#you are all lucky tumblr has a queue

[sqbr]

Dreamwidth Crosspost: Fiction which is not m/m romance

These ended up dividing neatly into some specific subgenres. I really have been mostly into m/m romance lately, huh... Non-romance Anime: Bocci the Rock Play it cool guys m/f romance manga and webtoon: Sweat and Soap Busu ni Hanataba wo Everyone wants to get married Another Typical Fantasy Romance m/m but not romance manga: The Summer Hikaru Died f/f romantic fantasy novel: Earthcast ( Read more... )

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Robbie, Playoff Willy, various Scouts; pull yourself up by the jockstrap

For the prompt: A little more of Robbie's time with the Scouts - Cup party, with the Tweedles and Willy, maybe Julius & Erin. Your choice - just more of that.

(I'm not here, but the tumblr queue is! Well. Probably.)

“Now, I know I have no right to talk about maturity,” Robbie says, then promptly ducks the jock that comes flying at him, the rest of his message going undelivered.

“No throwing shit at teammates’ heads during playoffs!�� Playoff Willy yells.

“It wouldn’t hit him in the head if he wasn’t so short!” Bender says. “I misjudged!”

“Misjudging is not acceptable during playoffs!” Playoff Willy says. Robbie wants to write a book of his sayings. Like Sun Tzu but for maladjusted athletes who don’t know how to lose. Which is pretty much all pro athletes, in Robbie’s experience, so it might even sell.

Robbie nudges at the limp jock with his socked foot. It looks sad. Defeated, even. “Bro, when was the last time you replaced this?”

Bender looks to Playoff Willy, like he’s waiting for Robbie to get yelled at, though Robbie’s pretty sure Playoff Willy cares a hell of a lot less about feelings than he does about potential head injuries. Or like — anything. The only feelings Playoff Willy cares about are like, motivation. And probably bloodlust.

“Pike has a point,” Playoff Willy says. “That shit is falling apart.”

“But I wore it in!” Bender says. “None of the other ones fit right.”

Robbie pokes it a little further from him. The visitor’s room floor is sketchy as fuck, but he doesn’t think he can do the thing any damage at this point.

The elastic snaps. Well, snaps is a strong word. The elastic’s too damn worn for that, so it’s less a dramatic death and more feebly giving up on the last thread of life remaining.

“Whoops,” Robbie says. Maybe he should have considered that the thing was an antique before he started poking at it.

“Willy, look what he did!” Bender says. “That was my lucky jock!”

“How lucky can it be when we just lost the game?” Playoff Willy growls.

Bender is, thankfully, smart enough to realize that’s a rhetorical question.

“Still up a game, Playoff Willy,” Money says, and Playoff Willy shoots him a glare, but doesn’t say anything.

Robbie’s still impressed that Money’s got the balls to call him Playoff Willy to his face, and even more impressed that Playoff Willy lets him. Everybody knows Money is his favorite, but as the playoffs have gone on, that seems to buy less and less leeway. Money told him from the get-go that the longer the playoff run, the worse Playoff Willy got. Robbie didn’t really believe him, or maybe didn’t want to, but he’s got to say, Playoff Willy during the Conference Finals is a whole different beast than the first round. Emphasis on beast, there. If he mauled someone Robbie wouldn’t even be surprised. Unless they were playing well, he guesses.

Thankfully, Robbie’s been doing okay for himself, shutting down the guys he needs to shut down, so he’s also currently in Playoff Willy’s good books, at least enough that he doesn’t fear mauling.

“I’ve had that for eight years,” Bender moans.

“That’s fucking gross, dude,” Robbie says. “Genuinely. I did you a favor.”

Bender throws a glove at him. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to have been around for two presidential terms.

“If I have to leave next game because I got nut shot, that’s on you, Pike,” Bender says.

“Bro, if you go onto the ice without a jock Playoff Willy will cup check you himself,” Robbie says.

He winces, but either Playoff Willy didn’t notice the slip, or Robbie’s earned even more grace than he thought.

“He isn’t wrong,” Playoff Willy says. “Normally I wouldn’t, since it’s a chickenshit play, and an auto major, but I don’t think they really care if it’s your own teammate.”

“Refs won’t give a shit,” Scratch says. “Social media probably won’t shut up about how he slept with your wife, though.”

“I can make it look like an accident,” Playoff Willy says. Robbie does not doubt him even a little.

His brow furrows a moment later. “I don’t have a wife,” he says, sounding almost unsure.

That would be kind of suspicious, but Robbie’s learned that’s just how Playoff Willy talks about anything non-hockey related, like first he has to go consult with normal Willy, who’s being held hostage somewhere inside him.

“That could not matter less to idiots on twitter,” Scratch says.

“Last round they said I slept with your wife,” Money says.

“Why did you sleep with my wife?” Playoff Willy asks, then, after checking with kidnapped Willy again, “You’re openly gay.”

“Like I said,” Scratch says. “Could not care less about your actual relationship status. Or sexuality, apparently.”

“Scratch is still mad about it,” Joey says.

“I’m not mad about it,” Scratch says. “I just think people should do basic—“

“I fixed it!” Bender says. “I fixed it, guys! All it needed was a little super glue.”

Robbie has such a bad feeling about this. Bender’s honestly lucky his balls have survived this long: that elastic was literally holding on by a thread.

“You don’t want kids, right?” Robbie asks.

“Oh yeah,” Bender says. “Not quite yet, but Lacey and I are—“

“Oh, give me that fucking thing,” Playoff Willy says.

Super glue isn’t going do shit to save Bender’s jock after Playoff Willy and a pair of scissors get through with it.

“Have some respect for your testicles,” Playoff Willy hisses, and then marches the remains of Bender’s jock to the trash can.

That one's an instant classic. Robbie is adding it to the book of Playoff Willy for sure.

“That’s one for the book of Willy,” Harvard says. Obviously Robbie didn’t need telling, but he does appreciate that it’s becoming a collaborative effort.

“Hah,” Robbie says. “Testicles.”

“Willy,” Harvard agrees.

“What are you two giggling about?” Playoff Willy growls.

“Nothing,” they chorus, ducking their heads so they don’t accidentally meet Playoff Willy’s eyes. That’s a mistake Robbie isn’t making again.

“It was so comfortable,” Bender mumbles. “Like wearing nothing at all.”

“Yeah, buddy, we know,” Scratch says. “That was kind of the problem.”

“So comfy,” Bender whispers.

*

Robbie’s never been to a funeral for a jock before, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything.

“R.I.P.,” Money says. “Like rest in peace. Not like rip. Though that is what you did.”

“Before getting hacked to pieces by a madman,” Scratch says.

“May you find peace and serenity in—“

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Playoff Willy says.

“Scatter!” Money says, and they all flee. Well, Robbie doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t want to, but he’s fucking exhausted. Plus, he blocked a shot last game, and anything faster than an amble makes his leg throb like a bitch.

“What the fuck were they doing?” Playoff Willy asks.

“Funeral for the jock we murdered,” Robbie says. Well, Robbie’s crime was jockslaughter at most, but that’s not important.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Playoff Willy says, then bows his head, eyes closed. He doesn’t move for a good minute, and Robbie’s shifting uncomfortably, wondering if he's finally snapped just like the jock did, and if getting Money will help or just make it worse.

He startles when Willy speaks, murmuring, “Sorry I killed you.”

Presumably — hopefully — he’s talking to the jock, rather than saying it to Robbie just before he kills him. Robbie reminds himself he’s safe. He blocks shots.

“It was for his safety, and the greater good,” Playoff Willy says. “Thank you for your years of service.”

He opens his eyes then, and Robbie accidentally meets his eye.

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to do that. He doesn’t think he was supposed to see that either.

“I won’t tell anyone about this,” Robbie says.

Playoff Willy’e eyes narrow.

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” Robbie says.

“You’re a quick learner, Lombardi,” Playoff Willy says. “I like that about you.”

“I block shots too,” Robbie says, just to make sure Playoff Willy remembers his utility.

“You block shots too,” Playoff Willy murmurs, then nods to himself.

“Integral part of the team,” Robbie says, then, aware he’s over-selling it, he awkwardly shoots Playoff Willy two thumbs up.

Playoff Willy’s brow furrows, then, after a long consult with the normal Willy tied up in the basement of his brain, he gives Robbie two thumbs up back.

[misc-obeyme]

would u consider obey me a dead fandom?

Um. Nope. I sure wouldn't.

If there's anybody out there who thinks Obey Me is a dead fandom, I would say they're probably confused about what a dead fandom actually is.

I think an argument could be made saying that there is no such thing as a dead fandom. But I'm going to assume you mean that fan content is at an all time low.

Friend, I have been in fandoms where the content was like... you get a fic or two every year if you're lucky. This for a media that hadn't put out any new content in decades.

Obey Me? I get an average of five asks per day about Obey Me. I can queue 10 posts per day about Obey Me. I still average over 800 notes a day on this here Obey Me blog. In the past few months, we've had new artists and writers joining the community and posting their Obey Me fan works. The game is still active and updating. There are two apps even.

So no, I personally would not consider the Obey Me fandom to be dead by any means.

It's certainly been more active in the past. I'll never forget the surge of activity that happened when Nightbringer first came out. My Solomon fics seemed to double their notes over night lol.

But we're also in a bit of a lull right now because we aren't getting new chapters. Every time an event happens, there's another burst of activity. And then things die down just a little before they surge again. That's the nature of fandom.

Another common fandom thing is people coming and going. I've been here for almost two years, but there are others who have been here for four. And then there are some people who've only been in the fandom for a couple months. And then there are the people who were here at the beginning, but have since moved on. Maybe they only stayed for a few months before moving on. Maybe they're only casually in the fandom, dipping in now and again. This is also just the nature of fandom. There's no right way to do it. And it doesn't reflect on whether a fandom is alive or dead.

Hell, we even have plenty of discourse and toxic stuff in this here fandom, too. More of that when there's nothing else to do, I think, which is unfortunate, but also kinda... just part of fandom.

And all of this is just how it is on Tumblr. I know there are active Obey Me communities on Twitter/X and Instagram, too. I'm just too old and tired to maintain that many socials. I actually have accounts on both of those apps but I rarely use them.

And lastly, I'm a big proponent of being involved in fandom no matter how active the community is. By this I mean, if I still have an Obey Me hyperfixation in ten years when the apps are closed down and nearly everybody else has moved on, I will still be here posting fic. Because I won't leave a fandom until I am ready to move on from it, dead or not. (Sometimes this can mean you are one of the few people still creating for said fandom, but you might be surprised at how many people will still enjoy what you create.)

[c00kietin]

Since I probably won't be online as much tomorrow (December 25) for obvious reasons, I'll say this in advance and have it in queue for tomorrow.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL WHO READS THIS AND TO ALL A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! (ALSO HAVE A GREAT HANUKKAH IF YOU CELEBRATE IT!!)

I probably won't list off all of my followers (nothing personal, just takes too long for my little brain) but to the people that have interacted with me: (VERY LONG POST)

@godofautism / @godofautismnumber2 - you are one of my first followers, and even with how many followers you have, you still talk with me and I'm so grateful for that. You are an amazing, friendly and a very fun person, never forget it! <33

@ofthefrogs - YOU. ARE SO KIND!!!!!!!! your drawings are so sweet and wholesome and bring a smile to my face- you as a whole bring a smile to my face. As I'm writing this, it's also your birthday- so happy birthday! May both your birthday and Christmas be loads of fun! :D

@taperecorder-gizmo - my dear guardian. My parent. I think you already know how much I love you. That first time you drew me, with your sona holding an octobunny, I was ecstatic. I immediately showed my sister, and she can tell you I danced like a leprechaun. And even a more recent time, when you drew Roxie, that had me squealing like crazy! I could probably write a Bible-length book on how much I love ya and how much of an amazing person you are, but I have other mutuals to talk about. Thank you so much for your kindness and your incredible art skills, and I love you loads!

@trashyandtiredsol - you were one of the firsts to become "my biggest fan" (as in liking/reblogging a bunch of my stuff) and you still are! I love your art as well (I'm so lucky to be friends with so much artists!!!) and I am so grateful for every like and reblog you've done on my posts. Love you loads, and thank you so much for your kindness.

@allmightyscroll-swag - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA/pos!!!! You helped me show my ocs to people other than my sister, and to be honest, now I love drawing them! Every response you make has me giddy with excitement and smiling like a madman. Know that you are amazing and kind like all of my moots and you are more than welcome to tag me in your art too if you want to! <<33

@chiperti - Hi!!! I know we haven't chatted in a while, but just know I do really like talking to you (especially bout music hehehe)!!! Your art is so pretty and amazing and seeing you post new art always makes me excited! You have a superb taste in music, and one of the many super cool people I've met on Tumblr.

@a-had-matter - Like chiperti, we may not have chatted in a while, but talking to you is loads of fun as well! You're also probably one of the first people that I've had a fully blown conversation with- you and many other people help me talk a lot more, and I'm grateful for that! Thank you so much for all your friendliness, your kindness, and also have a merry Christmas. :]

@glastly - I love your art. I love your art. I love your art. Have I told you how much I love your art? BECAUSE I LOVE YOUR ART!!!! Not only that, but I am so thankful to have you as a mutual of mine and your compliments make me feel AMAZING! You are super kind and amazing and cool and- Merry Christmas!! :D

@t3ddysramblings - technically your other is following me (@newaccountinbio)- BUT STILL! I'm tagging you because I adore your art so much and having you respond to that Fell Sans I drew a good while back had me bouncing off of the walls!! You are a huge inspiration for me, because I think you already know how stunning your art is!

