#▉ * taking inventory (queue) |

[smulie]

NSB2 mini update but not really an update (gif edition): Still unemployed, still stoned - now featuring a cringey two step.

[things-ford-pines-missed]

Thing Ford Missed #93: The Powerpuff Girls (1998)

[amethystarrows]

@warlockisaslur asked: [ surprise hug ] a hug where one catches the other off guard with an unexpected hug (hope this is okay!) (here / a)

Kate had been looking over books, minding her business. Lost in her own world while trying to get a better understanding of her latest case- more than happy to put vampires behind her, for the time being.

And then there's someone at her side before she can process it, pulling her into an embrace she briefly thinks of trying to escape from before it registers in her head just who was hugging her.

Her eyes light up, a large smile coming to her face. "Billy! I didn't know you were here- are you visiting just because, or is there official business?"

[naisilla]

Heartsteel x Reader

Heart Stolen.

Content: You make some new online friends

The lobby was empty. Your icon stood alone amongst the five spaces. No one showed up tonight. You sigh, leaving your mouse hovering over the 'find match' button. Was it worth gaming tonight?

You didn't blame the others. Now that high school was over, everyone had begun branching out into their new lives. Some grew further than others. At least everyone kept in touch through Discord. But tonight, only you were online.

It's a shame. You didn't get the privilege of being able to stay up late as frequently as the others because of the work shifts you had. Some days, you have to wake up early in the morning at 5. On others, you finished the closing shift at 9. To get enough sleep, you would have to go to bed before your friends would even get online to game.

The only nights you could indulge yourself were nights before your days off. Three nights a week, you could finally catch up with your friends. If only they were available those nights. Sometimes, they were busy, tired, or "not in the mood." Honestly, it pissed you off.

Looks like it was turning out to be another lonely night, another disappointment. You weren't mad at your friends, but it would be nice to have some company tonight. Your eyes trained onto your monitor. The find match button beckons you.

Finding a match alone was a little intimidating. What if you messed up and made a mistake that cost your team? You were a little sensitive to mean comments. Going competitive where players were toxic didn't seem so alluring anymore.

A defeated sigh escapes your lips. You needed to become emotionally independent. Perhaps a warm up game might calm your nerves. Dragging your mouse, you select draft pick and choose bot lane for your autofill. Finally, you click Find Match.

You wait with bated breath as your client searches for a match. With each passing second, you became increasingly regretful of your decision. You should've just given up on gaming and gone with binge watching something.

The client suddenly displays the message "Match Found!" and you get grouped with four strangers onto a team. You're assigned bot lane, and you go to select your ADC. After clicking on "Daughter of the void." you pause. Another player had also selected an ADC champion.

You hiss under your breath. "Shit." this was awkward. One of you needed to go support, but this other player had already chosen "The Weapon of the Faithful." You squint, taking a look at their username, 신자의 무기.

Korean? On an Oceania server? How strange. A message pops up in the lobbies chat window. EZ: uh oh EZ: glwt

Sighing, you force yourself to scan through the available supports, both in your inventory and free rotation. "Maven of the strings" had a simple kit right? Honestly, you weren't sure but the countdown was ticking and you needed to pick something.

Perhaps you could dodge? You wouldn't mind waiting in queue with low priority. You frown as a spike of determination hits you. No way you were backing out, you were assigned bot. This other player was given support, it should be them dealing with this.

10 seconds left

Ugh how serious was this matchup anyways?

5 seconds left

Screw it you're dodging this.

Your mouse clicks on the exit button and you breathe a sigh of relief as your client continued to search for another match. A blue light reflects in your eye as another 'match found' widget pops up on your client and you readily accept it.

What the fuck!?

To your disbelief you get thrown into another lobby matchup with 신자의 무기 and EZ.

EZ: no way...

You groan and rub your temple before leaning forward in your seat and typing into the chat:

(Y/U/N): Hey, do you want to go ADC or SUPP?

Your eyes remain fixated as they await a response...

A little blip appears on your screen, drawing your attention to the friend request from 신자의 무기. You frown, you don't typically accept friend requests from anyone you don't personally know. But it wouldn't hurt to select 'accept' if it doesn't go well you can always block them.

Seconds after accepting the request you receive a message, a discord link.

This isn't a bot is it?

Your monitor switches over to Discord inviting you to join a server "The Boyz". You can feel hesitation in joining the group, the last thing an introvert like you wanted was to listen to another one of those obnoxiously loud and annoying boys that scream on call like a prepubescent loltyler1.

Screw it, you had already gone out of your comfort zone enough might as well continue the streak.

You join the call:

"AYO THEY JOINED!"

The Discord call erupted in a chorus of excited greetings from EZ, his icon almost glowing a constant green from his excited chatter. You were surprised by how charming and friendly his voice sounded, nothing like the usual screamers you're used to on voice chat.

"Hello (Y/U/N)" says 자의 무기, his voice is barely louder than a whisper, yet it still manages to cut through the noise with surprising ease.

"Hey!" You chime back, trying to match their energy.

"Sorry about the misunderstanding with Phel, he's new to League." You tilt your head in interest. Phel? That's an odd name.

"Liar" Phel retorts. "I wasn't paying attention to my role, sorry for stealing your adc."

"Don't worry about it." You reply reassuringly.

"Wanna try again? I can go "The Redeemer" as support."

"Sure let's give it a shot."

And just like that, you were now playing with two new friends. It didn't take long for you to find two extra random players to join your team in lobby and this time there was no drama in champ select.

The match starts spawing your and your teammates on the blue side, you and phel guide your champions to follow your jungler to leash at the red buff. While you wait at camp for the brambleback to spawn you decide to try and get to know these two.

"So is Phel short for something? I've never heard a name like that before."

"Oh uh yeh, My actual name is Aphelios."

You raise a brow intrigued. "Where does that originate from?"

"I believe it's Greek, roughly translates to: far from the sun"

"Oh? Are you Greek?"

You can hear Ez snort. "He most definitely isn't"

"I'm Korean actually."

"Ah I see, I didn't want to assume from your username."

Aphelios laughs, his voice so soft and delicate.

The red brambleback crawls out of the ground and you jump straight into lowering it's hp with your auto attacks and Q, Letting your jungler finish it off before moving onto the krugs.

"I also have a very interesting name too" Ez chimes in, his voice slightly whining at the end. A chuckle escapes your mouth.

"My bad, what's your name then Ez?" You ask, voluntarily taking the bait as you and Aphelios walk to the middle of bot lane.

You can feel Ez smirking over the voice call his voice reverberates in your headset. "It's Jarro" His voice goes on a tangent explaining the origin of his name while you focus on your bot lane as you come across the enemy team. "The Sheriff of Piltover" and an "Empress of the elements"

"The plauge rat" suddenly appears in front of you, landing two auto's as you back away sending your Q missiles at him. Damn they ganking this early?

You fall back, trading attacks with the enemy adc as the red minions crash your wave, heading towards your first turret. Jarro is still rambling on.

"So what's your name?" Jarro asks, his voice finally breaking into your focus.

"I'm (Y/N)."

Jarro let's out an "ahh" in response, his tone warm and friendly. "What does that mean?"

You shrug even though no one can actually see you. "I don't know it's just my name." you say, your eyes darting from the screen to the vc every now and then.

"I think you have a nice name." Aphelios says, he had been quiet up till this point, also focusing on your lane as you traded with the enemy laners together. There's a soothing quality to his soft-spoken voice. Despite his shyness, he felt compelled to compliment you on your name.

"Thanks but I really can't be compared to a name like yours, you sound like you're a fantasy character."

a hint of embarrassment in his voice. He didn't see himself as a fantasy character, and he was never comfortable with accepting compliments.

"My name is nice too right Phel?" Jarro's voice chimes in cheekily fishing for compliments.

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh and rolls his eyes at Jarro's question. He knows he is only looking for compliments, but it's all in good fun.

"Yes, Jarro, yours is nice too." He says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Aphelios glances at your profile on his screen and his expression softens.

The next few minutes are solely focused on your laning. You play your champion passively using your ranged W to your advantage while your health is low as you focus on poking the enemies from a safe distance while farming.

Shortly after, your jungler comes down from jungle and you aggressively go in to chase down the support who tries to run back to their turret. The enemy adc is slain by your jungler, leaving it just between you and the empress. You ignore your low health and follow them as she runs, she casts ignite but with a single W you take the kill then quickly recall in a bush.

"That was close, good job (Y/N)" Aphelios says, you smile.

"Thanks."

You notice the dragon is up and your jungler is pinging it, you cancel your recall and quickly take care of it before the enemy laners can get there. You run around the dragon camp picking up the honey fruit as the three of you go to recall in the bush behind dragon.

The enemy adc appears in your vision, walking towards your bush where the three of you hide, poor thing walked right into her death. You can hear a "pfft" pick up on Aphelios mic as you finally recall to base.

