#also if anyone was curious and collects fonts like i do

[probablygayattorneys]

Ace Attorney characters + what I imagine their handwriting looks like

[neopuppy]

Jaemin would love a good gloryhole, he gives me crazy psychotic vibes

warning. ntm yet.. a smidge of fondling

“You’re going to work? This late?” Jaemin mumbles, pinching between his eyebrows where he’s sat with his face buried in a pile of books. “Who clocks in at midnight?”

“It’s an overnight job..” you shrug, tightening your coat. “That job fair I went to last week.. it was the only position that wouldn’t interfere with my class schedule.”

Jaemin sighs, leaning back against his computer chair until it creaks beneath his weight. “How are you going to keep up with your assignments?”

“That’s the thing,” clearing your throat nervously, you reply quickly, eager to end this conversation as you appear distracted patting your pockets for the house keys. “Factory prefers college students, don’t want to provide benefits or full-time positions, so the shifts are short, no more than 4 or 6 hours.”

“Oh..” Jaemin stands, stretching out his arms above his head as he approaches you. “I could drive you.”

“No!” You say abruptly, breaking into a smile at the sight of his face falling. “You already do enough for me, and I know you’re cramming for that big test.”

Jaemin waves it off, leaning near the door frame. “It’s not a big deal, I know the couch isn’t comfortable.”

On command at the mere mention of your makeshift bed your back aches, stretching to the side to relieve the pain and releasing a loud crack as you sport half a smile. “It’s not exactly a cloud but..”

“Better than the backseat of your best friend's car.” Jaemin adds, scratching his nape. “I hope at least..”

“Definitely,” you chime, setting your hand on the door handle. “Besides, this is only temporary.”

That’s what you have to remind yourself of daily, that this is just for now. A transition time you’ll forget about as soon as you’ve collected a month's pay. A draining and exhausting effort on your part, but the money..

“Seriously though, if you’re too tired for the walk back, I’ll leave my ringer on.” Jaemin’s hand lays over yours, gently squeezing. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Of course, thanks Jaem.”

“Let’s not sit where she sleeps.”

“I mean..” Jeno scoffs, folding his knees to sit on the floor with his back against the couch. “It is a place to sit, you know.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not.” Unlocking his phone, Jeno settles comfortably, head resting against the couch cushion you rest your head on every night. “You say that like I don’t offer her my bed all the time.”

“Which I’m sure she’d take you up on if you know—“ plopping down by his friend's side shoulder to shoulder, he raises an eyebrow. “You were not also in said bed naked from the waist down.”

Jeno shrugs, passing his phone to Jaemin. “Still beats a couch.”

“What’s this?”

“Something new and exciting that we should try.” Jeno explains, leaning in to scroll down the message board. “Know anything about gloryholes?”

Jaemin nearly chokes on his spit, eyes widening as he reads through the various comments describing the experience. “The fuck are you talking about..”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Jeno grins, reaching to jingle the keys in his pocket. “You down or what?”

“I dunno man..”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Sharing a curious look, Jeno raises his eyebrows up and down, pushing up from the floor to stand and extend his hand. “Just between us.”

“I don’t understand the point in paying for a quick fuck..” Jaemin says, disgruntled by the lists of prices before him. The trek to find this place was bad enough to begin with, and on tip of that $500 to get his dick wet? By a stranger no less?

“Two for one deal though.” Jeno notes, tapping the larger font with the price of $800 blown out beneath. “Hear me out, send me $250 and I’ll cover the rest.”

“W-what?” Jaemin stutters, surprised at how nonchalant his friend is about this whole situation. “Are you seriously down this bad?”

Jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that.” Counting out a wad of bills, he slides them beneath the black tinted window, specifying the two for one deal for them. “Don’t knock it until you try it alright?”

Bending lower near the opening he slid the money through, Jeno whispers. “Number 7 available?”

“You’ve..” Jaemin follows after him, pieces falling together as his friends leads the way through a long hall without question. “You do this a lot or something?”

“Define a lot.” He says, peering over his shoulder with a sleek smirk. “A couple of times.. nothing crazy yet. At least you have me here to make sure your first time is memorable.”