@deltaswapjevil - Yes, you! Like Sol, you've liked almost all of my stuff, to which I applaud you, Thank you so much for the support, and I appreciate all of your kindness. May your Christmas be a great one! <33

@annelostshoe - First of all, love your sona! Second of all, you are also one of my biggest fans according to Tumblr- you've liked and reblogged so much of my stuff, and I am grateful for all the support you've given me! :DD

@lumashoes - HELLO!!! You are one of my first followers, and I'm glad you're still with me! You are a very kind and friendly person, and I'm thankful to have you as my moot! Have a great Christmas!! <33

@gummy-worms-in-my-brain - The fact that you're following me still makes me giddy so much asdfggfgdfsddfgfhg- your art is so SO pretty, and that first time that you drew those Christmas cookies for me, that had me kicking my feet and squealing like a little girl- a very excited one! Thank you so much for all your compliments and support, I appreciate your kindness dearly. :>

@mikebeanz - Hello!! Back when I was starting out and had like 20 followers, I noticed how a good few of them were following you, As you do, I followed you too and I silently loved your content- if that makes sense lol. You're so kind, so friendly, funny and an amazing artist, I was like "damn. I wanna talk to that guy". And the fact that we're mutuals now makes me so happy. Thank you so much for your positivity that brings a smile to my face. <<333

*cracks knuckles and gets prepared for more typing, questioning what the limit is*

@mikey-rottmnt @ghosty-0w0 @angelosorangebandana - hope yall don't mind being grouped into one- but IRISH SQUAD!!! you all are so fun to be with and I love being on Whiteboard with you! @mikey-rottmnt, that time that you drew me made me the happiest bean on EARTH!! It was also one of the first fanart pieces I recieved, and I still adore it!! Thank you all so much for your kindness and positivity, and I hope you receive amazing presents this year!! :DD

@mellybabbles - you. make. me. sso. SO HAPPY!!! Like, really. I mean it. Talking to you gives me that boost of happy vibes that keep me going throughout the day, and I thank you so much for those lil "how are yous". You are all the positive adjectives!! Also, spectacular taste in birds ya kiwi lover!!!! <333

@crazed-rambler - congrats on the burning!! Like many of your other followers have said, you are an amazingly kind and awesome person that we are so grateful to have you as a friend! Never forget how incredible you are, and just before you type something like "I don't think so", or "X for Doubt", DON'T. YOU ARE AMAZING. NEVER TELL YOURSELF OTHERWISE.

@moonys-chaos - another fan!! Thank you so very much for your likes and reblogs, and doing that "going to jail because of your search history with @mikey-rottmnt" with ya made me laugh my ass off- it was very fun to me hehe. You are very cool, and I wish you a wonderful Christmas. :3

@oneshortlove - *gives you a million hugs* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! I LOVE YA SO MUCH!!! YOUR KIND WORDS, YOUR DRAWINGS, AH-they make me so, so happy!!! Your sona is adorable, and you are one of the nicest, sweetest people I've met on this platform! I hope your Christmas is a brilliant one and you have a wonderful new year!!

@goomykazoomy - hi!!! I hope that you're doing well!! Like a-had-matter, talking to you has helped me crawl out of my shell and talk more about myself to other people. Chatting with you is a blast, you are incredibly kind, nice and funny, and I love your art! Also, your sona is so cute and I love em sm :3 Have an amazing Christmas, friend!

@artistheworld - I know we're new to each other, but I'm gonna mention you here because of how kind you've already been to me- I love your art so much and I adore every compliment you give me! Have a very merry Christmas!!

Okay I'm sorry that I'm grouping up some of all but my creative juices are beginning to run out lol-

@sillyallthetime @clownpalette @hiro-doodlez @paintaya @m-iivy- HELLO??? HOW ARE WE MOOTS?! LIKE- ALL OF YOUR ARTWORK IS SO PRETTY AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH- all of your art styles, your colours, I adore it all! Thank you guys so much for following me, It makes me feel so happy. <3

@kanaede-kun @artsandstoriesandstuff @wishtale-blogs @little-creecher @little-silly-things @it-came-from-mount-ebott @italic-does-random-shit @m3l0man14c @panda-of-the-trash @minophlia @largefound @lemonmint-the-neko @spikeygrrl @qeelovestea @holdmyteaplease @motherarts @justmesadlysry- Imma say it right now- we may not interact with each other a lot, but I platonically love yall. Like. Seriously. You are amazing people and I love your content, not to mention how kind you all are. I may have used that word a lot now, but I mean it every single time. @artsandstoriesandstuff, I want to thank you as well for drawing Roxie, for that made me squeal and giggle and smile and all sorts of happy things!! I hope all of your Christmases are wonderful and fun and that you may have a great 2024. <3333

AND NOW, TO MY FOLLOWERS THAT I MAY NOT HAVE MENTIONED ON MY LIST- c'mere. I appreciate you all. Every like and reblog you do, I can see it (which sounds creepy but I mean it in a positive way lol). I love and appreciate all of your support, really. Whether your content is art, talking or simply reblogs, I love you all and what you do, I am so lucky to have amazing people like you enjoying my content, and you all deserve the best. Pretend I'm handing you a fuzzy blanket and a plate of cookies, because that's what you deserve.

Silly Tumblr won't let me add more, so I am now done. Mic drop.

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 1

plasmadonor!Joel x f!reader

You’re the star phlebotomist at the local plasma center, and the job has been increasingly mundane as of late… until a new and handsome Texan donor comes to the center and changes that, and the rest your life.

Series Masterlist

Series warnings:

AU, M/F, Age gap (20 years)-reader’s YOB is 1995 (purely coincidental lolol), eventual SMUT, blood, needles, & plasma talk (nothing too graphic, I promise!), a bit of blasphemy, criticism of religion, mentions of death, divorce, angst, fluffity fluff fluff, alcohol consumption, violence.  Individual chapters will have specific warnings.

FYI – this work contains criticisms of religion and reader is atheist/agnostic.  Feel free to scroll if this offends you.  If you decide to read, remember that even if you are religious, this is not an attack on you, but rather ideology.  And remember the tenets of religious freedom.  Everyone has the right to believe – and NOT to believe – in the things you do.

Plasma Center UrbanDict:

Stick = venipuncture

PR = permanent rejection, aka permanent deferral

Reception = where donors have vitals taken to determine if they are suitable to donate

Donor Floor = where the magic happens, baby! Where donation occurs, aka sticks with big 17G needles

 Processing = where units of plasma are sampled and frozen

This is my first ever fic! Excited to share all of it with you. I'm new to posting this kind of stuff on Tumblr, so please forgive rookie formatting and whatnot. Hope you enjoy! As of 03/10/24, I have 6 chapters written - I'm juggling my writing with finishing my MPH degree, so my schedule might be a little spotty until mid-May.

Chapter 1

Chapter warnings: blood, needles, & plasma talk, light violence.

WC: 3.7k

Friday, October 15th | 0755

You turn into the parking lot at the plasma center, a little later than your usual 10 minutes early.  Your shift is at 8, so you don’t have much time to walk to the center, clock in, grab your coat and face shield and get to work.  Thankfully, the parking lot is just across the street.  As soon as you step out of your car, downtown Omaha greets you with the familiar scents of cigarette smoke and fall air, along with the sounds of the city buses and commuters chugging along.

It’s a nice morning.  Living in Nebraska means you get to experience the peaks and valleys of all four seasons, and during fall, this means the leaves of what few trees are in the downtown area are painted lovely hues of orange, yellow, and even red – if you’re lucky enough to find a scarlet or pin oak tree.

The plasma center parking lot is shared with employees and donors, and it’s packed this morning.  Not a great sign.  You walk up to the back employee entrance and punch in the code.  The keypad beeps and lights up green and you pull open the ages-old, heavy-as-hell door and make your way to the break room.

The donor waiting area is just outside the break room door, and you can tell by how full it is that it’s going to be a long day, confirming your earlier suspicions in the parking lot.  Somebody definitely called in, you think.  Great.  Punching in the same code as before, you enter the break room, throw your stuff in your locker, and clock in.

As soon as you’re on the Donor Floor, donned with your white lab coat, blue nitrile gloves, and face shield, one of your best phlebotomists and good friend Keri approaches, looking flustered as hell.

“Jesus, thank fuck you’re here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and raising her eyebrows at you.  She smooths back her frizzy hair and sets down her face shield on the counter next to you.

“Are we short today, or did corporate send out some bonus texts to half of Omaha?” you say, checking the Donor Queue on the computer.  15 people waiting, average wait time of 43 minutes.  Fucking clean up time, I guess.

“Two call-outs, but they’re newbies, so it wouldn’t have mattered, really,” she says.  “Definite yes on the bonus texts.  Regulars are all pissed off because they didn’t get any.”  You roll your eyes and sigh.  To get more donors in, the company you work for has been sending bonus texts to donors that haven’t been in in a while, which really ticks off the regular, twice-a-week donors.  It’s all about meeting that liters budget.

“Where do you need me?  Breaks need to be sent?” you ask her.  You’re the lead phlebotomist, but you always check in with whoever opened before you make any decisions.  Keri nods.  “Send Blake to break, he’s got an open section now and we’ve got to get these wait times down.”  You grab your mobile phlebotomy device and head that way.

Each phlebotomist can have a maximum of 6 donors in their section.  You see Blake cleaning up the machine from his last disconnect, leaving you an empty section.  “You can head to break, I’ll take over here,” you say, helping him wipe down the now-empty donor bed.

“Thanks… really happy that you’re here.  It’s been a shit show today,” he says, walking away from the section toward the break room.  You groan and head up to the front near the waiting area, grab a chart, and start climbing the mountain.

Thursday, October 15th | 1230

The morning turned out to be an absolute disaster.  You quickly filled up your section once you sent Blake to break, apologizing to every donor you sat for the wait times.  Most were understanding.  There were a few that gave you an eye roll or a shrug.  A few left the center, not wanting to be late for work.  The fall is generally a busy time at the center, with people seeking extra money for football tailgates and games, college students needing extra money for just about everything, and parents stocking up early on holiday savings.

Thankfully, Keri, you, and the rest of the morning Donor Floor crew knocked the Queue down to 3 donors and wait times down to 10 minutes.  Once the last morning break was done, they came over and sent you to your lunch.  Delighted, you took off your sweaty coat and hung it up, washed your hands at the sink by the coat rack, and headed to the break room.

Before you’re able to punch in the door code, a deep, velvety voice stops you.

“Uh, miss?  Can you point me in the right direction?”

You turn and look in the direction of the voice and see a taller man with dark, silvery-streaked curly hair, tanned skin and pensive brown eyes staring at you.  He’s donning a red flannel that squeezes his broad shoulders and ropy arm muscles, and dark wash Levi’s that have the outline of his wallet imprinted in the front right pocket.  He’s definitely a blue-collar guy, not unlike a lot of the current donors.  Must be a new donor, you think.  Damn, he looks good.  You feel a little zap in your chest, not unlike the fingerstick donors get during screening.

“Hi!  Are you a new donor?”  You ask, turning on your customer service voice in hopes of calming your nerves.  You step back from the door and walk toward him.  He’s got a small white paper slip in hand, which tells you he needs his veins checked, so he must be new.

“Yes ma’am, need someone ‘ta look at my veins.  Been here before, but it’s been a long time,” he says, watching you approach him and giving you the once-over.  Twice-over.  Your pulse quickens.  His voice is like icing, dripping with a sweet Southern accent and mushing your insides.  You smile and take the paper from him, hoping that you aren’t blushing.

“Roll up your sleeves for me and let’s take a look,” you say, watching him roll up the sleeves of his red flannel.  He’s got thick, veiny forearms that are tanned and covered with freckles.  He wears a watch on his left wrist that you assume hasn’t been removed in years, judging by the pure white skin peeking underneath.  His hands are big and scarred.  Definitely works with his hands, you think.  He has a small, circle-shaped scar on his right arm near the venipuncture site, so he was telling the truth about donating plasma before.  You grab a tourniquet hanging on the cabinet near the chart area, wrap it on his upper arm, and feel.  His veins are huge and muscular, and you realize you didn’t need the tourniquet in the first place.  Rookie mistake.

“Guess I really don’t need this,” you say, removing the tourniquet and feeling his ropy veins with your index finger.  His skin is warm under your clammy finger.  He chuckles.  “Heard that one before,” he says.  You laugh and make eye contact with him, noticing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his salt and pepper beard.  His gaze is amiable and filled with something else you can’t quite pinpoint, and your stomach twists.  You look away before you can decipher it.

“I don’t think you’ll have any issues with the stick,” you say, and he laughs.  “Are you hydrated?  Had a good meal in the last hour or two?” You ask, writing your name on the vein check slip and circling “Pass.”  You see the name Joel Miller written at the top.

“Yes ma’am, I do a lot of workin’ outside and with my hands, so I know better,” he says, confirming your earlier assumption.  His voice is sending a wave of tingles from your ears to your neck, and you feel goosebumps start to erupt in their pathway.

“Good man, Joel,” you say, noticing him perk up at you saying his name, “Take this back to the front desk and we’ll get you processed as quickly as we can.”  He nods, gives you a handsome-as-fuck lopsided smile, and walks back to the front.  You head back to the break room and turn to glance at him once more to find that he's already looking at you.  Fuck, you think, looking back at the door.  Don’t need a hot donor making me feel nervous like this.  He’s older than you, but he might be the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.  You can only imagine how homely you look, clad in your scrubs and sweaty from the morning hustle and bustle.

You see every part of humanity at your job: young and old, foreign and domestic, all races and ethnicities, handsome and near homeless.  There have been a few men that have caught your eye, and a few that you’ve met up with outside of the center, but none like this one.  As tedious and mundane as the job can be, it’s the people that make it exciting, especially attractive ones.  Well, hopefully he passes screening so I can see him on the Donor Floor, you think, contemplating what you’re going to get for lunch in the short time that you have.

