#The Walking Dead Newsletter

[ratwavegamehouse]

This months newsletter is out and has previews of upcoming projects.

Also on the fly managed the best pitch for Godslingers so far.

In Godslingers you hold the power of a long dead god in your hands. This power will gradually change you and one day destroy you. You could put it down and walk away at any moment. But you haven’t. You still hold on. This a game about answering why you do that.

[ganymede-princess]

Midnight At Noonday | Dead Poets

PART 2 | PART 3

ship: Surprise! x fem!OC

warnings: none... yet (muahahaha)

summary: Clare Keating is given the opportunity to attend the prestigious all-boy's preparatory school Welton Academy. Boy-mad and in denial, she must navigate friendships, crushes, and academics, all while helping to run the school's underground poets club.

word count: 2949

a/n: Hi guys, this chapter was originally written in third person, but I changed it to first person. I have read through it MANY times to ensure that the pronouns all make sense, and used control F, but it seems that some continue to slip through the cracks. I am very sorry if any mistakes remain after I have posted this notice. (Also this was originally published on AO3!)

written by @ganymede-princess

There would be no flowers for Welton’s first female student. The only welcome I received was a short paragraph at the end of the Welton annual letter including my surname and the promise to any concerned parents that the faculty would not let my presence distract their sons from their studies. I was to keep my head down, study hard, and make no sudden moves, lest I be transferred to Henley Hall, leaving my father behind. I don’t offer you this position lightly, Miss Keating. Mister Nolan’s voice plagued my thoughts. Don’t make me regret where I place my faith. My breath seemed to catch on a thorn in my throat, and I lost my grip on my heavy suitcases that thumped to the floor on either side of me. My vest was scratchy, blouse stiff with too much starch, blazer too thick around the neck and boiling hot, skirt too long, shoes too tight… I thought of my father down at the gates, ‘holding the fort,’ which no doubt meant fighting for my thin claim to a place in the most exclusive boys’ preparatory school in the United States; pleading my case, charming the parents, dying inside.

“That’s the Keating girl!”

The raucous hallway chatter trickled to a whisper as the boys drew in around me.

“Yeah, from the newsletter.”

“You sure?”

“Who else could it be, dummy?”

I tore my eyes from the floor to see dozens of boys stealing glances at me as they passed, and a few outright gawking.

“Doesn’t she look like a barrel o’ laughs?” One of them hissed.

“What does she need two suitcases for?”

“Special treatment.”

I tried to speak, but my teeth were somehow glued together. I tried to walk, but my feet were cast in concrete.

“Hey, get out of the way, would you?” Someone bumped into my back. “You’re taking up the whole hallway!” 

I turned, arms stiff and mouth dry to see a frowning young man with a froggish mouth and a face full of orange freckles. I tried to apologise, but only a thin trickle of air escaped my throat.

“Oh, you’re Keating’s daughter! Hi, how ya going? I’m Richard Cameron.” His hand shot up to smooth his auburn flat top. He paused, eyebrows raised for an answer. “Oookaaay.” He looked at me like I was crazy, and I feared he might be right. “You really oughta move, you’re gonna get trampled.”

“Clare.” I whispered to his back as it disappeared into the crowd. “My name’s Clare.”

Regaining my voice lent me a small burst of energy, just enough to pick my cases back up and hobble a few more steps down the hall. My arms burned with the effort and my lungs seemed far too small. I gritted my teeth and closed my mind to the hushed gossiping happening right in front of me. Just a few more steps, surely my room would be just around this bend. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The hallway led to yet another hallway. Surely I should just sit down and die of heatstroke, right? I'll just leave my spirit here, cursed to eternally wander this academic desert...

“...the Keating girl…” Over the ruckus I heard a fragment of the Cameron boy’s voice. “Well… pretty enough… idiot savant or something!”

My stomach turned over. What was wrong with me? I strained to remember if I had hit my head some time between breakfast and the welcome ceremony and turned visibly stupid. The humiliation was almost too much to bear, and I felt my knees on the verge of buckling.

“Hey, excuse me?” Just as my heart was about to break, another soft voice spoke up, leaving me no time at all to wallow in self pity. “Would you like some help with your bags?” The voice belonged to another red-head, this time with a kindly, mouse-ish face and big browline glasses. He smiled soothingly when I failed to respond and gestured to my bags. “My friends and I would be happy to help you.”

“Uh-th-” I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. “That’s okay.”

“Hey, they must weigh a ton! We don’t mind, really.” Two more boys appeared at the red-head’s side, the taller one spoke up and took no time to pick up the bag at my left, making a little ‘oof’ sound as he stood up.

“Thank you, y-you really don’t have to.”

“Charlie, help her out would you?” The red-head hit his shorter friend on the arm insistently.

“Is that an order, Meeks?” The friend quirked an eyebrow.

“You wanna fail Latin? No. So pick the bag up. I’m sorry about this.” He addressed me again, placing a solemn hand on his heart. “My name is Steven Meeks, this is Knox Overstreet-”

“Hi, there.” The taller boy took a step forward and nodded. He had the sort of dorky casanova spirit in his hazel eyes and lop-sided smile that was unmissable.

“-and-”

“Charlie.” He sidled up, arranged his face in a smouldering smirk, and offered his hand to shake. “Dalton.”

“It’s very nice to meet all of you.” I was very glad to have my voice back, though I nearly lost it again when Charlie swooped in and kissed the back of my hand. I snatched it away and cast a fearful glance up and down the hallway, thankfully seeing no teachers or hall monitors. “You can’t do that! What if somebody saw?”

“What if?” His cocky smile faltered as his eyebrows furrowed.

“They’d transfer me to Henley Hall!”

“Oh.” His face fell.

“Anyway, Miss Keating,” Steven stepped in to put us back on track, calming me with his even temper. “We’re on our way to visit our good friend Neil Perry to organise a study group for this semester. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, sure.” A genuine smile grew on my face, the first since I had arrived at Welton. “I’d really appreciate that, thank you. And please, call me Clare.”

“No problem, Clare.” He put a gentle hand on my shoulder to show me the way, but the moment was brief and clandestine.

“You got a speciality?” Knox grunted as he lugged the suitcase along.

“Knoxious, her father’s the English teacher.” Charlie rolled his eyes, voice tense with effort.

“Well, sure, but maybe she hates English, and that’s why!”

“I-I don’t. I’m happy to cover English, but I can also do History if you need me to.”

“You’re in.” Charlie winked. “But no way are you doing History. That’s mine. I can’t be a total free-loader now, can I?”

“I suppose not.”

We shuffled along the hall until we came to a room mid-way along. Charlie and Knox dropped my bags by the door and the three boys crowded around the doorway, waiting for whoever was inside to notice them. I pushed my thumb into my palm, waiting on the outskirts of the group.

“Rumour has it,” Charlie pointed an accusatory finger into the room. “You did summer school.”

“Yep, chemistry.” I propped myself onto my tiptoes, trying to see over the group. “My father thought I should get ahead. How’s your summer, Slick?”

“Keen.” Charlie took a sauntering step forward, earning half a laugh from Steven. He stepped into the room and tossed over his shoulder, “Meeks, door, closed.”

I took note of Charlie and Meek’s strange dynamic of mutual bossiness, and decided I liked this old married couple. Steven and Knox heaved my cases into the room, sliding one into a free space behind the right side closet and the other beside the desk on the left, while I slipped in quietly and closed the door, feeling much safer with no prying eyes on me. I quickly relieved myself of my blazer and hung it over my arm.

“What’s all this?” The boy with the dark hair- Neil, I supposed- poked one of the cases with his toe.

“Oh, Neil, this is Clare Keating.” Steven spoke up, his hand genially placed on my upper arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” The prettiest boy I had ever seen stooped down and took my hand, shaking it delicately. “I’m Neil Perry.”

“I’m Cl- It’s um, nice to meet you Neil… Perry.” I stumbled, transfixed by two dark eyes under two thick eyebrows, the colour of stained oakwood.

“Aw jeez, here we go.”

“Shut up, Charlie.” Neil said evenly, barely tossing a glance at him. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

He stepped away and stood by the radiator beneath the window, the autumn sun forming a halo on his sooty hair. The room seemed to blur and disappear behind his radiance, like a soft focus photograph. I had never felt embarrassed by a person's beauty until that moment.

“Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?”

“Travesty!” They all chanted, Knox shushing them frantically. “Horror! Decadence! Excrement!”

I found myself giggling at their antics, feeling a swell of gratitude to have found such a kind group of people in such a frightening place. Neil grinned at me as they all found places to sit, sending a current of electricity through my heart. I suddenly found myself with a huge excess of energy, and feeling it would be a bridge too far to sit on a stranger’s bed- there being no seats left- settled for standing at Steven’s side.

“Okay, study group.” Charlie got down to it. “Meeks aced Latin, I didn’t quite flunk History, and Clare here has gotta be an English whizz; so, if you want, we got our study group.”

“Sure. Cameron asked me too.” Neil said, a little reluctantly. “Anyone mind including him?”

I wished I could speak up about overhearing his insult earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself too. Instead, I promised myself I would try to give the boy a second chance, now that I had my voice back.

“What’s his specialty, bootlicking?” Charlie rolled his eyes and sparked a cigarette.

“He’s your roommate.” Neil fired back.

“That’s not my fault.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, my name is Steven Meeks.” Ever the gentlemen, Steven introduced himself to a young man that had gone entirely unnoticed by me. I felt ashamed to have brushed over him so easily, but how could I blame myself under circumstances like these?

“Oh, this is Todd Anderson.” Neil reached over to tap the boy encouragingly on the back. The boys all exchanged handshakes and pleasantries, leaving me as the last.

“I’m Clare Keating.” I shook his hand, feeling it cold and clammy to the touch. “It’s nice to meet you, Todd.”

“Nice to meet you.” He muttered, face red beneath his freckles, and shied away quickly.

“Todd’s brother was Jeffrey Anderson.” Neil stated, as if I should be impressed.

“Oh, yeah sure!” Charlie saved me the embarrassment. “Valedictorian. National Merit scholar.”

I thought of my father, the Welton honours graduate, Cambridge educated, published poet, well-liked by all… Tough shoes to fill.

“Welcome to Hell-ton!” Steven exclaimed.

“It’s every bit as tough as they say,” Charlie said gravely. “Unless you’re a genius, like Meeks.”

“He flatters me. That’s why I help him with Latin.”

“And English, and trig.” Charlie interrupted himself with a cough.

A knock came on the door. All in a second, an Oxford shoe ground out the cigarette and kicked it under Neil’s bed, I disappeared into the wardrobe, stepping onto the suitcase laying at the bottom, and drew the curtain across and held my breath. I had no idea where my sudden instinct for rebellion had risen from, but I was thankful for it when the door creaked open and an authoritative footstep sounded on the floor outside.

“Father,” Neil’s voice cracked. “I thought you’d gone.”