Jeno comes to a stop, dangling a key that’d been tucked between his palm. “Lucky number 7.” He nods to the rooms door, an ominous carved out text painted black glares back at him.

The door lock clicks, pushed open slowly as his friend steps aside for him to head in first. It’s empty for the most part. A few items stacked along a shelf, condoms, lube, sex toys. “Behind that.”

Jeno locks the door shut behind them, motioning toward a hung up drape obscuring the rest of the room. “Would you prefer to go alone? I’ll even let you have dibs since it’s your first visit.”

Jaemin dry swallows, swiping his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. “And do what?”

Jeno’s lips draw back in a cocky smile, shushing his friend as he nudges him forward. “One way to find out.”

Jaemin’s chest thumps, gulping down the invisible weight pressed against the back of his tongue. Slowly he steps forward, barely grazing the drape with his fingertips, the sight of his trembling hand solidifies the nerves shooting throughout his chest, nudged forward softly again as he steps a foot inside past the drape.

“Shit..” he mutters, biting down on his lip to hold back a groan. Three different holes line up the walls leaving his mind to race with nothing but depraved thoughts.

“Pick one.” You say quietly, barely echoed from behind the wall that hides you.

Jaemin’s neck stiffens, toeing his way closer past the smallest of the holes that meets him at hip level. The arrows above directing him where to insert himself.

“Seven.” Jeno speaks up from the drapes opening, closing it shut to lean against the wall. “This is my best friend, he’s a first timer.”

Jaemin’s eyes enlarge, tracing around the top of the largest entrance that can only be for one thing..

“Let him get a taste of what we paid for.”

Jeno moves to stand behind him, chest pressed to his friend's back. “Jesus man, don’t be nervous.” He grins, cupping under Jaemin’s elbow to direct his hand inside past the opening.

“Nothing to be scared of, especially not you.” He whispers, chin hooked on the largers shoulder, breathily laughing when his friend lets out a shocked gasp.

“Fuck.” Jaemin sucks in a breath, digits sliding between a soft warmth. The heat building in his chest erupts upon contact, lodging himself forward with his chest pressed to the wall as his fingers spread and he glides deeper between the familiar wrap of velvety inner thighs around his wrist. “Holy shit.”

“You wanna fuck that slut, right?” Jeno eggs on, patting his hip. “Get her nice and wet for us.”

[dailydoofypokemon]

HOENN DONE!

Wowee zowee, I’ve been done with Hoenn for a while now and am about 20 into Sinnoh, but oh man, I think more people are finding the lil blog here as Hoenn was going by, I got to 100 followers and am averaging about 10 notes a day. Which I know that’s not much, but it’s so much more activity than I’ve had on my main blog. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the consistency? But that’s still rad.

Special thanks to @everysinglepheel and @drizzileiscool for being such regulars! I know I don’t respond, but y’all’s tags keep me going. I know Drizzile, you’re waiting for the gen after this one, and that’s cool! I appreciate you sticking around like you have, so thank you so much! Same goes for Pheel! Thank you for always checking out my art!

Also a little extra thanks to @somekindabard who I love very very much and is my partner in crime and life and the best and helps me finish off all the Pokémon probs gosh, has it been since the beginning of Hoenn? Either way, love yoooooou

After Hoenn, I also think I’m going to drop off the numbering for the days. I know it’s not a lot, but I keep losing track over where I’m at, and I’m almost positive I’m off by like five or ten at this point, so it’s just a little change to the descriptions, but it’s enough that I gotta do something about it and it would help me queueing everything up ‘cause I keep losing which number i was last on //OTL

I also have posters for each gen I’ve completed so far, along with one that just has the starters! Once I get my shop properly fixed, I’ll put them online if anyone is interested. They’re 11x17, and I’m honestly really happy with how they turned out because they’re just so goofy looking, and it’s great seeing everything I’ve done so far combined into one. I want to make prints of each of the these guys in a fun collectible way eventually (a la trading cards maybe? Or something in the realm of a pack of cards or something) because there’s just some thing really satisfying to the idea of that, and may be a better solution for my table situation when I’m vending, lol. I’ll have a post on that soon so if y’all are interested!

