I’m absolutely buzzing over the recoupling! I knew I had a pretty good shot from the get go, but nothing beats actually hearing Tucker call my name in front of everyone. And I must admit, it was satisfying seeing Manny stuck with my leftovers. [laughs] I just can’t wait to find out so much more about Tucker! He feels like the exact type of guy I’ve been searching for!

Felicity: So would you say I’m your usual type?

Tucker: I wouldn’t say I have a “type.” Like I said, it all comes down to the vibe. Felicity: Aw, come on. Physically you have to have a preference.

Tucker: Not at all. I consider what’s on the inside more important. But, I actually was hoping we could cut this short. I was hoping to pull a couple other people aside before turning in for the night.

Felicity: Uh, don’t you think that’s a little rude? We just coupled up. Before this morning, I hadn’t gotten any alone time with you, and you want to spend that time talking to other people?

Tucker: [sigh] Felicity, I’m not trying to be rude. I just--

Felicity: Just what?

Tucker: …You’re right. I…I can always have my other chats tomorrow.

Felicity: Perfect! I knew you would understand! Now, back to your dating history… Tucker: [in the DR] You don’t have to tell me how stupid a move this was. In the moment, I thought it would be better to not recouple with Tori since I wasn’t feeling anything more than friendship. But compared to Felicity, I would much prefer to still be partnered up with Tori right now. Fe’s the exact type of girl I don’t deal with. How the fuck am I gonna play this one off?

#what do yall think?#will joey be able to woo manny?#who fucking knows with the way these sims move in this house lol #ts4 #sims 4 #love island challenge #ts4 love island challenge #sims 4 love island challenge #sims of color #colourfullsims #manuela de santa #joey lee darby #tucker clarke #felicity faulk

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dailycharacteroption · 11 months ago

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Heavyweight Skirmisher Operative (Operative Alternate Class Feature)

(art by frozenbunn on DeviantArt)

It’s easy to assume that all operatives are catsuit-wearing sneaky types that specialize in agility, light weaponry, and stealth. However, if you’ve ever thought about a lot of elite teams, not everyone fits that mold, and being an agent of any sort of group is just as much having the training to leverage your talents, rather than fitting into any one neat and confined box.

Hailing from the Interstellar Species book and heavily associated with larger, more ungainly alien species like dragonkin, these heavyweight skirmishers learn how to leverage their strength and might, rather than raw agility, and favor bigger and stronger weaponry, but they retain the various specializations and skills that differentiate them from soldiers and other heavier hitters.

They might still be stealthy, but more akin to a sudden summer squall than a barely noticed breeze, or they might be one of the more social sorts of operative, leveraging their weight class as part of their intimidation factor, and so on.

Either way, these sneaks and agents are definitely a whole new breed than what you might be used to with this class.

At their core, these operatives rely on strength rather than agility, and this shows, for they favor larger and more powerful melee weapons, as well as heavier armors. They can use any weapon that is not too slow or too imprecise with their trick attacks, though the additional damage is increased at a much slower rate than other operatives. What’s more, the damage they deal on average is a bit better as they can reroll progressively more and more of their bonus damage dice.

They can choose to become proficient in heavy armors, and learn to overcome their sluggishness with practice.

Additionally, if they attack repeatedly with their weapon and hit both times, they can apply their trick attack as if they had made the skill check. What’s more, they become more accurate when attacking repeatedly than most, though they miss out on attacking thrice in a turn.

This option is great if you want the skills and tricks of the operative while being a bit more combat focused, sort of like a combat rogue variant of the normal operative. You miss out on multiple attacks per round and on evasion, but if you plan on standing on the front lines, whether it be with a big melee weapon or gun, this may be what you’re looking for.

Obviously this option was meant for bigger characters to give them a way to be an operative without feeling hampered by their bulk. That being said, I stand by what I said about different operatives achieving their goals based on their strengths and preferences, because the operative is very much about that, the application of skill and precision. It doesn’t matter what those skills specifically are. After all, part of the gimmick of the operative is finding ways to use skills in clever ways, such as adding different skills to the options for when you make trick attacks, and so on.

Composed of ex-cons, former mercenaries and others, VaxasCorp’s “problem-solver” team is kept in line not just by their paychecks but also various forms of blackmail that they have on all members. Take Slugger, the team’s heavy-hitter. The company keeps constant tabs on his daughter, ready to threaten her if he puts a toe out of line. He’d do anything if it meant getting her, and himself, out from under their thumb.

Though she is a mountain of a woman, Kova has always found she preferred to work with computers, though her raw strength comes in handy in rough company. Now that she’s out of the military, she seeks a new career that makes use of both of her skills.

Mostly mouth and infamous for their society of dominance over the weak, xaarbs are not thought of as a subtle people. Some, however, find there is much to learn from the complex ways of other peoples. Traditionalists call them sneaks and skulks, but they still show their xaarbish pride in the way they fight.

#starfinder #alternate class feature #operative #heavyweight skirmisher operative #human #dragonkin #xaarb #Interstellar species

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jeannereames · 10 months ago

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The Importance of Space

Sometimes where we work matters. At least it does for me.

When my sabbatical was approved for spring of 2024, I assumed I’d do it where I’d spent most of the pandemic: my couch with a rolling laptop desk, and my kitchen table. I have an office at the uni, yes, but have never worked well there. As a grad student, I got used to research in my home space, and I never successfully transitioned to an office somewhere else. I have colleagues who can't work at home, for whatever reason, but I work best at home (even when my son was young).

For some time, I've planned to renovate my upstairs into an office after my son graduated and moved out, for “when I retire.” In fact, I bought this old (1936) house because it had a lovely open floor plan in the finished attic that just SCREAMS library/office. But it needed a split-AC to better control the temps, and serious updating. I’d even had thoughts of adding a little half-bath. I started saving up for all this as soon as I moved in, but it would cost a lot, so it became what felt like a “unicorn” long-term goal. My work for the ATG Netflix docudrama was to get additional funds towards that renovation sooner than “some day.”