I heard my new friends form a chorus of ‘hello, Mr Perry,’ and scramble to their feet. I held a hand over my mouth to quiet my breathing.

“Keep your seats, fellas, keep your seats.” An older man’s voice said genially. “Neil, I’ve just spoken to Mr Nolan. I think you’re taking too many extracurricular activities this semester, and I’ve decided that you should drop the school annual.”

“But, I’m the assistant editor this year.” My heart nearly broke at the distress in his voice.

“Well, I’m sorry Neil.” Mr Perry’s voice carried a challenging undercurrent.

“But, father, I can’t! It wouldn’t be fair!” Neil’s voice raised frantically.

“Fellas, would you excuse us a moment?”

A silence fell and I held my breath as the pair stepped past my hiding place on the way out. Too terrified to move, I stayed where I was, hearing their argument muffled through the wall. After a few moments, it seemed Neil’s father had departed and the rest of the boys had made their way over to comfort him. I had never been so grateful for my father. Yet, I still failed to move, frozen at the thought that the old ghoul might be staring right at me if I pulled away the curtain. After a few moments, a hesitant hand pulled back the fabric to reveal Neil’s sweet little roommate who seemed so uninterested in making friends.

“Um, h-he’s gone.”

“Thanks, Tom.” I stepped down and gave him a grateful smile. “That was scary, huh?”

“U-um…” Tom went beet-red and wide-eyed, stammering like words were hot food in his mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was this your suitcase? I didn’t mean to step on it, it just sort of happened. I don’t think I broke it.”

“N-no, I…”

“Well, uh, Latin?” Steven and the others stepped back into the room, interrupting us. “Eight o’clock in my room?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Todd, Clare, you’re welcome to join us.” Steven addressed us. My heart sank.

“Yeah, come along guys.” Knox spoke up.

“Thanks.” Todd nodded, eyes still wide.

“Thank you, I’ll be there.” I promised, and as the others filed out, I turned to Todd and grimaced sheepishly. I had my voice back, for sure, and now a torrent of words poured out of me. “Oh, jeez, Todd, I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names, I really am. I really blew it didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

“It-it’s okay.” He nodded, smiled stiffly, and sat down at his desk with his back to me.

“Well, I… I better bounce.” I said to the back of his head. “Um, Neil?” The boy wandered into the room, listless and dejected, but made an effort to brighten his expression when I addressed him. “I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, but, do you think you could show me to the teacher’s wing?”

“Of course.” He bent down to pick up one of my suitcases, groaning when he straightened back up. “Gosh, this is heavy. What do you have in here?”

“It’s books, mostly.” I took the other one and lugged it out of the room. “I can’t do without them.”

“The perks of having a teacher for a father, I suppose.” He said, a wistful tone in his voice. “At least they keep you strong, huh?”

“Hmm.” To my dismay, I could find nothing to say to comfort the boy, or anything to say at all, for that matter. I wished I could just be consistent.

“Hey, smart thinking in there!” Charlie appeared beside us, grinning proudly. “I didn’t pin you for the rebellious type, but you seem to be a natural.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“Here, let me take that for you.” Before I could protest, the suitcase was out of my hands. “Where are we off to?”

“Teacher’s wing.”

“Well, you went completely the wrong way. How did you manage that?” Charlie shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll get you there.”

As we traipsed through the halls, retracing most of my steps, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Neil. My mind raced with verse after verse at the faraway look in his eyes. I felt like Byron, struck by beauty in the moonlight and scrambling to capture the moment like a firefly in a jar of words.

“Neil?” I said softly, surprised for a moment to hear my own voice. “I’m sorry about… the thing, the newspaper.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled sadly, but gratefully. “I still have soccer and… stuff.”

“My father is coaching soccer. We might be on the same team.”

“Maybe.” His smile grew a little more genuine. “You’d better hope you’re not with Charlie. He’s a terror.”

“Is it a crime to want to win?” Charlie retorted.

“You’d think it's a crime not to, the way you carry on.”

“Yeah, yeah. Which room?”

“Three-ten. I think it’s the first one here.”

Sure enough, my room was the first one in the wing, closest to the hallway. I thanked the both of them, laughing as Charlie waggled his eyebrows and bowed with mock reverence on his way. Neil lingered a moment by my door under the pretence of making sure I had everything right and that my key worked.

“I’ll see you at the study group, then.” I leaned up against the doorframe, feeling infinitely lucky to have the privilege of looking at him.

“See you then.” He turned to go, but hesitated. “Hey, Clare? If you need anything, come find one of us. Those guys you met today are some of the most upstanding people at this school. We’ll help you if you’re ever… I don’t know. If you ever need it.”

“Thank you, Neil. I appreciate that.”

With a final nod of acknowledgement, he disappeared, and I ran across the room and tossed myself onto the bed, exhausted, and dreading the task of unpacking the horrible truth: I had fallen right off the deep end and landed squarely in love with Neil Perry.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Thrill of the hunt

Steve Raglan/William Afton x fem!reader

Quick summary: You stumbled inside the famous Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria after playing truth or dare. Turns out you were not alone in there.

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: William Afton is a warning himself, oral fem! receiving, PinV, kind of soft dom William, knife play, smut, 18+.

It all started with a fun round of truth or dare. You picked dare because you didn't thought your friends were so serious about you entering the seemingly abandoned Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria. When they finally gave you the dare to enter, you immediately regretted choosing dare.

You entered the Pizzaria through a vent on the backside, the front entrance has been locked with a chain, but luckily the vent was big enough for you to fit. The last thing you wanted was being stuck in the vent at this creepy place. After reaching the end of the vent, you carefully removed the little protection grid, crawling out and pulling your phone out for light. It looked like you were in a small area near the main area, so you looked around and searched for a way towards the dining area. On your way you stumbled upon newsletter, most of them were about the five missing kids and some about the two owners William Afton and Henry Emily. The entire time you walked you felt nervous, despite knowing the Animatronics here are only robots you still felt like you were not alone.

You arrived at the main dining area, it was covered in dust, everything was thrown around and evidence of some broke ins were visible, but you kept your eyes open for the entrance, eager to leave this place. But just as you were about to leave the dining area, a loud noise made you jump and turn towards the noise - it was a rat jumping out of a nearby shelf. "Fucking rat." you cursed, trying to calm your racing heart. You looked around one last time before your eyes landed on a hallway and you saw something yellow standing there, it was an animatronic, but it's eyes were glowing. "Hello?" you called out carefully "I swear if this is a prank..."

You took a closer look at the Animatronic, it looked like a rabbit with a chipped off ear. As you stepped closer you realized the size of that thing, it was huge!

Suddenly a cruel, mechanical laughter emitted from that thing as it started moving towards you. You instantly backed off against a wall, clenching your hands into fists for defense. "What are you doing here?" the yellow rabbit spoke as it stalked slowly towards you.

"I'm sorry! My friends and I were playing truth or dare and they dared me to sneak in here. I will leave immediately if you want!" You begged, your back pressing against the wall behind you.

The rabbit stopped and tilted it's head "Truth or dare?" it asked. You nodded "Yes. I-I will leave, please I'm so sorry!"

"Truth or dare." The rabbit spoke again, it's tone making it clear it was a demand.

"Dare?..." you answered, knowing a truth would most likely only lead to spending more time in this place. The rabbit reached behind and pulled something out - a kitchen knife, the flashlight on your phone reflected on the sharp blade.

"RUN!" It charged towards you. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest as you dashed out of the way and ran into the hallway behind it. You reached a door and opened it, revealing a small supply room. Looking back, you had no other option than to hide inside this small room. You quickly made use of the boxes, getting into a corner and stacking them infront of you, placing the last one ontop of you and balancing it with your hands.

"Come out you little brat. Where aaaaree youuu?" The rabbit almost sing-sang, it's heavy steps vibrating against the walls.

The steps stopped infront of the door to the room you're in. "Are you in there?" the door creaked open as it peeked inside. You held your breath and clamped a hand over your mouth. You could hear that thing move around, searching through the room for you. Suddenly you heard the yellow rabbit growl and it's steps were closing in on your hiding spot rapidly. Next came a big hand grabbing the box ontop of you to reveal you hidden behind the stack of boxes, the rabbit kicked all the other boxes out of the way and swiftly grabbing you by the neck, lifting you up.

"Found you." you could hear the happiness in it's voice. You struggled to wiggle out of the grip, but it was vice-like. "Please let me go. I already told you I'm sorry. If you let me leave you will never see me again, I promise." you begged, but the rabbit pulled you closer to it's face.

"What do you have to offer if I should let you walk out of here in one piece?" It asked, but since you're so close to it's face, you could feel breath hitting your face. Was there someone inside that suit?

"A-anything you want." You struggled to breath. To your surprise it loosened its grip around your neck and leaned in

"Anything I want, hmm?" It chuckled before it walked out of the room and towards the security office, still lifting you by your neck. Once arrived, it let you down on the table, making you sit down on it. The rabbit stepped back and slowly removed it's mask, there indeed was someone inside, a man with short greying hair and a van dyke beard.

"Stay put. I'll be back, but if you move I will cut you into pieces." The man threatened, pulling out the kitchen knife and pointing it at you to make his point. You nodded as the man walked out of the office. After waiting a couple of minutes, the man returned, but without the suit and wearing a yellow coverall. The man was indeed a giant.

"Turn around and bend over the table." He ordered. You did as he asked, not questioning and bending over the table. "Good girl." He praised and you could hear a zipper being pulled down and heavy steps closing in on you.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, still scared that this man will kill you. He chuckled in response and suddenly you could feel the tip of his kitchen knife on the back of your neck and slowly trailing down your spine, stopping at the hem of your pants as you squirmed at feeling the sharp metal scraping through your shirt.

"You said you'd do anything I want if that meant you getting out of here alive. If you fight me I will slit your pretty little throat open, do we understand eachother?" He threatened. "Yes." you whimpered, getting mentally prepared for whatever this man wanted to do with you.

"My name's William Afton. Maybe you've already heard of me." He said, resting the knife on the table beside you. The next thing you felt were his hands undoing your pants and pulling them off along with your panties, throwing them into a corner. "I'll have my fun with your body, sweetheart." William knelt down behind you, spreading your cheeks, exposing your already wet hole to him.

"Looks like you already know what's coming, hmm?" Without another word, he leaned in, lifting your ass up and latching onto your pussy, swirling his tongue around your hole and sucking. You let out a loud moan, arching your back in response to the sudden pleasure washing over you. William teased your cunt with the tip of his tongue before thrusting it in gently, swirling around inside you and his beard tickling your skin. William's tongue was long, which made you wetter as you felt him licking your cunt clean from inside.

"Oh god." You gasped as you felt your wetness getting slurped up by William. He groaned around you, thrusting his tongue in and out of you, making your eyes rolling back in your head, your moans getting louder and more frequently. But the moment didn't last long before William pulled his tongue back and standing up. "You taste sweet." He hummed, "let's see if you feel as good as you taste."