To answer a question that came up early in Hoenn: Yes I do plan on doing every version of every Pokemon eventually! My plan is to finish all the current Pokédex, then get to work on the Mega Evolutions, then regional versions, then potentially spend a month just doing the Unown alphabet to hopefully turn into a silly font. It’ll be a while until I get there, but maybe I’ll do some of the Unown alphabet over the course of a few days and upload those as a set when I get the spoons for that. So I won’t just stop at Paldea! (Or whatever gen Pokemon will be by the time I get to Paldea, lol)

Lastly, I was curious if you guys wanted me to answer more things on here? I read everything that is sent my way, but I don’t respond because I know some people do prefer to have blogs that are themed blogs to remain consistent and not see much else. If I did interact more, I would always tag these regular posts with ‘#not pokemon’ so if you block posts then you shouldn’t see them!

Anyway, thank you so much all those who’ve been following me for a while and all those who found my blog in Hoenn! Tomorrow starts the next region: Starly! …because I also already did the starters! :D

[iraqdinar]

I sell the Zimbabwe currency. All anyone wants to buy is the 2008 hyperinflation notes. Here's why...

Everyone already knows (or should know) that the 2008 notes are no longer legal tender. Both as someone who is naturally curious and also as someone who sells the 2008 Zimbabwe currency banknotes as collectibles, I was determined to find out why that was the only year of Zimbabwe money that buyers seemed to have any interest in.

The rumor goes like this: the 2008 banknotes have text on them that reads: "I promise to pay the bearer on demand."

These were one of three series of for lack of a better term currency notes issued by the reserve bank of Zimbabwe that year. The other two, the Bearer Cheque and Special Agro-Cheque both have test in the same approximate place on the note that reads, "Pay the bearer on demand.'" However, below that is the text in larger font stating the denomination, and just below that in text the same size as the "pay the bearer" text on the Agro-Cheque and text larger than the "pay the bearer" text but smaller than the denomination on the Bearer Cheque is text on both iterations of the '08 Zim money that reads, "on or before _______ (<-- date). Below that text is the issue date.

The rumors are predicated on the fact that the actual banknotes have no expiration date, and the belief among subscribers to the rumor that the government's demonetization of the currency was an illegal act. It follows that the notes were never not legal tender because they were removed from circulation illegally, according to the rumor. I have no idea if there's any truth to that, but that's the logic behind the 2008 notes being the ones everyone wants. I've also heard of the 2008 notes referred to as "bond notes," possibly for that reason, although I've never really gotten a good answer for why.

I can't say what's going to happen with Zimbabwe's currency if anything. I sell both the 2008 and the 2019-present versions. However I'm always honest with my customers when asked, and I have no trouble admitting that I don't hold any aside from what I keep as inventory. I bet heavily on Iraqi dinar personally, but then again I have first-hand information from someone I consider to be about the most credible and trustworthy person I could possibly receive information from about the topic. In fact, I've received compelling first-hand information from three separate sources and a fourth that's compelling although less proprietary and more subjective in nature. I don't tell customers that I own dinar. When asked I just say that I only sell collectibles, not securities, nor any other form of financial products or investments, and I leave it at that when asked about dinar.

I may be triple sure of it (IQD), but while I'm okay if I lose everything swinging for the fences, I don't want to contribute to anyone else losing even a dollar. Also, I don't necessarily subscribe to the theory that the CBI (Central Bank of Iraq) is going to just wave a magic wand and add 300,000% to the value of the currency. I see a slower and more gradual appreciation against the US dollar that occurs because market forces dictate that it does. But what do I know? Admittedly nothing about anything. So please don't use anything I say as even a tiny fraction of a reason for or against any investment decision. Nothing I say or have ever said constitutes financial advice.

[blog4snape]

What if I Meant it? (2)

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape (M) x Reader (F) 

Genre: Fluff with some soft angst

Rating: Citrus (very safe for work)

Summary: A follow-up from the previous chapter. After Severus leaves your classroom, you notice he left his book behind.