Thursday, October 15th | 1430

Your break went by too fast.  You decided on some fast-food place just across the street from the center.  It’s good and cheap, but you know the greasy food is going to put you in a late-afternoon lull.  Oh well.  After you got back, the lobby was still relatively empty, so you started working on doing the monthly machine cleanings in the meantime.

The plasmapheresis machines are complicated and like everything else in the plasma center, they come with lots of rules and regulations.  You’re a seasoned pro, though, so the cleaning and documentation are a breeze.  You’re heading over to clean the last of the machines in the third row of the Donor Floor when you see a familiar, handsome head of dark salt-and-pepper curls walk behind Keri to one of the donor beds in the first row.  He smiles at you as he lies on the donor bed, and you feel your cheeks heat and curl up into a smile of their own.  Get a fucking grip.  You’re relieved that Keri is taking care of him, because you’re nervous just seeing him in your work area.  You can only imagine how shaky your hands would be with a needle if you were the one sticking him.

While cleaning the machines in the third row, you periodically look over at Joel and Keri.  Keri is great with the donors, and it’s evident when you see Joel laughing with her.  Each time you look up, he’s either already looking at you or looks up right after you do.  You try to play it off like you’re scanning over all the donors, making sure everything is going as it should, but the sweat sheen forming on your face and neck betray you.

You see the light on his machine turn green, indicating he’s been stuck and is running smoothly.  You imagine what it would’ve been like to feel his veins again, feeling his warm, tan skin underneath your fingers… and underneath other things, like—

“Oh my god, that man is such a charmer… and asked about you at least three times,” Keri states, snapping you out of your horny daydream.  Your eyes widen and you turn so he can’t see your face from where he’s seated.

“Shhh!  Keep your voice down!”  You hiss, making both of you giggle.  “What was he saying?”

“Oh, nothing much, just asking what the cute girl that checked his veins was doing all the way over here,” she smirks.  “He used to donate here over 25 years ago when the center first opened up.  Can you believe he’s that old?  He does NOT look like it.”  Odd, you think.  He didn’t sound like he was from here when you spoke to him earlier.  Wait, did he say I was cute?  Blushing at his remark about your appearance, you remember the scar on his arm and think he’s probably telling the truth.  “Wow, he looks good.  How old is he?”  Keri pulls him up on her mobile phlebotomy handheld and you see he was born in 1975.  Damn.  20 years older than you.

Before you and Keri can gush further about Joel, the front door slams shut, echoing throughout the center and catching everyone off-guard.  You watch as one of the younger regular donors, Cedric, storms past Reception and the donor waiting area over to the Donor Floor front desk, near where you checked Joel’s veins earlier.  He practically spits your name, his brows pinched in a rage.

“Cedric, is everything alright?”  You ask, approaching the front desk slowly.  The once-noisy Donor Floor is quiet, save for the quiet whirring and clicking of the machines.  Donors not wearing headphones are anxiously watching the front desk.  You give Cedric the once-over and notice that his arm wrap is soaked with blood, and some of it has gotten on his white shirt and shorts and the floor around him.  First rule of donating: Never wear white to a plasma center, dude.

“Does it fucking look alright?  My arm wasn’t wrapped right and now I have blood everywhere!”  he fumes.  The entire Donor Floor is watching, including Joel and poor Blake, who must’ve disconnected Cedric.  Blake approaches tentatively, tail between his legs, but you put your hand up to him, saying I’ll take care of this.  Blake gives you a thankful nod and tiptoes back to his section.

“Cedric, I’m sorry about that.  Come over to the sink and I’ll rewrap it for you,” you say, putting a fresh pair of gloves on.  “Keri, can you clean up the blood spots with bleach, please?”  You ask.  She nods and grabs a Clorox bottle near the front desk, putting her face shield on and quickly walking around Cedric to search for the path of blood droplets.  Cedric raises his voice again.

“Not good enough.  I need that kid fired for his incompetence!” he points aggressively at Blake, flinging some blood droplets on the arm of your coat and on the front desk.

“Everybody makes mistakes, Cedric.  Blake is a great employee.  We can fix this.  Let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe we can compensate you a little extra on your next donation,” you offer.  But Cedric isn’t having it.  He rips off the arm wrap and gauze and throws them at you while screaming expletives.  The bloodied wrap nearly hits your face shield.  Oh, hell no.  He’s a long-term donor, so he’s probably clean, but it’s too close for comfort.

“Blake, call Trina and call the cops.  Get this guy out of here.  Cedric, don’t ever come back to this place,” you calmly instruct, walking backwards to find a biohazard container a safe distance from Cedric, never turning away from him.  Trina, your manager, doesn’t put up with this kind of stuff and will make sure he’s permanently deferred.

“Fuck you, bitch!”  Cedric yells, sprinting out of the center with two fingers on his free hand holding his venipuncture site, some blood dripping underneath.  Once the front door slams shut, you turn around and take off all your PPE and toss it in the biohazard container, saving your nametag and pen.  Frustrated and tired, you walk to the sink to wash your hands.  Keri and Trina approach you.

“You alright, hon?” Trina asks.  She’s a good manager, always looking out for her employees.  She used to work on the Donor Floor, so she’s no stranger to these kinds of mishaps.  Tensions can be hefty in this area – some donors are desperate for money, some fear needles more than death itself, and some are just grumps.  Phlebotomists usually get the brunt of it.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just need to cool off.  I told Blake to call the cops.”  She nods.

“Go ahead.  When the police get here, they’ll want your statement, so I’ll come find you then… I’ll put in the PR now,” she says, giving your arm a supportive squeeze before walking back toward the offices.  You give her a pained smile and look to Keri, equally concerned as Trina.  “Take your afternoon break, love.  I’ll handle everything else,” she says.  “Thanks, Ker.  I’m gonna step in the freezer to cool off and then I’ll go.”  She nods.  You head toward Processing, located at the opposite end of the center.  Processing has two giant walk-in freezers that always maintain temps of -40ºC – great for keeping fresh plasma frozen solid and an instant cool down.

You step in one of the freezers, shutting the heavy door behind you.  You walk over to the fans and stand underneath.  The sweat on your neck and back quickly freezes in its downward track, leaving behind a sting that could soon turn to frostbite.  It doesn’t take long to cool off here, and anybody staying in for longer than a minute is supposed to put on a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski mask.  It’s a popular spot for blistering summer days and after heated interactions like this.  Satisfied with the pink blooming on your fingers and the crunch of your frozen, sweaty hair, you step out of the freezer and make your way outside for your break.

Once at the picnic table at the outdoor employee break area, you do a quick scan for Cedric.  You can see the trails of blood drops leading to and from his car, and an empty space where his car must’ve been parked.  Heaving a sigh of relief, you plop down at the table and massage your temples.  Fuck… glad this day is almost over.

“Sweetheart, you alright?” A soothing, Southern voice rings in your ear and you look up, seeing Joel approach from his truck.  He says your name, surprising you.  Keri must’ve told him it while she was going through the process with him.

You take this moment to return the once-over he gave you earlier.  Twice-over.  His sleeves are still rolled up and you can see his arm wrap.  His jeans crinkle at the hip with each step, his strong, toned quads flexing as each foot contacts the pavement.  You can only imagine what he looks like from behind.  His cowboy boots are worn, the leather cracking around the toes.  He’s probably the type to wear a pair until they crumble to bits.  He walks with a quiet bravado, taking long, smooth strides until he reaches you at the table.

You’ve no doubt you look exhausted.  Though your sweat has frozen, you can feel how frizzy your hair is, especially around your face.  Your eyes sting with fatigue and the skin underneath your eyelids tug downward.  Your throat feels dry and tight, like you might cry soon.  He must notice because the look in his eyes morphs from concern to anger.

“Hi, Joel,” you state, forcing a smile.  “I’m okay.  Not my first rodeo,” you wink, giving him a sarcastic “yee-haw” motion.  He laughs, but his eyes betray him, still showing anger.

“Mind if I sit?” He motions to the spot across from you.

“No, go ahead, but the cops are on their way and who knows if Cedric will be back,” you caution him.  He waves you off.

“That fuckin’ kid don’t scare me, and I saw everythin’ anyway.  I can talk to the cops if you ain’t comfortable,” he says.  He puts his hands on the backs of yours, and you feel another zap in your chest like you did when you first saw him earlier.  You notice now that he doesn’t have a wedding ring.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to.  I’m well versed in this department,” you say, feeling the tears reaching their boiling point.  You do everything you can to keep them in, but one betrays you and falls down your cheek.  Angry that you’re crying in front of Joel, you try to move your hand out from underneath his to wipe the tear, but he beats you to it.

“It’s okay, darlin’.  You did the right thing, stickin’ up for your people,” he soothes, his thumb wiping your tear from your face.  He moves his hand to cup your jaw and swipes his thumb gently over your cheek.  His angry eyes softened back to concerned.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of you stare at each other, exchanging more communication nonverbally than words could ever.  He’s looking at each of your eyes back and forth, and you feel yourself start to get embarrassed under his hot stare.  You try to turn your head away from his gaze, but his hand stops you.  “You’re alright, darlin’, got nothin’ to be ashamed of here,” he says, reading your mind.  You bring your hand up from the table to gently grasp his arm as a sign of appreciation.  His gaze follows and he swallows loudly.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a genuine, close-lipped smile.  His eyes move to your lips and then quickly dart back to your eyes, like you caught him doing something forbidden.  He removes his hands and stands up, walking over to your side.  He offers a hand to help you up and you accept, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Sorry your first visit back here was so crazy,” you say, and he laughs.  “Hopefully next time it’s not so… exciting.”  He moves his hand up to your shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it.  A tingle rips up your spine.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.”  He gives you that same look that he did earlier, the one where you couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.  This time, though, you think you know exactly what it means.  Your stomach somersaults.

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’.  Hopefully your day gets better,” he says, turning to walk toward his truck.  Once he gets to the driver’s side door, he turns to look at you again and pauses.  You stand and stare at him, wanting to say something in return, but too overwhelmed by all your emotions.  He smiles and gets in the truck, starting it and driving off while watching you with a small wave.  You smile as he leaves.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

[storiesoflilies]

ೃ࿔ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓!

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!

hello everyone!

here are some rules when sending in a request and generally interacting with me. this is to ensure we all have a nice and cozy time on my blog, because only tears of joy are allowed here!

• my inbox is always open for you to send in as many thoughts and feelings as your pretty little hearts desire! but i would kindly ask you to refrain from trauma dumping, because while this is a safe space, i will panic and become quite anxious about answering things in the wrong way and making you feel worse.

• you must be 18+ years old to follow my page! this means you must have your age clearly visible in either your bio, a pinned post, or about page easily accessible to me. if i have to hunt to find your age, it means it is not clearly visible, and you will likely be blocked.

• ageless blogs will be blocked, especially ones without a profile or background picture. i do not care if you’ve reblogged other things before.

• please refer to my writing queue to see some of my upcoming works, as well as to check if someone else has already requested something similar.

• please please send in an ask to request/suggest things! it makes it easier for me to keep track of things under my request tag —> #✍🏼 lily’s requests.

• important!!! i don’t’ mind writing smut within my work, because this is not a sfw blog, but i will refuse a request that is entirely about smut with no sort of plot!

• additionally, please do not send me a request with smut and then think if you give me a plot centered around the smut, then i’ll write your request, because i won’t. plot centered around smut is still considered a smut request to me and i will refuse to write it.

• honestly, long story short – do not come into my inbox with any request for a smut piece!

• on the topic of all things nsfw, i would prefer not to receive asks that are heavily explicit and detailed about your/my favorites. again, whilst this is not a sfw blog, i am mostly sfw, and it makes me very uncomfy dealing with hyper sexual/kinky things – i am quite vanilla, and i’m not ashamed of it!!

• i reserve the right to refuse a request if it’s about really heavy topics (eg; SA and abuse), or if i simply feel i cannot do the request justice.

• requests will be for headcannons/drabbles, so please do not ask for a full length fic right from the start! some requests may give me enough inspiration for a full fic, in which case lucky you, but do not expect this to be the norm!

• please do not rush me! i have a life outside tumblr, and i’m a full time university student in my final year. writing is my fun hobby, and i do not want it to ever feel like a chore. i will get to your request if it is in the queue, so all i ask is for your patience and understanding!

• any angry asks/pushiness for me to finish your request will highly likely result in your request being wiped from the queue!

[saysike-skedoodles]

The Trio in The Smiler Queue

The trio waiting in line to go on The Smiler, what could go wrong?

...Multiple things actually, for one, Bex is scared of rollercoasters, the small ones are enough for her to handle. Secondly, Bex and Stacy have never been on a rollercoaster as intense as The Smiler, so they're both in for a surprise. Thirdly, Silly has already been on this ride multiple times in a row. So you can image Bex and Stacy's reactions when Silly tells them.

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I know I just uploaded 2 days ago but I FINALLY got the motivation and energy to work on a piece like this! I've been feeling the case of "Missing Alton Towers Hours" so I used it to make this bit of art. I always wanted to attempt at what I call the "Gumball lighting effect" and that's basically just putting 2D cartoon characters into irl photos and making them fit in. Trust me, it is a LOT harder than it looks. I'm trying to improve in lighting as it is so I found this to be a fun but annoying piece to work on. It's not the best, but for a first attempt at stuff like this I'm proud of it nonetheless. Also I should mention too that the photo used for the background was taken by me!! And yes, I FINALLY GOT TO ALTON TOWERS LAST YEAR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. My phone storage is begging to be put out of its misery from the amount of photos I took while over there but ANYWAYS. BEST 2 DAYS OF MY LIFE I TELL YA. All the rides there were so fun and some even surprised me more. Looking at you Oblivion. You made me nearly black out halfway through the drop. No shade to Oblivion though, bro was still really fun. But I gotta say that Galactica and The Smiler are my favourites, I only was lucky that I got to ride Galactica twice, considering how busy the park was (we went around the time school tours were happening which we didn't know about cuz different school system here) but I still thoroughly enjoyed the rides I managed to get on :]. Also yes it's canon the trio went to Alton Towers, I made these OCs i can do what I like with them and that includes making it canon they've been to a theme park I'm very normal about (not) XD

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I think you guys now understand why I'm like this about The Smiler. I'm betting that either the main theme or the "Ha Ha Ha" variation is gonna be my most played track for 2024.