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your cunt, he was big, you could already tell by the feeling of his thick cockhead slowly entering you. You gasped, making him stop midway to let you adjust to his size and then push inside you fully. "Shit, you're so fucking tight, you're squeezing my cock." William rasped as he slowly started to move. You started to mewl, feeling his big cock stretching you out but enjoying the sensation. "Feels good, huh?" William asked, increasing his pace and hitting all the sweetspots inside you.

You couldn't think straight, the only thing on your mind was getting fucked by a potential sadistic serial killer, but you couldn't deny how good it felt. Your pussy soon tightened around him, signalizing your orgasm "That's it, you're gonna cum for me, huh? You're a nasty little thing, getting fucked by a killer and enjoying it." William chuckled and increased his pace even more, his hips slapping against your ass.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, making you see stars as you gushed around his cock. William came seconds after you, filling you up with his cum. He held himself inside you, you could feel his cock soften inside of you as the two of you calmed down. After that William pulled out, letting his cum drip onto the ground.

"You were such a good fuck. Clean yourself up and get out of here." He squeezed your ass and zipped his coverall back up and left the office to retrieve his suit.

You pulled out tissue from the pocket of your pants and cleaned up and get dressed back into your clothes before making your way towards the vent you entered the building. After crawling out, the cool night breeze hit you, calming down your nerves. You took a deep breath, being grateful for getting out of this place alive.

[formulaforza]

daddy-daughter dance-- d.ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader word count: 770 a/n: just like. who else would I write this about yk?

He’s been talking about it for ages, dreaming about it since you found out you were having a girl. They still do those, right? He’s asked, said his sister went to one every year when she was young. 

They do, still do it, you learned when she was five, and a newsletter came home with her from school advertising it. Baby, look at this, you told him, tapped on the headline in the corner of the page. Father-daughter dance. 

It was a Saturday, and he’d made a whole day out of it. Woke up early, earlier than usual, and made her favorite breakfast, served it to her in bed, woke her up with a soft kiss on the forehead, moving her sweaty hair from her face. 

After breakfast, they go to the spa–get pedicures. Daniel sends you lots of pictures, even more videos of her giggling uncontrollably in the big chair. After much contemplation, she chooses rainbow nails, with rainbow sparkles. A classy decision, Daniel tells her from behind the camera in the video he sent, very smart. 

When they get home she gifts you with two sets of foam toe separators, says they’re for the next time the two of you have a girls night. You thank her, put them in the bin that all of your nail polish is in, and then you start on her hair. 

She has his curls, long and thick and  wild and unruly. They’ve never been easy to tame. You wet them down, soak them with a spray bottle and slowly work through the tangles. “Are you excited to go to the dance with daddy?” You asked her, tugged on her hair and apologized. 

“I’m so excited!” She told you, mirrored your actions on the Barbie doll in her lap. “Me’s and Daddy will has so much fun.”

“You and Daddy will have so much fun.” You nod, re-align the part of her hair. “Daddy is sooo excited, too.”

“Really?” She says, shoots her eyes up to meet your in the mirror. 

You smile at her smile, at the crooked baby teeth and apple cheeks. “Oh, yeah.” You tell her, nod, reach for the curl cream. “The only thing he loves more than dancing is you.”

“You think?” She says, the th- sound horribly enunciated, dull and lispy and adorable. 

“I know.”

– –

Daniel’s in your bedroom, receiving updates from you, in your daughter’s room, via text. She’s wearing purple. You told him three outfit changes ago. Blue. I think we’ve settled on blue. She had not, in fact, settled on the blue dress. Yellow. Yellow, for sure. You finally said, after she looked into the mirror and said she looked like her favorite princess. 

You couldn't’ remember if he had a yellow tie–he has to, you think, you hope, because he is dead-set on matching her and there’s no way you’re going to make her pick a different outfit, no way your sanity can last another trip through her closet. 

She asks if you can put makeup on her, and you can’t imagine Daniel’s reaction to that–his little girl in makeup. You put the tiniest amound of blush on, a dollop of sparkly lipgloss, and run a dry spooly brush through her eyebrows and eyelashes. “Fabuolous!” She declares, spinning around in her dress and her dress-up disney-princess heels. 

She’s waiting on the couch, patiently playing with the tule on the skirt of her dress, picking at the sequins and the sparkles. She’s taken one of your purses hostage, a tiny white baguette bag slung over her shoulder. She put your lipgloss in it–just in case, Mom, she told you. Your lipgloss, and an old phone, sceen cracked and practically unusable, one she uses when her imagination is feeling extravagant. 

Daniel walks through the door with a bouquet of yellow and white flowers in his hand, and two plasti boxes–a white corsage and a matching boutonniere. You pin it on him, and he double wraps the elastic band of the corsage around her wrist so it doesn’t fall off, tells her she looks so lovely, beautiful like always. 

You take a million pictures of them on the front porch before they go, so many they’re both begging to go. We can’t be late, Mom, your daughter told you, huffed and crossed her arms. “Yeah, Mom.” Daniel teases, “We can’t be late.”

“Okay, okay.” You say, snap a couple more pictures, kiss them both goodbye. You watch on from the porch, hand over your heart, smile on your face while he helps her into the car like it’s a chariot, a horse-drawn carriage for a queen.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, August 2nd

DRUSILLA: Do you like daisies? Hmm? I plant them, but they always die. Everything I put in the ground withers and dies.

~~School Hard~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Special Guest by badly_knitted (Drusilla, Angel, T)

To Be Loved by zombiesam (Buffy/Giles, E)

There Are More of Us Than You Think by KnightRanger (OC, Jenny Calendar, Moloch, T)

Getting drunk and frisky with the maid of honor by Kittenwritings (Fred/Willow, T)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Methos' Home for Wayward Youths, Chapter 15 by shadeshifter (Faith, multiple crossovers, T)

Infinitely, Chapter 63 by Laragh (Tara/Willow, M)

Horizon [Part 2], Chapter 8 by broken_hearted_bard (Ensemble, T)

Specific Taste, Chapter 5 (complete!) by Chase_fanfics (Spike/OC, M)

Heartless, Chapter 11 by LSquared1501 (Buffy/Angel, T)

Going Home (to a place we’ve never been before), Chapter 18 by curiouswombat (Buffy, Dawn, Tolkien crossover, T)

hit rewind, Chapter 68 by untiljanuary (Buffy/Spike, M)

Star Trek Voyager : 'I Blame The Vulcan', Chapters 1-3 by BlueZeroZeroOne (Buffy, Star Trek Voyager crossover, T)

I Don't Want to Be the One, Chapter 17 by pommedapi (Buffy/Spike, T)

The Stars to Hold Our Destiny, Chapter 25 by Hermione2be (Buffy, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds crossover, G)

In the Company of Witches and Slayers: Chapter 118 by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer) (Willow/Tara, T)

Recompense, Chapter 9 by Moonkid10 (Buffy/Faith, M)

Immortal Verse, Chapter 5 (complete!) by Shisumo (Buffy, Life is Strange crossover, M)

the face of someone (i don't know), Chapter 3 by guin_ramble, zombiesam (Buffy/Giles, E)

Hungry Like the Wolf, Chapter 3 by fleetfootedfox (Buffy/Giles, E)

Altered Images, Chapter 7 by KnightRanger (Willow, Wesley, Angel, T)

Three Deep, Chapter 6 (complete!) by Barb Cummings (Rahirah), dutchbuffy, Stultiloquentia, Sylviavolk2000 (Ensemble, T)

Where Did We Go Wrong? Chapter 2 by isaacthemedium (Willow, Angel, Giles, Wesley, Faith, not rated)

Reflections of Reality, Chapter 3 by KnightRanger (Willow, T)

Reflections of Reality, Chapter 4 by KnightRanger (Scoobies, T)

Doorways, Chapter 2 by Mirrored_Illusions (Buffy, Stargate-SG1 crossover, G)

Thirty Minutes or Less, Chapter 10 by Geliot99 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Tale as Old as Time, Chapter 11 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Close to Home, Chapter 5 (complete!) by Sigyn (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Birds of a Feather, Chapter 2 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Great Escape from Oz, Chapter 1 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

A weapon of victory, Chapter 13 by fpb (Buffy, Lord of the Rings crossover, FR7)

Buffy’s Spooky Birthday, Chapter 12 (complete!) by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Revelations, Chapter 3 by Niamh (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

I Do! Chapter 34 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: ChiBangel 18 by MamaBewear (Buffy/Angel, worksafe)

Wallpaper: Single Mother by revello-drive-1630 (Buffy in Bad Eggs, worksafe)

Character collages by gamerrat_13 (Tara, Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Buffy, Giles, Spike, Angel, worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy and Giles by gamerrat_13 (worksafe)

Fanvid: Silver Lining | Buffy the Vampire Slayer + Angel by Madison Austin

Fanvid: Willow & Tara - Till Forever Falls Apart by TheOverLookedOne

Fanvid: Willow & Tara - Till Forever Falls Apart by TheOverLookedOne

Fanvid: Buffy Summers - I Can Do It with a Broken Heart by juliaroxs241

Fanvid: Buffy Summers - Dumb Blonde by juliaroxs241

Fanvid: Buffy Summers - Head Above Water by juliaroxs241

Fanvid: Dark willow edit || BTVS || S6 E21-22 by cupcakexmeow

Fanvid: Buffy and Spike // I Want to Live by MemeEST

Fanvid: Spike X Buffy || Right Here MV || [BTVS] S2 - S7 by cupcakexmeow

Fanvid: Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 8 opening (fanmade) by A Pixie's Whisper

Fanvid: Honey We Blew Up The School! - Buffy Season 3 recap by BigBadLlama

Fanvid: Buffy & Spike - Dangerous game by Dancer1991

Fanvid: Buffyverse | Darla - Dead Girl Walking by T

Fanvid: Buffy and Angel - Eternal Flame v1.0 by Vision Dream Media

Vidlet: Buffy and spike - snowman by sia by Naki-a Littlejohn

Vidlet: "You didn't earn it" || BTVS || @Makky_CC by Makkyyyy

Vidlet: Spike edit || by cupcakexmeow

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Revival Season 10 Episode 16: Relics of My Old Life by Buffy the Vampire Slayer Chosen

Animation: Spuffy flames by flootzavut

[Reviews & Recaps]

Podcast: Sleeper S7 E8 (Buffy and the Art of Story Podcast) by Lisa M. Lilly

Video: Beneath You-Slayer Sunday by Jane Talks Buffy

Podcast: Why I Still Love 'Buffy: The Vampire Slayer' In My 30s by Storytelling for the Soul

Podcast: DWLit Presents: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Seasons 1-5 by Doctor Who Literature

Video: Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 3 Review FT. Ian Carlos ‪@Slayerfestx98‬ by George Alexander

Video: "Killed by Death" Buffy the Vampire Slayer S02E18 Spoiler Review by The Re-Watcher's Council