Warnings: *spoilers* invasion of privacy

Word Count: 1.7K

Date Written: 9/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

After Severus left your classroom in a huff, you sighed, turning your gaze over to the indentation he had left in the pit. He had forgotten his book. You pulled yourself up from your chair and crossed the room to the fortress of pillows, gingerly picking up the discarded item. The book opened naturally to an outlined message, the words smudged from constant touch. Several pages were folded into the shape of a heart with notes written hastily into the inner margins. Curious, you squinted your eyes trying to read the blotched and scribbled writing in the inner corner of the book. Your face flushed, immediately snapping the book shut and holding it farther away from you.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you stared down at the cover of his book. It was an outdated divination book, one he must have gotten from a secondhand book shop for next to nothing. ‘But then again,’ you thought to yourself, ‘all of divination is quite outdated.” You scratched your scalp. 

In your syllabus and throughout the first week of classes, you had expressed that there was no need for any of your students to buy the books. You didn’t require any of your students to purchase divination books, as most of the lessons you taught were hands-on anyway and the books were frankly full of rubbish. Tracing a finger over the worn-out cover, you smiled softly to yourself. Severus was an excellent listener--it couldn’t have been a mishearing--he must have taken an interest in the subject to go out of his way to purchase a divination book. 

‘Or in you.’ The words floated in your head, reminding you of the notes you had just seen scratched into the book still in your hands. 

You sighed, laying in the pit. It was still warm from where Severus had been resting, and you caught a hint of the scent of pine and lavender that would tend to cling to him. You opened the book once more, flipping through the notes he had written.

“That dunderhead Potter wasn’t paying attention to the lesson on Ichthyomancy. He got slapped by the fish we were working with today-”

You laughed, remembering the giant trout that smacked James Potter’s face last week when he decided to mess with it during your lesson after your instruction not to. “You deserved it, Potter,” you laughed, causing other students to follow your footsteps. You said it then and you’d say it again now. 

“-It was pretty great, even the professor laughed at him. She has a cute laugh.” 

As your eyes traveled further down the page, seeing what Severus thought of your laugh made it halt in your throat. Your cheeks burned as you continued to read the comments he wrote. The majority of all of the writing was about divination class- most of them were notes he had written from the lectures. You allowed yourself to have a new teacher’s proud grin, seeing that he was getting a lot out of your lessons. But as you kept turning pages, you found yourself appearing in the margins more and more. Not all of the words were about you, but many of them mentioned you in some way or another. 

‘I told her I had taken quite a liking to ferns. The next week she waved me over after class with a huge smile on her face. She looked so excited. She gave me a tiny fern plant whose sparse fronds had yet to unfurl.’ 

Next to the note was a small doodle of a baby fern. You grinned, it was the cutest drawing you’ve ever seen.

‘She tutored me after class today. She told me to “keep up the good work” and hugged me afterward.’

You nodded, glad to help your students feel more confident in their abilities and glad that Severus Snape was one of them.

‘She baked us biscuits because we all got high marks on the test last week. They tasted good.’

You smiled, happy to know your students liked your gifts. For every test they aced, you would give your students biscuits as a reward. You figured the upperclassmen deserved a treat every now and then, as they’re usually stressing about the OWLs and their NEWT classes.

‘She has pretty eyes.’

Your smile faded. You had to read that line again. You adjusted the book in your hands, moving one hand to your temple. Were you reading that right? 

‘She held me while I cried. It was all I’ve ever wanted. I want her to hold me again.’

‘She doesn’t want to tell me about who she saw that night. But, she didn’t ask me about the werewolf. So I guess I’ll stop asking her. For now.’ 

That night a boggart was in your classroom. You bit your index nail, images of your boggart pressing into your mind. With all that had been happening lately, you didn’t even realize he had stopped asking you but you instantly felt gratitude blossom in your chest. You read the past two notes again, feeling regret at the way you handled the situation. You wished you had been harsher. Any other teacher wouldn’t have given in to his demands. But he wasn’t just your student--he was your old friend.  

‘Her hands are soft.’

Was he just your friend? Your heart thumped, wondering if he only thought of you as his friend, also.

‘I like her plants. She’s got a bunch all over the classroom. Whenever I ask her about one, she gets so excited and tells me all she can about it. I already knew most of it, but I haven’t the heart to interrupt her. I like when she gets passionate about something, and the way she rambles about plants is cute.’

The note was surrounded by small drawings of the plants around your classroom. You stroked the ink outlines of the leaves with an appreciative grin. He was rather talented.