This past summer, I finally had the split-AC done. Nothing else could move forward until that, replacing windows, and the potential half-bath. Yet estimates for the last were out of this world, post-Covid, so I decided to jettison the idea.

THAT meant—around August/September—I realized I might be able to get all the updates done in time for sabbatical.

You have no idea how much this recognition thrilled me. To have My Own Home Office (again), and make it just the way I wanted it (albeit without a half-bath). So, bids commenced. I had a GOAL, and a timeline. My sabbatical would begin January 2nd, 2024. And by golly, I was going to have my office (mostly) ready. That a retrograde Mercury would turn direct the evening of January 1st (my time zone), made me all the more convinced that it was the right date to begin.

Ergo, on top of the crazy teaching load, and editing for the Macedonian collection, I scheduled renovations. I just had to survive through December! It was sometimes anxiety-inducing, and half my library (non-academic) was up there. I had to pack all the books (c.1000+), move them downstairs, then move them BACK. Upside? I’ve been recording them with Library Thing as I unpack and reshelve, so I’ll finally have an accurate list of everything I own, at least at home. I’m also slowly using those same (emptied) boxes to bring home books and files from my uni office, for research. And for Christmas, my dear son made me a pair of custom sized-for-the-wall-space bookshelves, 5 feet by 5 feet. I’m tickled pink.

I even managed to find, after much searching, a desk and office chair that are low enough for a short person (The Struggle Is Real). They arrived just in time to be assembled before Jan. 2nd. It really did feel like FATE.

Oh, yes…best part. My office is inspired by Chefchaouen, Morocco’s famous Blue City, with bi-colored blue walls, white ceiling and accents, and a terra-cotta toned carpet. The various installers thought I was nuts until they actually saw it complete: ‘Oh, yeah, this really works.’ Um, yes. Yes, it does. Sun-yellow cushion and blue-yellow-white sheer scarf curtains complete it. Plus a beautiful blue-and-white bowl a student brought back from Morroco for me—the first décor I set out along with my reproduction of the gold sarcophagus from Royal Tomb II at Vergina that Beth Carney bequeathed me.

Eventually, once all the bookshelves are in place, I’ll decorate with photos from Macedonia. My dining room features photographs I took in Rome + a little Greece, the living room is mostly Greece…but my office? That’ll be Macedonia. Virtually all the pictures in the house (with a couple exceptions) I took myself.

There's still a lot more to do; less than half the books are unpacked. My white board isn't up yet, some furniture is still downstairs, BUT.

Today, I unpacked the Loebs I’d brought home, onto my new desk, and started organizing my research. 😊

#Jeanne Reames #home office space #sabbatical #Hephaistion-Krateros monograph

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kizzykiszka · 1 year ago

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|| GOD FORSAKE THE QUEEN ||

Warnings: violence, cursing, descriptions of war, and bloodshed. this is an adventure story in the middle of a war. this story will get violent and there will be injury. it's a little bit of an AU, so some personality traits may be exaggerated. sam is kind of a dick in this. sorry sammy girls. there will be some romance but its not the forefront of this. if you don't want to read about the guys getting injured -- please do not read this.

((if you like this, please let me know if you want to be tagged for future updates.))

summary:

"Up-and-coming rock band Greta van Fleet heads home, drained from their 2019 tour, yearning for a much-needed break. However, their world takes a dramatic turn when a celestial being, Mother, transports them to the war-torn realm of Eldoria. Here, a prophecy awaits them—to rescue the land from the clutches of the ruthless dictator, Seraphina, who usurped the throne with dark magic, stripping the land of its mystical essence and enslaving all who oppose her. In this perilous journey, the band members—Josh, Jake, Sam, and Danny—discover a realm in chaos. The true king and his daughter have fallen victim to the dictator's cruelty, while the queen narrowly escaped, leading a small but resilient rebellion of survivors. Their valiant attempts to reclaim the kingdom have been met with dwindling numbers. Guided by the power of Mother and equipped with newfound abilities, the boys must plunge themselves into the heart of battle, their singular goal: to vanquish the tyrannical queen and at any cost, restore order and magic to Eldoria.

Chapter 1

____________________________________________

Summer.

Out in the middle of the California desert, there was a large sleeper bus traveling down the road in the bright afternoon light that blanketed the surrounding scenery. Traffic was average, given the time of day it was but the sleeper bus really stuck out like a sore thumb among the regular cars. It wasn’t atypical to see these types of buses on the road. Generally celebrities were inside, as it was the most common way for them to travel in private. Inside this particular bus was a group of celebrities, however they didn’t really see themselves as “famous”. They were Greta van Fleet. And they were heading home to Michigan from their last concert of the year.

Normally, the inside of the bus was filled with chatter while the boys drank and discussed their next venue they’d been performing at. Instead, the cabin was silent. Josh, lead singer, was laid down in the back of the bus in one of the beds -- passed out cold under a pile of blankets. His twin, Jake the guitarist, was perched up in the bed below him looking out the window at the passing cars while simultaneously bandaging up his calloused fingers. Sam, youngest brother and bassist, was in the common area at the table with a drink while he leafed through a book while their drummer Danny was sifting through his social media in a slumped over position in the couch opposite to the table that Sam was sitting at. They were all completely exhausted. Ever since the start of their tour, they hadn’t had a moment of time to just sit and relax. Now that they were heading home, where each of them knew they were definitely going to be exploiting this down time to the fullest extent.

Jake played hard this last show and his fingers were really sore now. It wasn’t uncommon for people who played string instruments to get callouses on their fingertips. Sam got them more often since he played bass with very thick strings that absolutely destroyed his fingers. Jake had unfortunately gone a little too crazy on this last show and this had broken open several of the already hardened blisters on the tips of his fingers. Reaching down to grab another BandAid, Jake frowns as he finds the box is totally empty. “Damn,” he thinks to himself, “I still have a whole other hand to do. There’s gotta be another box here...” Jake tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns around to pull back the privacy curtain that was around the bed and he steps out into the cramped hallway that led to the common area of the bus. From there, he heads over to the bathroom where he starts rummaging through the cabinet above the sink. No bandaids. Odd, but not uncommon. They did seem to go through a lot of those lately. He exits the bathroom and heads back down the hall towards the common area where his bandmates were seated.