[Fandom Discussions]

love that spike technically does the exact same thing lestat does with his mom by Inkblotdemon

finished season 7 of buffy and I think that was the most disappointing finale of a show ever by slaywhatyouwannaslay69

Things they did for each other by nightshade

Rewatch thoughts and questions continued by multiple posters

Most Out Of Character, Plot Hole-y, or Confusing Season 7 Moments continued by multiple posters

Did you know this show was supposed to crossover with Angel? by southsideserpent18

Was Angel actually a good person? by Amazo8

What if Buffy had become a puppet by samof1994

This show is so funny. Giles just bragged he took her [Chao-Ahn] for icecream! by snakecasablanca

Amy summoning a de-escalating Buffy by Baron_Butterfly

is it confirmed that teen wolf took inspiration from btvs?? by secretlifeofmex

Was Angel a white knight to Buffy or in general? by debujandobirds

I'm about to watch The Body... by twirlinghaze

I watched the show when it came out. Now I’m doing a rewatch with my son who is about to enter high school by Bostonterrierpug

Do you warn newbies? by FixinVixin

I'm just going to say it. Angel had a better final season than Buffy by kaiserdragoon67

How total are the monks memory bending by Ulquiorra1312

I'm just a friend of... xXAnddneerRrsss by Level_Mixture_9533

Question about Chosen by trickswithmarsbars

Could Buffy have forgiven Faith eventually? by SafiraAshai

Obsessed with this show by alwaysleepingg

Angel low key worse than Edward at times by sunnyrainflowers

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Comics artist Rebekah Isaacs is selling pages from Angel and Faith Season 9

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[princessmacedon]

{ OOC: housekeeping!

it's been a while since i did one of these and i have a great big mess to clean up ASDFDSD so! threads below the cut, and if i missed something please let me know!

UPDATED:

per suggestion of the newsletter, mun pages ( 🐦 ) ( 🐈‍⬛ ) now have guidelines

both maria and katarina's supports pages have been brought up to date!

threads + thread tracker nonsense below!!

here's my thread tracker! currently, it should contain all of my active threads, excepting those from the ethereal ball and as always, please don't feel as though you need to rush! (especially those of you whose threads i just replied to while fixing my shit AHSDHSDFHSD) this is for my organizational sake HAHA ; i'm glad to continue any and all threads, but if you're not feeling one anymore that's fine too >vo)v

MARIA

Waiting on me:

something old, something new -- @ventusanimae

spirit of healing -- @ashenprofessor

what my cover shows -- @knighteclipsed

all things precious -- @reddragonprincess

red riding hood's basket -- @justices-blade

wondrous tails -- @carefreemonk

with those who favor fire -- @arcelerity

objects in mirror -- @raikuroji

three lions walk out of a field (BOEL) -- @pirrhyc @sharpscion

paperwork perils -- @magictome

land and heavens near -- @lycianlynx

solace in the abyss -- @justices-blade

Waiting on partner:

an end to the song -- @arcstral

sun's shine -- @lycianlynx

shadows in the moonlight -- @hresvelged

birds chasing cats -- @aubins

not dead yet -- @alliberacio

from winter's close emerging -- @hermidetta

i do believe in fairies! -- @nagaficat

KATARINA

Waiting on me:

seeds of hope -- @arcaeda

a blanket of white, unbroken -- @knighteclipsed

a mystery in monochrome -- @gentlenekomata

the road that we walk -- @unsungblade

a day in (un)kingly shoes -- @arcstral

Waiting on partner:

uprooting wallflowers -- @unsungblade

a fleeting fata morgana -- @nabataprophet

cat cat kitty cat -- @unsungblade

cooking by the book -- @amitieos

sham of a prince -- @hosannan

gallowed halls -- @princepsumbra

a night and day we'll never see -- @ulircursed

the mega bonk technique -- @sharpscion

the name of a villain -- @indevouement

TBD:

penpal randomizer -- @gauldheri

ETHEREAL BALL INTERACTIONS

with @cursedbluebird : i'm planning on tacking on an extra reply and have it fade to black if that's alright? :o marianne is so sweet though, thank you for sending her my way!! <3 <3

with @pirrhyc : while i do love lobbing the hot potato around ASDFSDFSDG i think i'll call it there?! but i really enjoyed their little exchange!! :pleading: :boom:

with @frauleindermorgen : i'm definitely down to make this into a mini thread :] unless i misunderstood aDSDDSFHF

ALL MASKS: maria was mask 22! if you'd like to play out the rest of a masquerade thread, i'm down! ^^)7

as always, if you need to contact me for anything, feel free to do so through here or discord!

[ghostnext]

SEPTEMBER 2024 HORRORSCOPES

to receive intermittent dispatches of fake astrology, please sign up for my art newsletter here.

VIRGO:

YOUR SECRET GARDEN IS LOOKING A LITTLE NEGLECTED. THE BRICKS IN THE WALLS ARE COMING LOOSE AND THE NASTY COLONIAL IVY HAS TAKEN OVER THE ACANTHUS PATCH. THE CAST IRON TUB IN THE MIDDLE IS RUSTING OUT AND YOUR BIRD BATH IS RATHER DRY. IT SEEMS YOU HAVE NOT VISITED HER IN A VERY LONG TIME. WHAT HAS FADED FROM THE PALACE OF YOUR INTERNAL SOLITUDE, TO LET THIS PLACE WITHER? PERHAPS YOU HAVE DECIDED THAT PROPERTY IS THEFT!! OR MAYBE ITS JUST THAT A SECRET GARDEN IS A BIT TOO MUCH YARD WORK.

LIBRA: TEN YEARS AGO DID YOU KNOW THAT THE FINGERS YOU TRACED THE PATTERN OF KNOTTY WOOD WITH WOULD KEEP GROWING? NOT MUCH, SURE BUT MILLIMETER BY MILLIMETER THOSE FLESHY DEAD ENDS OF THE BODY WOULD THRUST EONICALLY OUT INTO THE AIR, DISPLACING MOLECULES AND GROWING YOU CLOSER TO ALL THAT YOU REACH FOR. THIS OCCURS WHETHER OR NOT WHAT YOU REACH FOR IS WORTH THE STRAIN OF CELL RENEWAL YOUR BODY FURIOUSLY PARTAKES.

SCORPIO: THE GIFT OF OPPOSITES LIVES IN YOU LIKE A FUN LITTLE JOKE AND YOU ARE ADEPT AT EXTERNALIZING IT. ONE THOUSAND PILLOWS DECORATE YOUR BED FOR VARIOUS FORMS OF JOINT SUPPORT WHILE YOU SLEEP UPON A STONE MATTRESS THAT YOU POURED YOURSELF OF CONCRETE THAT, IN ORDER TO COMBAT THE WORLD SAND SHORTAGE, YOU MANUFACTURED BY GRINDING DOWN GLASS BOTTLES AND OTHER REFUSE TO EXACTLY THE RIGHT SIZE GRIT FOR BOUTIQUE STONE-BED POURING. WOW. SAGITTARIUS AT SOME POINT WE ESTABLISHED NEW LINGUISTICS FOR GATHERINGS OF ANIMALS, A CONVENTION THAT PERHAPS BETRAYS OUR MYTHIC ATTACHMENTS: RAVENS AND LEMURS ARE “CONSPIRACIES” WHILE FROGS FORM AN ARMY AND A WRITHING MASS OF COCKROACHES CONSTITUTES AN INTRUSION. HUMAN GROUPS MAY HAVE QUAINTER AND BLANDER DESCRIPTIONS: “COMMUNITY” “ORGANIZATION” “PUNK HOUSE,” BUT UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, YOUR FELLOW HUMANS ARE LIKELY TO LABEL YOUR PARTICULAR GROUPING OF FREAKS A CONSPIRACY ANYWAY. CAPRICORN: ON A WALK IN THE FOREST YOU MAY BE TEMPTED TO NOTICE THINGS THIS FALL: THE TURNING OF SPICEBERRIES FROM GREEN TO RED, THE GLINT OF AN ORANGE MUSHROOM THAT MAKES DELIGHTFUL VEGAN TREATS, THE FEELING OF THE STONES IN YOUR SHOES AS THEY PRESS SHARP ON YOUR METATARSALS. DO AWAY WITH THIS SENSE OF PRESENCE!! NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO “FEEL” ONES “FEELINGS”!! NOW IS THE TIME FOR ACTIONS! WEAR PLATFORMS SO YOU CANNOT ACTIVELY FEEL THE GROUND THROUGH YOUR SHOES EVER!! LISTEN TO PODCASTS ALL THE TIME SO THE SOUNDS OF THE WORLD ONLY TRICKLE IN THROUGH A SOURCE OF CONSTANT ENTERTAINMENT!! LOSE YOURSELF A BIT BECAUSE NOTHING IS AS GOOD OR AS BAD AS IT SEEMS. AQUARIUS: THE PRESENCE OF PARTYGOERS ON THE STREET BEYOND YOU ALERTS YOU A SENSATION YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH AS AN URBAN DWELLER: SOME CALL IT SONDER BUT I FIND THAT WORD A BIT TOO TWEE: IT’S MORE LIKE AN ANNOYING BUT PLEASURABLE KNOWLEDGE THAT SOME PEOPLE NEAR YOU WILL BE UP TO HIJINKS YOU WILL REMAIN BLISSFULLY UNAWARE OF UNLESS YOU ARE AWOKEN AT 3AM DUE TO THEIR PREDICTABLY LOUD RETURN. WHAT A GIFT IT IS TO LIVE TIGHTLY AMONGST OTHERS THOUGH, DON’T YOU AGREE?

PISCES: 

EVERY MORNING YOU FIND THE PERFECT COUCH FOR SOMEONE AS YOU SCAN THE INDEXES OF CIRCULATING OBJECTS AND LOCATE THAT GREEN VELVET STUNNER WITH YOUR PERFECT TASTE. THE DAY BREAKS OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND EACH MORNING IS ANOTHER DIVORCING LESBIAN COUPLE’S POSTING A PICTURE OF AN EXCELLENT KITCHEN ISLAND AND YOU, IN A BURST OF LOVING WARMTH TO YOUR PRIZED FRIENDS, SEND IT TO THE EXQUISITE CREATURE THAT MAY CHOP VEGETABLES ON THE WELL-OILED BUTCHER BLOCK. YOU HAVE ACHIEVED  A SISYPHEAN PERFECTION OF LOCATING BOULDERS NO ONE WILL EVER ROLL UP THEIR THIRD FLOOR WALK-UP BUT IT’S OKAY TO CALL IT WHAT IT IS: BLISS. ARIES: IT IS YOUR WHINING SEASON - YOU MATCH THE LONG SLOW DRUM OF THE LATE SUMMER CICADAS AS THEY GET SLOWER AND SLOWER IN THE SEPTEMBER BREEZE. YOU ARE PERFECTING YOUR PLAINTIVE HARMONIZING; YOU ARE MAKING IT KNOWN THAT YOU WILL BE HEARD THROUGH THE ARCHITECTURES. MAYBE YOU WILL EVEN PEE ON SOMEONE’S WINDSHIELD ABOUT IT. YOUR VOICE, DESPITE YOUR EFFORTS, IS RATHER PLEASANT TO LISTEN TO AT THESE PITCHES. YOU MAY NOT FIND YOUR NEEDS MET BUT YOU WILL HAVE CREATED AN EXPERIMENTAL SOUNDSCAPE SO LIKE, APPLY TO SOME GRANTS? TAURUS:

ITS REALLY BEEN A BARRAGE OF…STUFF…LATELY. WHAT KIND OF STUFF? BITS AND BOBS, TINSEL, A VERITABLE TONNAGE OF PURE SHEET ROCK, A CACAPHONY OF SLAMMING DOORS, DRYER LINT AND USED TISSUES, ASHES, ASHES, ASHES. THE REPETITION OF THE PHRASE “NOT DEAD YET,” ONE OR TWO MEWLING KITTENS? A LOT OF KINDS OF SHIT CAN FLY THROUGH ONE LONELY PLANET’S ATMOSPHERE, FAR MORE THAN IS POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO DODGE. SO…DON’T?