The game continues as you return back to farming minions and trading with the enemy bot laners, Aphelios manages to take out the adc forcing the support to go into a bush and recall before he can chase her down. You make sure to place a vision ward at the bottom of the river to keep an eye out for enemy ganks while Aphelios goes to the top to place another.

The support returns and begins to attack you and boy does she hurt, you fall back as your health bar is hacked at. Lucky Aphelios returns to bot to heal you and you both go back to pressing on as the jungler chases the enemy midlaner nearby, killing her. The three of you easily over powering the other two as the adc dies and the support retreats leaving their turret vunrable.

You enter the mid game phase and things are going good, none of your turrets have been taken down yet. You did die shortly after taking their turret but you were quick to bounce back. There was a comfortable silence in the chat when suddenly you hear someone humming.

Surprisingly Aphelios starts humming, not just generically either, whatever tune is in his head is a beautiful melody. His voice was so smooth and delicate, the way it danced along the notes in perfect rhythm, it was enchanting.

You feel nervous bringing it up but eventually, your thoughts escape through your lips. "Wow, your singing voice is so beautiful Phel."

Aphelios' humming stops abruptly, clearing his throat. "Sorry, I thought I muted my headset."

"What are you apologizing for? You have a great voice my guy" Jarro voice says.

You nod from behind your screen looking back to Aphelios' icon. "He's right you genuinely sound good". You say encouragingly.

"Yeh and I know a thing or two about singing." Jarro chimes.

"Oh really pretty boy? You wanna show us what you've got?" Aphelios asks chuckling.

"Nah I wouldn't want to overshadow your spotlight"

You snort rolling your eyes. Focusing hard as you take down another enemy turret.

And so began your new friendship circle with the boys, after a successful league game you would start another, then another. Talking and gaming late into the night.

You were breathless from singing along with the others quite horribly to their request. At least Jarro was also terrible but you could tell that he was singing bad on purpose. Aphelios was too busy laughing his mic barely picking up on the noise as he tries to cover his mouth as Jarro continues to sing on.

"DO YOU THINK TIME, WOULD PASS US BY?

'CAUSE YOU KNOW I'D WALK A THOUSAND MILES

IF I COULD SEE YOU TONIGHT BANANANANANANANNAA-" Jarro started to sing the riff in a terrible screech the gain on his mic becoming painful to hear.

Aphelios is practically in tears at this point, his face red from laughing so hard. He covers his mouth with his hand, desperate to hold in his laughter, but it's futile. His shoulders shake from the effort, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs. He is having the time of his life, sharing this moment of laughter with the friends he had quickly grown fond of.

He lets out a gasp, trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter.

"Stop… stop, I… I can't breathe.."

He tries to speak, but he can hardly get the words out through his laughter. His breathing is ragged, but he manages to force out a few more words between giggles.

"You guys are… the worst… singers… I've ever heard.."

Jarro and you let out an obnoxious gasp, mocking offense. "

"Excuse me?! Worst singers?" Jarro exclaims loudly, dramatically placing his hand over his heart.

"I'll have you know we are both phenomenal vocalists." Jarro crosses his arms, lifting his chin up in a fake air of superiority.

Aphelios can't help but laugh harder at Jarros exaggerated reaction. He tries to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but the mirth is too strong and his laughter escapes in a series of short gasps and giggles. He wipes a tear from his eye, his cheeks flushed from the laughter.

"Seriously, you're all terrible… Especially you, Ez…"

He says, shooting an amused grin towards Jarro's avatar.

The days passed and the friendship between you and the boys, Jarro and Aphelios, continued to strengthen with each game. Hours spent gaming, laughing, and creating memories together.

Late-night calls filled with laughter, banter, and the occasional musical performance, became the norm.

Both Jarro and Aphelios found themselves looking forward to the moments they spent gaming with you, considering you a valuable and entertaining member of their gaming circle.

Ez, remains as cheerful and energetic as ever, always ready to make you laugh with his dumb jokes.

Aphelios especially began to open up more and more, sharing bits and pieces of himself with you. You had learned that he was currently stationed in Perth Australia, which surprised you as you yourself were living in Sydney.

Apparently, he and his twin sister were long-term exchange students at one of the local universities...

"Oh cool! What are you studying over there?" You asked your voice sounding enthusiastic.

Aphelios would scratch the back of his neck behind his monitor shyly as he bashfully answered. "Oh, I'm taking the Composition and Music Technology course."

A low whistle picks up from Jarros's mic. "Sheesh Phel I didn't think asian parents let their kids do anything other than be a lawyer or doctor."

Aphelios rolls his eyes at Jarro's comment, scoffing slightly.

"Well, I'm a rare exception to that stereotype I suppose."

He says, a small smile on his lips. Despite his shy exterior, he had a hint of sass when it came to his responses at times.

"My parents are surprisingly supportive of my interests, especially my music. As long as I'm working hard and pursuing something I'm passionate about, they're happy."

Jarro nods along with a chuckle. "Hey don't you live in Aussie too y/n?"

"Yep I'm over a few states though, down in Newcastle."

"Newcastle? Where the hell is that?"

You glare at Jarro's icon. "It's in New South Wales."

"..."

"A few hours above Sydney"

"Ah Sydney! Why didn't you say so!?"

You and Aphelios collectively roll your eyes in unison.

"What about you Jarro? You have an Oceania account so you should be either here or New Zealand?"

Jarro's cheeky chuckle can be heard again in your headset. "Nah I'm over in beautiful Canada."

You can't help but let out a confused sound. "Canada? Sir are you lost? How is your ping not crashing your PC on lol?"

Jarro's chuckle returns, unperturbed. "Well, I figured I'd come over here and show you Aussies how it's really done."

He boasts, his ego as big as ever.

"And let's face it, the competition's just a little easier over here."

He adds, a smirk evident in his voice, and Aphelios rolls his eyes again.

You enjoyed having these online friends, they were almost always available to hang out with after your shifts at the cafe, no matter how exhausting your day was Jarro and Aphelios were always there to help you destress. You were more than grateful for those two.

Aphelios would occasionally share his music projects for his assignments with you on the group server, he was certainly talented at composing pieces. His base work was giving indie, atmospheric, lofi but he would try and experiment with other genres to fit the criteria of the assignment.

"Why don't you try singing over some of these tracks?" You ask after finished listening to another one of his pieces.

Aphelios responds a bit shyly, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. He's never had much confidence in his singing, even though he loves music.

"I mean… Singing for fun is one thing, but performing in front of a whole class is a lot of pressure. I'm not sure if my voice is good enough for that…"

Jarro chimes in, his tone light and casual, as usual.

"Oh, come on, Phel. Your voice is seriously amazing, you don't give yourself enough credit."

He reassures him, trying to boost his confidence

"You're a talented composer and you've got a killer vocal range. You should definitely try singing for your class, I'm sure they'll love it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh, considering Jarro's words. His friend's confidence is endearing.

"I suppose you have a point… But it's still nerve-wracking, you know? What if they don't like it? Or what if I make a mistake?"

You shake your head, quickly disagreeing with him.

"Come on, you're being too hard on yourself Phel. I've heard you sing before, your voice is beautiful. You could easily charm the whole class with those smooth vocals."

You reassure him, genuinely believing in his talent.

Aphelios smiles at your words, his heart feeling a bit lighter. He was grateful to have friends like you and Jarro who believed in him and encouraged him.

"I don't know… I'm just not used to people hearing my voice outside of you guys, you know? It's kind of intimidating…"

He admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Look you don't even have to sing in front of everyone, you can record from the privacy of your home then when you go to present all you have to do is press the play button"

Aphelios slowly nods his head in agreement, considering your suggestion.

"That… That sounds tempting…It would definitely take away the pressure of performing in front of a live audience… That's not a bad idea, actually. I guess that would still count for the assignment…"

He says thoughtfully, his mind running through the idea. Recording from the comfort of his own home does sound less intimidating than having to perform in front of the entire class.

Jarro chimes in again from the other side, his tone cheerful and encouraging.

"That's the spirit, Phel! Record it at home, give it a few final touches, and then just hit play in class. Easy peasy."

He says, seeming to like your suggestion, too.

This is what friends are for right? Supporting each other and encouraging them to reach their full potential? Aphelios could definitely count on you two for that, behind that little discord profile a small smile appeared on his lips, barely illuminated by the glow of his monitor.

And that's how you convinced your online friend to give singing an actual shot. You and Jarro could only laugh and give knowing "I told you so" looks when Aphelios would return the next gaming session flustered by how well his classmates took his singing. He had become a local star in his university overnight.

"I guess singing in front of the class wasn't as terrifying as I thought. They actually seemed to like it… a lot."

He confesses, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he speaks.

"I don't know what to do, I've never had this much attention before… It's a bit overwhelming…"

Jarro grins, clearly enjoying Aphelios' newfound popularity.