“Any of you have any bandaids?” Jakes asked, “There’s none in the bathroom.” Sam lowers his book a bit to look at his older brother with a frown. “What did you do this time?” he asked, the words that left his mouth almost cold. “Nothing particularly bad.” Jake replied, ignoring his little brother’s rather obviously annoyed tone of voice as he held out his busted fingers, “... I think I might have overdone it at the last show. They’re bleeding this time.” Sam puts his book down with a groan and he slides out of the booth, “I think I have some in my bag. If not…” Sam glances out the window, “We might still have time to stop.” Outside, they were now much closer to the desert and the cacti seemed to whiz by in green blurs. Highway 40 was quite a ways away now and there wouldn’t be any way for them to get back. Sam pulls open the privacy blinds now and shakes his head at the passing scenery, “On second thought, I think we’re in the middle of nowhere now. Unless you feel like stopping at a tiny town on this road.”

“I wouldn’t mind stopping.” A voice piped up from behind the brothers, and they turned around to look at Danny who was now mid-stretch across the couch, “I think we’ve been in here for at least 6 hours now. Personally, I’d like to get out and stretch my legs. I’m gonna go bug the driver, see if we can pull off somewhere.”

Before Danny could push past his bandmates, a loud singular tak noise sounded above their heads. They all paused to look up. Another. Tak… tak…. Tic… Rain? “Aren’t we in the middle of the desert?” Jake questioned. It rarely rained out in the desert and outside the window, the sky seemed bright and clear. “Yeah,” Sam responded, “I’m gonna go see what’s going on. We should still be on the highway now that I think about it.” Sam walks past his bandmates and up towards the front of the vehicle where their driver was. He carefully knocks on the outer wall before pulling back the curtain to see the bus driver perched contently in the driver’s seat. Robert was his name. “Hey!” Robert greets the stoic bassist with a grin, “You guys doing okay back there?”

“For the most part yeah,” Sam replied, “Is there any reason why we left the highway?”

“Oh yeah! I’m real sorry about that kiddo. I probably should have mentioned this to ya’ll but I didn’t want to frighten you none. I had a check engine light come on so I’m headed towards Vegas now. Should be somewhere for us to stop and get the bus serviced.” Robert explained. “Check engine?” Sam asked, “Didn’t we just have this thing serviced before we left?”

“I got her gassed up, but no, not any servicing. It’s rare they give us any issues. Engines in these things are tanks,” Robert says, “Shouldn’t be a big issue. We should make it to Vegas here soon.”

“Alright. I’ll go let them know. Just… can you tell us next time before you just veer off the highway?” Sam said before disappearing back behind the curtain. He heads back into the common area where Danny was inspecting Jake’s fingers carefully with a roll of black electrical tape in hand. “Are we stopping?” Danny asked. Sam plops back down in the seat adjacent to the boys and grabs for the book he’d abandoned just moments ago, “Yeah. Apparently we’re making a pit stop in Vegas. Something’s up with the bus.” A look of alarm washes over the pair’s face, “A problem?” Jake asks, “Not serious is it?”

The rain was starting to pick up now. Heavy droplets were beating the roof of the bus relentlessly and the once bright afternoon light was now replaced with gloomy dark clouds overhead. Sam shrugs, “Hell if I know. I’m just ready to get home and not do anything for a few months so we better not be stopped for too long.” Jake rolls his eyes as Danny finishes up taping his fingers with a spare roll of electrical tape. It wasn’t much but it worked. “I’m just ready for some good family food,” Jake said, fanning his fingers, “And a break from being in the spotlight. It’s great but, I dunno… you ever find yourself missing the days when we were just a garage band?”

“Occasionally,” Danny replied, “It’s nice to be recognized though. And hey, we’re stopping in Las Vegas. They’re bound to have some good food we can grab before we leave.” Sam leaned back in his chair wordlessly and cracked open the novel he was reading once again. He was definitely in one of his moods again. Jake ignored his little brother once more and pulled out his phone to open up the maps application to browse their food options. They weren’t going to be able to go too many places. The bus was a behemoth and barely fit in any parking lots so wherever they went, it had to be somewhere within walking distance of the bus stop.

“I’d love to go to one of these casinos one day,” Jake murmured under his breath, “I think I might get stuck there.”

“Nah,” Danny snorts, “You’d find your sorry ass in a strip club one way or another.” Jake rolled his eyes with a playful huff, “Yeah, sure.”

The two continued looking over their options, trying to decide on a place that everyone could agree on when suddenly a low groaning noise echoed through the cabin ominously. The three all got very quiet and looked around in confusion. “That sounded like…” Danny started to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a small explosion in the back of the bus that was immediately followed by a loud hissing. They all looked to each other, as if looking for answers. Overhead, the bus lights flickered and the huge sleeper started to rumble deeply as it slowed to a stop on the side of the road. Sam tosses the book down on the table, “Damn him!” he exclaims, stomping up towards the front of the bus. He met Robert in the hallway, who had just come out from behind the partition. He looked very sweaty and anxious, “You said it was going to be fine!” Sam yells, “What the hell is going on?”

“Sam!” Danny barks, rushing up to the boy whom he pulls away from the driver, “Dude, chill. It’s nothing, okay? We’ll be just fine. Don’t get all up in his face like that.”

“He literally said 2 minutes ago that we’d be just fine!” Sam exclaims again, “So were we not okay?”