GEMINI: SOMETIMES YOU SINK YOUR TEETH OR TOES OR OTHER PROTRUDING BODY PARTS INTO SMALL GROOVES EXACTLY THE RIGHT SHAPE AND SIZE FOR SAID PARTS. IT FEELS SO GOOD - LIKE A SANDPAPER TONGUE BUT DRY AND PERFECT AND YOU ARE ABLE TO FORGET ALL THE POCKETS AND HOLES THAT DON’T FIT RIGHT. EACH DAY IS A NEW CHANCE TO FEEL LIKE A WELL MACHINED JIGSAW PUZZLE, HOWEVER, IF YOU SPEND ALL DAY SEARCHING FOR SUCH SLOTS YOU WILL FORGO ALL THE POSSIBLE PLEASURES OF MISALIGNMENT.

CANCER: IN AN ALLEYWAY BETWEEN TWO EMPTY HOUSES SITS A GILDED MIRROR NEXT TO A BAG OF TRASH. THE MIRROR AT SUCH AN ANGLE REFLECTS ONLY POWERLINES AND SKY WHILE ITS GARBAGE BESTIE GLINTS DARKLY AND STEAMS WHILE THE SUN SHINES. IF THESE WERE YOUR SCRYING TOOLS WHICH WOULD YOU COUNT ON? THE CLARITY OF GLAMOUR LAID WASTE? THAT’S THE OBVIOUS CHOICE, MIRRORS ARE WELL KNOWN SCRYING OBJECTS BUT I CAN TELL THE GARBAGE SEDUCES YOU WITH ITS LITERALISM AND VERACITY. THAT’S SOMETHING YOU MIGHT WANT TO UNPACK EVENTUALLY. 

LEO: NO ONE CAN KNOW WHAT THEY’VE MISSED - THAT’S WHY FOMO IS A FAKE FEELING AND THE DEAD DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU ARE GRIEVING, THEY JUST WANT TO HANG OUT ON YOUR SHOULDER AND WATCH WHAT YOU ARE DOING BECAUSE YOU ARE THEIR BELOVED SIM AND THEY HOPE THAT YOU EAT BREAKFAST AND DON’T GET CRANKY. THEY JUST WANT YOU TO GO DANCING AT THE SIM CLUB WITH YOUR SIM MUSIC THAT IS NO LONGER COMPREHENSIBLE TO THOSE THAT HAVE SEEN THE ENTIRETY OF TIME AT ONCE. SO MAKE SURE YOUR CEREAL IS FIBER RICH AND YOUR SHOES HAVE GOOD INSOLES, YOU HAVE A LOT TO DO TODAY.

[cervidame]

hey! i looove the way you write theo in genesis (that entire fic is GOLD) and was wondering if you had an analysis or any headcanons for theo's character?

(also, feel free to ignore this ask if i'm asking for too much 😅)

*cracks knuckles* In short: - The role of printer's apprentice sparks a lot of thought around the politics of the time and the process of wanting to raise awareness/give a voice to issues that don't normally get attention. - If he didn't inherit a barony, he'd publish & edit periodicals, probably publishing a novel after some time. - His lack of having a voice/vote as a working class man makes him relate to Eloise. - Theo would be sympathetic to first wave feminism and Chartism. - Staffordshire was at the heart of industrial revolution and thus suffered its worse effects, resulting in riots & strikes from the 1830s - 40s, making it the perfect stage for a fic focusing on these issues before they explode. - Theo "closes the door" on his emotions and walks away when he can't handle things. - Eloise is better at recognizing her emotions and communicating them because of her family. - is a coffee fiend OK hi anon so! Theo's role as a printer's apprentice is actually important. On completion, this can be a lucrative trade and many apprentices went on to make their own news pamphlets and politicals. You can imagine sort of political newsletters, Twitter threads, and newspaper opinion pieces and book reviews of the day as the equivalent to give a voice to various issues. They'd include some essays (I guess today we'd call them opinion pieces) from various people. A notable example has been mentioned in the fic - The Monthly Review - which started in 1749. Just from seeing how well read Theo is, the fact he appears to regularly attend assemblies, and from his work I've developed his character to be politically engaged and radical (for the time). Outside of Genesis, I imagine Theo's ambitions would be to be the editor of his own periodical in the style of The Monthly Review with a strong emphasis on politics.

Theo would be a strong sympathizer of the Chartism movement. This movement of the working class boomed from the 1830s. The charter included 6 things including giving all working men the right to vote. The system in England at the time focused on landowners then. It's not just the poverty of his (and others like him) in England that bothers him in the show. It's the lack of having a voice, which also makes him sympathetic to the women's movement and Eloise's plight is relatable in that sense, even if their backgrounds are very different. Chartism resulted in many riots including the Pottery Riots of 1842. In Burslem, near where I grew up, a young man (just 19) was shot dead by police during a strike march. In retaliation, the strikers burned down the house of the magistrate who'd ordered the police to shoot at the rioters. While my fic Genesis takes place before this movement boomed, issues had long since begun and Theo is well aware of them. He wants to help and use his voice for good. Theo buries his emotions. We see this in the last interaction of Theo & Eloise where he walks away and shuts the literal door in his workplace. My headcanon, and what we explore in Genesis, is what happens when that door starts to burst open. That's why little thoughts of Eloise creep through. You can't hold back your emotions forever. Eventually it bursts out. We also see this in how he's dealing with the news of being presented to the Queen and becoming the official heir to the Barony. Lock it away. Deal with it maybe later (or preferably never!!). This is why Eloise, who took the first step in stating her emotions to Theo (also because of their difference in station) is a good balance for him. I do think she's better at communication and has a better awareness of her feelings, helped by her interactions with Benedict who's very open and supportive! Vs Theo who I see as an orphan with a very limited support system. He hasn't developed this type of communication / emotional intelligence quite as much. Uhhhh I guess finally he loves coffee more than tea and probably liked going to coffee houses on occasion - actually more for the coffee than all the political discussions which he also loved.

[renee-writer]

Who are the least of these?

Matthew 25:40-45, "And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: For I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee? Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me."

The least of these are those who need our help. When we choose to walk past without helping, how are we any better than the priest and Levite who walked past the man in need, Luke 10:30-37, "And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee."

Jesus told us this parable to motivate us to be like the good Samaritan. He asks us to help those in need. When the church does this, God is pleased, and His love is witnessed by those around, thus drawing them to Him. We could go to the ends of the earth to spread His message of love, but we can also help those in our neighborhood.

God loves us all, and He wants us to be loving. He wants us to share our abundance with the least of these. How could we do anything else, John 13:34, "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another." He gave up everything for us. Everything we have in this world pales in comparison to what He offers us in eternity, 1 Corinthians 2:9, "But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him."

Who are the least of these? We are. And He came to offer us an abundant eternal life.

God has placed us in unique places throughout this world. This blog is about sharing His Word; please share it with those you believe would be blessed by hearing it. Bless you! If you want to receive the Quarterly Newsletter, email us at bill@reasoningwithgod.com. If you want to read past blogs, go to https://www.reasoningwithgod.com/blog.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

Writing Newsletter #1: March 2024

So! Lil author's note to explain this. I decided to start up a newsletter, monthly, but until I get around to figuring out website hosting &c., to post on here instead of emails. Once I get that sorted, I'll switch this to email, and there'll be a newsletter signup gift of two stories - Ever Changing, Ever Near (hosted on my website until recently) and A Fragile Solace. Together, in unedited form, they're around 3k. They're Inklings stories, both of which were highly commended in the separate competitions I wrote them for. Anyway, if you want to be on the taglist for this monthly newsletter, say the word and I'll add you.

Writing update

Lately, my main project has been Patience, Changing. It’s a story about autism, changes in routine and loving despite the inconvenience. There’s also a spice of mental health in there, because I’m me and that’s what I do. Also my protagonists are eleven and twelve years old. Very fun. Rhona is incredibly over-dramatic and while in some ways she’s justified, in other ways she’s just not—I’ve written a couple of scenes from her perspective that I intend to cut, just because I love her so much. (It’s meant to be all from Patience’s POV.) An interesting thing that I’ve noted in the last few days is the inclusion of a character I’d intended to be already gone before the story began, but on a whim I decided to change the timeline. If you’ve read The Patience of Hope, the character I’m referring to is Hannah—Patience’s aunt, who dies of anorexia complications long before. However, I’ve chosen to include her in Patience, Changing because as someone who suffers from anorexia myself, I felt it was important to include the possible outcomes. I’m not entirely sure what her role in this story is, but I’m discovering that she is very important to Patience, so we’ll see when she dies. I’ll have to edit The Patience of Hope to change that detail, but that’s okay.

This is the second time I’ve made myself cry over a character I originally wrote as dead before I wrote them before they died, but anyway.

In terms of word count, I’ve written 80k of assorted Patience content since I started writing the novella in mid-December, so I’m pretty happy with that.

Reading update

At the moment I’m reading Walking on Water by Madeleine L’Engle for Lent (well—Lent-ish), as well as Cry of the Raven by Morgan L. Busse. This is my first time reading both, and I’m tremendously excited to finish them both. The first Ravenwood book was one of my favourites for a long time and I only recently read Flight of the Raven for the first time. It lived up to my expectations.

I’ll have more to put in this section next newsletter when there’s been a definable sense of time since the last one, so. Yeah.

Ramble

Hi. This is just an area where I can ramble about whatever. Since I’m new to this whole newsletter thing, this one is pretty empty. I’m considering how I want to do this thing—considering whether I add in a Goals section or not, or whether I try and get back to posting on my blog, but anyway. Hopefully here on out will become more polished, or something. This was a pretty last-minute idea—I’ve been kicking around the idea of creating a writing newsletter for a While, but until now didn’t actually get round to it.