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Deviantart

Tumblr

Art Tumblr

Youtube

TMM Official Tumblr

Newgrounds

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[all content I post is automatically 13+ if not stated in the title or the content itself]

[thebigbangblogproject]

Hi there, do you have a format for requesting event boosts and/or reblogs?

Hello! No, we really don't have a format, though we do have several methods.

TAGGING: Theres the easiest (but riskiest) method of tagging us in the blog post of whatever you want to promote (risky because Tumblr recently sent me a notification for a tag from 7 years ago) but don't panic if we don't reblog right away. I almost ALWAYS get tagged or notified when i'm sleeping or at work, and i put things in a queue unless it's time sensitive so i don't flood the feed if i have a bunch at once. give us 24 hours than totally reach out to us again with one of the other 2 methods

ASK BOX: Just like this of course. If you can give me enough info (Or even a link which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't) to find the post you're looking to promote, i won't publish the ask itself, but look for the post in question

SUBMISSION: This ones the finickiest. It is completely unreachable via mobile, so there will ALWAYS be a delay until i can get back home (remember, i always seem to get tagged when i'm sleeping or at work. i'm lucky like that :D)

Also, its important to keep in mind that a Submission is ACTUALLY a post. if it's formatted to be just the event, then I can just hit post. if it's got extraneous stuff like that has nothing to do with the challenge you're submitting i'll ignore the submission to find the event instead and reblog that.

Whatever works best for you in reaching out to me is fine. The only thing i ask is to please not spam me with requests through all the methods if i don't respond right away. Like I said, my timing doesn't match up with most people, so there will always be some sort of delay. give it 24 hours and then poke me/try again.

[noblehcart]

UPDATE:

So after a brief hiatus due to many many reasons (no specific people in particular so please don't fret) I have decided to really lay off the gas on writing and being on tumblr. I would seriously consider just leaving entirely off the internet, but there are a couple of people on here who I adore and don't want to lose touch with or stop writing with. So here's how things will be proceeding. I am going to be seriously pulling back and focusing much more on the people who are seriously writing, plotting and talking with me consistently. I came online to write and create, but as time went by I feel as though I made a lot of compromises to the writing to just plotting to just being okay scarcely hearing from friends to the point now that I feel if I'm not writing or even just talking with friends then why be online? However, I am lucky enough to have a small collective of friends who do talk and encourage me and so that is why I will be staying. What that means is that I am going to be far more selective about my writing partners, more controlled about whom I'm sending plots and ideas to and taking a step back and trying to do replies and set them up in a queue. My life has been seriously changing this last year and I anticipate that the next one is going to be far more chaotic and so I feel like I need to streamline and prioritize where my energy goes. Essentially what I'm saying is if you want to write with me then please write, plot or talk with me. I feel like this is the xyz'th time I've said it, but I am tired of being the one still holding the torch for writing partners or sending plots/ideas to partners who don't even acknowledge them. I am going to be dropping a large portion of drafts and keeping a selection for the partners who have been relatively consistent with me or have seriously developed plots and worldbuilding with me. And I will no longer be extending myself to write in fandoms that are not in my wheelhouse (aka my muse list fandoms) with the exception of OCs as they are multifandom and I do adore OCs. I want to write things that are fun and easy for me because I'm tired of trying to learn new fandoms that I'm not even interested in or completely understand. Caveats to this is FFVII which I am a large fan of though I don't write muses from them (atm) and TVD because I do adore TVD and write characters from TO. Thank you all for understanding and please don't take this as a slight against anyone; I do understand that life gets busy and chaotic, I do, but it doesn't take but a minute to shoot a small message or response here and there. We live in a society where our phones are on us at all times. Its honestly not that much to ask. I understand if this upsets anyone and if you feel the need to unfollow or do what's best for you then I completely get it. Everyone needs to curate their space to suit them and their needs- this is simply how I'm handling mine. Thank you all for understanding and your kind messages in the meantime during this hiatus <3 <3 Ya'll are simply the best <3 <3 <3

[amavaria]

This might not be as easy to answer at this point in your career, but i won’t know until i ask.

From the time you were drawing to learn and maybe experiment, to current day, when you’ve gathered enough of a following that you can take on drawing as an avenue for making paid work, how have you balanced creation of both original content of your own as well as fan-art, outside of commission work? And how did you approach the balance of drawing what you want and drawing stuff that would probably gather more interest?

I’ve wrestled with both my want to actually draw stuff that i genuinely want to, while at the same time tailoring it in a manner that attempts to appeal to some kind of audience, over the last… 5 years? The latter criteria has been VERY tricky (and frustrating) for me, to the point that in hindsight, i definitely overworked myself over it, and i’ve felt averse to just admitting to myself that content that is TOO original/ personalized being almost all of my output, is probably going to keep me stuck where i am, no matter what.

Hiii, I'll answer this in sections to make it easier so here we go!

How to balance working on commissions Vs personal work and fanart?

The key here is to treat commissions like any regular job (Like an office job but without annoying coworkers!) I work monday-friday and maintain a schedule and set deadlines to follow.

Some people don't work well under pressure but in my case it pushes me to take action. Knowing I promised a client progress or a finished work by a certain date gets me going no matter how burned out I'm feeling. Also keeping a public queue helps this as well as it motivates me to visible update everyone on what I'm doing.

Discipline is very needed, not because you're your own boss means it's easier. People are paying you their hard earned money and it's your responsibility to deliver quality work for them in the promised time.

It's not just drawing, it's social media management, self promoting, bank account checks, regular updates and keeping a good streak of happy customer to spread the word for you!

I draw personal work on my free time on weekends. And sometimes in between when I get particularly itchy about an idea. But I always prioritise commission and I will always make sure to have at least reached my daily goal of work before I start goofing around drawing blorbo art.

It's taken years of adulting, to finally find a rhythm I'm comfortable with, where I can work and still keep my fandom self well fed. So do not despair, I felt helpless at 21 trying to sell a $5 commission but now I'm making $100+ with one single purchase!

TLDR: Treat commissions like a job separate of your hobby. Take weekends free, use your time responsibly 👍👍

How to build an audience

I don't know lol. It sort of happened to me. My main target was always furries (I am a furry) On my first 3 years of 'career' I never reached over 400 followers on my most popular social media, but my income was steady since a random streamer decided that I'd be her artist for everything, so I was able to survive more or less.

On the side I was working on my own OCs which I was lucky enough for randos to find appealing enough to warrant a follow! (Alois here getting pretty popular).

Parted ways with the streamer after hoarding me for 2 years and started drawing fanart which brought followers to me in waves. I'd get into a super obscure fandom (Solatorobo for example) draw a ton of stuff for it, bringing a wave of new followers thirsty of content and then stay because they like furries too.

And rinse and repeat and I got hundreds of people perceiving me (thank you) and even more people eager to commission me (thank you harder)

Important to note: People on different socials have different interests. Example: Twitter has been very friendly with original content but flops certain fanarts. Tumblr hypes up fan content a lot more enthusiastically but original content doesn't get very far.

TLDR: mostly takes good rng, but having a loud social media presence and a steady amount of new content to keep interest is a step on the right direction.

Last... What about burnout and frustration? What do you do?

TAKE A BREAK! TOUCH GRASS, separate yourself from the screen and breathe a moment. Then you come back and join Artfight.

Artfight is freedom! It's a chance to freely experiment with any character that catches your eye. You can try things that you wouldn't do during commissions, a different brush, different layer modes, angles, poses, etc. AND put enough effort on it that would make the receiver very happy 💖 and by posting this experimental work on socials, it got a lot of attention. Most did really great, a few flopped too, but it was overall extremely positive.

Without noticing, you find new paths, new techniques, you realize you can draw better and faster, and when you come back to work when the month is over, it shows!

TLDR: Take a break, then experiment!! You'll improve and find your path. This works different for everyone, but I'm sharing what has helped me.

[eteisvalssi]

on christmas day i saw what you guys wrote on my christmas tree decorations and it got me so emotional and then i saw everyone else also getting sappy and writing something and so i started writing this back then but the post got too long and i was tired so instead i decided to finish this later and post it today on new year’s eve!

from telling my friend at the beginning of the year that i could never imagine myself going to see an artist multiple times in a short amount of time to literally seeing joker out twice in three days in september, this year has been full of unexpected events. finland almost won esc??? i found a new favorite band and traveled all the way to prague to see them??? i’ve found myself in some situations this year that i could’ve never imagined possible and it’s all thanks to this green rapper from finland and five slovenian guys in an indie rock band

i also want to say thank you to all of you. all of the people i’ve gotten to know in this fandom have been so nice! when i bought my tickets to the nordic tour, i didn’t have any friends in the fandom. but then i started using tumblr again and honestly you guys are the sweetest people ever and i feel so lucky to have you in my life 🩷 and not to forget all the friends i’ve made while queueing for the gigs (also the ones not on tumblr)! i couldn’t have asked for a better company for any of the gigs i’ve been to 🩷 i also hope that i’ll get to meet as many of you as i can next year!

this is getting long so i’m gonna ramble some more under a read more and sum up my year. have a safe new year everyone 🩷

i don’t remember much from the beginning of the year. i was heartbroken and after being a fan of esc for like 10 years i felt like i could never ever enjoy esc again (dramatic, i know). i did check the umk contestants when they were announced but didn’t really dig further into it. but it all changed when i woke up on the morning of january 18th and saw literally everyone talking about this green guy named käärijä and the song cha cha cha. of course that also made me check kuumaa’s song when it got released the next day and i immediately fell in love with ylivoimainen. even though ylivoimainen was my number one fave umk song this year, i do remember telling my friends that ccc is our only choice if we want to win eurovision.

in march i was going to my first käärijä gig. it was a esc themed student party and they had a esc song quiz before and we got to the finals but the other group was faster so we ended up second 🥲 for the concert we did end up in the front row (with less than an hour of queueing and we had time to actually sit down at a table before the gig??) but i ended up giving my spot to a nice fan because i could see from behind my friends just fine and i wasn’t really there for käärijä 😅

april 7th 2023. my 25th birthday. käärijä's first pre-party and so the first pre-party i followed this year. the day bojan and käärijä met. the next day i was watching the livestream of the concert and patiently waiting for käärijä's performance (jodelissa kaarinan lapsuuskuvat nevö foget <3) and that's also when my joker out brainrot actually began. it followed me all the way through esc and made me buy a ticket to the nordic tour and i feel like the rest is history so i'm just gonna do a quick recap

i joined tumblr again in july after getting tired of only using jodel. i had a busy summer at work but did go to one käärijä gig but other than that i feel like nothing else really happened until the nordic tour.

then the nordic tour came around and i just had the best time. i’ve already written gig reports from these so i’m not gonna go into detail but i got good spots both at tavastia and olympia, i talked to so many nice people and i sang umazane misli at tavastia. the most surreal moment though was when i found myself singing in a karaoke bar in tampere after the gig and i see the same people who i’d just watched perform singing along to me

after the nordic tour i really wanted to go see them again and so i booked tickets to prague and even though the queue was a mess and honestly i’m not gonna lie and say that i’m not still salty about it, but other than that i had such a good time! hanging out with my dear mutuals, seeing both lps and joker out and finally hearing the songs we hadn’t heard at the nordic tour and seeing the new outfits! i also got to hug both jan and bojan 🩷

i got to end my year of concerts the way i started it, by going to a käärijä gig, but this time it felt so much different compared to the one in march. i actually knew other songs than ccc this time 😅

personally 2023 was a year of growth and healing for me and i hope to have as much fun next year as i had this year. i have so much planned for next year, umk in february, joker out in march in helsinki and maybe somewhere else too so see you there 🩷

[bu1410]

Good afternoon TUMBLR - July 8th - 2024

“Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971.”

Gazoducto Samalayuca - Sasabe. Mexico - Nuevos Casas Grandes - Chihuahua.

Part 5

Snow and Sun. One of the phrases that I have heard repeated most often by friends and former colleagues reads:

Lucky you who are in Mexico… there is no winter there… in Mexico… We must consider that Nuevo Casas Grandes is located on a plateau at 1,200 meters above sea level, and it is in Northern Mexico, not far from the border with the United States. The winter is mild, but subject to sudden temperature changes when the strong disturbances originating in the Sea of ​​Cortez collide with the air coming from the Gulf of Mexico. During morning there might be significant snowfall, which the afternoon sun will then melt. The blizzard hit us as we returned from an exploratory mission in the Sonoran mountains, looking for access to the pipeline route, and trying to determine the logistics of the most challenging stretch of the entire project. On the climb that leads to the pass that marks the border between the states of Sonora and Chihuahua, the snow fell like it was in Italian Alps. Unfortunately, the Mexican traffic police, in order to maintain their reputation for proverbial readiness in case of emergency, had not set up any checkpoints at the beginning of the two sides. Thus the enormous Mexican trailers (twice as long as any European trailer) had faced the climbs with the snow that progressively filled the road surface.