"See, I told you they would love it. You're a natural talent, Phel. It's about time people started noticing."

He says, sounding proud of his friend.

"Don't let it go to your head though, you're still the same shy guy that we know and love".

He teases, chuckling.

You giggle along with him. "Don't forget about us while you're famous."

Aphelios had yet to get use to his immediate rise of popularity, it was as if all of a sudden everyone in the university had him on their radar.Typical mornings of quietly walking to and from classes, hiding under an oversized hoodie had now changed to being stopped by every student in the hall to be greeted.

All of a sudden the quiet invisible introvert was now the center of attention with people wanting his insta, to being invited to hang out during lunch and even a few girls and guys admitting their crushes to him.

It was overwhelming to Aphelios in a positive way, it felt really good to be liked by everyone. He finally felt this surge of confidence boost his social life. He had begun to upload covers and original songs to youtube. While he didn't become viral online, he did gain plenty of likes and views (most of said views came from Jarro and yourself).

It had been a few months since he took that first step out of his comfort zone. However, he still found himself hanging around you and Jarro more than anyone else. You were still the people he trusted the most and the ones he felt the most comfortable around. He didn't need to be "popular" or "cool" around you two. You always had his back.

Jarro, always the supportive friend, was ecstatic for Aphelios as he watched his confidence grow. He often joked about how he was a proud "big brother" watching his "little bro" succeed.

Meanwhile, you were more than happy to see Aphelios blossom in his newfound popularity. You'd often chat with him about classes, school life, and of course, music. The three of you had grown closer, not just online friends but real friends.

It once again was a night where you were all on to game, you had started the call in the group chat and chatted to Jarro about your day while the two of you awaited for Aphelios to join. Classes were over according to this week's schedule which meant he should've joined by now.

"Have you heard anything from Aphelios? He's running late" you say as you type to mention Aphelios in the group chat to get his attention.

Jarro on the other end shakes his head. "Nah he still hasn't responded to my dm."

You frown. "You think something's up?"

"Unlikely, he's only half an hour late. He probably got caught up by another one of his fans~" he says with a chuckle.

Just as Jarro says that the tiny pop up "Aphelios is typing" your immediately notice it your eyes widening as you await his message.

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Sorry guys I'm feeling sick, I've got a cold so I can't really join vc.

As you read his message, a mixture of concern and disappointment washed over you.

Jarro, who was also reading the message, let out a sigh. He had been looking forward to gaming with Aphelios as usual, but it seemed like it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"He can still play right? just not talk?" You ask with a hopeful tone in your voice.

Jarro's icon glows green as his mic picks up him typing your question into chat.

Aphelios replies with a thumbs up.

You knew Aphelios would be unable to chat for a couple of days but it had been over a week since Aphelios had gotten sick, you were starting to worry for him.

Opening your dm's with him you begin to type.

(Y/U/N): Hey Phel, still got the cold?

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Yeh, it's just a sore throat... it won't go away.

You frown while reading this.

(Y/U/N): Have you considered seeing a doctor?

신자의 무기: Actually I have an appointment later this afternoon.

You sigh a little relieved.

(Y/U/N): Ok good

(Y/U/N): Update us when you can k?

Aphelios replies with a cute emote of a cartoon bunny with a thumbs up, making you smile.

(Y/U/N): ight see you later

And so you and Jarro would spend the afternoon gaming while you waited for Aphelios to come back online. You were in the middle of laughing at one of Jarro's jokes when you noticed he's gone quiet.

"Jarro?" You ask, checking if he's there.

"(Y/N) check the group chat."

You had barely noticed the discord notification sound, clicking on your task bar where awaited two messages from Aphelios.

신자의 무기: Guys

신자의 무기: I have some bad news.

A/N: And I finally did it! Chapter 1!! Lets fucking go!!! Original Heartsteel lore!!!!

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

@jilymicrofics august 5: coffee

There’s a knock at the door, but James keeps his eyes on the computer screen, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the keys as he scans the inventory sheet.

“Oi.”

James's brow furrows slightly. "Hang on."

“We’ve got a customer situation.”

James looks up, his eyes meeting Sirius's. Sirius stands in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, knuckles still poised over the doorframe.

"What sort of customer situation?" James asks, his voice edged with impatience.

Sirius grins widely. “A mad bird sort.”

James scoffs, running a hand through his hair as he shifts his focus back to the computer. "Why can’t you deal with it?"

Sirius sighs dramatically and leans against the doorframe. “She’s stubborn. Insists on talking to the owner.”

With a huff, James pushes away from the desk, the chair rolling back with a squeak. He stands up, stretching his back, and makes no effort to hide his annoyance as he shoulders past Sirius. This was the one hour of the day he managed to sequester himself in the cramped back office to catch up on paperwork. Coffee shops don’t run themselves.

Sirius follows hot on James's heels as he navigates his way back to the counter, snickering at his shoulder. He narrowly misses a full-on collision as James comes to a dead stop upon seeing her.

Her. Because she’s here.

“She’s fit, huh?��� Sirius smirks. “I mean, if you don’t want to deal with it, I suppose I could—”

“I’ve got it.”

Sirius doesn’t reply, just shaking his head knowingly. James can’t even be bothered, because he knows he’s a besotted fool, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, there you are,” she says as he walks over. Her eyes sweep shamelessly over him, and he feels a spark of that old adolescent pride. She’s stunning, with warm auburn hair cascading over her shoulders and striking green eyes that seem to burn as they lock onto his. “You’re the owner?”

“That’s me. How can I help you?”

“Well, I’ve heard great things about this place,” she says, eyes drifting briefly up to the menu board behind him, then right back to his eyes. 

“It’s… a great place,” James says lamely, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, clearly enjoying being noticed by him as much as he’s enjoying being noticed by her. She leans forward on the counter, her delicate fingers tapping lightly against the surface. James takes a small step back to put some distance between them, so he doesn’t do something really stupid.

“What’s the specialty?” she asks, her lips curling into a playful smile.

“I don’t usually make the drinks,” he confesses.

She lifts an eyebrow. “But you’ll make one for me?”

James glances around the shop, ensuring Sirius isn’t idling nearby and that there aren’t any customers waiting in the queue. The cozy café is alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversations, but the coast seems to be clear.

“You know,” he says, dropping his voice, “it’s pretty bold of you to come in here looking like that.”

She smirks, pleased. “Looking like what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that rubbish,” he says, scoffing. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m just a girl looking for a nice cup of coffee,” she says, shrugging. She pushes her hair over her shoulder in a fluid motion, her deep auburn locks catching the light. James’s eyes follow the movement, and when he looks back at her face, her knowing smirk tells him it’s what she intended all along.

“You’re lethal is what you are,” he mutters, then without turning, calls out, “Sirius!”

Almost immediately, Sirius appears, clearly having been eavesdropping. “Alright?”

“Make my wife a vanilla latte, yeah?”

“Fucking hell,” Sirius grumbles. “I hate it when you do this. Just for the record. It’s really terrible.”

“Extra vanilla, please, Padfoot,” Lily adds, her gaze still locked on James, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Learn to have foreplay like normal people, please,” Sirius sighs, glancing dully between the two of them, before heading to the espresso machine, muttering, “You two were supposed to get less weird when you got married.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Let You Go

Inspired by this post; in the same universe as this and this and this

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Sam Wilson

Summary: you run into an old face as you try to build a new life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Richard, hi,” you approach the table on the cafe patio. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

“Oh, don’t fret, I’m always impeccably early,” he stands to greet you and offers his hand, “so good to finally meet in person.” 

“Yes, finally,” you smile. “I really appreciate you coming all the way down here.” 

“I’m of a mind to try new things,” he says. “Especially local places. They put a touch more care into their food.” 

“Have you ordered? They have a great curried egg salad.” You suggest as you claim the seat across from him. He sits as well. 

“Just a coffee,” he says. 

“Sounds great,” you reply. “Could use one as well but if you’d rather just get to business--” 

“Go on, I can wait,” he assures as he checks his watch. “Our meeting is still ten minutes away, technically.” 

“I’ll be quick,” you get up with the promise. 

You head for the door and dip through to join the queue. You’ve been looking forward to the snickerdoodle latte all day and yet Richard spoiled that by being even earlier than you. It’s a good sign at least. It means you’ll probably get the commission. 

You wait your turn patiently. You sway back and forth. You greedily ogle the desserts in the case, your restraint at battle with your sweet tooth. Your eyes are drawn to the paper taped to the glass. ‘Under New Management. Fun changes coming soon!’ 

You come here a couple times a week and you had no idea. You suppose you didn’t ask. You’re always in autopilot; you get in, get your coffee, and go. 

Your turn comes and you step up to order your latte. The snickerdoodle is discontinued. Oh. You get the vanilla bean instead. No use being picky, much more important things to tend to. 