Anyway, please contact me and let me know what works best or what you’d most like to see! I need the advice.

Drabble

Under Pressure

“Patience!” he called.

She turned to him with relief, pressing her hands to her face in distress. “Oh, Nathan!” she said, leaning a little towards him. “Why can’t I just—be normal?”

“You’re normal—for you,” he said gently. “The public perception of ‘normal’ is so weirdly skewed it’s crazy. Don’t think any less of yourself just because you can’t handle that.” He gestured to the party they had both left behind. “You’re fine, Patience.”

“I’m autistic,” she said bitterly. “I’ll never cope with the world.”

“That’s not your fault.” He didn’t touch her, only smiled, and she was comforted.

Photo

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Bob Dylan & The Band - Chicago Stadium, Chicago, Illinois, Jan. 3, 1974

"I don't write confessional songs," Bob Dylan once said (defensively) of Blood On The Tracks. And yet! I'd argue that the LP that precedes BOTT — 1974's Planet Waves — is in fact packed with confessional songs. It may be Bob's most personal album ever. Not that he dropped his Bob Dylan mask entirely, but Planet Waves feels forthright in its concept, clear-eyed in its attitude. Throughout its 11 tunes, Dylan contemplates whether he can find that harmonious balance between the bliss of domesticity and the world of illusion at his door. Is it any wonder that a few years later, he'd actually be taking tightrope walking lessons while on tour?

Anyway, I'm thinking about all of this because 50 years ago this week, Bob and The Band kicked off their blockbusting comeback extravaganza in Chicago. It was likely the most hyped-up rock tour of all time up to that point ... kids, imagine if uh Taylor Swift hadn't toured since 2016! Imagine! Anticipation was astronomical, expectations were insane, likely to Dylan's horror; indeed, he opened those first shows with a re-made "Hero Blues" which urges the audience to find someone more worthy and leave him alone. Hello, Chicago!

But opening night is a fascinating affair, even via the less-than-perfect audience tapes we have to listen to a half-century later. Famously, this is the only '74 show where Dylan stayed onstage for portions of The Band's set; his harmonica accents on a lovely "Share Your Love" are the most obvious contributions. The show was also packed with debuts: several Planet Waves numbers, "All Along The Watchtower," "Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine)." And compared to the ninety-miles-an-hour-down-a-dead-end-street energy of Before The Flood, there's a bit more subtlety (not to say tentativeness) to the performance. Dylan had really never played this kind of show previously. He was still figuring things out.

The centerpiece, in true Dylan fashion, is "Nobody 'Cept You," a Planet Waves outtake that wouldn't see official release until the early 1990s. Performed solo acoustic, it's a breathtaking moment, Bob pledging his devotion to a single person in a sold-out stadium. "I'm a stranger here / and no one sees me," he sings, a bold thing to proclaim when you have thousands of dark eyes fixed upon you, hanging on every word. It's a confession, if ever there was one.

(Oh and hey, it looks like Ray Padgett's always awesome Dylan newsletter is going through Tour 74 show-by-show ... I'd subscribe if I were you!)

[luminouslumity]

Mainland Boys: A Joseph and Billy Story

From Kendare Blake's newsletter: a snippet set on the mainland during the time that Joseph was banished there with Billy.

By the winter of his sixteenth year, Joseph Sandrin had been away from Fennbirn for what felt like a long time. But only when he thought about it. Most days, he was as any of the other mainland boys his age: concerned with his studies, and the break from his studies for the holiday, concerned with prospects of sport, concerned with whether he and his foster brother Billy Chatworth would merit an invitation to the Governor’s Ball. Most days, he was of the mainland, for that was the ground beneath his feet, and those were the lives that surrounded him.

But sometimes, and more often when he was near the sea, he thought of his old life, the one he had led as a boy on that shrouded island of magic. He would think of hot, steamed clams in butter, and birds perched on shoulders. Dogs and petulant cats with such expressive faces that they could sometimes seem to speak. He thought of fields full of barley that popped at a touch. And mostly, he thought of his girls: a dark little queen with a coal-smudged nose, and the naturalist girl with one green eye and one blue.

That day, at the start of December, he stood at the edge of a frozen pond, edged with dead, tanned reeds. Close enough to the sea, he supposed, to spark the memories of the island. Or perhaps it was only that it was December, when both of his girls would celebrate their birthdays.

“Joseph! Ho, Joseph!”

Joseph smiled, listening to the soft crunching in the snow as Billy approached from the direction of the house. Then a sharp crack, and a laughed curse: his shoe must have broken through the ice. “Stop walking on the pond, dolt,” Joseph said over his shoulder. “The ice isn’t thick enough yet.”

“Damn, my foot is freezing!” Billy threw his arm around Joseph and shook him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“Thinking of Christine Hollen? Squirreled away in the privacy of the Governor’s stables?”

Joseph chuckled. Christine Hollen was the Governor’s daughter. His oldest daughter. She would not be seen cavorting with the likes of him, a foreigner, a foster-son, not even if his foster family was one of the richest in the city.

They had come north for the holiday, like many of the best, most respected families had, including the Governor. The Chatworth’s country estate, Hartford, was not far from the Governor’s own. It was actually visible from the most eastern hill. Joseph ought to know. Billy had brought him up there plenty of times, dreaming of the day he would buy it right out from underneath the Hollens at half the value.

“I’m not about to play around with the Governor’s daughter. Your father would have my head.”

Billy let go of him and tugged his scarf up farther on his neck. “Well you ought to do some playing at least. The lads are starting to talk.”

“You know I’m…waiting for someone.”

“Ah yes.” Billy grinned. “Waiting for someone. And that would be the infamous Jules Milone, wouldn’t it? The girl you haven’t laid eyes upon since you were eleven? The girl you may never see again if I don’t become king of your home country?” He cocked an eyebrow and burst out laughing. Joseph did as well. Billy Chatworth, the king-consort of Fennbirn Island. It sounded ridiculous, and seemed impossible.

Not impossible, he thought as he looked at his foster brother from the corner of his eye. Difficult. But he must have been sent to the Chatworths to groom Arsinoe’s future husband. Why else would the Goddess have sent him?  He had clung to that belief in the early years, clung to it hard, filling Billy’s ears with stories of Fennbirn. His education, in Joseph’s mind. But now that the time of the Ascension drew near, it felt more and more like fancy. Made up by his childhood imagination, to make his banishment bearable.

“Only a few months left,” Billy said. “Finally, after all this time, I get to go to your secret island. I have to admit, part of me doesn’t believe it exists. Part of me expects to board the boat and find you and my father laughing your arses off at your magnificent, five-year practical joke.”

“But we don’t know if it’s ‘we’, do we?” Joseph said. “I’m still banished. You might be on your own.”

“On my own? No, not after so long.”

“The Black Council doesn’t often let go of a grudge. Why do you think I’ve been preparing you all these years?”

Billy shrugged, the carefree mainland boy, even in the face of courting a queen. A queen who would have to murder her two sister queens, no less. But Billy had grown up on the mainland, with no gifts, and no Goddess. No queens and no Black Council looking down over everything. He had grown up with money, and with power, and with ease, and the struggle of the queens would not be real until he saw it for himself.

“You worry too much, Joseph. My father will work something out. He always does.” He blew warm breath into his cupped hands. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s go into the village and grab a pint before the party tonight.”

 ***************************************************

The walk to the village was short, but Billy insisted on taking the carriage anyway on account of his cold, wet foot. As they were let out near the pub, something in a shop window caught Joseph’s eye.

“What now?” Billy asked, following as he went to press his fingertips to the glass.

It was a ring. A simple, silver ring, set with dark green stones.

Billy leaned close. “That’s nowhere near fine enough to catch the prettiest girl in three counties.”

“Christine Hollen is not the prettiest girl in three counties. She’s only the wealthiest. And I wasn’t thinking of her.”

“Of course you weren’t. This is more to Jules’s taste, then?”

“When it caught the light, from over there…it looked like the color of her green eye.”

Billy leaned back and squinted. “So it does.”

“How would you know?”

“Well, I did have that old cat, with one blue eye and one green—”

Joseph smiled. “Stop comparing Jules to your old deaf cat.”

“I loved that cat. And I’m willing to bet that I remember the shade of that cat’s eyes better than you remember the eyes of some eleven-year-old girl. She might not even have those eyes anymore. They might have,” he wiggled his fingers vaguely, “darkened and whatnot. It’s unnatural for you to have carried on about her this long when you don’t even know what she looks like.”

“I know what she looks like.” Or at least, he thought he did. He remembered so well that girl of five years ago. Her smile. Her clothes. The sound of her voice. And as time passed, and as he grew up, so did the Jules of his imagination. Her hair grew long and tumbled down her back. Her face thinned and her eyes softened. Her laugh changed from the high, wild laugh of a child to the low, easy one of a young woman.

Of course, anyone who knew her family could have told him that the girl he was imagining was really only the image of Jules’s aunt, Caragh, with a dash of her mother Madrigal thrown in as wishful thinking. When Joseph imagined Jules, he simply conjured up the most beautiful girl he could think of, because to him, that’s what she was.

“It’s nearly her birthday. Sixteen, just like the queens. Born in the same month.”

Billy sighed. “The same month as Arsinoe. My bride-to-be.”

“Your queen-to-be.” Joseph watched as Billy’s eyes lost focus, and the blush crept into his cheeks. Billy imagined Arsinoe the way Joseph imagined Jules. Over the years, Joseph had built Arsinoe up, highlighting her virtues: her bravery, her wit, her fierce, affectionate spirit. He may have left out some other things, like that she was stubborn as an old donkey, sarcastic and secretive. And of course he had told him she was beautiful, when he had no idea. When they were children, Arsinoe was just like Jules: dirty and running about, and she had kept her hair very short. Poor Billy. All queens are beautiful, they say, but in Billy’s mind, Arsinoe must look just like Christine Hollen, only with black hair and eyes. And though Joseph does not doubt that she will be lovely, she will not be lovely like that.

“I can’t wait to meet her for real,” Billy said, his voice wistful. Then he straightened, and tugged on his lapels. “Queen or not, one look at me and she’ll faint dead away.”

“From fright?” Joseph laughed, and Billy tugged him back down the street to the pub.

****************************************************

Despite the chilly winter air, the party was warm. It was a dinner party, and so not terribly crowded; certainly not as crowded as the Governor’s holiday ball was bound to be, though that was on more expansive grounds.

Joseph, as usual, stayed back from the dancing, content to stand by himself at the window and imagine what Jules and Arsinoe would make of the mainland dances. The mainland girls in their frilly frocks, with lace at the sleeves and ribbons in their hair. Perhaps he should have warned Billy that Arsinoe would be constantly in trousers. But no. Why ruin the surprise.

“Are you not dancing again, Joseph?”