As we climbed the Puerto San Luis pass, the intensity of the snow increased. Luckily we were traveling in the Jeep Compass 4x4, so we were pretty sure we could get by in an emergency. Having almost reached the pass, the situation became very complicated: numerous trailers were stopped, unable to continue due to the snow. But the worst was yet to come: at the entrance to the deep carving in the rock that marks the border between Sonora and Chiuhuahua, a couple of trailers had already turned around, occupying practically the entire road. Ramiro, who was driving at the time, managed to avoid being blocked by performing a reckless maneuver: using the lay-by, he managed to get around the trailers stopped in the middle of the road, and so we were able to continue towards Janos! Without this providential maneuver, we would probably have been stuck for several hours, waiting for roadside assistance to arrive to remove the trailers placed sideways at the Puerto San Luis pass. We carefully went down the slope towards Janos, passing a crazy queue of trailers, kilometers long. Still no trace of the traffic police. The snow continued to fall, but with less force than on the Sonora side. After over 120 kilometres, we arrived at our Base, and found it completely whitewashed: a beautiful and unusual sight, the cactus covered in snow! We went to lunch, and in the afternoon the sun made its appearance: within a couple of hours the heat of its rays had melted the snow, the landscape had changed so radically, to the point that we asked ourselves by chance it hadn't all been a dream! Had it really snowed? Or had we had a collective dream?! Welcome to Mexico! Where everything (and its opposite) is possible!

Mission on the Sierra Alta de Sonora.

After having successfully intalled approximately 20 km of the total 44 km of mountain line, we were incessantly searching for access to the most difficult section of the entire pipeline route: the one on the Sierra Alta de Sonora between the municipalities of Agua Prieta and Janos. In addition to the objective morphological difficulties, there were those linked to:

Access roads (the pipeline route was approximately 35 km away from the nearest asphalt road)

The presence of marijuana cultivations in the area, controlled by local narcos. Who obviously did not look favorably on the arrival of many people in the area, moreover equipped with drones.

Logistics: where would we have housed the staff, given that the area is one of the wildest in Mexico? How were we going to transport the heavy 12mt pipes to the track? We sought answers to all these questions by visiting the area, accompanied by an individual who CARSO had supported us, el Senor Juan Ramon Gomez Jimenes, a man who had ''familiarised'' with the Dueños who presided over the ranchos in the area. An essential condition for entering the area, given that these people were armed to the teeth (they rode around on horseback and made sure to point out the weapons they were equipped with).

Juan Ramon had managed to gain the trust of these people, to the point that he was in possession of the keys to the numerous gates that prevented access to the various ''caminos'' that allowed transit on the cart tracks of these mountains. Sometimes just a path where even the jeeps with the 4x4 always engaged struggled along with difficulty. We were on a mission with three vehicles: in addition to my Jeep Compass, two pick up's Toyota 4x4, conducted by Crocefisso the Chief Surveyor, who with the help of Ramiro would have flown the drone to obtain the altimetric profile and the route where the gas pipeline should have been installed. The pick ups carried the necessary supplies in the back in case a vehicle got stuck or fell on the frequent embankments. The mission lasted three days, and every evening we returned to Agua Prieta to spend the night in safety. The areas we explored are truly the wildest and most uncontaminated you can imagine. High mountains, rivers, dense forests, herds of cows, horses grazing in remote areas. On the third day, unfortunately, Crocifisso - despite having been told to strictly follow the tracks of the vehicles in front of him - managed to get bogged down in a hole full of mud. And naturally he did what should never be done in these situations: he accelerated to the maximum with 1st gear engaged, managing to make the pick sink to the window's level! An afternoon of assiduous work by the members of the expedition was not enough to get the vehicle out of trouble. We tried to hook it to the Jeep with the long cables we had brought with us: nothing to do! As evening approached, and as we absolutely couldn't stay in the area, we reluctantly abandoned the pick up. The next day the Company's rescue team would come to the area with more powerful vehicles (the IVECO 4x4 trucks that we always used in these cases) and would have managed to recover the vehicle. An exhaustive survey report was drawn up to inform the customer about the difficulties that the section presented, and where possible solutions were suggested. (Including the use of helicopters to transport pipes and personnel).

The Lady Senator's son Mexico is a country with very contradictory aspects: if on the one hand it is set to become the 5th industrial power in the world, on the other it still lives in a medieval reality, with families who own vast properties such as an entire Italian region, where they exercise a absolute control. Generally, these families, in addition to passing property from parents to children, are also holders of public positions in which they do nothing (but from which they receive large salaries): seats in the Parliament of the State, or even in the Federal Senate of the City of Mexico. Assignments that are used to weave completely personal affairs and to broaden the network of acquaintances. The ''Lady Senator'' of the constituency of Nuevos Casas Grandes was, as often happens in Mexico, the widow of a parliamentarian, married when he was already over seventy, and she was just over twenty. The ''Señora'' spent almost all her time ''in the Capital'', and her thirty-year-old son took care of the family hacienda. The hombre had a concept of taking care of the hacienda borrowed from the TV series Americans: and therefore he used to go around the property dressed as a cowboy (vaquero) with wide-brimmed hat, belt with exposed gun, finely decorated boots, driving the biggest American SUV available on the market. We were ordered by the Client that the section of pipeline that crossed the Senatora's property had to be completed in the shortest time possible, so as not to disturb the grazing herds too much. So it was, but we needed a big favor from Don Manuel Ruiz Martin Alvarez: on his property there was one of the most important water wells in the area, and we needed water, a lot of it. Water, for pipeline testing. We soon concluded an agreement with Don Manuel, quite onerous to tell the truth, but when you have no alternatives…. One day we started pumping water from the well of the Machuca hacienda. But something was immediately wrong: the flow rate of the well was much lower than that declared by Don Manuel. Furthermore, the hacienda's ''Fazendero'' claimed the well at certain hours of the day, interrupting the flow of water to our installation. In these conditions, filling the section of gas pipeline to be tested would have taken not days, but months! We contacted Don Manuel, and after wasting two days, we managed to meet him. As a perfect ''Mexican gentleman who never has to ask'' (because his mother is a Senator……) he replied: ''If you want it is like this otherwise remove all your equipment from my property and leave'' (implying that the money that we had transferred to his account he would keep it)

But it's you who don't respect the terms of the agreement, Don Manuel, the water you are giving us is not enough!

Well...you know what? I don't care about your trials, saludos! And he left'. We had to take note of the failure of the contract with the Senator's son, and we were forced to look for another well nearby (so to speak…) This is a typical example of how things still go today in Mexico, where those with power, money and high-ranking friendships always win despite being completely wrong.

London's mission Our Group of Company had decided to participate in the tender for the Tilenga project. A pipeline will have to connect the oil fields in Uganda - a landlocked country - with the Tanzanian port of Tanga. Total pipeline length: approximately 1,400 km with numerous intermediate pumping stations.

In this regard, at the beginning of 2019, I was summoned to London for a week of meetings with the engineering company Worley Parsons, representatives of the client TOTAL. The Company travel office is still managed by a woman whose aim in life is to demonstrate to the owner that she is capable of saving 1 USD on the expense of her employees. My flight Mexico – London was planned as follow:

Ciudad Juarez – Mexico City – Bogota – London: duration 27 hrs

Be that as it may, I arrived alive in London around midday on January 14th: it was raining as usual, and I had myself taken to the hotel that the diligent lady mentioned above had booked for us. The other members of the mission arrived in the afternoon: Mr. General Director, Mr. Tender office Manager, Mr. Tender office assistant, QA/QC Manager, QA/QC Headquarters Manager , and Mr. HSE Manager. In the evening we went out to the suburb of Brentford, where the hotel where we were guests was located, to try to get something to eat. After wandering around for a while, we ended up having dinner at aTurkish kebab shop, promising ourselves to find something better the next evening. It was a very intense week, every day we entered the Parsons offices at 9.00 and left at 5.00 (we had lunch in the same room where the meeting was held).

The engineers from TOTAL, CCOC (the Chinese partner) and Worley Parsons subjected us to a barrage of questions on how we intended to tackle such a complex project. For our part, we had the opportunity to clarify the several obscure points that the project documents had left us. One of the most comical moments of the entire week was during the second day of work. The two Chinese engineers from CCOC asked specious questions about secondary aspects of our working methods and, not only that: we couldn't understand a single word about their English. During a lunch break we decided that the Chinese's absurd questions would be answered by our WMD ''weapon of mass dissuasion'': Mr. QAQC Headquarter Manager. This guy is a ''good Christian'' (as they say in Sicily) but he has a small flaw: he's a stutter. And not only that, when he gets stuck and can't move forward with a sentence he does something weird:

Start all over again from the very beginning! Result: From the third day the Chinese no longer asked questions.

Every night we went out to dinner at a different restaurant. Mr. Stutter had appointed himself the group's ''Trip Advisor'' and I must say that out of 4 evenings, the Argentino's El Gaucho restaurant was the only good he picked up. It's better to draw a veil of compassion over the other choices, especially when he took us to dinner in an ENGLISH restaurant!

I couldn't identify anything I ate bcoz of two reasons: The lights in the restaurant were so dim that you could barely make out the dish. (Apparently it is an English tactic to prevent the customer from recognizing what he is eating, and to establish a ''romantic'' atmosphere in restaurants). Secondly the dish offered were a concoction of herbs and pieces of meat from an unspecified animal. Nor did it help in identifying the food that the two waiters were Italians who no longer spoke proper Italian, but in the meantime had not yet learned to speak English. (From the series ''we're here to learn the language, then we'll see…') The evening at GAUCHO was instead pleasant. Classy restaurant in central London, well frequented. Bottle of Argentinian Malbec for the modest sum of £120, divine meat.

And then the last day came, and we were free, so we all went to the Westminster area to be tourists, including watching the Queen's ridiculous cavalry parade go round in circles and then go into Buckingham Palace.

I returned to Mexico via the same route as the outward journey: upon arrival in Casas Grandes it took me a while to realize what day of the week it was.

[esther-dot]

Hi Esther, I sent you an ask about Byronic hero Jon, and I'm soooo lucky you interpreted the ask the way I sent it, because I know anons can come off the wrong way and I realise it sounds like I'm ranting at you when I'm nodding along with you!!! 😭 Yes I sent you that ask because it's what you were already saying first, and you're completely right grounding it in Mr. Rochester terms and also of course you do have the famous Heathcliff. But I do think GRRM is doing his own thing with it, and to be honest the more I think about it, the more I wonder how it influences Jon's ending (or not). If anything Mr. Rochester's secret wife is more of a Rhaegar thing which Jon has to wrestle with, so I definitely think there's a mix of influences going on.

Although like you say, I think when you don't introduce this literary background you lose a lot about what is being said about Jon and Sansa (and Daenerys). I agree with people who say you need to understand fantasy of that era to really understand the tone of what he's going for, which is why I think GRRM is sometimes mean and sometimes writing one-handed, but I still think that background for Romantic characters is necessary.

It's no indictment on Jon if he has a long, moody face, and that's what I kind of love honestly. I think Rhaegar may have been handsome because he was both the crown prince and a Targaryen, and like Arianne expresses aversions to Targaryen features, it may have been divisive in its own way too, beautiful on the terms of conqueror-conquered. I especially enjoy the idea that Lyanna herself had that unusual wolf beauty to her, but beauty in women isn't a portent of safety after all; beauty is just another way girls and women are controlled, even if it superficially seems beneficial when attractive. So that there's some danger to beauty, and danger in Jon's face (Lyanna's, but maybe a hint of Rhaegar too?) hinting his ancestry but also disguising it through something that can be a comfort (Ned) for Sansa is really interesting to me.

(Continuation of this convo)

No worries, anon! For some reason, tumblr wouldn’t let me save, post, schedule for later, or add that post to my queue when I was writing it! I finally just exited the tab and when I got back on tumblr it would let me post an earlier, automatically saved version, as long as I didn’t try to edit it at all, otherwise I would have chatted more with you, because I had, in the version that wouldn’t post. 😅

I share your frustration with the fandom deciding that Sansa is shallow for being moved by beauty and then turning around and obsessing over poll results about whether or not their fav is pretty. I genuinely don’t care, but they clearly care a lot. 😂 I don’t like talking about the kids that way, I don’t think their appearance has anything to do with why we like them, but it just so happens that Jon and Sansa being very Stark and very Tully (look-wise) matters so here we are. And you’re absolutely right, Sansa has suffered a lot of unwanted attention because she is beautiful, so this isn’t exactly something Sansa fans take delight in.

We do get the different takes on Targ looks! For Rhaegar, I thought the emphasis was on his music as the thing that made people swoon? Martin has a thing with singers / someone singing a song seducing people that repeatedly pops up and that is the one thing we know about Lyanna’s feelings—his singing moved her. That’s a connection to Jon who reacts in a similar way to Ygritte’s singing.

I wasn’t even thinking about the secret wife thing being a connection between Rochester and Rhaegar, but bigamy was a popular trope in gothic lit and the sensationalist victorian lit that followed, so I definitely think that’s worth noting. As is the whole, family estate being destroyed in a fire, and of course, “madness.” That all would make me think the references are more about Rhaegar and Targaryen ancestry, less about projecting into Jon’s future, but depending on which spec you buy into, Jon could be in love with Sansa and forced into a relationship with Dany or potentially married to Sansa and still facing pressure from Dany to enter into a sexual relationship. If Martin wants to go dark, it’s possible the gothic “two wives” trope and the Targaryen two wives idea manifest in Jon’s own life with a twist. I still don’t see how the space for Jon and Dany to have much interaction so I’m not too fussed about it, but I certainly think it’s possible Dany sees Jon as an answer to her desire for someone to trust. 😬 Generally though, I don’t look at literary references as being a sure fire way of dictating how the story will go, but I think it’s fun to see how writers are knowingly or unknowingly influenced by certain things. I don’t know that Martin said “gothic lit has family estates burning -> I’m gonna send Summerhall up in flames” but nonetheless, there’s a reason why that would pop into his mind.