As you pay, a familiar tone catches your ear. It can’t be. The timbre flows through the open door to the back. You take your coffee and go. 

It’s all in your head. You’re not paranoid, just a little... cautious? It’s been months. You’re in a new neighbourhood, you cut all your former clients, well, the ones he didn’t chase away, and you have a new favourite coffee shop. Things are looking up. 

You take your order and return to the table. Richard looks up, smiling over his cup. 

“The coffee is great. I understand they have a new supplier,” he says. “I was chatting with the new owner, he said it’s hand-roasted.” 

“Oh, wow,” you smile. “I didn’t even know it was sold,” you push your shoulders up and set your cup on the table. “Did you want to see my mock-ups?” 

“I certainly would,” he says. 

You bring your bag into your lap and slide out your tablet. You flip back the case and scroll through your folders. You open his file and turn the screen towards him. 

“You can look through,” you say. “I used the pictures you sent me and I applied the changes digitally. I even have an invoice with an inventory of paints, flooring, fixtures. The furniture is separate for ease. And if there’s anything you want to switch out or change or keep, we can do that as well.” 

“Ah,” he takes the tablet. He drags his thumb across. You watch him as he focuses on the screen. “A talented editor too.” 

You turn your head. You don’t want to pressure him. It’s normal for clients to have feedback. You had your initial consultation online and you got his general ideas but it’s different when you can see it. 

“Did you have any alternates? I think this dove grey is immaculate but I’m curious. If we could do around the fireplace in a different colour perhaps?” 

“Oh, I could do something else. I did have another idea for that but it was entirely different. Rustic. The brick was red clay and the walls hardwood.” 

“Interesting, you have that?” He wonders. 

“Sure, it’s in my drafts.” you reach across.  

You take it back and shuffle through to your drafts. You return it to him and he clucks. “I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he remarks. You wince. “I’ve now brought myself to stalemate. I’m not sure which on I prefer.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle in relief, “well, it’s easier when you see swatches and materials. That could be the deciding factor.” 

“Probably best,” he agrees. 

He gives you back the tablet and you return it to the other file. You offer it again and he continues to browse. He hums and lowers it again. 

“I know one thing for sure. You’re hired,” he grins. “When can we begin?” 

“As soon as you like,” you try to repress your excitement. Admittedly it’s been difficult since your break-up. Relocating destroyed much of your existing client-base. 

“Wonderful,” he says. “Not to rush out but it is such a nice day and I think we are agreed. If you don’t mind, could you forward those images? I could offer more specific notes?” 

“Sounds good,” you take the tablet. “Thank you so much.” 

“Not at all,” he stands and grabs his cup, draining what’s left in the porcelain before setting it back down. “Have a wonderful day.” 

“You too,” you smile. 

He leaves and you watch after him. You’re ecstatic. You don’t have to dig any further into your savings. 

You sit back and grab your cup. You haven’t even tried the latte. It's not bad. Not the sort of vanilla that’s too sweet. 

“Is it good?” The voice startles you. Not only because it’s unexpected, but because it’s familiar. The same one you were sure you didn’t hear inside. There’s no way... “I changed the recipe. Upgraded the machines...” 

You look up and put the cup down. You gape at Sam as he steps closer and puts his fingertips on the wooden tabletop. “Lot of changes, huh, honey?” 

You gulp. “What?” 

“It’s a cute place but the management was a disaster. Tanking. But I made an investment--” 

“Sam,” you croak, “how...” 

“You blocked my number, yeah, I know.” He smirks. 

You blink. You know better than to argue. Disengage. You put your tablet in your bag and stand, abandoning the latte you’d looked forward to all day. 

He as quick as ever. He catches your wrist over the chair. You tug and look around, “Sam,” you hiss. 

“Shh,” he hushes you. “You know what happens when you make a scene.” 

He calmly sits and draws you closer. You try to resist but he’s too strong. You peer around. No one else seems to notice the tense encounter. If you cry out now, it will be just like that night you broke up with him. For the fourth time. 

He forces you down, onto his lap. Now that might catch a few glances. You shift and lean away from him, your hip pressing into the table. 

“Let me go,” you plead. 

“So, you moved on quick.” 

You wince. It’s been almost a year. 

“New place, new coffee, new... man,” he grits the last word. 

“He was a client.” 

“Oh, I know how you are with your clients,” he sneers. “All bubbly. You were never like that with me, baby.” 

“I tried. Sam, you know it’s over.” 

“I never agreed to that,” he snarls. 

“Sam,” you warn in a flat tone. “Let go or I will scream.” 

“You changed a lot,” he ignores the threat. “Your mom didn’t though. She’s still in the brownstone.” 

“Sam,” you repeat. 

“I really did miss hearing you say my name.” 

Your eyes wet with helplessness. How did it come to this? How did that charming, funny man you met all those years ago turn into this? You mourn what you thought he was more than the relationship. 

“You should finish your coffee,” he leans forward, crushing you against the table as he grabs your cup. “Go on.” 

You stiffen as he lifts the cup to your lips. You sip as you feel him watching. He snickers and pulls it away. He presses against you again to put it down. 

He tuts as he sits back, “ah, you got something...” he wipes your lip with his thumb and purrs. 

“Why are you doing this?” You whimper. 

“Because you’re mine,” he growls and runs his hand up your back, gripping the back of your neck, “you better not forget that again.” 

[morteisshipping]

"I heard the news." Sung Hyunjae visited. Didn't he have anything else to do, deigning to personally appear to talk about someone else failing their driver license test? Crouching on the patch of grass next to where Chirpie and Bellare were playing, I looked up at Sung Hyunjae. "If you're here to congratulate me on failing, you're late. Hyuna-ssi did it so intensely just now that I got indigestion." [...] "I prepared a gift for my heartbroken partner." "I'm not heartbroken. There are so many people wanting to give me a ride. Riding in someone else's care is easiest in the first place." "You can call me at any time." "You'll have to stand at the end of the queue." So what's the gift? I didn't want to accept it, but I was curious. I didn't see him carrying anything; was it in his inventory? If it was an item, I'd gratefully accept it. At my urging look, Sung Hyunjae brought out the gift. "... A bicycle?" "It's a special product you can put in the inventory. You don't need a license, either. And you can exercise with it." It was a bicycle with a basket in the front. Chirpie flew up and went into the basket. It seemed to like it. Bicycles made from dungeon byproducts that could be stored in the inventory became quite common in the future, but there wouldn't be any yet - but to have popped this out within a day... "... You let me do the test knowing I'd fail?" This meant he texted me 'good luck', but he ordered it in advance knowing that I'd fail! "I'll answer that I couldn't help but expect as much." "Honestly, shouldn't they decide the difficulty based on the stat ranking and not hunter ranking?" Grumbling, I stood up and studied the bike. [...] "At any rate, thank you for your care." "Do you know how to ride it?" "Of course!" [...] "You saw that? It isn't that I can't ride a bike as a stat F-rank." When taking the kids on walks, I could also ride it for exercise; that'd be decent. It was too slow and hard running with them. "As a special service, I'll give you a cup of tea."

[amethystarrows]

@mastcrmarksman asked: "This is, to my mind, some sort of extraterrestrial activity." (here / a)

He can't be serious right now, can he? Kate stares at Clint, arms folded over her chest as she watches him. And after a few moments decides to throw her hands up. "Screw it. I'll take aliens at this point, it beats the usual crooks down here. They get so monotonous after a while, it's boring."

[ink-flavored]

Anthology Blast Prompt 1: Stone Hearted

for the Tales from Athendrolyn Anthology Full prompt list for the Anthology Blast Tips are appreciated! Contains: implied animal abuse, injured animal

The sunny window cast long shadows along the inside of the workshop, a long afternoon stretching ever so slowly into evening. An amateur stonemason or sculptor would have taken nature’s queue to pack up their tools and save their efforts for the following day. All angles go fuzzy in the shadows, after all, how could one hope to be precise? But Ostaeline Darkbraid was no amateur.

Hunched over her workbench, the jeweler’s lamp mounted to the frame ensured that not a speck of dust from her project went unaccounted for. Another cloud of the stuff rained from the cut of stone as she struck her flat chisel across the pale surface with a small hammer, smoothing out a soft curve. She turned the stone and brushed it clean with her thumb, all ten of her stout, brown fingers dusty from her work.

The project itself wasn’t much—for now, just a lump of stone with expertly sketched guidelines along the gray-white block. But it was how all gargoyles began.

A clacking sound, like two pebbles tumbling down a hillside, came from her window. Ostaeline glanced up from her project.

“Don’t clatter at strangers, Beryl,” she chided.

Beryl, a crow-sized gargoyle wearing a dazzling collection of inset gemstones for a collar, shuffled on the windowsill. It turned to Ostaeline and clattered again.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” she said. “You’ve had your supper already.”

