wandaluvstacos

[wandaluvstacos]

today i sprained my foot in the worse way possible. i slipped on a yugioh card in my room (a bunch actually since i was sorting them). this is it. yugioh will be the death of me

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SEASON OF BLOSSOMS

CHAPTER 19 IS UP! ($5 TIER)

Genre: Fantasy Romance Rating: 18+ Elevator Pitch: Bridgerton, but gay and with tieflings. Check out this story’s art under the tag Season of Blossoms

Includes: Mxm, fxf, and nbxm romance, sibling rivalries, romantic drama, fun sexy hijinks all around. This one’s lighter than most of the stuff I write, lol. There is a scene that takes place after an attempted suicide, but I think that’s the only thing that needs to be warned for.

In the nation of Tithly, it is custom that those of marriageable age travel to the city of Philsia for the yearly Season of Blossoms– four summer months of parties meant to provide youth the opportunity to find their spouse. This year will be the first year that all three of the Tsylgahra siblings attend: Mithleem, Anli, and Lisanth.

Three years after his wife’s tragic death, Mithleem has finally decided that he’s ready to start his search for someone new. As one of the top people in his class at the Academy and a successful doctor during his time in the army, he’s a household name and a hot commodity at parties, including one thrown by Tithly’s most renowned painter. There Mithleem is called to the bedside of the painter’s equally famous spouse, Ysaika Talorilau, and it may take someone of Mithleem’s skill to save their life.

Anli’s been to Philsia three times for the Season, but she hasn’t had much luck. This time she meets a young man above her station who shows interest, and despite her misgivings, she’s willing to give him a shot, even if the family’s new steward, Thyla Daschanhildi is quite insistent that Anli deserves better. Anli’s not sure about that, but she knows that Thyla’s only ever been supportive and loyal, sometimes to such a degree that Anli wonders if there’s more to it.

As the youngest Tsylgahra and wild child of the family, Lisanth is interested in racing horses, starting squabbles in the local tavern, and worrying his parents on the nights he doesn’t come home. However, he knows he can’t put off Philsia forever, and at the insistence of his mother, Lisanth grudgingly makes the journey with his siblings to the City in the Sky. There he meets a stranger who wields charm with just a hint of danger. Only later does Lisanth come to realize that the stranger is in fact a prince– Prince Jafkar A’nesh to be exact.

EXCERPT:

         “You can’t live the rest of your life being controlled like this. I mean for the sake of the spirits and their sages, you tried to toss yourself out a window.”

            “You said that was the rotting rune.”

            “It very likely has a part to play, but this whole business with your husband is unacceptable. Surely you must know that.”

            “I suppose.” Ysaika had started to wonder if it was normal, on account of having no one around to say otherwise. No one had questioned Garitt’s behavior for years now—not the pamphlets, not the staff, not any of Garitt’s friends. Ysaika wondered if it was a flaw with them, an inability to be happy with all the gifts life had given them. “In his defense, there are a lot of people who wish me ill due to what the pamphlets write, and considering how many Phyldatheans I’ve offended, having protection is likely important.”

            “Don’t defend him.” Mithleem grabbed Ysaika’s arm, so Ysaika turned, catching his black eyes with their own. “You know it’s mad. You must.”

            “He worries about me. Is that not how a husband feels for a spouse?”

            “I’ve been married. I certainly did not hire a manservant to follow around my wife all day! Whatever she did was her concern and hers alone.”

            “But your wife was not famous.”

            “Why do you defend him?”

            “Because what else am I to do?” Ysaika blurted, tears rising now. “I am in an impossible situation! I have no friends, no family, no allies, no money. All I have is him. So I must seek sense where there is none just to keep from losing my mind.” They lifted a hand to their mouth to hide the sucking sob that broke through. They did not want to lose themself in front of this man they barely knew, but after the compounding agony from Mithleem’s work on the rune and all that had happened in the past half hour, Ysaika’s state had worn through the last thread on their tether. It all felt so terrible and hopeless, and the temptation to throw themself from the cab and let it run over them was significant enough to be concerning.