Thanks for the followup message, I enjoyed reading your thoughts on this!

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 23-24-25

Advance warning, the wizard cuts a little bit loose here. Tagged for some fantasy violence.

I'm aware the links to the back chapters are borked up, but it's nearly midnight right now and I just finished uploading everything to the queue. I'll try to fix them between Thursday and Friday.

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TWENTY THREE

I think no one expected to get together that night and count nothing but wins. But no one was hurt and our knowledge of the situation had grown by leaps and bounds - at least, that was what Ford claimed.

"I'm not happy that you all have Dresden working on the side," he told the room, throwing me a quick look.

I put a hand up; I really didn't mind. I was still trying to digest the truth both Eliot and Hardison had offered me. I'd done my job, and I'd done it well, and with their help I'd done it so quick I was still trying to get used to the fact that both cases were done, had been done nearly as soon as they'd been picked up. But the technology Hardison had used just wasn't something I could ever, would ever, have permanent access to. On the other hand, my expertise, my knowledge, everything I knew about magic and the creatures of that world, was information to be found in no database, no internet search. It was maddening.

"But it's done, so we move on to the auction. Odds are both our targets, as well as the mark, are going to be there: the lady, the portrait and the man in black."

The last bit seemed to startle the night's guest, who'd been lounging sedately on a brand-new couch near mine while nursing a vodka neat. Ford had introduced him as the client. He'd introduced himself as Vanya Fedorov. His accent had introduced him as part of the Russian mafia. Mouse had lifted his head from the moment the man had walked into the loft, and he'd never once looked away. Between him and my dog, I was getting more than a little nervous.

"Nate, there's a problem with the auction," Hardison pointed out as he rejoined us around the coffee table with its sharpie'd circle and anti-tracking ward, as well as a few other newly added protections. He'd left his phone behind by the row of desks after sorting out the delivery of the selkie skins, and he gestured at me.

"Most of the people attending aren't human," I informed the room.

Fedorov's drink paused on the way to his mouth. "My uncle is a hard man," he said levelly. "But his first loyalty is to our business. He knows I am good for it. He would not betray me."

"I don't think he has," Sophie replied. "The bird-woman, the -"

"Alkonost," he supplied.

"She wasn't there to harm you. She was there to protect you."

I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this gorgeous woman had decided, on the fly, to bluff one of the most powerful creatures of Russian lore, and she'd stuck the landing. God but I could only hope Ford knew how lucky he was.

"We were immune thanks to Harry," Sophie pointed out, "but you weren't affected at all. She did come looking for you, but to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" he demanded restlessly.

"The man in black?" Eliot suggested.

"He doesn't want Fedorov hurt." Ford said mildly. I was beginning to recognize that tone as a warning signal. "He very nearly derailed one plan already for you," he told the Russian.

"For me?"

"The museum!" Parker exclaimed in sudden realization.

Nate nodded, then looked at Fedorov. "You made plans to go visit the Sokolov collection. Made them in advance. I had a look at your electronic ledger. You did have plans - for the day after, the last day of the exhibition."

"I did," the Russian admitted readily.

"You changed those plans when someone told you we were there."

Fedorov grinned ruefully. "I thought to press my case and enjoy Sokolov's work. Two birds with one stone. It seemed efficient at the time."

Nate nodded thoughtfully. "See, I was wondering about that. Because our presence there wasn't really important enough to merit derailing anyone's plans. It was you. When he came up to the room, it was to make sure you were there and he had to cancel the plan. You weren't supposed to be there that day."

"But then he did come up, and saw Grandmother," Sophie pointed out. "And getting her was worth more than protecting you."

"Mm," Nate nodded. "It was a rush job; the sort of rush job that happens when someone first says 'go', then 'stop', then 'go' again, and tempers are getting frayed, the timeline is off, everything just this much out of whack…" He waved a hand at us all. "You know the sort."

I did know the sort; I couldn't help but be amused that, from the look on their faces, so did the rest of the Leverage team.

"Explains why the guy was still there fiddling with the system when I got there," Eliot muttered. "He was waiting to put the Witchwell back in place. That's why the nitrogen tank was attached, but still closed."

"How do you know all this?" Fedorov demanded.

"The cameras," Ford replied. "Our… consultant pointed out that it's only the presence of beings like the man in black that blows up technology, and Hardison has created a number of failsafes so we can tell when a screen is about to fail. Turns out you can track someone by their absence nearly as much as by their presence."

The Russian took all of this in slowly, carefully, and finally frowned minutely. "I don't think I care for the Blackbird's interest in me. Or my family. Or my business."

Ford said nothing, but I could see in his face that he was holding back. I risked a glance at the other deadly intelligence in the room. Sophie was looking at the mastermind very closely. She caught my eyes and shook her head tinily.

I said nothing. I had just noticed that, behind Sophie, Parker was frowning, staring at nothing. Apparently Ford was contagious.

"I think your uncle's loyalties are a matter between you and him. For what it's worth, I believe he honestly thinks meeting with these people will help you take over from your father."

"By binding the family to these creatures." Fedorov scoffed. "What do they know of the family business?"

I didn't need to see the look Ford shot me to recognize a cue when I heard one. I picked up the printed photographs next to me on the couch and started handing them out one by one. "The lovely lady in white? Fey. Specializes in erasing evidence. The man next to her in red? Also fey. Specializes in erasing memories." Another picture. "Fat toad-looking man? He's actually a toad. His people love toxic waste. If someone gets a contract with them, they'll never see another fine for dumping again. The gorgeous thing next to him might be the deadliest we've identified so far. She's from Bangkok. Jade Court. Vampire. Human trafficking. This one? I'm not sure, but gosh, things sure do seem to catch on fire whenever he's around, mostly out at sea. Mostly when they're well-insured."

Between Hardison and me, while the 3D printer churned away and I stuck mirror-masks to everything it was spitting out, we'd sifted through enough information to identify thirteen of the twenty four people who we knew were going to the auction. It had been risky, using Koschei's invite to create a resonance spell that would let me find where the other invites were, but God it had paid off so well. We'd done weeks, maybe months of footwork in one long afternoon and half an evening.

It was enough to impress Fedorov - and to worry him. "No. I will not deal with these creatures. They are no better than the Blackbird, and if he's involved then each of them is a trap."

"I'm not telling you this to impress you," I corrected him. "I'm telling you to warn you. They might wanna make it look like you have no choice but to agree with whatever they say. You need to be prepared."

Fedorov took the stack of printouts and stared sightlessly at them. He looked oddly familiar at that moment, as if a touch of deja vu had come at me out of nowhere; he looked like something out of antiquity, like one of the paintings I'd seen in Hardison's screens while he studied Sokolov's work. "Can they die?" he asked.

Ooops, nope, we were back in mafia mentality. "Depends what you shoot them with. And in some cases, where."

"Then I believe you and I should speak, wizard." He shook his head and gestured impatiently. "He just stole the damn portrait. Why is he turning around and selling it already?"

"Because after the auction he won't need it anymore. Or at least that's what he thought, until he met Parker and she stole his key, and all of those." He waved a hand idly at the table's worth of knick-knacks. "So between now and the end of the auction he has to get that key back. You," Nate told Fedorov, "are going to trade it for the portrait. Make sure to tell them that when you RSVP."

"You are sending me into a den of monsters alone, Ford," Fedorov gritted out. "If you want me dead have the decency of doing it yourself."

"Not alone, no. You're bringing Sophie with you. If Dresden can get the tracker off of the other invitation we have, we'll even send Eliot in with you. And we will all be nearby to provide support. We don't want another 'situation', Fedorov, no one wants that."

Fedorov eyed Eliot, who shrugged calmly. He eyed Sophie, who smiled at him. "No offense," he told Eliot, "but I will feel safer with her."

Eliot beamed at the man. "None taken."

I had to agree with both of them, honestly.

"What about Grandmother?"

"She'll be there," Ford assured him. It was the only part of the plan I didn't like, because Ford had no explanation, no reason as to why he believed Baba Yaga would show up at the auction when Koschei was sure to be there. Last I'd checked, and from all Bob had taught me, those two were not on speaking terms, and got along about as well as fire and gasoline.

Fedorov looked thoughtful. "Wizard."

Oh, I did not like where this was going. "Uh."

"Since you are taking jobs on the side, will you take one more?"

"Uh." I looked at Ford, but he said nothing. He was giving me a keen, level look. I liked that even less. "That depends on the job."

Fedorov grinned at me. "He has tried too many times to harm Grandmother. Perhaps to kill her outright. I don't know if this is possible, if he can do this thing. I know he's trying, and I do not like it. I will pay whatever you ask, wizard. If you're there and do your best to protect her."

I felt as if the silence in the room were crushing me. "You want me to protect Baba Yaga."

"You are what I have."

"This is Baba Yaga. Grandmother Winter. Close to a living god as it gets. Not to mention I've already met the Blackbird. He won both times, in case you weren't listening."

"Did he? You walked away and he did not follow. Twice. The way I see it, you won the only victory that matters."

I wanted to scream. To walk away. I would have laughed in Fedorov's face but the truth was, I was scared. He was asking me to stand between what I saw as an unstoppable force and an immovable object. However, and I hated that he was right, but he uh. He was right. I'd stood up to Koschei twice, and I'd walked away both times. Either the man sucked at killing people, and I knew that wasn't true, or I was doing something right. I just didn't know what.

I felt as trapped as Fedorov did, but I could also see his reasoning. Koschei was an asshole. An unparalleled one. No one disagreed on that. But Baba Yaga, even if she was mercurial, alien, inhuman, still cared about the land and the people in a way her pupil didn't. If there was a line on the sand, I knew which side I was on. "I'll do what I can," I couldn't make the words come out civil, but at least I could make them come out.

Fedorov nodded at me. "In that case," he grinned minutely, leaned forward and picked up one of the chicken bones and the little carved wooden cup from among the many knick-knacks on the table and dropped the one inside the other. The bone let out a little rattle. "Let me tell you a fairy tale about Koschei and Grandmother."

TWENTY FOUR

The leshy came back that night, and they brought friends once again.

I was dead asleep in spite of every thought and worry wrecking chaos in my mind. I was worried, and I was pretty sure I had a right to be. We were about to throw a bluff in the face of some of the deadliest, smartest monsters ever to come out of the Nevernever, Leverage also wanted to steal from them at the same time. There was just so much going on that I'd given up trying to keep track of it all, and resigned myself to doing my part of it and never figuring out what, other that stealing, these people did.

Mouse's low growl woke me up as if someone had punched me. He'd been asleep at the foot of the bed, which was big enough for five of me or two of him, and when he stood up I could see his ruff standing up on end, outlined against the faint light coming in through the window. I sat up just in time to hear a muffled yowl of pain, and the creak of the door swinging open.

They'd found me. Of everything we'd picked up, all the trinkets, all the traps, I was still the easiest source of magic to find. I just hadn't known if they'd be willing to gamble that Koschei's stuff would be with me and not in a vault somewhere, or with the Leverage people.

The house had no lintel to speak of, no doorway. It was a safehouse, a fancy storage unit where I'd spent two nights. I'm sure the leshy had expected some trouble getting through the door, but I already knew they had humans in the roster, and humans could pick a lock or break a window, slip inside and invite the leshy in. There wasn't enough of a presence in the house, mine or otherwise, to kick up a passive defense out of habitation alone.

Which was why Eliot had lined every doorway and windowsill with iron nails.

Another muffled yowl and I was quietly on my feet, reaching for my shirt and my duster. There were a few traps between the leshy and what they sought, but once again I was counting mainly on them not being able to use magic to find the stuff. I drew a deep breath, stepped back from the bed, called Mouse to me, and flicked a throw blanket on the bed.

I'm not good at Veils. I know people who can hide entire stadiums worth of people, sight, sound, scent, every sense. Me, I was counting on it being dark so that when the leshy came up, as they must, it would look like I was still asleep on the bed. It didn't make sense for them to risk waking me up while they tore the place apart, which they'd likely do. Not to mention they could always ask me where everything was, and provide all sorts of incentives for me to tell them.

I managed to get my sneakers on before I heard the stairwell creak minutely. I fell back into the shadows of the closet, Mouse by my side, staff on one hand and wand on the other, and waited.

The door to my bedroom opened very slowly. The same dim, reflected streetlight glow that had shone on Mouse showed me the paw-like hand of a leshy as it stepped forward, sniffing the still air in the room. Its eyes locked onto the bed and it moved forward with a little more confidence. It cleared the door and another one came in behind it. They moved to flank the bed. A third one came in.

The moment it was clear of the door I surged forward, slammed the door shut, and pointed my staff at it. "Forzare."

It might have come out a little angry. I was getting real tired of leshy, to be fair. The blast of force threw the leshy through the window in a shower of glass and wood; it screamed as it went, the iron nails on the windowsill scraping it raw.

Mouse flew at another leshy with a snarl. Its nature betrayed it; not only was my dog very big and fairly terrifying despite his youth, leshy were creatures of the field, their nature very close to rabbits, to hares, to moles. It shrieked in immediate terror and went down, scrabbling and writhing, all the fight gone from it, wanting only to get away from its natural predator.

The last one didn't stop to think. It leapt up and kicked me in the chest. I went through the bedroom door like the old oak wasn't even there. The pain was immediate, immense, blinding. Next thing I knew I was on my knees out on the hallway, and I couldn't breathe. I'd be lucky if nothing was broken. Leshy kick like the hares they look like, and the fairy-thug's reaction had been so quick I'd had no time to summon my shield.