It hopped onto her desk, landing with a thunk. With a sigh, she brushed the dust off her hands with the towel in her lap, and let Beryl climb onto her arm. It scrambled up to sit heavily on her shoulder, clattering into her ear.

“You always want attention at the worst times, don’t you?” she said, with tired affection, and Beryl picked up on her feelings, if not her words. It nipped at the thick braid she wore while working, her thick dwarvish beard tied back into her hair to keep it from catching her tools or getting in the way of her hands. It wasn’t her favorite hairstyle, but it did make her family name, and the name of her shop, all the more apt.

In the next room over, a bell chimed. Ostaeline pushed away from her desk and off her stool. “Let’s go greet our guest,” she told Beryl.

It clacked excitedly and spread its stony wings. Dropping off her shoulder entirely, it glided across the room to land in front of the slightly open door. It tried to nudge the crack open itself, only for Ostaeline to save it the trouble and open the door herself.

“Welcome in,” she called, stepping behind the shop counter. Beryl raced up the ladder of its perch right above the cash register.

The single patron—an elf, tall and thin with their olive-skinned hands folded politely behind their back, and boasting the wide sleeves and long sashes of elvish finery — looked up from where they perused the inventory of dozens of handmade gargoyles. A wide variety of shapes, sizes, and engravements adorned the shelves and statue plinths. Most were perfectly still, asleep, but the ones nearest the elf shuffled around, trying to get their attention. They looked coolly disinterested in all of them.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” they asked.

“Sure am,” she replied, deciding to ignore the chilly reception, “Ostaeline Darkbraid of   Darkbraid Gargoyle Adoptions & Workshop. It’s been in the family six generations, so I can tell you anything you’ve ever wanted to know about gargoyles and then some.”

“Then I think you’re exactly the person I’m looking for.”

Ostaeline didn’t have time to ask what that meant before the elf approached the counter. They snapped their fingers, and a sketchbook appeared in a puff of smoke. She didn’t have time to ask about that either.

“Do you take projects upon request?” the elf asked.

“I do,” she answered slowly. “You’ll have to provide a reference, and depending on how detailed you want it, they don’t come cheap.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about the price.” The sketchbook flipped itself to a random page and slapped itself on the counter. “Would you be able to replicate this design?”

Shaking off a little whiplash, Ostaeline pulled a stool out from behind the counter and plopped down to review the sketch. Each detail she took in had her eyebrows creeping closer to her hairline.

The elf had given her a lovingly rendered drawing of a gargoyle from all four sides, size estimates, close-ups on details, and even requests about the design of the plinth. The gargoyle itself took inspiration from lions, dragons, bats, and eagles. The engravings requested specific plants, gemstones were noted “optional” but there were multiple placements for insets and requests were detailed down to the cut and carat. It was one of the most complex designs she’d ever seen, much less been asked to sculpt.

“This is very impressive,” she praised. “How long did it take you to come up with this?”

The elf visibly brightened. “I’ve been designing it on and off for a little while.”

Ostaeline found that hard to believe—maybe a “little while” by an elf’s standards. Which is why such a beautiful design made her a bit nervous.

“I can replicate this design, but”—she added quickly, when the elf started to look a bit too excited—"I can’t carve a gargoyle’s personality.”

Their face fell. “What do you mean?”

“A sculptor’s job is to bring the stone to life—whatever life is born from that gift isn’t nearly as malleable. Take Beryl here.” She gestured up at the perch, where Beryl sat happily. “I sculpted this one myself nearly thirty years ago, and fully intended to adopt it out with my others. It wouldn’t take to anyone but me, though, so I kept it for myself.” Beryl clattered happily, and Ostaeline let that happy story sink in for a moment. “A gargoyle is as unpredictable as any animal, and even I don’t know how they’ll act once they’re sculpted.” She tapped the elf’s design. “This is a beautiful thing you’ve done, and I’ll do my best to recreate it as closely as I can. But I can’t promise the life inside the stone will bond with you.”

The elf replaced their cool, unflappable expression. “I see. And if that happens?”

“I usually include the price of adoption in a commission by default, and if the gargoyle doesn’t bond with you, I’ll waive that fee. I can’t offer a full refund, since the work will have already been done, and I’ll have to keep it here with me.”

Until it gets adopted by someone else, was the unspoken end to that sentence. Ostaeline never liked handing out warnings and risks and doubt—but she liked false promises even less. She’d rather this elf, who clearly poured their heart and soul into a design of their wildest dreams, understand what they were agreeing to.

A long hesitant pause later, the elf nodded. “I understand. And I’ll take that risk.”

“Alright, I’ll get you the forms.” Ostaeline produced her standard adoption application form, a form for specially commissioned projects, and a pen. She pushed them on top of the sketchbook and pushed it back across the counter. “Fill these out, and then we’ll talk about price.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

The elf took the pile and stepped aside to the end of the counter near the windows. Several plush stools sat empty for adopters to fill out their paperwork. Even seated, the elf had to hunch over from the height difference.

While she waited, Ostaeline took the opportunity to check on her gargoyles on display. They awoke, one by one, as she stepped over and around them to dust the shelves, adjust plinths, and make note of any fractures. They clicked and clattered, either in delight at her presence, or annoyance at being woken up.

A traditionally sculpted gargoyle on a high shelf—all bat wings, sharp claws, and menace—had a particular ire for her scrutiny. About as large as a parrot, it snapped at her hand on her way up the stepladder, and just barely missed.

“Quit it, Feldspar,” she scolded. Feldspar had no remorse, going for her again as she reached the top. “Don’t get an attitude with me, you literal blockhead.”

Before it could try a third time, Ostaeline snatched Feldspar by the face to keep its mouth closed, plucking it off its plinth for an inspection. It struggled so recklessly that she was able to hold it for all of eight seconds, but she saw all she needed to see. The crack at the base of its left wing hadn’t improved.

“All done, see?” She put it back on the plinth and twisted it to face out the window behind the shelf. “Go back to bed.”

Feldspar gave another angry rattle, hunched over, and went motionless. Ostaeline sighed, trudging back down the ladder. With perfect timing, the elf stood up with their forms in hand as she made her way back to the counter.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, collecting up the forms and a magically duplicated copy of their design. Skimming over the top of the first page, she read, Name: Myril Genwarin, Age: 170, Pronouns: all, mostly they/them/theirs.

“What was wrong with that one?” Myril asked, gesturing at Feldspar.

“Poor thing has a fracture,” she replied. “It’s been fussy ever since, but Feldspar’s always been a bit of a jerk.”

“Always?”

“Oh sure—came right off the chisel looking for a fight.” She ran through the commission forms, tallying up the cost in her head. “See, if I could carve their personalities to be whatever I wanted, I’d make them all enthusiastic about my check-ups.”

A little smile touched Myril’s face. “I suppose most people would.”

One transaction later, the new project was officially instated onto the list. With a promise to call them as soon as the gargoyle was finished, Myril left the shop, leaving Ostaeline alone with her work again.

Not for long, though. It was only minutes later that she flipped the shop’s “open” sign to “closed,” and went back to the workshop, Myril’s paperwork in hand and Beryl close behind, to clean up before leaving for the night.

The jeweler’s lamp still shone a spotlight down on her interrupted project, and washed the rest of the room with its bright white glare now that the sun had slipped even farther away. Her collection of tools sat patiently in an upright case behind her workbench, organized into perfectly sized compartments. Each of the dozens of shelves underneath it held different gems for decoration, separated by color and cut. In the corner, a massive collection of pale stone blocks, sized anywhere from a minotaur’s coat stand to a goblin’s shoebox, awaited her craftsmanship.

Beryl climbed back up onto its regular perch on the windowsill. Ostaeline put the commission form and requested design on her workbench, intending to leave it for the next morning… but picking out a properly sized block wouldn’t hurt.

She whisked her unfinished project away. On the other wall, it fit snugly between two other projects on her large shelf of unfinished gargoyles, and she muttered a promise to get back to it eventually. Next, she swept her workbench clear of dust and debris, put her tools away, and turned her light toward the back of the room. Now, finally, she could pick her next block.

Myril’s form, and the design sketch itself, requested a height of about thirty standard inches, converted from elvish measurements. Ostaeline plucked a standard unit tape measure out of her tool case, and set the enchanted dial to show elvish units on the other side—just in case. The tool shimmered, humming in her hand. When she pulled the spool, the second set of numbers appeared.

She got to work pulling block after block out of the pile, measuring width, height, length, and the instinctual unit that she couldn’t explain, that none but a gargoyle sculptor could ever truly understand. Ostaeline sat with the block, and tried to feel if it wanted to be carved.

After a dozen dead ends, she found one. It was the exact size she was looking for—thirty standard inches, and almost as wide as she was. It was absolutely too large to fit on her workbench, so this gargoyle would have to be sculpted on the floor. Hopefully it wouldn’t mind.