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[wandaluvstacos]

this isn’t the first time the DHS has tweeted literal nazi propaganda but uuuhhhh I feel like things are going to get Very Bad unless we do something. about the nazis. who are running the US government

[wandaluvstacos]

Chapter 14 is up!

Mikayel Simonian was a fledgling vampire once, though he doesn’t remember how he was turned. What he does remember is waking up in the year of 1986 to a group of magical misfits with the ability to cure vampirism—with exceptions, of course. Their history as fledglings themselves combined with the power of their magic enables them to do what no normal human can: hunt vampires. Over forty years, Mikayel has brought an end to more fledglings than he can count, and even a few full-fledged vampires. He’s seen most things. What he’s never seen before is a vampire deliberately seeking his coven out with a new fledgling in tow to beg them for a cure. Because a cure for the fledgling would mean turning her into a vampire hunter. But this handsome and unusually principled vampire named Eric Krüger seems insistent, so Mikayel and his team agree to try.

People have started dying on Mikayel’s home turf, and new fledglings are the cause. Whoever is controlling them is wily and secretive, and neither Mikayel nor his fellow hunters can track the fledglings down once they vanish into the night. It may require the help of a foe. Erich claims to know the vampire villain and has insight into what he has planned. But no one has ever teamed up with another vampire to hunt a vampire—Mikayel may be the only one crazy and desperate enough to try. 

Contains: mxm with some light fxm, blood (obvs lol), gore, murder, sex scenes, slow burn romance, some nazi shit (bigotry, homophobic/transphobic slurs, etc)

Genre: Horror/romance/thriller

Rating: 18+

EXCERPT:

          Mikayel turned to grab one of the towel’s Eric had bloodied, putting his neck wound right in Erich’s line of vision. It was already starting to stitch itself up, but it was still open and throbbing, and Erich caught a strong waft of the blood from within: deep, rich, pulsing with magic. Erich’s mouth itched as he forced his fangs back. Figures the moment he’d feel that touch of human connection his instincts reminded him of who he really was.  

            “I think that’ll work for now,” Mikayel said, entirely focused on his work and not at all on Erich’s hungry gaze. “How’s it feel?”

            Erich bent his arm and winced. “Not great, but better.”

            “I’ll need you to tell me exactly what happened, but I don’t think you should do it until Trogon’s back.”

            Erich nodded, swallowing, trying to avoid looking at Mikayel’s neck.

            “Also, you need clothes. I’ll go grab something from your room. Just sit on the toilet and wait.”

            Mikayel strode out of the bathroom, providing some relief for Erich’s yearning thirst. Erich would have liked to see what he looked like in the mirror, but all that looked back at him was a warped shadow, like trying to peer through wavy glass. He’d mostly forgotten what he looked like, even as he made pains to keep himself looking presentable. It was easier to blend in and lure in victims if he was well groomed, even with his compelling abilities. He still remembered hands whisking away cat hairs from his shoulders and the crinkled-eye smile saying you’re so handsome in black.  

            Emotional pain was worse than that currently throbbing up and down his side. He shoved the errant memory aside, thrusting it back into the crypt where it belonged. Not right now. Not here.

            Mikayel returned with clothes, one of the few other pairs that Erich owned. After tossing it all on, Erich surrendered the bathroom to Mikayel, who had his own cleaning up he needed to do. Erich turned his head to sniff the sweater, finding a tinge of Mikayel’s scent leftover. Now his own clothes were making him hungry.

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Portrait of a lady, 1835, Auguste-Alexis Canzi

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Update: My Singer 29-4 from 1919 (I am calling her Lil Beastie) is mine and she sews, and all is well. :) My most expensive acquisition for sure, but cheaper than these machines tend to go for. This puts my number of sewing machines at 23 lol. i can stop whenever I want (please send professional help)

i'm bored, so I'm just going to post images of all my sewing machines.