He did not need to turn to know who that purring voice belonged to, but he did so anyway, to be polite. “I’m afraid dancing has never suited me, Miss Hollen.” Christine Hollen, the Governor’s daughter, stood before him resplendent in green satin that made her blond hair shine like spun gold. Somehow she had managed to get herself alone. Usually she was flanked by a small herd of girls of similar age and social status. Watching them Joseph was reminded of the geese that wandered to and from the pond on the Milone property.

“I could teach you,” Christine said quietly.

“So I could dance at your wedding to Billy?” he asked, and she tossed her head back and laughed.

“Billy Chatworth has not looked at me once since this summer.”

“But he speaks of you often. Just this afternoon he told me you were the prettiest girl in three counties.” She does not blush much at that. No doubt that is a lower number of counties than she is used to. “You know that if he decides not to go abroad, he will pursue you in earnest. And when he does, then I’ll learn to dance.” He excused himself quickly, and ignored her dropped open mouth.

He moved through the rest of the party, making sure to appear to be searching for Billy. If he was idle for one moment, some girl would be upon him, trying to drag him out for a turn on the floor. Room after room and he did not spy Billy; after four rooms he began to search for real. He even poked his head into the drawing room, where the men sat smoking cigars and playing cards. But Billy was nowhere in the house.

“So which girl is also missing,” Joseph muttered as he stepped out onto the porch. The winter air was cold, but still, and an earlier dusting of fresh snow coated the trees and fence posts and made everything soft. Even in the blue light of evening, it was not hard to follow Billy’s footprints.

As he walked, he heard Jules’s voice in his ear like he so often had when they tracked something as children. “Here’s where they started to hurry,” she would have said, and, “here’s where she picked up her dress to stop it dragging in the snow.” They hit a snow drift, and the girl’s prints ended. “Oh, for Goddess’s sake,” he could hear Jules sigh. “Here’s where he picked her up.”

He followed the trail to one of the stables. Not the busy one where the coach drivers were having their own bit of merriment as their horses rested and stayed dry, but the nearly deserted one that housed the horses owned by their host. He opened the door and it creaked, but not before he heard the low laughter and rustling of clothes.

Joseph shook his head. He stomped his feet. He gave them plenty of time to put themselves together before he climbed the ladder into the hayloft, but even then, Billy’s tie was undone and Penny’s dress was askew.

“Joseph!” Billy exclaimed and put his hand to his head in relief. “You gave us a fright!”

“As I should. You’re starting to be missed.” He nodded to Penny, who blushed as she brushed past him.

“Will you—will you make it back to the house all right?” Billy asked, and she paused on the ladder only long enough to glare.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked when he heard the door open and close again. “Just this afternoon you were dreaming of queens.”

“So I’m practicing.” Billy grinned. “Besides, that festival you keep going on about isn’t for months.” He peered regretfully at the ladder after Penny. “Not terribly gallant, I suppose.”

“Not terribly.”

“I’ll be better. I will.” He threw his arm around Joseph’s shoulder.

“If you ever treat Arsinoe that way…”

“I know, I know, you’ll strike me dead. And I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Joseph clenched his jaw. “Sometimes I don’t know how I expect her to come to love you like I do.”

They walked together back to the house, and upon entering, ran directly into Billy’s father, Mr. Chatworth. Instantly, both boys straightened. Mr. Chatworth was an imposing man, though Joseph could never put his finger on why. He was handsome, but not extremely so, tall, but not towering. It was something in the eyes, perhaps. You always knew that he had the measure of you. That he saw through you, the moment you opened your mouth.

“There you are,” he said, and smiled. “Joseph, I need a moment with my son.” He led Billy without a word up the stairs and into a private office. It did not matter that it was not his house, and not his office. Chatworth did what he wanted, and somehow that earned him respect. Back in Wolf Spring, it would have earned him a punch in the face.

Content to wait, and away from the party at least, Joseph paced slowly at the bottom of the stairs. It seemed a long time before Mr. Chatworth came down again, and smiled at him, and patted his shoulder. Billy followed after, looking a bit dazed.

“What was that about?” Joseph asked.

“He received a letter,” Billy replied, and as he spoke, his face lost its paleness, and his mouth curled into a smile. “From your island. Your banishment has ended early, brother! You’re to go home before the end of the month!”

Joseph could barely breathe. He threw his arms around Billy and they shook each other hard. “I can’t believe it!”

“And that’s not the best part! I’m to come with you, and stay with your family. Get a bit of a head start with the queens.” He punched Joseph in the arm. “I told you my father would figure something out.”

Joseph’s head spun with hopes he had been too afraid to have for the last five years. He was going home. Home to his mother, and father. Home to Matthew and Jonah and Wolf Spring. Home to Jules. And to Arsinoe, with the gift of a fine husband.

Billy reached into his pocket. “And there’s this,” he said, and pulled out a small box. He opened it, and inside was the silver ring that Joseph had admired in the shop window. Even in the dimness of the hall, the green stones glittered. “I doubled back for it when I sent you home ahead.”

“I can’t afford it,” said Joseph, and pushed the box back.

Billy shook his head and placed it in Joseph’s hands. “I’m not going to let you go home with nothing for your girl.” Then he turned him back to the party, his grin wide. “Joseph my friend, we are going to take that island of yours by storm.”

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 19

“I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” | Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Alt. No. 3

Brass Knuckles

Characters: Kili, Bolg, OCs Rating: T AU: Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) Words: 1619

Direct continuation of No. 18 - “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened” / Blindfold (Tumblr)

I feel like the prompt gives you all the warning you need?

--

Kili watched his back after that. He took the long way home. Walked past his apartment building to circle back. He did not know how much information Cameron had shared with them. Kili had moved since he had called the agency that Cam worked for. But Kili knew that it was not hard to find someone if you put your mind to it. There were property deeds, accident reports, alumni newsletters; all of which were easily accessible. 

He had thrown that post-it note away in the nearest trash can after he left the El. 

But he remembered all of the listed medications. Some he could have just purchased. He could have taken the medicine to the counter, presented his driver’s license, paid, and left the pharmacy with a little plastic bag containing medicine that could either be used to treat cold symptoms or to make meth, buyer's choice. 

But he didn’t.

And then there were the medications that were harder to acquire.

And he did not even think about ways to get his hands on those in a way that would not get him fired and arrested.

And he did not see anybody who seemed to be watching him. He did not see the man with scars again.

By Thursday he had relaxed a little bit, only to wake up Friday morning full of tension and nerves. He went to the gym early and spent more time zoning out to an audiobook and following the workout that an app had generated for him. He felt better afterwards, but still jumpy and nervous. 

And it was getting noticed. 

Tauriel and Ari had noticed when he was out their place for their biweekly Wine Wednesday where they ate disgusting amounts of takeout, drank wine, talked, and maybe watched a couple episodes of whatever show they were currently binging as a group. 

Kili brushed it off. Said that there were talks about a union walk out and he wondered what would happen to the people that needed their medication if that happened. That quickly led them down a well trodden path of arguing at each other about insurances, unions, nonsensical laws, and poor working conditions in a variety of contexts. 

And Kili’s ill mood was forgotten. 

For the first time he wished he worked for a large pharmacy. The chances of some remote CEO caring about Kili’s sex life were lower. And even if the CEO cared Kili would likely never have to see the person who had been on the receiving end of those images and that video. 

Kili worked for a family owned pharmacy that was nestled into the corner of a suburban neighborhood. He knew many of the customers. He asked how people’s babies were doing. And he knew the owner, he attended the Christmas parties, and enjoyed any of the “team building” weekends. So even if he kept his job he would probably quit and seek employment elsewhere, probably in a different city, very likely in a different state. 

On Friday his miscounted pills, almost gave Mr. Peterhof Mrs. Peterson’s prescription for blood pressure instead of his anti-rejection medication. He was distracted at best. He thought about leaving early, but decided against it. He did not know these men well enough to know if they would stop the store manager, Rebecca, who would be closing up if Kili was not there.

“See you on Monday!” Rebecca said cheerfully, waving to Kili as he was finishing up the last of the prescriptions that were slated for pick up over the weekend. 

He worked slowly. 

In November it got dark early. The large windows that faced the street now just reflected the dimmed interior of the store. Instead of letting him see the rest of the world they let him see double of the rows of pop, candy, snack foods, and baby diapers.

The hair on his neck stood on end. He felt like he was being watched. He watched his reflection as he got closer to the front doors. Locked. Just like they should be. Walking back to the pharmacy counter he stiffened; that sense of being watched had only increased. 

He paused when he was filling a prescription for Oxycontin, the Albrecht kid had just had surgery on his ACL, what if he just…

No. 

Kili recounted the 15 pills. Sealed the bottle. Put it in the little plastic bag and sealed that bag with its tamper-evident seal. And hung it on the rack with the rest of the As. 

The stack of orders was completed.

Kili sighed. He hung his white jacket up, pulled on a bulky denim jacket and a beanie (a half-assed attempt at altering his physical appearance along with the scruff he had let grow over the last couple of days). He pulled down the metal gates, locked them, checked the front door again, before exiting into the back alley. That feeling of unease did not fade. He kept thinking that he saw things over his shoulder, or reflections in the mirrored glass windows while he did these final few tasks. 

The lock clicked in place when he shut the door.

The alley was dark, red brick and dumpsters barely visible. He fixed his gaze on the light of the street where cars and people would be. 

The voice was low, but clear, “Working late?”

Kili startled, hands going to the strap of his cross body bag. He felt the brief flash of a desire for something to defend himself with. 

“No,” he said curtly. 

“You’re normally off by 6:30,” the shadow separated from the wall between Kili and the warm glow of the streetlights. “And it's nearly 8.”

“Busy weekend,” Kili said brusquely. “Lots of work to do.” He did not stop moving. Hoping that he would just be allowed to keep going. 

Then another shadow was there. This one was even larger and standing directly in front of Kili. 

“Do you have my order?” the first man said, now behind Kili. 

Kili turned to keep both of them in his sights. “I… I do not.”

A speculative noise, “Why?”

Kili swallowed and tightened his grip on his bag. “It’s not possible.”

“There’s always a way.” He walked behind Kili, forcing Kili to keep turning, now only seeing one, now both, now one. 

“There’s not. I’ll get caught.”

“But I’d still have my order.”

Kili wanted to ask, “And what about me?” But was sure that he already knew the answer. 

A distinctive click. Kili’s blood ran cold. He had not heard it in years, but he knew the sound of a pocket knife blade flicking open and locking out. A sound he knew well from years spent in the club house. Nori had a habit of flicking open a knife, closing it, flicking it open, again and again. A nervous tick, a habit that always made him seem a little menacing. He would be talking with you about different motor oils, the movie he saw that weekend, the video game he was currently playing through, but that blade would be be going snick, click, snick, click, like a metronome. 

“I hate having to ask for things twice.”

Kili’s whole body tensed. Waiting for contact.

“But I will.” 

Click. 

The blade closed. 