‘She’s so cute when she’s setting something on fire.’

Despite the flush on your cheeks, you chuckled a bit. Divination allowed you to set a lot of things on fire, and sometimes you seemed just a bit too eager. ‘So are you,’ you murmured, thinking of Severus’ passion for learning.

‘She smiled at me today and told me something. I was too focused on her mouth to remember what she said.’ 

You absentmindedly stroked your lips. You took a moment to swear at yourself- urging yourself to stop reading this book, to stop reading Severus’ private feelings, and to stop feeling your own feelings, but you just kept going. 

‘She named one of her plants, “Snargs.” I don’t know why, because it wasn’t even a Snargaluff, but it made me chuckle anyway.’

You smiled at the mention of your plant. Next to the note was a drawing of Snargs, your forever-flowering cactus with the name ‘Snargs’ written in a curly font above the plant. You looked up, seeing Snargs sitting on the high windowsill with his petals dancing in the soft summer breeze. You blew a kiss to him, placing his weekly watering schedule at the back of your mind as you kept reading.

‘She gave me a gift last Christmas. It was a new bag for my books. I saw her staring at the holes in my old bag the month before. The box didn’t have a sender, but I knew it was her. I could smell her perfume on it and it was her handwriting on the note inside.’

Embarrassed, you scratched the inside of your arm. You tried to be sneaky about your gift but it was certainly difficult getting anything past someone as observant as Severus. The two of you didn’t participate in the holiday’s secret santa event, but you could tell he desperately needed a new bag. His previous bag looked a century old, full of holes and nearly falling apart at the seams. His materials constantly fell out of his bag, and you had grown sorrowful every time he had to backtrack with downfallen eyes and a red face to retrieve his dropped items. You knew he didn’t want your pity, and you were afraid if you gave the bag to him in person he’d reject it, so you decided to be as anonymous as possible. You were glad he decided to use it anyway despite knowing where it came from in the end. Smiling, you wondered if he’d accept the gift if it came from anyone else.

Then, for the next few pages shaped like a heart, he had written your name in the margin in his best calligraphy, with pulsing hearts, twinkling stars, blossoming flowers, swimming fish, and tiny sketches of tarot cards. You stared, mesmerized at his magicked art, caressing the moving lines with your fingers. He wrote your names together in a heart, side by side with his. You couldn’t help the smile bubbling onto your curious face as you slowly took in every addition, fiddling with the corner of the dog-eared pages that had been shaped into a heart. You flipped the page, confused--there were tiny hearts drawn around an inky black mass. The mass was a jumble of rough sketch-lines, but they started to move. Your breath caught in your throat as the lines scribbled down on the paper formed an image of you, turning around and smiling. Nothing but astounding brightness was in your features, a direct contrast to the next notes he had written down. 

‘I wonder if she feels the same as I do. She has to, right?’

You just couldn’t answer that question right now. You bit your lip, glancing up at the door as if Severus could burst in at any moment. You sighed, thinking about him as your eyes dropped back to the writing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroked the next horrible words beneath your finger, feeling his self-doubt emanating from the paper.

‘But who could ever like someone like me?’

The next note was a long paragraph, but whatever words you could see were smudged and crossed out. Ink had been spilled on top of the page, the black streaks marring the yellowed pages. The corner of the page was brandished with scorch marks. 

~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading!  These “one-shots” (lol) are from a series called Afterimages of You. Here’s the masterlist for all of the one shots I have posted in the series. a big ol thank you to @thats-mrs-snape-to-you​  @bush-viper-cutie​ and @littl-prince​ for helping me, i love you guys!!

[mooncaps]

Presenting: The Carmilla Canon Tweets Collection!

I’m only four-and-a-half years late, but I hope people will enjoy this anyway. All four of the canon Twitter accounts, arranged in chronological order, and packaged into a .cbz file for your reading convenience.

Here’s the download link.

If this is the first time you’ve heard of a .cbz file, they can be opened with a program called CDisplay (and other programs too.) Alternatively, you can change the extension to .zip and extract all of the images if you so choose.

For a little more specificity and methodology about this collection: When images were tweeted, the full-size image follows after in a “page” by itself. For links, if they didn’t have an embedded preview within the tweet, I include a single screenshot of the linked site in a “page” by itself. It’s not the full content of the link, just enough to preview the webpage and understand the context of what was being linked.