My first machine, purchased new in 2017, a computerized Brother SC6600 that has served me rather well (I finally removed those stickers like a year ago lol)

My next purchase was my now defunct White 463, but she was replaced by my White 8930 (likely built in the 60s), who now lives in my old White's cabinet. I got her for $100 off ebay.

After my 8930, I bought a 1928 Singer 101 for $40 off Facebook Marketplace in hopes I could fix all the rotted wiring. I was told it hadn't been used in at least 3 decades. Thankfully her only issue seemed to be the wiring; she worked great the moment I got her running (I did all the wiring myself, complete with soldering). She still needs her cabinet redone tho.

I got the collector's bug after the 101, so I then purchased a 1950s-era pink Atlas machine. The motor was not running right, so I purchased a new one for her, but other than that, she works great.

Now I was really cooking, so I bought three more machines very close to one another. A 1917 Singer 66 (with red-eye decals, which I have yet to clean up and get running):

A yellow Brother machine to match my pink Atlas:

and then a 1923 Singer 15 with gingerbread/tiffany decals (which I have sort of cleaned up but still need to get running and cleaned up more):

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"The Protector", a mother centipede pendant designed and glass blown by Jessica Tsai

[wandaluvstacos]

i just can't convey the frustration and sorrow that it's been to grow up at first without the internet and then watching it bloom into this useful, fun, connecting force you sometimes spent time on, only for it to degrade into this constant oppressive waste of time and energy where people are constantly pumping out algorithmically designed content for max algorithmic appeal and even the most simple search generates either no results or an infinite abyss of ai generated slop none of which is usable or correct. we briefly had a library of alexandria and then fed it into a paper shredder so advertisers could sell a random mash of pulp back to us at a premium.

[wandaluvstacos]

1959

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oh mer gahd, she sews! She ain't fast but she gets the job done.

behold my lil beastie (last photo is after a very basic clean-up): a Singer 29-4, commissioned in 1919. Don't have the parts I need atm to know if it works, but it spins as it should. This was used by cobblers, as you can fit a boot around the bed, and the walking foot rotates 180 degrees so that you can sew different directions without needing to turn the boot. You can buy cheap replicas of this machine today, so it is well loved and well regarded.

[wandaluvstacos]

BRIGHT DAY BLUE DAY

CHAPTER 50 IS NOW UP

In the city of Yukiktrum, the hierarchy is clear even when the laws are not: Alphrim rule, betsra serve, and ometki bear young. Claiming a part of the city is easy, but keeping your territory is not, so Alprhim like Chramkut govern with talon and tooth. Maintaining power means control access to ometki, and by selling access to both them and their eggs, Chramkut has turned Themself into a ruthless and wealthy warlord.

Untkra once served as Chramkut’s prime ometki, but that time has passed, and Untkra has been replaced by someone younger. After one failed escape, it was only Untkra’s history with Chramkut that saved them from execution. Untkra knows that getting caught trying again will get them executed, but Unktra is willing to sacrifice everything if it means leaving the conflict-ridden city of Yukiktrum behind. This time, Chramkut’s prime laden ometki wants out, and they’ve begged for Untkra’s help. Untkra is done bearing offspring Untkra will never meet. It’s this way or death.

However, the desert landscape beyond the walls of Yukiktrum is hostile and unknown, and there’s no guarantee that there’s anything out there worth escaping to. What Untkra may not be ready for is what hope lays beyond the dunes, and the redemption that a new home can offer. Yet when another ometki needs saving, Yukiktrum calls Untkra back in what could be Untkra’s most daring rescue yet. 

Genre: Sci-Fi

Rating: 18+

T/W: This story is dark in nature, and while nothing explicit is ever shown, there are repeated references to rape (including underage), sexual slavery, and I suppose what equates to child trafficking (is selling eggs considered child trafficking?). There is also violence, murder, drug use, and prejudice/bigotry. This story also contains the trappings of a/b/o. It’s not so closely married to the trope as most a/b/o fics, but it is quite obviously based on it. 