Mouse was barking furiously in the bedroom; I couldn't get wits or breath enough to get back on my feet, but I had just enough of them to see motion coming up the stairs. I swung my wand around and let a stream of fire blaze out. The figure in front shrilled inhumanly; behind it, someone cursed entirely too humanly.

I had to get up. I had to move. I was easy prey if I didn't. I got one leg under me just in time for one panicked leshy to come sprinting out of my bedroom, and we both went down in a tangle. It tried to bite my face, and I just barely put an arm up. Its teeth caught it, but couldn't quite punch through the duster's defenses. It didn't feel like roses, though, and someone let out a very undignified howl of pain. Couldn't have been me.

I'd lost my wand when we'd gone down, and I didn't have enough room to bring my staff to bear, so I let go of it, put my free hand on the leshy's face, and let go with all the electricity I'd collected the past day. I didn't have the breath to call it - the words aren't part of the magic as much as an exercise in focus, a visualization aid. I could throw everything around without them, but I'd been using the word to try not to get zapped myself. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Electric fire lit up the leshy's skull from within, made its ears stand up on end; it rolled down my hand and up my arm, but I was far more interested in the fairy-thug not getting another bite in. Fortunately, it crashed down limp on top of me, smoking faintly.

I shoved it aside and groped around for my staff. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I threw my shield up instinctively.

A net crashed over it and came to rest on the gleaming half-bubble, and I was in trouble. The net had magic, unknown magic, probably meant to counter mine. I couldn't let go of the shield without getting caught in the net. I couldn't do magic without dropping the shield. The hallway was narrow, and they couldn't get to me any more than I could get to them, but that left them free to tear my house apart.

Which was apparently the going plan. The leshy I'd singed on the stairwell called out something to the human behind it, who shouted in Russian down the stairs. I heard the door to one of the rooms slam open, and a crowbar start work on the crates.

I forced myself to draw a deep breath. Mouse was still engaged with the last fairy-thug in the bedroom. My ribs were still screaming. My lungs had mostly forgotten how to work. But I needed that breath, I needed the focus of it.

At the peak of it, I dropped to a crouch, dropped the shield and called out, "Ventus!" more or less at the same time.

Have I mentioned I'm a hammer when it comes to magic?

Wind roared out, coming out of me in every direction. It threw the net for parts unknown, it sent the people on the stairwell flying back, stumbling down the steps with startled squawks and something that sounded very much like cursing. I wouldn't know, I don't speak Russian. I found my wand under my foot, lifted my staff and for good measure threw a second gout of wind down the stairwell. "Mouse!"

He came charging out of the room. I peeked in. The leshy was crawling away for the gaping hole in the wall that had been a window, both legs a ruin of greenish blood. I closed what was left of the door between it and us and began to inch my way down the stairs.

There was a hissed, angry argument going on at the bottom of the stairs, probably wondering if I was worth the trouble. Oh, I was not. So many people could've told the thugs, I'm very much not worth the trouble. I'm a burr, and at that point I was an angry burr, and to compound their misery I was an angry burr that could do magic.

Someone shouted a warning in the dark of the first floor. I threw my shield up.

Three bullets bounced off it, along with a shower of sparks. Oh, ok. Uh. I hadn't expected them to decide I was that kind of trouble. Hell's Bells. Boston had powered up my shield, but I'd apparently finally hit on the limit of what the damaged bracelet could do. If it hadn't been made to hold back more mundane threats as well as magic, I would have been very much in trouble.

I could see, vaguely, four of them gathered in what was supposed to be the living room. I was pretty sure there was at least one more crashing and wrecking one of the rooms. I saw one of them grab and yank at another, and some tiny part of me was glad to know the leshy themselves didn't want me shot, but that didn't mean one of their number, likely one of their human buddies, didn't have a gun he was entirely too willing to use. I had to finish this quick, before someone else got trigger-happy.

I dropped the shield. Mouse leapt the moment it was gone, with a snarl like a roar. I love my dog. I know my dog. At that moment I was absolutely terrified of my dog.

So were the thugs. I slammed the butt of my staff on the ground before any of them could get any ideas. "Forzare!" The shockwave sent two of them tumbling - the humans. The leshy tottered, but managed to stay upright. One of them immediately went down with a panicked screech when Mouse slammed into it.

The other twisted one hand sharply and threw something at me that glittered in the dark. I threw my shield up automatically.

The night's breath powder settled on it and began to burn.

I heard a howl, realized belatedly that it was mine; my shield-bracelet had gone instantly white-hot while it tried to defend against the very thing that was attacking it. I dropped the shield, felt the poison sink into my magic. The leshy charged me, as aware as I was that I couldn't throw magic around wildly anymore; I could very well run out of energy mid-fight.

So I swung the staff at it as hard as I could.

The impact drove it into the wall and it staggered back, dazed. I stepped into its space and punched it. Hey, it worked for Eliot. It went down on its knees with a cry.

But the two human thugs were getting up, and one was lifting his arm in a familiar fashion. I couldn't gamble, I called up my shield, gritting my teeth against the pain. The goon slammed the taser into it, electricity arcing from it over the roiling surface of the half-bubble.

I put my hand out, the one with the wire bracelet, dropped the shield and called the electricity to me. It burned down my already singed fingers, and into the bracelet, and I threw it at the other man before he could get it into his head to start shooting again. He made a sound like a broken police siren and crashed down, twitching.

I'd been keeping my eye on the group in front of me and that open bedroom door, but in the middle of the chaos I forgot that leshy are like roaches: there's always more than the ones you see. Something came at me from the kitchen and hit the back of my head. It wasn't even painful; it was just instantaneous darkness; everything shut down. My cheek hit the floor, but I didn't feel it so much as vaguely registered that my perspective on things had changed radically. I heard Mouse snarl, and someone screamed - the natural order of things.

Things went blurry and uncertain for a while. I heard the group talking, and Mouse barking furiously, but I was only aware of it because it was Mouse, and I was worried that they'd hurt him. The night's breath had settled on me like the weight of the world, burning, hissing in a way only I could hear. I felt crushed. I couldn't breathe. My magic felt sluggish and foul, like blood poisoning.

"It's not just the circle, he's got a ward of some sort around them," a man's voice said in English. Someone else spoke in Russian. I was beginning to understand Hardison's comment about learning a language by infection.

"Koldun", a hoarse, gravelly voice said. Something grabbed my face and picked me partially up, talons prickling my cheeks. "Wizard," the leshy said in terrible English. "You hear me?"

"I thought leshy didn't speak." I was trying to get myself in the game, but the night's breath was burning into my bones, my ribs hurt like someone had kicked them out of my chest, and my head was pounding.

The leshy growled - its way of laughing, I realized. It said something to one of the people around. We were in my basement. There were glow-sticks all over, illuminating my work: the brass circle on the concrete floor, closed and holding strong around a small shoebox full of Koschei's knick-knacks. Inside the circle were two more wards: the tracking foil I'd copied from the key, and a little bubble of force, very much like my shield, meant to keep things and people from this side of the Nevernever from getting through.

See, I could learn. I'd remembered that the leshy had been working with humans back at the museum, and I'd been ready.

"He says, 'the world changed, we changed with it'." It was the man who'd shouted a warning earlier, likely the one who'd shot at me. He was wearing all black, the better to be impossible to distinguish from the rest of the group. The leshy growled something at him. "You will dismiss the circle and remove the rest of your protections."

I gritted my teeth. Those talons were like shoe cleats, sharp and solid, and the fairy's grip was incredibly strong. They'd stripped me down to my pants and tee, and I was pretty sure they'd taken off anything that wasn't nailed down. I couldn't even feel the familiar weight of my pendant around my neck. My arms were bound behind me and my shoulder was really unhappy about that. They'd even taken my shoes off. "Bite me."

The leshy growled again and it occurred to me that it probably wasn't a good idea to invite him to do that. It said something a little longer this time. I was trying to figure out if I could use their ignorance to my advantage: the outermost circle was just that, a circle. Any of their human buddies could have made it past it. But because the leshy knew magical circles to be impregnable, they apparently hadn't thought to have the humans try.

"You will dismiss the circle," the translator said. "Or we will shoot your dog."

My lunge was instinctive. And pointless. The leshy stopped me before I could get an inch closer and slammed me back against a wall. It was just hard enough to be painful, but not enough to knock me out again. He even gave me a few minutes to find the wits he'd just send scattering all over with that casual bit of controlled violence.

"I drop the circle, you shoot us both."

The translator spoke. The leshy examined me, head cocked, golden eyes throwing an occasional red gleam when the light hit them just right. He said something long-ish.

"He considered it," the man translated. "But is not worth a death-curse, and you obviously love dog. What assurance can he provide?"

"Lock my dog up in the bathroom. Everyone else waits outside. I'll break the circle for him, and him alone."

"Nyet." The leshy wasn't stupid, though I'd hoped. He spoke at length, the translator asking a couple of questions.

"The dog stays in the net, goes in the bathroom. Three of us stay here. You drop the circle, remove the wards. We take you to the bathroom with your dog. You do not follow."

"I get your gun, you keep the bullets," I added.

That created a brief argument between the man and the leshy, but the translator caved eventually. Not that I didn't think they had a dozen other ways to kill me and Mouse, but the gun was the quickest one.

"And I'll need my hands free."

The leshy didn't wait for the translator. "Use feet."

"Fine."

He dragged me to my feet. Off to one side I could see Mouse, all but wrapped into a net, bound up inside a blanket that had been secured with duct tape. Ah, the net hadn't been for me, it'd been meant for him all along. He snarled, but didn't bark, probably out of pity for my throbbing skull. In the basement the sound would have echoed like thunder. Two humans picked him up warily, and while he tried to snap at them, he couldn't do more than twitch and drool. All but two leshy and the translator followed them out of the basement.

The translator pulled out the gun, removed the clip and the loaded bullet, and I twisted so he could give it to me. He didn't look happy. I made a show of muttering under my breath and calling up some magic. The effort bent me over double and I nearly felt my legs go to jelly. Bile rose up in my throat, and the lead leshy had to hold me up. I had to make it look like I was doing something, though, otherwise the leshy would catch onto my bluff about the circle.

But Boston, ah, Boston. The night's breath couldn't corrode what the city was giving me fast enough. If I could just get away, purge all of the corroded magic, I'd be fine. As it was, I had the power to throw a punch, I just had no way of knowing if it was going to blow up in my face or theirs.

I took a couple of deep breaths, tried again, and scuffed my foot over the circle and the two wards beyond it. And very calmly said, "Ignitum".

The circle broke. The lead leshy gestured the other two forward. The shoebox was plain, empty of anything but the rough dozen or so things Parker and I had got from Koschei. Everything was there, even the feathers and the invitation.

Except for two things.

The leshy grabbed me by the throat. "Key, koldun." He snapped at the translator.

"You are missing things. Where are they?"

"I only agreed to break the circle. It's not my fault if you didn't check your shopping before you paid the bill."

The leshy didn't like that. It slammed me against a wall and snarled. The translator opened its mouth -

The other leshy, who'd managed to grab the box, squealed in pain when something hot dripped down on it, then shrieked, clawing at its shoulder as a sizzling sound and the smell of burning fields began to fill the room. One of the ceiling tiles crashed down.

Everyone looked up. I just grinned at them.

Eliot had set up the trap for me, and he'd honestly had a blast doing so. The basement was bare concrete in every direction; to hide the fact that he was putting iron everywhere he could reach, he'd put up styrofoam ceiling tiles. He'd glued them to the concrete.

He'd laced the glue with iron filings.

Throwing a magical punch? Fifty-fifty. Melting fresh silicone that wasn't even hard yet? Child's play.

The lead leshy barked an order. The translator started for me. While they were both distracted I balanced myself on one foot, lifted the other, and kicked the leshy as hard as I could in the gut. He went sprawling back and crashed down on the floor. I snapped out the word of command. The circle snapped into life and cut him in half.

I dropped to my knees, most of my focus on not throwing up. The rest I channeled into forcing all the corroded magic the night's breath had poisoned out of me. I didn't even bother giving it shape, I just threw it out. It flattened the last two thugs and sent me crashing down on my face, even as I tried to force myself to get up, get to the box, I couldn't let them have the box -

More melted silicone dripped down. The last leshy squalled something that didn't sound nice, and the one human cursed. He came at me, trying to take his gun back. I drew in a deep breath and threw what little clean power Boston had given me in his face as a flash of light. He staggered back, blinded, swearing.

His buddy caught him and they both ran out of the basement, and I was left there, breathing hard, wondering if I should pass out. Or throw up. Or both, maybe. Somewhere above me Mouse was barking fit to bring the house down.

Passing out it was.

TWENTY FIVE

The gunshots woke up the neighbors. The neighbors woke up the cops, who expected to be summoned to such an address to bar brawls or petty theft, not to shots fired in a staid, elderly Boston neighborhood.

The gunshots also roused Nate. He came sprinting down the block to find half a dozen people peering out nervously, each one demonstrating vividly what they considered a safe distance, and none of them agreeing. The mastermind, who knew exactly how far a bullet could travel on kinetic energy alone, never mind inertia, didn't want to think of what would happen if there were more shots. He began taking stock of the problem by waving his phone at three of the people on the street. "Did someone, uh, did someone call the cops?" When the neighbors confirmed, he let out a long breath. "Good, good. Hey, those weren't gunshots, were they?" he asked as he dialed. "Hardison."

The Leverage team roused like a nest of wasps. A Crime Scene van and a two-man team nearly beat the cops to the site; the truck from Animal Control rolled in with them, and the one man joined the two masked people at the door, the cops making a path for them. All three of them winced as they walked in, pausing to yank their earbuds off.