Ostaeline sat down and leaned against the block, pressing her forehead to the cold stone. She wasn’t there long—it practically sang with the urge to become something else. It was perfect.

Satisfied, she pushed the block to the center of her workshop and placed Myril’s design on top. Tomorrow, she would get to work.

“Come on, Beryl,” she called, holding out her arm. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Beryl scampered to the end of the workbench and launched itself over. Ostaeline stumbled as it clung to her arm like a weight, before managing to scrabble up, and climb onto her shoulder to perch. It clattered in her ear.

“I should just start picking you up myself,” she said, and turned off the light.

After all her years of gargoyle sculpting and caretaking, Ostaeline found one piece of advice to hold true above all others: the mind should never wander from the task at hand. When crafting something so intricate as a magical creature that would leap to life as soon as it had a body to move in, there was no room for distraction, daydreaming, or idle musing. If she wasn’t entirely focused on the stone under her tools, the tools in her hand, her hand attached to her arm—then she wasn’t really working at all.

But somehow, this commission tested her iron-clad will.

Point chisel in one hand and hammer in the other, Ostaeline carved away a wide chunk of stone, and it collapsed on the floor with a heavy thud. A cloud of dust followed, and she coughed. Her hands and beard were cloudy white, at this point, and she’d barely started carving away at her sketches. Or, rather, Myril’s sketches.

Not for the first or last time that day, Ostaeline turned to reference the commissioned design on her workbench, displayed on a small lectern. It had taken her days to get a sketch on the stone she was happy with, and she thanked every god she could name that her enchanted pencils could be erased from any surface. Even excluding all the detail work she’d have to do to engrave the finished body, the gargoyle had a lion’s head and tail, an eagle’s beak, a dragon’s body, and an extra set of bat’s wings. It was a puzzling combination of animals, pieced together in a puzzling way.

Beryl hopped across the workbench, nudging the lectern curiously. Ostaeline put her hands on her hips.

“I know I shouldn’t judge,” she started, “but who designs a gargoyle like this?”

Beryl clattered, oblivious to her question. Its gemstone collar twinkled in the light of the jeweler’s lamp.

“It’s not a bad drawing,” she continued, turning back to the hunk of stone, “it’s a beautiful drawing, but for a sculptor, it’s complete madness.” She chiseled across one of her sketched lines, forming the shape of the creature’s head. “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I didn’t think I could do it, obviously, and I do believe I can. But why all this—excess?”

It was what had been distracting her the whole time. After working on this gargoyle for barely a week, the extravagance of it all had started to eat away at her. And to know Myril had been working on it “on and off” implied there used to be even more detail that must have been redesigned. Ostaeline would never know how many revisions this gargoyle had seen, which just made her more curious as to how it came to exist in the first place.

“You know what it feels like?” she said, hammering away. “It feels like a child’s drawing. Like a kid who mashed together all their most favorite things in the world and—”

She almost hammered her thumb into the stone. Blessings and curses, she thought, it is a child’s drawing.

With a strange mix of affection and dread, Ostaeline set down her hammer and chisel and went to her desk. Slowly, she wiped her hands free of dust and picked up Myril’s sketch, beholding it with new eyes. The haphazard combination, the odd specificity, the amount of love and care and detail. She remembered how excited they were to see it complimented, how fast that excitement drained away when she couldn’t guarantee the gargoyle would like them. This had to be a drawing from Myril’s childhood, maybe even a dream pet, that they finally had the opportunity to bring to life. And Ostaeline could bring it to life—but she couldn’t promise it would be theirs at last.

“That’s a little more than I bargained for,” she muttered. She dropped the design back down on the lectern, folding her fingers under her nose.

Beryl looked up at her, innocent as any animal. Ostaeline glanced to the workshop door, and the gargoyle shop beyond.

Feldspar was a commissioned piece, intended to leave her shop the moment it was finished. When it woke for the first time, it was a bit snappy, which wasn’t abnormal for a creature brand new to life. The client came to pick it up, confident that they had exactly the pet they’d requested.

Two days later they came back. Ostaeline remembered Feldspar getting dumped on her desk and furiously insulted by her client—they were convinced she’d carved a “broken” gargoyle and demanded a refund. She refused, with similarly colorful words, and kept Feldspar in the shop, confident that someone would adopt it.

That was years ago. Nobody had.

An anxious clatter snapped her back to the present. Beryl swiped the air with its paw, reaching for her. Ostaeline smiled, smoothing her fingers over its head.

She remembered the days she spent sculpting Beryl, as routine a project as any of her other gargoyles. When it finally woke up, as she added the finishing touches, Ostaeline couldn’t help but feel especially proud of the work she’d done. She was especially surprised when Beryl refused to leave her side, attempting to follow her out of the shop so many times she gave up trying to stop it. She set the gemstones in its collar the same night she adopted it, a gift for Beryl, and for herself.

“Nothing’s guaranteed, eh?” she mused, talking more to herself. “This thing could go any way at all.”

Sculpting gargoyles, as rewarding as she found the work, was truly an art without an answer. Nobody knew how this stone was able to breathe life into statues, or why it was only one type of stone. History had long since forgotten how gargoyles came to be before there were those around to carve them—if they existed at all before some ancient creature took up hammer and chisel.

There were plenty of theories: that gargoyles were blessings from the gods, they were curses from those same gods, that they were simply magical wisps finding a magic-porous stone to inhabit, or that the compound sediment of this particular rock was susceptible to magical transformation. Ostaeline never paid them any mind—what mattered was that gargoyles could exist, and she would be the finest sculptor her statues could have ever asked for.

She looked back at the unfinished brick that would soon become Myril’s gargoyle. Often, she wondered if the life inside the stone could hear her voice, feel her hands, maybe even see her chisel working to break it free. Ostaeline would be the finest sculptor it ever knew—the only sculptor, frankly—but what happened when the sculptor’s job was over? Were gargoyles born knowing companionship, or was it something taught to them?

Ostaeline scooped Beryl into her arms. She sat down on the floor next to the unfinished sculpture and placed her palm flat to the stone. Breathing deeply, she tried to reach that mysterious spark of life inside the rock. The potential for more.

“Just between us,” she told it, “there’s someone out there who’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

The rock didn’t reply. Beryl clambered over her arm and mirrored her pose, pressing a curious paw flat against the cool surface. Ostaeline chuckled, scratching behind its wings.

“I’d be excited too, if I were you,” she added. “If Myril is anything like me, I know for a fact you’ll be pampered to death. Beloved more than any diamond. More precious than any amount of gold. And if you’re anything like Beryl, you’ll bring them more joy than you’ll ever understand. That’s what being a companion is all about, after all.” She cradled Beryl’s stone head in her palm. “It’s about taking care of someone, and letting them care for you back.”

Beryl made a sound like stones scraping together, nuzzling into her hand. She smiled down at her lap, but she let her mind wander a little farther.

“It’s not all perfect. Maybe you don’t fit into someone’s house. Maybe you get a chip in your wing, or a crack on your face that people would rather scream about than actually try to fix. Or maybe they gave you that crack themselves. Maybe…” She swallowed thickly, unsure who she was keeping her composure for. “Maybe you feel like giving up on care. Companionship. All that. But there’s always someone out there who wants to care about you. All you have to do is let them.”

Her voice broke and a few stray tears slipped into her braided beard. Beryl turned away from the stone entirely, anxiously trying to climb her shirt. Ostaeline let the rest of her emotions burst out in a laugh instead, plucking Beryl off and setting it on the floor.

“Anyway,” she finished, “keep your mind open to being someone’s buddy while you’re in there.” With a grunt, she pushed up to her feet and swiped her abandoned tools off the floor. “We’ve got a lot of work to do in the meantime.”

Ostaeline went back to work as if she’d never stopped, focus renewed, and more determined than ever to complete this project.

A month later, Ostaeline was finally satisfied.

She called Myril the morning after she completed their commission, and they promised to arrive to pick it up that same afternoon. A few rushed preparations later, Ostaeline managed to clean up her workshop and move the gargoyle to the front of the main shop with the help of an enchanted hovering dolly. It sat proudly at the front counter, a testament to her efforts.

An elegant beak extended from its bowed head, the lion’s mane flowing with an expertly sculpted mane. The dual set of wings were tricky to place, but she managed to place them almost on top of each other—the dragon wings raised to the sky, and the bat wings at a lower angle underneath. Its dragon body had individually engraved scales, from the neck down to the tail, curled around the plinth as requested. The flower-engraved plinth itself was some of her finest detail work in years, if she could say so herself. And finally, the gemstones: brilliant opals set into the head, chest, and front legs. All things considered, the gargoyle was perfect.

Except it hadn’t woken up yet.

Ostaeline inspected the gargoyle one last time and hoped she didn’t look nervous. She had carved gargoyles that slept through their first night alive, but they were always awake the next morning. This one hadn’t so much as blinked since she put the finishing touches on the plinth. She knew it was alive—she’d stake her career on it—but it was sleeping for an abnormally long time. Like it was damaged, or shy, or… something.