Excerpt:

            “We put together some kind of mobile incubator so I could show them to you!” Untkra exclaimed with a giddiness Akche had not seen in them very often. They rushed from the room, then returned pulling the handle of a small wagon used for hauling supplies through the complex. On top of it was a see-through plastic box filled with numerous blankets, and within that Akche could pick out orb-like shapes.

            “We filled the bottom with hot water bottles,” Tuktishikam explained, as if Akche cared about how they’d put the thing together. “It’ll be toasty in there long enough for a visit. Besides, they evolved to withstand short periods away from body heat.”

            Untkra wheeled the wagon over, unpinned the lid from the box, and dove their hands inside. They extracted an egg from within, then gently handed it to Akche. Akche had only held an egg once before, and it was no less awe-inspiring now than it had been then. Of course, back in Yukiktrum, its very presence had put Akche in danger. Now Akche was looking at an egg of their creation, one that came from no force or secrecy or investment, and Akche was at a total loss of how to feel about it. Ten minutes ago they’d been told their colleagues were dead. Now they were staring at the fragile, slightly translucent shells of their own children. It was a lot.

            Maybe something on Akche’s face made this conflict apparent, because Tuktishikam said, “I’ll give you two a moment. Call me if you need me.”

            Akche didn’t even notice their departure. They folded both palms around the egg, pressing their thumbs to the shell like they might the flowers of a petal. Beside them, Untkra shifted up onto the side of the bed, pressing their arm into Akche’s before nestling their face into the gap of Akche’s neck. Akche swallowed several times, unable to speak. Flashes of memory came to them—plucking pieces of shell off a warm and goopy head, huge gray eyes blinking up at them in shock, tiny fingers wrapping around one of theirs, the hiccup that came before a cry, a smile, a laugh, an embrace, a sigh against the crook of their arm as they nodded off to sleep.

            Don’t think about it. That part of your life is gone and you’ll never get it back. It hurts too much to remember. Just put it away, just like you did all those Plithmik soldiers you watched die. Put it on a high shelf. Make it impossible to reach. If you touch it, all this work of keeping it there will be wasted.

But Akche had tapped that box, and the box toppled, and now Akche was awash with all of it, every bit of grief at losing something they’d so desperately loved, mixed together with the joy of being gifted something new. What grew from that soil was love—and guilt, so much guilt that Akche didn’t know where to put it all.

            “Akche?” Untkra’s hand smoothed down over Akche’s temple and cheek, sounding concerned. “It’s okay.”

            Akche was chirping, deep and stomach-sucking klaptchrik chirps they hadn’t chirped in years. They hadn’t even realized until the rattling of their spine drew shots of pain up and down their torso, but they couldn’t stop it. They lifted the egg to their mouth and kissed it between chirps, biting back the words I’m sorry, I’m so sorry because even now they couldn’t say it aloud.

            When Akche settled the egg back into their lap, Untkra gathered Akche’s shoulders up in both arms and let Akche bury their face into their neck. It hurt, but Akche wrapped one arm around them and held them there, burrowing in like a frightened child did with their bet-itlapt.

            “I’m sorry,” Akche whispered, finally able to say the words, even if they were to the wrong abotskrut. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

            Untkra didn’t respond, only smoothed hands down Akche’s feathers and kissed their forehead. Akche had expected bafflement or suspicion to Akche’s reaction, but Untkra seemed to understand—at least for now. They didn’t know the truth. Wouldn’t know the truth. Because if Akche told them, Akche knew Untkra would be angry. They’d demand answers, answers Akche didn’t have. Why? they’d ask, and Akche wouldn’t know what to say. They’d been asking the same thing for the past ten years. Best to just accept failure and move on and pretend that this was the first egg Akche had ever cradled in their palms.

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in World War 1 around 8 million horses died but in World War 2 it was under a million which can only mean horses started to evolve bullet resistance

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POV: it's 2004, you wake up at 3am to this commercial blasting from the TV

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Dress

c. 1853-1857

American

Kent State University Museum