Robert holds his hands up defensively, “Look, I just got a check engine light 30 minutes ago.. I think the radiator’s done blown but I gotta go out and check. Excuse me, please.” The graying chubby man pushes past the two and out into the rain. Sam shakes his head in disbelief and goes to sit back down, folding his arms tightly over his chest. By now, the commotion had woken up the last brother who had tumbled out of the bunk bed he’d been hibernating in since the departure. Josh entered the common area, rubbing his eye with a yawn, “What’s everyone yelling for?” he asked, looking around the cabin with a frown, “Are we stopped?”

“Something’s wrong with the bus,” Jake replied, “It’s not a big deal though. I’m sure Robert will have it up and running here in a sec and we can limp it to Vegas like he said he would.” The lights flickered again above their heads. Josh takes a seat at the table across from Sam, who was fuming now and showing his displeasure by tapping his foot rapidly. Josh yawns again and nods, “Mmm, okay. Vegas sounds nice. I don’t think we’ve been there yet. Could we go to one of those uh…” he snaps his fingers, “... casino places? Always thought it would be fun to use one of those machines.” Josh was clearly still waking up. Once more, the lights flickered and then completely shut off, leaving the band in complete darkness. The sound of rain continued now, much louder now that the air conditioning was off. “That uh… that can’t be good.” Jake whispered.

“Alright fine,” Sam says suddenly as he shot up from his seat, “I will go check on the driver.” Sam disappears down the hall towards the front of the bus and down the stairs to the outside world. Josh rests his head on the table in front of him with a sigh, “Well, at least this’ll make for a fun story for when we get home,” he says, “Anyone able to text mom?”

Jake snorts, “I think every group has had their bus break down in a sketchy area before. Besides, Rob’s certified. Aaron made sure he was before he hired him. We’ll be running in a second.”

The bus door swings open and a very wet Sammy comes stomping up the stairs, soaking wet and with a frantic look on his face, “He’s gone.” he utters, sending a wave of panic through the boys. “Gone? What do you mean gone?!” Jake exclaims, turning around to look out the window. “It’s exactly what I said, Jake! He’s just gone.” Sam responds, reaching to grab his phone.

“Like, gone gone?”

“The back of the bus is open like he started working on it, but he’s not there. He’s not on the other side and he’s not in the desert. He’s just gone.”

Josh stands up now and folds his hands together, “So, do we… call the police?” Danny asked, “Should we go check and see if he’s gone?”

“I don’t know!” Sam replies frantically, “What if there’s someone or something out there?”

Danny holds up his hands, “Hang on, Sam. Let’s just take a deep breath. I’m sure our manager can’t be far from here. We can just call him and he’ll pick us up.”

“I’m not getting any signal,” Jake says as he drops his phone down, “I don’t understand. We had it just fine a second ago.” One by one, the boys take out their phones and try to dial out -- only to have the calls mysteriously drop. This only sends more panic through them. Sam runs his hands through his long hair and looks back at the door, “Someone’s gotta fix the bus. We’re just sitting ducks if there’s something out there. Danny, you know something about cars, don’t you?”

“You’re gonna feed me to the wolves?” Danny asked, “No, no absolutely not. If we’re going out there, I need a buddy. Rob just up and fucking disappeared, what if I do too??”

“Let’s all go together.”

All eyes now turn to Josh who was sitting with his hands clasped in front of his face. “We’re safer in numbers,” Josh continues, “If there is a threat.” The remaining three look around and nod, “Alright. I’ll go and see what I can do. Sam, if I can get this running again, you’re driving.” Josh gets up from his seat and the boys all file out into the rainy desert landscape. The first thing they noticed was the fact there was at least an inch or two of standing water at their feet where the sand normally was. It didn’t rain much in this part of the world, so it wasn’t uncommon for flooding to occur. The group carefully tip toes out in the rain to the other side of the bus where they see the metal grate covering the engine flipped up, smoke pouring out of the engine bay.

Rob was nowhere in sight.

A chill ran down Josh’s spine. He didn’t like this. Danny approaches the engine and Sam follows from the side with the flashlight from his phone while Jake and Josh stand watch. “It’s the radiator!” Danny called through the rain, “We need some water or something! A big jug!”

“We don’t have a big jug of water.” Sam replied, “We have water bottles! And water on the ground!”

They were genuinely afraid now. Someone had to go back to the bus to get the water bottles from the bus and leave the other two outside. Nobody wanted to move. “Jake, go with Sam to the bus. Get as many water bottles as you can!” Danny calls, “We gotta get this bus going again!”

“What about Rob?!” Jake called back, “We’re just gonna leave him?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there! We can’t be in this storm!” Danny called once more. The wind was picking up now. Josh’s eyes were focused out to the middle of the desert, trying to see if he could make out human shaped silhouettes out in the distance. There was nothing though. Just blackness. This storm didn’t feel right. It was violent and sudden, almost like it was planned to make them stranded. The desert didn’t have rain like this, did it? Suddenly, something caught his eye. A small sliver of light flashed out in the distance. It looked almost like lightning, but it held its shape in one spot. It started to grow in length, and then it split open with a loud crack that sounded loudly across the arid land.

“Are you guys seeing this shit?!” Josh hollered as a bright white light blanketed the surrounding cacti and road. Stunned, the boys watched in awe as a woman slowly slipped out of this crack in the sky. She was enormous and almost opaque in color. Her body was twice the size of any high rise building and she emitted this ethereal white light that was blindingly beautiful. Upon her body was a simple robe that was draped across her loosely, and atop her head was an ornate crown of golden leaves while her hair was neatly braided. Her eyes were without pupils, but just blinding white light.

The rain stopped. The droplets were suspended in the air now while it continued to pour outside of the orb they were trapped in.

“Welcome, saviors.” The woman boomed, “We have been waiting for you.”

Again, they exchanged looks. “Waiting for us?” Josh questioned, “Who are you?” The ethereal woman smiles warmly, “I am Mother. I have been watching you four since the day of your birth. You are destined to save the world. Our world.” She outstretches a hand from underneath the robes and points forward with two fingers. A glowing light emits from her fingertips. She draws a circle out of the glowing light while her other hand reaches down toward the boys. A soft warm yellow glow envelopes each boy in an aura and one by one, they begin to levitate upwards. “Save the world?!” Sam hollers now, “We’re just a band! Just normal people!! What are you doing?? Put us down!” But Mother ignored his pleas. Jake was far too stunned to say anything and Danny was pale with fear and shock.