“What do you think, Beryl?” she asked. Beryl was too busy chasing a bug around the counter to respond.

Behind her, the welcome bell jingled, and the shop door swung open. Myril bustled in dressed to impressed, somehow wearing an even more extravagant outfit than the one Ostaeline had met them in. They had the stony facial expression of someone trying very hard to hold themself together.

“Right on time,” Ostaeline greeted. Beryl abandoned the chase to crawl forward curiously.

“It’s ready?” they blurted, letting the mask slip a tad.

She stepped aside, presenting it with one hand. “See for yourself.”

The cool façade completely melted. Myril rushed to the gargoyle and dropped to their knees in front of it. They reached a shaky hand out, unsure. “C-can I?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Ostaeline said, and they snapped up straight. She couldn’t help a smile. “I was just going to warn you it’s sleeping. The best way to wake a gargoyle up is with a treat.”

They nodded seriously. “Of course. I—I’m afraid I don’t have anything.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Ostaeline produced a handful of colorful landscaping pebbles from her pocket. Myril held out their cupped hands for the offered treat, eyes wide and reverent.

“Just hold them out like this,” she said, guiding their hands under the gargoyle’s beak. “It might take a minute for it to recognize the smell, but—”

She cut herself off as the gargoyle stirred. The dragon paws shifted on the plinth, blank stone eyes blinked for the first time. It stretched both sets of its wings and folded them onto its back. It was alive. Myril appeared to have stopped breathing.

It looked at the pebbles in their hand, head tilted. It lowered its beak, pulling back at the click of stone hitting stone. Then, it plucked one out of their hand, and swallowed it. And then another, and another, until it was eating out of Myril’s hand like it had known them all its life—and, Ostaeline supposed, it had. Myril laughed in breathy disbelief, smiling ear to ear.

Ostaeline finally let herself relax, sighing against the counter. “Congratulations,” she said, “on your newest member of the family.” Beryl crawled up its perch and clattered in agreement.

“Thank you,” they breathed. “Thank you so much, I never—” They choked, eyes shining with happy tears. “I’ve always wanted a gargoyle, but I was never able to convince my parents.”

The gargoyle nuzzled into their hands, now empty of pebbles, and clattered. Myril laughed wetly, petting its stiff mane and the back of its neck. Now that the worst was over, Ostaeline couldn’t help brimming with pride at the work she’d done.

“There’s still one thing left to do,” she said, marching behind the counter.

Myril followed with their eyes, but didn’t move. “What else?”

“I’ve approved your application, obviously.” Ostaeline presented a new form. “Now, you fill out the adoption certificate, so we can make it official.”

“Oh! Right, of course, of course.” They bustled to standing, but had their eyes trained on the gargoyle sitting at their feet.

“Have a name picked out yet?”

Myril beamed at her. “Summerset.”

Ostaeline couldn’t help but return their enthusiasm. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” They looked down at Summerset again, their smile never wavering. “It’s everything I dreamed it would be.”

While Myril filled out the certificate, Ostaeline put together a care sheet for them to take home. It included everything they’d ever need to know about caring for a gargoyle properly, and her shop number, just in case they had any questions. She went over it briefly after the adoption was certified, but she could tell Myril was only half listening. Summerset had every ounce of their attention—and Ostaeline couldn’t blame them.

After another round of profuse thank-yous, Myril left with the plinth under their arm, and Summerset following at their heels. Ostaeline stared out the door, arms folded behind the counter, for a long few minutes after they’d gone.

Was her pep talk all that Summerset needed for this to go well? Was it all useless, and it was always meant to be this way? Could Ostaeline have changed its mind at all, knowing how much she didn’t know about how gargoyles thought?

“I guess it’s another mystery,” she said, looking up at Beryl. “But I did a pretty damn good job, don’t you think?” Beryl stared blankly at her. Close enough.

Ostaeline patted herself on the back for a job well done, and meant to retreat back into her workshop, to continue one of her dozen unfinished projects… but there was something else on her mind.

Instead, she shuffled up her stepladder and grabbed Feldspar off its shelf. It rattled and snapped at her, of course, but she didn’t let go. She tucked it against her chest and carried it away.

“Come on, you little stinker,” she told it. “Let’s see if we can’t fix that wing of yours.”

-

Tales from Athendrolyn Taglist: @foxys-fantasy-tales @auroblaze @thelaughingstag @auntdarth @damageinkorporated

Events Taglist: @foxys-fantasy-tales @thelaughingstag @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated

@srjacksin @wyked-ao3 @alesseia

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[amethystarrows]

@oceansfirst

bail me out // all time low ft. joel madden

[amethystarrows]

@warlockisaslur asked: [ carry ] after receiver falls asleep in an inconvenient place, sender carries them to a bed and tucks them in (here / a)

Did she intend to fall asleep on the way back to her apartment after such a long day of chasing after would-be villains and stopping them from their antics? No. Not really. Still, Kate was exhausted (it might have had something to do with her staying up all night, but she'd never admit it). She likely would've fallen flat on her face if not for Billy being there with her to catch her.

She's out before she can even register she didn't faceplant, that her companion has her off her feet with a bit of work to make sure her quiver isn't causing discomfort while she rests. A bit of magic later and they're back to safety and the best dog anyone could ask for. Lucky's nose twitches for a moment, his head lifting with a soft sway of his tail. They're both relatively unhurt, and he's glad to see that.

He follows Billy as he carries Kate to her bedroom, helping him get her gear in the place they knew she liked to keep it before hopping onto the bed, curling up beside her after the blanket was securely around her.

Eyes barely cracked open, a small smile is on her lips. "... Thanks, little brother."

[fuck-customers]

Huh. It worked.

So, I'm unbelievably burnt out at my job but I guess a tiny part of me either still cares like 1% or is OCD because there are certain things that drive me absolutely up the wall and I really, really want them changed/fixed. But each time I bring up suggestions to my managers, they swiftly ignore me.

Just to be clear, the suggestions are "hey maybe we should have price tags on the products that we're selling in the store. I'm willing to take the time to tag things if you could provide me with the machine that prints the tags. Customers complain to me every shift about our products not having visible prices." Or "hey whatever happened to the price scanners? We used to have them on the main aisles and then one day they disappeared. They weren't malfunctioning before that. And if they were, why weren't they replaced? It's been years. Customers hate having to track one of us down to price check something." Or "hey our online inventory is completely inaccurate and it makes finding products difficult for us and customers. Is there any way to fix this? Can we employees be doing something?"

Of course I get brushed off or told some vague bullshit like "oh corporate made the decision" "it's up to corporate" with no further explanation.

HOWEVER.

I realized my manager was paying attention to some reviews because she had us change some things based on some survey. Like greetings. I figured out that we had receipt surveys. (we have never been required to push these and only management can read them, so there was no reason I would know about them before this) I tested out ny theory by artificially tanking our greeting ratings and my manager almost immediately was on us to greet every customer. I realized I could use this to my advantage and make complaints/constructive criticism as "the customer" (nothing obvious that would come back to me. I'm not stupid. It's not like I'm leaving reviews that say "give OP a raise! They're the best!" I'm not that stupid)

And you know what? It's slowly working. I had heard many customers complaining about the lack of price tags, so some "customers" complained about them in the reviews and a few weeks later, my manager was tagging everything in the queue line. I'm currently still working on getting the entire store properly tagged and getting the godawful music they play on the radio changed. (Ok fine, that one's for me, I can't stand that garbage, specifically Lovefool by The Cardigans. It's a mediocre song on its own, but I am not exaggerating when I say it plays at minimum twice an hour- I counted) But it's fucking working. No one is more shocked than me. Because my main motivation when starting this little project was to prevent myself from completely losing my mind and also screaming some of the things I hated about the store into the void and would you fucking know it? The void is responsive.

HEY! I like that song. I know Malwart got rid of the price scanners around the store to force customers to download the app. And are even making some self checkouts pay to use by making them only available to Malwart+ subscribers.

-Rodney

[tenaciouschronicler]

December 5 2024 2009

I think I've stated many times how much I love when we get 180 switches in the narrative.

Here John is trying to reconcile the fact maybe his dad isn't what he imagined.

Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell you the truth? Or maybe it was just that you'd never bothered to ask?

But why would you, John, if your dad never gave you indication otherwise? And like @homestuckreplay said, none of this 100% discounts the fact he Could still be a clown, just a non conventional one.

And then we switch to Dad causing chaos of the highest caliber. Breaking out of his cell and tossing safes around like its nothing.

You're going to need a bigger safe.

We then meet two new characters.

The first looks a lot like Spades Slick from the Midnight Crew, ARCHAGENT JACK NOIR, overseer of the Dark Kingdoms affairs from his three FENESTRATED WALLS.