"He's here," Eliot confirmed to the other two as they lit their flashlights, everyone taking a moment to hold their breath and see if they held - which they miraculously did. "You go ahead with the distraction, I'll find him." They had to find Dresden, get him out of the line of fire, and set up something appropriately gunshot-like but wholly accidental before the cops started looking in earnest. At the moment they weren't setting foot in the house, but Leverage could only guess as to why, rather than confirm.

"I need three minutes in the kitchen," Hardison said from behind Parker.

"I need two in his bedroom."

"I think we can buy you that," Eliot assured them.

"We?"

Despite the worry gnawing at him that the wizard had gone and gotten hurt (again), Eliot could only smile faintly. He whet his lips and whistled lightly.

From somewhere in the dark Mouse started barking immediately in response, a sound like thunder. Nate and Sophie, part of the crowd outside, saw every cop wince and twitch away. None of them went for their guns; none of them looked willing to go into the house. The crowd shifted restlessly, and stepped back without being urged to it. They crossed a look, but said nothing.

Parker threw a clean suit and a mask at Eliot and they split up. Alone in the dark, Eliot launched himself to the guest bathroom, just to one side of the stairs. "Harry!" When he got no answer he tried again, just a little louder. "Dresden!" No answer. He sniffed; there was a faint, familiar scent in the air that he couldn't readily place, but which left his gut tightening in anticipation of a punch he couldn't see coming. That, however was immediately set aside when he opened the bathroom door and found Mouse trussed up like a Bolivian hostage. "There you are."

Tied up or not, the Temple dog wagged his tail at him. Eliot started sawing on the duct tape, then paused; there was something sticky on either the ropes of the net or the blanket. Or the dog. Eliot considered shining the light on it, then decided he was better off not knowing. "We need to be quiet," he told Mouse, who whuffed nearly soundlessly at him. "And we need to find Harry, fast."

The moment he was loose, the mastiff sprang up on his feet and charged out of the bathroom. Eliot followed him down the stairs to, where else, the basement. The air was hot and full of the scent of burning plastic. Styrofoam tiles had fallen and shattered, leaving the tidy space a wreck. Eliot smelled rotten candy and recoiled. "Mouse, don't!"

The dog froze, and stepped back, whining.

Eliot knew that smell. He'd only smelled it once before, but sometimes that was all it took. He'd smelled it again, faintly, by the stairs. Rotten candy. Burning licorice. The basement cloyed his senses with it. Someone had come in prepared to take down both wizard and dog, and the hitter gritted his teeth. "Night's breath," he murmured, looked down at the dog. Moused looked up at him, ears perked. "You gonna be alright in there?"

Mouse eased himself gingerly into the basement. Paused. Whuffled.

Eliot followed. "Harry?"

A groan answered him, and he charged in. His boots squished on something very much not blood, but he didn't stop to check what it was. "Harry!"

"I'm gonna be sick," the wizard moaned. Eliot found him slumped in a heap against one side of the basement, tied up very efficiently, looking ashen under the light of the flashlight, Mouse licking his face enthusiastically.

"Place reeks of night's breath, man."

"That was me," Dresden admitted as Eliot worked to free him. "Someone dosed me upstairs. Burned it off here." He let out a vague sound of pain when his hands came loose and he started working feeling into them immediately. "They took the box."

"Who's surprised," Eliot grimaced when he nearly lost his grip on his knife sawing at the ropes around Harry's feet. "What… Why is everything slimy down here?"

"That was me, too," the wizard admitted. "I killed one of the leshy. Things from the Nevernever kinda melt when they die."

"They m- You mean- " Eliot found himself suddenly realizing he was, apparently, wading knee-deep through someone's equivalent of bodily fluids. "You mean we're covered in fairy blood?"

"Blood, guts…" Harry waved a hand to encompass a nebulous whole.

Full of violence as his life was, Eliot definitely had feelings about the situation, and none of them were good. "Damn it, Dresden!" he snapped as he helped the wizard to his feet and dragged him up the stairs.

"It'll evaporate to nothing soon!"

"And what part of 'don't get hurt' didn't you get?"

"You also said 'make it believable'," Harry protested wearily. "And they had humans with them. Again. And the humans had guns so. You know. The night's just been full of surprises."

Eliot hissed a breath out. Of course they would. "Alright. Get dressed." He thrust the clean suit and the mask at Harry. "We're going out the front door."

"Out the - They're gonna notice there's more people going out than came in."

Parker choose that moment to pop up next to them, making them both jump. "I'm not going out the front door." She had Harry's duster on, which made her look even more elfin than she already was, and looked terribly pleased with herself. "I found everything. They had it all stashed together. Amateurs."

Eliot merely imagined strangling the thief. Only a little. Just to soothe his rising temper. "They weren't thieves, Parker." When she gave him a pointed look the hitter realized what he'd said. "Ok, yes, they were thieves, but they weren't here to rob Harry!" Her brows went up. "You know what I mean! Is Hardison done?"

"I'll go check." She turned to look at Harry, and frowned minutely. "Are you hurt?"

"If I answer that, Eliot will get mad at me," he told her as he zipped up the clean suit.

To the hitter's chagrin, she took in that answer solemnly, nodded, and raced off for the kitchen.

"You are hurt," Eliot accused mildly.

"Leshy like to kick."

"Is anything broken?"

"No." Dresden breathed in, deep and very slow. "I don't think so. I'll get back to you on the concussion, though."

"You have a helluva sense of humor for someone I just found hogtied in his own basement."

Eliot saw the wizard grin, hard and bitter. "Eliot, I'm used to going down. I'm also used to waking up in a cell of one kind or another after." He popped the medical mask in place and put up the hood. "This is a distinct improvement."

The hitter had to pause at that. "Harry, don't you have anyone? Anyone that has your back?"

The wizard paused, went very still. "People… don't do so good when they get involved in a wizard's affairs," he admitted slowly, and the burden of pain and guilt and regret in his voice brought Eliot up very short. It had been years since he'd heard such a refined, complex mix of exactly those emotions from someone, but he remembered the day well enough.

He'd been staring in a mirror at the time, and he'd been horribly young.

"And not a lot of people accept that 'men in gray and big swords' trump a lot of the answers they sometimes want out of me."

The hitter caught the wizard's good shoulder. "Harry, for what it's worth," he said evenly. "I know it's hard. I know how it is when you've drawn a line on the sand and no one sees you holding it. Me, I'm here to keep my team safe. Twice, so far, I wasn't there - but you were. And that's enough for me. Thank you."

Dresden blew out a long breath. "Don't suppose you guys want to move to Chicago?"

"No more than you wanna move to Boston." Eliot looked up to see Hardison coming out of the kitchen, passing his backpack to Parker and taking hers in exchange. "Come on. The timing Hardison cooked up is tricky."

They marched out, the Animal Control guy first, leading the friendliest, most gigantic and slobberiest ball of fur out, leaving all the cops vaguely embarrassed that they'd been afraid to step into the house. Mouse hammed it up, tongue lolling to one side and tail wagging cheerfully. The crime scene people cleared out, the cops poured in, and everyone jumped into their respective vehicles.

It took a while to put both the Animal Control pick-up and the Crime Scene van back in place, none the worse for their small adventure, and everyone reconvened back at the loft. Sophie reported that there had been plenty of cops in the kitchen when the same security system that had destroyed the bedroom window interacted badly with an ancient electric board, entombed in the walls. The system had blown the garden door out onto the overgrown grass, and the antique board had gone off like a gun once again. A report had been written; fines would have to be paid. The owner had been summoned, and she'd been most grateful for everyone's prompt response, gracious and elegant even in her concern. Everyone had gone home somewhat disappointed and secretly reassured that life could go back to what it should be: quiet.

While Sophie soothed the mood at the safehouse, Nate came to see Dresden as Eliot, once again, patched up the wizard in the small spare bedroom behind the kitchen. Harry's entire chest was a rising, ugly bruise. When Eliot moved away to wash his hands, he spoke very quietly to the mastermind. "You know, when I said I'd like a job where I wasn't a punching bag, this wasn't what I meant."

"I know." Nate's mouth was pressed to a thin line. It wasn't just the injuries, or the attack. Violence threatened them all, that was just part of the job. But the violence that kept coming at Dresden was unpredictable and far too big for any countermeasures to readily work. "He's getting more hurt than you have in our worst jobs," he murmured quietly at the hitter.

"He's a civilian, Nate."

"So are you," the mastermind pointed out. "But I know what you mean."

"He doesn't have the training, he doesn't have the mental firewalls."

"Can you teach him?"

"In what, two days?!"

Nate gave the hitter a very keen, very level look. "I think he'd be grateful, and better off, with whatever you do give him." He pitched his voice to carry. "Dresden, what did they get?"

"Everything," Harry replied, testing his arm until Eliot flung a sling at him. "Everything but the key and the Witchwell."

"Mm. But he doesn't need those two back nearly as urgently as everything else. Not once Fedorov's offer gets to him. And he already has the portrait, he doesn't need help stealing it."

"He does if the Witchwell's not his and he needs to return it to the proper owner," the wizard pointed out, frowning thoughtfully.

"Does he?"

"He might. I'm guessing," Harry admitted, "but I don't think it's his. It's too modern, it doesn't fit what we know of the guy."

"I agree with Harry," Eliot added.

"So do I," Nate replied. "His reaction at the bagel shop was very telling. But the man in black has to know we can't destroy it, and he has to know it'd be much easier for him to recover it after the auction." He seemed momentarily lost in thought. He was wondering if Koschei would think of the many ways in which the Witchwell could be turned against him; if that potential danger would force him to divert attention and effort to its recovery.

And in three days' time, I will grant you and your people your heart's desire.

"He'll wait. He'll wait until he can simply take it back."

"He could take it back right now," Harry muttered.

"Could he? That's twice you've faced his hired thugs, and twice you've survived, Dresden. Twice you've almost won, until an external factor stepped in. Have a little faith in yourself. From his side, his odds don't look good."

Eliot understood. "He doesn't gamble. When he wins, he likes it to be by overwhelming force."

The mastermind nodded. "And every time Dresden steps in, it doesn't matter what the man in black throws on the field, it never ends up with a clean victory for him. He'll wait. We go on with the con. Get some rest, Dresden. You're no use as a monkeywrench if you're in pieces."

"I live to please, boss," the wizard declared wearily.

[lovelessthan]

I have been so absent from tumblr! In my defense, I just got home from a whirlwind almost two weeks in Finland, where I initially traveled to fulfill a long-held dream of mine to see Ville Valo perform at Tavastia on New Year’s.

On that note, I present to you The Finland Chronicles Part 1: New Year’s Eve

Scoping out the area the day before we queued up.

Looking back, I really don’t know how we were in line for as long as we were in those temperatures, even with food and bathroom breaks, and the occasional escape into Kamppi station (right across the street) when the cold got to be too much. But I couldn’t have asked for better people to queue up with and look, we even met Sampo and Juho, who were as sweet as could be.

Had a nice time hanging out once we were inside the club (despite the occasional belligerent in the crowd). Mandatory pics of the famous ceiling Heartagram and hey, what’s that on my ring finger?

One of the ways Ville has most impacted me outside of his own music, has been his impeccable taste and willingness to dispense valuable knowledge to us all. Zetra is one of those discoveries. I first heard their cover of “Beauty Has Her Way” at the Lisbon show in February 2023, as part of a playlist Ville compiled in the break between Kælan Mikla’s set and his, and it made me feel like my soul was leaving my body (and now it's my blog's header, haha). So getting to see them live almost a year after the fact felt like a full circle moment. After the Tavastia show, I’d have to say my current favorite song by them is “Float.”

Then the owner of Tavastia gave a very emotional speech (someone in the crowd told us he is retiring this year) counted down to 2024 with us, and sprayed the audience with champagne. Followed by The Man, The Myth, The Legend. There’s really not too much I can say, other than the usual. Ville and the band were perfect that night, they gave us two encores, and we got to hear Gone With The Sin and Killing Loneliness live once more (due to Tumblr’s limits on videos I had a difficult choice to make, so here’s a snippet of Killing Loneliness).

And then, just like that, the show and the year of Neon Noir were over. My voice was already going when I got to Finland, but I happily sacrificed what was left of it at the altar of Tavastia. I realize how immensely lucky I am for scoring tickets to a gig like this, which I know is a dream for so many. Here’s to hoping the tradition continues (it’s been more than hinted that it will) and thank you Ville for starting and ending the year with us 🩷

Stay tuned for more.

[theoriginalsupermodels]

hi, curious question: what do you do for a living? Because how do you find the time to be posting and sourcing pictures? Cus I don't know how to balance that between work and this.

I work for a world renowned healthcare facility (top hospital in my state and among the very top in the US) in the Gastroenterology department as a scheduler. I get to work from home and I schedule colonoscopies and upper endoscopies (among other procedures) all day long. I just work a normal 8.5 hour shift, so since I have no travel time home (because I already am home), I can immediately transition into my personal life.

I rely heavily on Tumblr's queue feature, so I can dictate when and how often the site posts pictures. Right now, it posts 1 picture every 20 minutes. The queue currently has over 1,000 pictures, so I could step away for several days and the site would continue to run like normal, so it's not like I sit on the site for several hours every night. Usually, I upload one collection per day. A collection can be anywhere from 20-150 pictures.

Everybody's life is different, so what works for me might not work for everyone else. It takes awhile to build up a steady rhythm. In the beginning, I was adding dozens of collections a day, tagging them with dozens of different tags, trying to reach as many "audiences" as possible. Now, I just tag the pictures with the pertinent info because I'm lucky to have an amazing following who reblog to their audiences.

This isn't my first big blog though, I had a popular blog back in 2010-12 which I will not tell you the name of lol--not that I'm ashamed of it or anything, but just because I'm certain it's possible some of you might know me lol and I'd just like to remain anonymous this time. But, it gave me plenty of experience!