Josh runs his hands through his hair furiously, “This has got to be some kind of crazy fever dream. I only see this in my dreams! What are you going to do with us? What do you mean saviors?”

The woman had drawn a circle in the air, and filled it with symbols that Josh didn’t understand. “I’m afraid I can’t answer any questions, puer meus.” Mother says, “All will be answered with time. But we must hurry. There isn’t much time now.” Mother opens her palm, pushing the circle and it’s odd symbols forward. It turns yellow and begins to glow rather brightly. “Duc nos domum.” Mother uttered these words, and a bright blinding light filled the sky in response.

Then, there was nothing.

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh gvf #josh kiszka #gretavanfleet #danny gvf #danny wagner #jake gvf #jake kiszka #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #sam kiskza #sam gvf

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destinyc1020 · 4 months ago

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I’d love to hear your opinion on the box office of the bikeriders. I think no one signed on to this movie for box office success. This is a Jeff nichols movie. It’s a very specific type of film. I see people upset about box office on twitter. But that’s never been a goal for this film. Sure, it would make people happy. But they all received critical acclaim. Austin was being called James dean. Jodie comer got the spotlight, as she should. I’m an Austin butler fan and I knew it would be kind of a quiet release. As nice as box office success is, I still think this was a good step in all of their careers. And honestly, I think Austin needed a quiet role after Elvis and dune. This is a win, in my opinion. Just wait until it hits digital. Each person that watches it, you see a new wave of appreciation for these actors.

Hey Anon! 👋🏾😊

As a fellow AB fan myself, I actually think the Bikeriders box office has been pretty much expected? 🤷🏾‍♀️

Even though it's a summer release film, I never expected the film to be a blockbuster or anything. It's a small indie film by Jeff Nichols. The film was actually supposed to be released late lad last year until the strikes fuddled that. I don't think fans should be upset by the box office tbh lol. The box office isn't the only metric for how good a film is. There are plenty of films that are actually really good that barely anyone checks out at the theaters.

This was a passion project and documentary-like film from Jeff, and I doubt any of the actors were thinking of this film in terms of box office. I think they were thinking of how great it would be to work with Jeff. ☺️

With that said, the film cost about 30 million to make, and it already got back almost half of its budget the first weekend, even in the midst of heavy-hitters like "Inside Out 2", "Bad Boys", and now, "A Quiet Place: Day One". That's not too bad imo.

The acting was great in the movie...I still need to review the film (I'll get to it eventually!), and it was quite interesting despite the subject matter which I have no experience in whatsoever lol. 😅

Anyway, I think Austin fans need to relax. Not every film Austin does is going to be a box office king like "Elvis" or "Dune: Part 2" lol. 😅 Austin seems to choose projects based on how he likes the script/book, and the director he wants to work with. 🤷🏾‍♀️ Not on box office predictability. Some of these films are going to be smaller films. That's just normal imo. ☺️

Personally? I'm just glad the film got a proper press tour, red carpet premiere, and release in theaters, as opposed to going straight to streaming like Disney wanted to do. 🙄 Smaller, indie films with niche audiences need love too.

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eddsworld-the-masquerade · 2 years ago

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a comeback, perhaps?

Yes, really. I’m not joking and I have three points: 1. I’m one inconsistent bitch with a brainrot; 2. I need my delusions and escapism cuz man do four blood-sucking dudes sound more in-reality than whatever the fuck is going on in the actual real world around me rn; 3. I forgot what was the third point. It’s all the more absurd given just in the summer of this year I was certain I wouldn’t come back to it any time soon. What can I say...life do be like that. A fun little story of its own, but I’ll leave it out of this post. For now, let me share with you what I’ve been planning, what’s staying and what’s changing and how I’ll be approaching this AU/blog this time around.

So, to start off...

The 🅱️ has to go:

While still set in Vampire the Masquerade (World of Darkness) universe, the renewed version of this crossover AU won’t have anything to do with Bloodlines video game. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bloodlines still very much, it’s the game with most of my replays and what got me into VtM in the first place. But also, it is restricting, trying to align everything with its small setting/scope and, let’s be honest, doesn’t make much of a sense. Eddsworld’s British, the hell are they all doing in America? XP

The tag is now eddsworld vtm au, without the letter b.

What else gets thrown out?

Plot: Pretty much all of it. I came up with the biggest plot points and am currently rewriting the entire script. At its core it’s still “four dudes tolerate each other’s shenanigans to survive and later learn they kinda don’t feel like chopping each other’s heads off (friendship goals)” but the rest...out the window it goes.

Setting: As I said earlier, it’s weird. So with the help of Fall of London V5 book and some other sources of info on London in VtM, I moved the cast back to where they belong.

Characters and character writing: This one might surprise you, but I really, REALLY don’t like the way I did them back then. I can’t revisit old comics/the demo without cringing so hard my face breaks XD Fishmalk Edd gives me most pain if I’m being honest...

While I’m keeping the basest, the basiesest core (Edd being chaotic bastard Malkavian, Tom being mean and cynical Nosf, Matt being old-fashioned but also a rebel at heart Torrie, and Tord being far less infected with rabies compared to other modern Brujah) I’m changing lots of their characterization, backstories and relationships with each other as well. So don’t expect something you expected from their older versions.

The same goes for every other character, and I’m getting rid of some that don’t serve much purpose anymore.

What’s in store?

New script is in the process. And while it is slowly processing, I will be updating most pages on this blog: specifically “About” and “Characters”, with new relevant information and art. I have archived everything these pages contained, and I’ll put the link to the Google Drive folder up in the “About” page for anyone who wishes to look at the old stuff. I won’t be deleting any of the older posts on the blog though.