However, much to your utter contempt, your FOURTH WALL was stolen some time ago.

Loving the meta implication here that the wall missing is the one we are looking through. And the owner? From the hands typing commands that affect the story, Ive got a hunch this unknown figure is the Narrator. I know I've said before that the Narrator is probably a seperate character, but seeing it this way where they Are in the story but also controlling it is interesting. I wonder if we will get even more meta moments with the characters this Narrator.

Back to Jack Noir, even if he is for evil there is one aspect in which he can commiserate with John (and WV now that I think about it); the colorful new harlequin uniform mandated by his ruler is a hideous, loathsome monstrocity. I wonder what came first, the dislike of harlequins or the uniform change?

There seems to be levels of sentience/subservience to the denizens of this kingdon that might also be reflected in the one of Light. If we work off of the chess metaphor, the imps we see around Johns house would be equal to pawns. They dont show any emotions for or against the style choices of their ruler and are single mindedly focused on destruction.

Jack and this fella, who looks like Hearts Boxcars, are drawn different. If you look closely, they also seem to have that barcode WV and PM have. I'd like to say that makes the four, Jack, PM, WV, and this guy, minor pieces however I cant even begin to think of which ones specifically. But also, does that make PM and WV defectors and was that before or after the costume change?

Things just aren't going well for Jack, first his Monarch (who must be Huge if only their eyes/hand are visible at a time) interrupts to force hat wearing compliance. Then, once the screen flips back we find Dad just walloping on that minion of Jacks'.

While Jack prepares for however hes gonna handle Dad, we go back to John. Snooping around, he finds some more gifts. Seems we are returning to sylladex shenanagins: John Edition.

Inside John finds 12 cards and a new modus, Array, which is infinitely easier, letting the user access any card at anytime. But of course this is John, hes not gonna take the easy way, no sir. Using the control deck, he inserts the Stack and Queue modi to access either the top or bottom card. And then to make it more complex he adds the Array, blowing out the dust as any gamer would.

Behold, an array of Queuestacks!

This is just the sort of needless complexity you have come to expect from your INVENTORY MANAGEMENT SYSTEM.

Just as I expected from you John, you maniac.

Inside the smaller box John finds a box of Fruit Gushers which receives a celebratory jig. The larger box is just as great in Johns eyes being a whole suit. I wouldnt peg him as a suit man but who am I to judge.

[amethystarrows]

(sms: hawkeye2) ... yeah. i can. i can ask susan to, if i need to get involved, too (sms: hawkeye2) it's you, clint. it's going to get complicated (sms: hawkeye2) i know you can hear me sighing and shaking my head (sms: hawkeye2) just... keep me in the loop with how things go (sms: hawkeye2) i don't want to have to guess what happens to you

He sighs seeing her texts come in and this was deserved. Clint's pulling another 'Barton' move again. Being a jerk, not telling anyone his trouble, which leads to being way over his head.

[ Contact; Katie B ⸻ Notes; Better Hawkeye ]

[ sent ] ⸻can you watch lucky?

[ sent ] ⸻ i'll still be in the city unless

[ sent ] ⸻ stuff gets complicated

[ sent ] ⸻ for the record i did not make a deal with a mobster

[ sent ] ⸻ said mobster thinks i does

[ sent ] ⸻ cause i cut him out of a plan he suggested

[homestuckreplay]

Turning Lead Into Gold Into A Rocket Pack

(page 615-626)

9/9/2009 Wheel Spin: Character Switch Verdict: John Turns Into Problem Sleuth

9/10/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: Parent Kidnapped By Imps :( :( :(

There’s a fucking ROCKET PACK in this game. A blasting off, cool flame decals, doing loops around the moon rocket pack. This is an absolute game changer (if Rose and John can get it working) cause it’s kinda hard to be stuck at home when you have one of those bad boys.

But before that, John makes a sweet fort! It’s pretty good structurally, and mirrors Dave making a fort nine pages earlier (less good, but in fairness, he didn’t have sheets or dowels to work with). I remember that characters making forts and disappearing into their imaginations was a recurring feature in Problem Sleuth. It’s sweet that John and Dave are doing this at almost the same moment without consulting each other, both sharing a similar childlike whimsy while so far apart.

Not so for Rose Lalonde, who has abandoned all silliness and fun that allowed her to wear a W as a mustache, who destroys John’s fort and throws his whole dresser into the void. How’s he gonna get clean socks now?? I get that she’s in a scary situation and is trying to take control any way she can, but this disregard for John’s few possessions has gotta stop. I noticed recently that his magic chest is STILL on the roof. And it’s not like his situation is much better than hers – I say that if John wants to take a moment to enjoy a fort break, he’s earned it.

Following the fort interlude, John carves totems from a bunch of cruxite dowels. The different shapes of the totems are really fun to look at, and remind me a lot of vinyl records, with their various bumps and notches etched into the record’s groove that then turn into music when a needle (or in the alchemiter’s case, a laser) moves over it. It’s also notable that the totem that eventually becomes the rocket pack has the most mass removed from it, possibly because it has to code for four items instead of just one.

And with that, we FINALLY get started on punch card alchemy! It’s real, Rose was right when she hypothesized this back on p.157 (!!) and the possibilities are insane. The process functions very similarly to the apple from the pre-punched card – use the card on the totem lathe to carve a cruxite dowel unique to that punch code, then use the alchemiter to ‘read’ the totem with its laser and spend the required grist to create the corresponding item. When the holes are punched into a card containing the corresponding item, this object immediately shows up in the Atheneum (p.189, 620) – which is a benefit of punching the ‘right’ card, as even though you lose the original item, you get the cost information up front. When punching a card with a code for something it doesn’t contain, it’s entered as a question mark, and the grist needs to be expended to see the item.

One difference to the pre-punched card is that these codes/totems only contain the item itself, not its precursor. The apple grew from a tree with us seeing its whole creation, suggesting that the pre-punched card had extra information in its code, for an apple + tree combination. Speaking of which, I wonder if John still has the pre-punched card’s totem. It doesn’t appear in the Atheneum, so I wonder what would happen if he tried to use it again.

Rose creates a bunch of new captchalogue cards, ending the reign of the two-card sylladex (inventory of dumbasses) and pioneering the brand new two hundred card syladex (inventory of a different kind of dumbass if you’re using stack or queue). She makes a hammer and then a bouncing Slimer pogo ride, and as soon as the pogo appears, a couple imps jump up to the platform and one bounces off with it. I love this moment. The imps’ sense of harlequin mischief simply cannot be overcome.

Back to the most important thing here, the ROCKET PACK. It’s sadly inoperable, due to containing a violin (something we’ve seen in Rose’s room), a cinderblock (something that’s all over Dave’s house) and a flowerpot (something that fits pretty neatly with gardenGnostic’s chumhandle). So, a new theory: Sburb has somehow pre-indexed the houses of people who will play the game. Beta testers had to provide an address to send the discs to, so Skaianet knows which houses might play. GG has been signed up as a beta tester without their knowledge, either by a family member, or possibly by Rose.

In Sburb, the base items that can be created via alchemy are limited to 1. all items contained within players’ homes, and 2. Sburb-critical items pre-programmed by the game that will prove necessary for gameplay. These include the pre-punched card and the rocket pack – given John’s precarious location, it makes sense that flying would be a game mechanic. These Sburb-critical items probably have pre-punched cards of their own as unlockable rewards, or their codes can be learned from solving in-game puzzles.

We've only seen a few captchalogue codes so far, but they've all been alphanumeric, allowing both upper and lower case letters. While it's possible that future codes could include special characters or even wild card characters, the total number of 8-digit codes (from a set of 62 characters, order matters, characters can repeat) is over 218 trillion - specifically, 218,340,105,584,896. That's a LOT of possibilities.

From the base items, codes can be mixed in various combinations. This is where the creative aspect comes in. Some of these will be useless – like the rocket pack jammed with unrelated debris – but some will improve on their components and make something really cool. For example, John could combine a hammer with a piano and make a beautiful blunt weapon that plays Showtime whenever it bonks an imp on the head. That’s the dream.

[amethystarrows]

@danversiism sent: ∗ 22﹕ a  text  regarding  clint . (here / a)

(sms: captain badass) Just out of curiosity- completely hypothetical- what would you do if someone without your durability took a hit that would probably break their collarbone? (sms: captain badass) I mean besides try to tell them to go to the hospital. Because that's obviously the first move, and the one I'd make right away. (sms: captain badass -> five minutes later) Okay it wasn't hypothetical, it's because Clint did it and he's being a stubborn ass. (sms: captain badass) And I'm hoping he'll listen to someone who isn't me. He isn't listening to me. (sms: captain badass) I'd drag him if I had the strength. Unfortunately, I can only lift so much dead weight. (sms: captain badass) By the way, how's Chewie?