Kili exhaled. Relieved that he would have maybe another week to figure out what to do. 

And then he was dropped to his knees. A blow slammed into his lower back, angling up under his ribs. And he forgot how to stand. 

“But Jean here is going to make sure you remember to fill our prescription next time.”

Another one made his vision flash and spin. 

Kili fought to throw off his back. And when he was pulled over onto his back to another fist raised, light flashing on the brass knuckles he was able to throw up an arm, blocking the blow. Kili kicked Jean’s inner thigh, just above the knee.

Jean grunted and dropped to one knee. 

Kili grabbed for Jean’s arm, pulling it close, pulling Jean off balance so that Kili could flip them, giving him the upperhand. He straddled Jean’s waist grappling to get an arm around the other man’s neck. The martial arts classes he had taken for years at the suggestion of his college therapist were finally coming in handy, but his hands did not quite remember the move. His hands slipped, and Jean’s hands were free. Kili fought for control again. He was sweating and cursing the heavy jacket. His hat had fallen off. He grunted in effort as he forced Jean’s arm flat. Before he could take the hold further though, an arm wrapped around Kili’s throat, applying expert pressure, enough that Kili was lightheaded in moments, weak in a few more, but not enough that he lost consciousness. 

“That was not a smart move, Kili,” the voice growled in Kili’s ear. His hot, rancid breath was the last thing that Kili remembered before there was the glint of the brass knuckles again and his vision went dark, then his hearing stopped and he knew no more.

—

Kili was stiff and cold when he woke up. He was still in the alley. He fumbled around for his bag and found his phone. It was just past midnight. He shivered and collected himself. Everything hurt. His face felt swollen. He gingerly felt for the margins of the swelling, wincing as he pressed more firmly, trying to ascertain the level of damage. 

He winced, pulling his bag over his head. That was when he saw the note pinned to his chest. It was another post-it note, with a handwritten list and another date—next Friday.

Kili straightened. He had earned a reprieve of one week.

--

Taglist Everything@silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @i-am-pinkie

Fili/Kili @dubhlachen

[northerneden]

Sebastian Sallow x reader, Leander Prewett x reader

So this is just something I wrote up because its a side plot I can't get out of my head. Not edited AT ALL lol. Essentially starts Leander x reader but he cheats on her and its published in the Hogwarts gossip newsletter (think whistledown x gossip gaunt) and through her healing, she falls for Sebastian. If I actually wrote this would anyone actually read it or is the the Hogwarts legacy fic train dead?

Bitch.

The blood drained from his face fast. I’m surprised he didn’t faint in his seat. It was exactly what he deserved. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t vomit. 

I allowed myself a small smile before my face fell once again. The faces around me were starting to look around to the faces of those named in the weekly news. Natty, Poppy, Garreth, Leander, Eric, Me. Confusion and hushed voices started to rise and the gossip started to spread. News, not gossip. Gossip isn’t always facts, news is. I reminded myself as I took a deep breath, feeling the eyes on me. Turning to my left, I made eye contact with Katherine beside me. She gave me questioning look, waiting for my que. I nodded. Now or never. 

Katherine nodded back, and we both stood from out seats, getting the attention of more students around us. We gathered otu things from out seats, and arm in arm began to walk toward the doors of the great hall. While passing Leander, Garreth, and Natty at the Gryffindor table, Kathering and I didn’t glare. Leander stared at me, tryign to catch my eye to talk to me, but I kept my facial expression carefully disappointed, but controlled. He’s never going to get to see me upset over him. I had already given him too much. Too much time, too much care, too much of my heart, too much of my thoughts. He was worth none of it. He would get no more, or at least as little as possible. 

I held my head high as I walked out of the great hall under the watchful eyes of the other students. I was not the one who did anything wrong, and I would be damned if I hid.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Monday, July 29

Buffy walks through the empty halls past the cleaned-out lockers. She walks into the school office to her old cubicle and sits at her old desk. She picks up a picture on her desk of Buffy, Willow, and Xander, hugging, from their high school days. They were so happy, smiling in the sunshine. Buffy touches Xander's face and sniffles. CALEB: Oh, now, look... (Buffy looks up to see Caleb standing there right in front of her) Things don't go exactly your way, so here come the waterworks. Ain't that just like a woman?

~~Empty Places~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

The Polycule Relationship List (multi, G) by Kittenwritings

- my idiot - (Buffy/Spike, M) by Em_Kayelle

Iuvenis Iterum (Buffy/Giles, not rated) by Removes_and_Cleans_Glasses_00

[Chaptered Fiction]

Something Lost Something Found Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Safire

A Blackcap's Song Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Murray

Spiked Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, adult only) by Maxine Eden

Stygian Nights Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by JamesMFan

Tale as Old as Time Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

Price of Your Affections Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, adult only) by desicat

[Image, Audio & Video]

Sleeper S7 E8 (Buffy and the Art of Story Podcast) by lisalilly

Episode 35 - Chantarelle, You Stupid, Stupid Girl (Anne) by thesunnydalediaries

Cover art (Summer of Giles) by aadler

[Fandom Discussions]

Rewatch thoughts and questions continued by multiple posters

Was Buffy an 'abusive partner'? continued by multiple posters

What are your favorite platonic ships? I’ll go first! by melaniemoth13

Was anyone here ever able to play any of th BtVS video games and is there a way to play any now? by Coochie_Von_Moochie

My ranking of Buffy The Vampire Slayer's seasons by Cailly_Brard7

Ding Dong the Oral Report is Dead! by fabe1haft

finished buffy by lilalphabetxboy

Destiny free is the way to be tbh by Killer54321

Is the franchise dead? by Reddevil8884

Underestimated episodies of each season by Ok-Swimmer1340

I still think Angel turning evil was one of the greatest plots in TV history by sKullsHavezzz

This response is so deep and powerful by Madido24

Oz: Stoner or not? by tryingtobecheeky

When Spike’s life experience trumps everything by Sandraudiga

Spike by Organic_Individual52

What was Buffy's first speech? by jdpm1991

How would you go about making a hated character likeable without changing much of their core values by GoblinQueenForever

What are some background moments in episodes you love but think never get enough attention? by CumInMeBro88

Spike melts my heart (amd you can’t convince me otherwise) by notsosprite

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[queerwolfsstuff]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @eyesofatragedy67

1. How many works do you have on A03?

121 so far, that number will increase within the next couple of months.

2. What's your total word count?

3,439,494

Holy shit, and that's not including the word count of unpublished works or the original novel I'm currently editing!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Actively: Supernatural; Good Omens; Our Flag Means Death; Red, White, and Royal Blue, (MAYBE DEAD BOY DETECTIVES BACK OFF)

Past: South Park; High School Musical; Beauty and the Beast; Harry Potter; Blades of Glory; and Glee.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos:

Top 5 in general (this includes co-written fics):

In a Mirror, Darkly (written with @anyreiart) - 3,068

Red, White, and Royal Blue Balls - 2,365

Playing with Fire (written with @anyreiart) - 1,748

That Wasn’t Supposed to Fucking Happen! (written with @anyrei) - 1,387

The Heart of Ophelia (written with @anyreiart) - 1,357

Top 5 Solo Fics:

Red, White, and Royal Blue Balls - 2,365

La Rose Cachée - 1,146

Twenty After Four - 390

You Know I’m No Good - 326

And Walk Yourself to the Laundromat - 318

5. Do you respond to comments?

UGH, not as much as I should, and I used to be really good about responding to all comments, but presently my inbox on Ao3 has 4402 “unread” comments and I just… I can’t, it’s too overwhelming at this point with working two jobs. But I read and genuinely appreciate every single comment, even if I can’t reply to every single one!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah. That’s a toss up between Nothing’s Gonna Change My World and Through the Rift Series. In my opinion, the former, but I’m sure Any would beg to differ.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oooh, fun! Ummmm. Most of them have happy endings (both literally and figuratively). I guess the “happiest” ending goes to the crack fic I wrote for Any’s birthday seven years ago. Crack in the Fourth Wall

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh, you betcha. The first time we got a shitty comment on a joint fic, Any said, “We’ve made it!” Thankfully, when a certain newsletter was dismantled, the anti-destiel harassment died down. I/We still get the occasional “concrit” comment from readers who think it’s an okay thing to give unsolicited writing advice, and I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Constructive criticism cannot exist in already posted fanfiction world, you aren’t being constructive or critiquing, you’re literally filing a complaint, leaving a bad review. So either embrace the fact you’re a shitty 1-star Yelp review Karen, or stop leaving concrit.

9. Do you write smut?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

10. Craziest crossover?

I actually don’t write crossovers, but keep your eyes peeled! I recently participated in the CasDean Reverse Crossover Bang, and in a little over a week, I’ll be posting my Harry Potter crossover fic featuring art by the amazing @rezal-art!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not technically, or in a way that could be proven, but a very popular fic very much felt like a rip off of one of mine and Any’s fics, one that a well known author (a friend of the author of aforementioned rip off) made it a point to tell potential readers to not read the ending of because said author didn’t like the polyamory of it all.

Even funnier, that same author shortly after wrote their own poly fic. So, I guess personal preferences used to justify telling people to not read someone’s fic can sometimes beget a change of heart if it gets you more comments/readers.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Any and I have had a couple of our fics translated into Chinese, Russian, and Spanish! And we are here for anyone who wishes to translate any of our fics, just let us know and send us a link, and we will include it in the notes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. At this point, I prefer to not write alone. Any needs to stop allowing it to happen.

14. All-time favorite ship?

Okay, so… technically, it’s Destiel. It’s the only pairing that survived the end of its series. Dean Winchester and Castiel are my two favorite archetypes of characters and their specific dynamic transcends canon bad endings and any type of universe.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don’t have any! The last time I posted a WIP, it took me a couple years to finish, so I promised myself I would only post completed fics from now on.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Comedic scenarios and dialogue. I like the funnies and the speakings.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIPTIONS. I fucking hate it, okay? Why can’t you all just know what’s in my damn head? I also have a toxic, codependent relationship with commas and sentence fragments.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

A little mixed. So, barring it being like… Latin, or a more archaic language that you use an unreliable online translator for or a language you speak, I believe for believable dialogue, you should have a friend or someone who can confirm/verify that the language is written correctly, otherwise, I vote you write, “they spoke in x language,” and interpret in the narrative. And no writing an accent in dialogue for characters where English is a second language phonetically! Like, authentic structure of a sentence, rhythm, or word choice is fine, but let’s not be offensive folks.

19. First fandom you ever wrote in?

Harry Potter over twenty years ago now. I’m an old.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oooh, that’s fun. Ummmm. For co-written, it’s a toss up between Five Dimensions, or Dean’s Crusade: A Dance with Self Discovery with @anyreiart or Heaven on htraE with @eyesofatragedy67 and for solo it’s a toss up between I Wish for This and La Rose Cachée

Tag time! @anyreiart @punk-is-notdead and whoever else wants to do this!