Update schedule?

Can’t promise one. Life’s hectic now as hectic can possibly get. I will update once there is an update, but please try to be considerate and don’t ask me “when”. I will most likely go on hiatuses from time to time but I will try to warn in advance if it’s going to take long. Overall, this passion project is just that, a passion project. Not my job. Not something that gives me anything but mental satisfaction. Not even a tip jar. I’m working alone, with occasional help from friends who are kind enough to proof read and brainstorm with me (Nina, Jazz, Engi, Hawa, long live you beautiful human beings). So all I’m asking is some compassion and understanding from all of you u_u If you can do it for me I’m sure it’ll take me longer to lose interest this time XD Ask box stays closed for now, I’ll reopen it once I’ll update all the pages.

That’s it for the moment! Stay tuned, if you’d like!

#eddsworld au #eddsworld VtMB AU #(the last post to have this tag...sob)#eddsworld vtm au

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garaksapprentice · 10 months ago

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Operation Stash-Down

This post was originally published on my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2024/01/operation-stash-down.html

***

Last month, I spent a week thoroughly cleaning and reorganising my workroom so that I could actually get to all the shelves, and not have my back to the door. I even made space to fit a skinny bookshelf (I can finally have all my books out where I can reach them. It's been more than seven years since that last happened).

Last week, I watched one of my favourite YouTubers issue their now-annual "January is for working on The Pile" challenge. I considered my Piles (what a phrase) and decided this was an excellent use for the rest of January. I went through the mending pile, adding and subtracting as necessary, and updated the running list I keep of the things in there (it's the only way to stop things from disappearing into the aether). I tidied up the cabbage patch, taking the opportunity to go through a few boxes that were stored outside the workroom and sort their contents into piles.

Yesterday, I looked around my workroom (it had once again gone from clean and tidy with actual floor space, to One Big Trip Hazard within half a day), and decided that I have too much bloody stuff.

This was almost completely clear twelve hours ago. L-R, T-B: for coleslaw (green), cabbage once deconstructed (yellow), actual recycling (blue), and rag rug bits (red).

More specifically, I have too many supplies. Despite spending the last two years cleaning and decluttering and KonMari-ing and making a concerted effort to start with what I have before I go shopping for new stuff, I still have overflow.

There's an entire garage shelf in what is technically the spare bedroom (in reality it's my partner's room - they have their own place, but I have air conditioning and they don't) full of knitting yarn, embroidery supplies, and fleeces. There's more fleeces and some sewing notions on top of a bookshelf, and a couple more boxes of knitting yarn on a different bookshelf. To top it all off, there's a whopping monster of a raw wool fleece in the back room.

And, to be clear, this is all stuff left after multiple decluttering rounds. This is all stuff that I absolutely fucking love and have no desire whatsoever to part with. I just... haven't got around to using it yet.

Me when I go through my stash nowadays.

Even though I buy 95+% of my supplies second-hand (between the guild and the plethora of local op shops, I'm remarkably spoiled), I'm still not using things as fast as I'm capable of buying them. Saving things from landfill to repurpose later only works if I actually use the things I'm saving. (Yes, I still need this reminder. Frequently.)

Thus were the seeds from which Operation Stash-down was born.

The Goal

I want to fit all my fibre supplies in my workroom. Every. Single. Thing.

That means all the:

knitting yarn

fabric (stash AND scraps)

embroidery supplies

sewing notions

fleece

weaving, sewing, and spinning tools

leatherworking tools and supplies

whatever other random fibre-related gubbins I pick up along the way

The only exception is for things that need a more controlled climate than my workroom. It's on the western side of the house, with a window in said western wall, and it regularly gets above 30ºC in there during summer. So if I end up with any dyes or other heat-sensitive chemicals, I'll have to find a cooler spot for them.

The Plan

Donating, giving away, and selling things are all options. But that hasn't made a much of a dent the last six times I went through The Stash, so I'm not counting on it doing much this time, either. No, the thing I need to concentrate on right now is using the stash.

So instead of my current "shop the stash then go buy what I need when I don't have it in there", my standard needs to shift to "ONLY use stash things, and if they won't work with what I've planned, change the plan".

How does this translate to actual, practical projects for the year?

Longer warps, and more of them on the floor loom. Lately I've been defaulting to inkle bands, because they're 1) fun, 2) fast, and 3) easy to do in all sorts of cool colour combinations. But they don't use a lot of material - I could weave nothing but narrow wares for the rest of my life and still have yarn left over. And I want to start weaving clothing yardage anyway, so this is a good kick in the pants to actually do it.

Stop putting off those patchwork projects. I have a couple of big ideas I've been procrastinating on for a few years now. Sure, they'll probably take multiple years each to finish, and I'm not sure if I even have enough scrap for one of them (a crazy patchwork coat from all the wrap scrap I've been holding onto), but I won't know unless I actually take the time to start working on them.

Scour more fleece. Out of all the spinning stash, the raw fleeces take up by far the most room. Prepping them to spin might not reduce their volume by much, but actually being able to spin them sure will. (Unfortunately, this strategy will require equipment purchasing. My hand cards aren't fine enough to use with some of the fleeces I have.)

Obviously just doing any project at all will help reduce stash levels, too. Some of the things on my list will make a bigger impact than others, though, and I'm going to try to focus on doing those first. (After I've started to reduce the current WIPs, of course. My 2024 goals are still in effect.)

If all goes to plan, I'll update every few months with progress. Maybe even before and after pictures.

***

If you like my stuff, please consider throwing me a few dollars on my Ko-Fi in support.

#stash busting #I haven't even approached SABLE with any of it #I know because I weighed all the knitting yarn once and divided it by my average weekly knitting. I have ~5 year's worth of knitting yarn #Same with fabric. Even if I hand stitched everything for the rest of my life I'd still only have 5-8 years of supplies #No idea about the spinning and weaving stuff though. I just know that it's not SABLE

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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

Text

The Way Home - Chapter 20

A fresh start. That’s what she needed. Not the turn of a page, or a new chapter, but a brand new book.

She left everything behind, and just hoped that she had better things ahead.

A Hotchniss College AU

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: This chapter contains brief references to miscarriage

Full list of warnings and previous chapters can be found on the Series Master List

-x-

I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has read, interacted and enjoyed this fic. It’s been so much fun to write, but I’m never quite sure how an AU will land, so thank you, THANK YOU, for all your love and support for this version of them.

A special thanks to @ssa-sparks, @hancydrewfan, and @prentissinred who have all let me just talk at them about this fic for MONTHS. You are all just the best and I couldn’t do it without you.

And also thank you to @cloudlessly-light for helping me figure out what to do with Emily’s career in this!

I hope you all enjoy this last chapter! <3

(Sorry if tumblr is being weird on desktop with the formatting- it's fine on mobile <3)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Summer 2006 - Arlington, VA

Emily groans as she lifts a box onto the kitchen table, smiling at the photo on top. It was from her and Aaron’s first holiday season as a couple. The photo was taken Christmas Eve, the day they’d had Jack, the little boy squished between them and his smile wide.

“Emily, I can’t find my tie.”

She shakes her head. He certainly wasn’t little anymore.

“It’s down here sweetie,” she replies, shouting up the stairs, “Where you left it last night.”

She hears the familiar footfall of her step-son as he runs down the stairs. She can’t help but smile when he comes into view, his nerves evident in the way he held himself, his shoulders tense. He smiles sheepishly at her as he grabs the tie off of the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen counter.

“Thanks, Emily,” he says, looking at the box she has in front of her and noticing it’s full of his things, “Keen to get rid of me?”

She narrows her eyes at him, her glare only making his smile wider. “Of course not,” she says, “But moving sucks and you have two houses with your stuff in, moving to college is hard enough as it is so I thought I’d get a head start.”

“You’re very good at packing,” Jack comments as he roots through the box, “I forgot I’d need some of this.”

She hums as she smiles at him, “Moving as much as I did when I was a kid has its benefits.”

He chuckles, and looks around the kitchen, “Where’s Dad?”

“He had to go into the office, he’s just finished that big case so had some files to submit, but he’ll be back soon I promise. He wouldn’t miss today for the world.” She assures him, squeezing his arm.

It was strange sometimes, to think that the little boy she met had grown into this young man next to her. He was taller than her now, the same height as his father. He towered over Haley, something that he took great joy in reminding her of frequently.

“I’m glad he won,” Jack says, opening the fridge door, always on the hunt for food, “Because it was on TV it would have been embarrassing if he hadn’t.”

Emily laughs at the typical teenage reaction, “And, you know, a serial killer has been sent to prison for the rest of his life.”

Jack shrugs his shoulders, “That too.”

After Emily graduated from college her and Aaron, alongside Haley and Jack, moved to DC, a return home for all of them that suited them well.

Over the years, Aaron worked his way up to state prosecutor, a job that kept him busy but that he enjoyed. A goal he had set himself during the trial against Ian for his attempt on Emily’s life, wanting to help people the way that prosecutor had helped Emily. Finally getting her justice after she’d been so let down by the system previously.

It was a big part of her decision to be in the system herself. Social work had never been something she would have considered before everything with Ian, but it was the only thing that felt right afterwards. Her natural empathy and her talent for picking up languages made her a popular choice, and she now worked for the state, creating and maintaining policies that would have protected her when she was younger.

Their friends often joked that they were a power couple, and that no criminal in the DC area had a chance with them around.

The sound of a door opening cuts off any further conversation, the thundering of tiny feet on the upstairs landing and then the stairs themselves making both Emily and Jack smile.

“Here comes trouble,” Emily comments, winking at the teenager before turning to look at her daughter as she runs at her at full speed, catching the four-year-old and lifting her onto her hip before she could crash into her legs, “Morning Ellie.”

“G’Morning Mama.”

Eleanor Grace Hotchner was, according to Aaron, 100% Emily. He often joked that he wondered if he’d been involved in the process at all, or if Emily had somehow cloned herself. Their little girl her double in just about every way.

“You sleep ok?” Emily asks, pressing a series of kisses to the little girl's cheek, laughing as Eleanor leans away from her slightly, a smile on her face as she nods.

“Jack’s big day!”

Emily looks over at Jack, who was halfway through eating a handful of dry cereal he’d clearly found in the pantry.

“Yes sweetie, it’s Jack’s graduation today,” she says, kissing her daughter on her head before she passes her over to Jack, her eyebrow raised as she takes the cereal box from him, “Why don’t you two go sit down and watch TV, and I’ll get your dad to make us all breakfast when he gets here.”

Jack holds Eleanor close, their bond something that had been instantaneous since he first held her, despite their 14-year age gap. He bounces her on his hip, making her laugh as he leaves the kitchen.

“Come on Elly Elephant,” he says, making her giggle, “Let's go watch some cartoons.”

Emily shakes her head as she watches her children go, sighing as she once again laments how quickly the years had gone by.

___

“Em, we have five minutes and then we have to go.”

Emily rolls her eyes at her husband’s insistent tone, opening the door to their ensuite to find him standing just on the other side, his hands on his hips. She walks out to the bedroom to join him, finishing clipping on the earring she had been adjusting.

“Honey, we’re fine. The school is 10 minutes away at most. The ceremony doesn’t start for another hour,” she turns so her back is facing him, and he wordlessly zips up her dress for her, his fingers sliding up her spine in a way she knew was unnecessary. She turns to look at him, smiling as she loops her arms around his neck, “We definitely don’t have time for that though.”

Aaron smiles at her as he pulls her closer, his hands on her lower back. He leans down and kisses her, his lips gentle against hers.

“Later?” He asks, and her smile widens before she leans in to kiss him again.

“Later,” she confirms, pulling back to look at him, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she cups his cheek with her other hand. “You ok?”

Aaron sighs, his lips in a tight smile as he nods. He wraps his hand around her wrist, his thumb rubbing at the thin scar she had there, a reminder of the surgery she’d had to fix it, of the metal that laid just beneath the surface. She often wondered if the way it would ache in the cold was a phantom memory, her brain remembering how it felt when he’d slammed it into the wall, his hand tight around her throat.

Sometimes she still woke up and could feel that too. Only brought back to the present by her husband, the way he would invade all of her senses. Make her forget that she’d ever been touched by someone else.

She had a lot of scars from that time, the one on her wrist just happened to be the only visible one.

“Yeah, I am. I just can’t believe he’s graduating high school,” he replies. It was strange to think that Jack was now only a couple of years younger than he and Haley had been when they had him. The years had passed by faster than he’d anticipated, and sometimes he missed the days when Jack was young and hung on his every word. “It feels like only yesterday he wanted to ask you to be his girlfriend.”

Emily laughs, “I know honey,” she replies, her fingers trailing through his hair, “But Harvard isn’t that far away, and you know he’ll come back as often as he can,” she smirks at him, “He’ll miss Haley’s cooking too much.”

He chuckles, “Speaking of which, don’t think I didn’t notice one of her lasagnes in the fridge.”

“She offered,” she shrugs, “You know she can’t say no to Ellie.”

Haley was without a doubt one of Eleanor’s favourite people, a connection that hadn’t surprised any of them. She was a fixture in their lives, and only lived a couple of streets away. After she’d saved Emily’s life, purely by being in the right place at the right time, they’d become friends, and she’d even come to their wedding.

It was odd, sometimes, for Aaron to remember that Haley was once someone he thought he would spend his life with. Even stranger again to think that, in some way, he had, just not as his partner as he would have once thought.

“At least Ellie will still be here for a long time,” Aaron grumbles, the mere thought of his little girl being old enough to graduate high school when she was only just about to start kindergarten in the fall enough to make him frown, “And any others we might have.”

Emily’s smile falters slightly, a common reaction when he brought up the prospect of other children. Eleanor hadn’t been their first pregnancy or even their second. The two losses they’d gone through before still made her sad when she thought about them, pre-emptive grief at the thought of going through it again enough to make her wonder if she even wanted to try. Until she had Eleanor she was convinced what had happened in Rome had caused long-term damage, and had cried herself to sleep in Aaron’s arms more than once. Begging for forgiveness he would not give her because she had nothing to be sorry for.

She loved Eleanor with every part of her, but pregnancy had been rough on Emily. Her sickness, which could only be remedied by some specific chewing gum that Haley had recommended, mixed with her constant anxiety that something would go wrong had meant it wasn’t enjoyable at all.

She wanted another child and had dreams of a little boy that was the perfect mix of her and Aaron, but the fear choked her and made her freeze every time he mentioned it.

“Aaron-”

He leans forward and kisses her cheek, his hold on her briefly tightening, “I know love,” he says, kissing her again, “At your pace, ok?”

She nods against him, pulling back and offering him a shaky smile, “We should get going.”

Aaron smiles at her and links his hand through hers, leading her out of their room and down the stairs. As they approach the living room, they hear the tv is on, the news clearly on the screen.

“George Foyet was charged with 12 counts of murder, but state prosecutor Aaron Hotchner claims he may have killed up to 36-”

“Jack,” Aaron says, catching his son’s attention from his cell phone and tilting his head towards Eleanor who was playing with her toy dinosaurs, “Please turn that off.”

Jack looks between his little sister and the tv, cursing under his breath as he grabs for the remote and turns it off. “Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s ok,” Aaron says, checking his watch, “We really should get going.”

Emily detaches herself from her husband and walks over to Eleanor, “Come on sweet girl,” she says, smiling at her, “Let's go.”

Eleanor stands up, one of her dinosaurs still in one hand, and grabs her mother’s hand with the other.

“Aunt Haley’s there?” She asks, her excitement clear.

“Yes baby,” Aaron replies, opening the front door, sharing a smile with his wife, “Aunt Haley is there.”

“Then let’s go!” Eleanor demands, pulling Emily towards the front door.

Emily laughs, gladly following her daughter, “You heard the girl,” she looks at Jack, sees the nerves on his face that she had seen the first thing that morning again, and she reaches for his hand too, linked in between them both, “Come on sweetie, the sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be home.”

It was a mantra she’d shared with him since he was small and she first found her footing in his life. It was something she’d said to him to get him through dentist appointments, or visits to the doctor. His first day at his new school when they moved to DC. Their home, and the one he had at Haley’s, his safe space.

“Yeah,” Jack smiles, squeezing his stepmother’s hand, turning and smiling at his father as he places a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll be home soon.”

___

Red Onion State Prison, VA

He was counting down the days, every day of his sentence seemingly longer than the last. It had been almost 13 years and he still had 7 left until he would even be considered for parole.

Each day, he hated her a little more. He could feel it consume him, overtake the place he once felt love for his son who now called another man daddy, his conviction of attempted murder enough to make Chloe take him from him entirely.

There’s rapping on the cell bars, and he looks up, smirking at the guard he hated almost as much as he hated her.

“Doyle,” the guard sneers, stepping aside so a man in an orange jumpsuit can step into the cell, meet your new cellmate.” He steps back, pulling the bars back across and smiling at them from the other side. “Get to know each other, you’ll both be here a while.”

Ian watches as he walks away before looking back at his new cellmate. The man was tall, skinny and had shaved his head, and he wonders what on earth this man could have done to end up in a high security prison, looking on the surface of it incapable of a crime that would have landed him here.

Then his eyes meet his, and he sees it, the same fury he feels, anger that nowhere to go, and he smiles.

“Doyle, is it?” The man says, offering him his hand.

“Ian Doyle,” he replies, shaking his hand. “And you?”

The man smiles, clearly amused by the fact he didn’t know his name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ian. I’m George Foyet.”

-x-

The Way Home’s sequel, Home, is coming soon in January 2023

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