This collection contains the public tweets, i.e. scripted content. The only replies are the replies to each other. No one else. I did seriously consider including all replies, as well as the tweets to which they were replying, but I ultimately decided against it for a few reasons.

The four canon accounts are still on Twitter and are expected to remain there indefinitely. The accounts are: Laura2theLetter, HeyCarmilla, SilasUniversity, and LaFilphormes. This collection just arranges the tweets from all four accounts together into chronological reading order and uses the icons that the accounts were using at the time the tweets were made.

For the explanation of my reasons for leaving out replies and other highly specific nerdy details:

Reason number one is that the scripted content is essentially the story the writers were telling with these tweets. The rest is sort of in-character ad-libbing, but not necessarily story progression. Reason number two is that a lot of the accounts being replied to have changed names or vanished in the years between then and now. Even a few of the quasi-canon fan-made RP accounts are gone and I wouldn’t have been able to track down all of their tweets or their icons. Reason number three is that if I had included everything I could find then this project would’ve taken me at least ten years to complete instead of four. There are a few gems in the replies, especially from the Silas University account, but I had to make a judgment call. The tweets in this collection are the tweets you would see if you followed all four accounts, but didn’t follow any of the other fans and RP accounts that the canon accounts would occasionally reply to.

Regarding chronological order, there were a few instances in the early days when several tweets seem to have been scheduled for the same time and ended up posting out of order. I rearranged in these instances to present the tweets in what seemed to be the intended order. There was also one instance that I’m reasonably confident was an a.m./p.m. scheduling mixup and I’ve rearranged that one as well. There are other instances where I suspect some tweets might have been inadvertently shuffled somehow, but I didn’t have anything solid enough to justify rearranging.

And this is about to be an extremely nerdy aside within this extremely nerdy aside, but there was one particular tweet that I chose to edit because the formatting or something was causing it to display differently on different devices. It’s one of Laura’s garbled tweets from between S3 Act 2 and S3 Act 3. The characters of the tweet displayed in different orders every time I tried to view the tweet another way. Windows 7, Windows 10, Android Phone, the search results page vs. the status page, and using the mobile.twitter link instead of the regular twitter link.

After much confusion about this, I eventually copied the text of the tweet into a document, and it came out in this order:

And according to Ellen Simpson, what the tweet actually says is that, when you read it backwards, bottom line then top. So, what I did was take the screenshot and then manually rearrange the characters into that (backwards) order, and kept the right alignment that the tweet seemed to have, producing this result:

I also included the tweet in a separate “page” right after, as it appeared in the search results on the Windows 7 laptop that I used to screenshot the rest of the tweets, for authenticity’s sake.

The tweets at this time were all scrambled anyways, but the rest were all readable approximations of Ellen’s translations and I don’t think making it that level of scrambled was intentional. The character’s show up in the right (backwards) order on TweetDeck, just not on any version of the Twitter site.

And lastly, the way tweets appear on Twitter has changed several times since I started this project. The circular icons are probably the most obvious change. I’ve pasted the original square icons over those. However, the width of the tweet column, font, and the replies/retweets/likes have changed over time as well.

I restarted this project several times, hoping to be able to screenshot every tweet in the same layout. Eagle-eyed viewers may spot a small and insignificant difference between certain page groups. Doing the whole project in-between any revisions to the Twitter site proved to be more than I was capable of, but the final result has an overall uniformity of presentation that I’m very satisfied with.

I think that should explain just about anything that anyone as nerdy about this as I am would be curious to know.

[sockablock]

in light of the truly heartwarming response I got to part one of this story, please enjoy: How To Build a Magic School, Chapter 2

—

It took a special kind of mind to follow the Mighty Nein’s conversations once they really got heated. It helped, at least, that they were seated in close proximity, sprawled across a ring of crates in the main tent, but the fact of the matter was that trying to pay attention to seven people all chiming in at once was already giving Essek a mild headache. And minor neck pain.

“—kind of disguise,” Veth was saying. “I know it’s been a couple years, but folks here…they might not be happy to see a…a...”

“A foreigner,” Fjord said, diplomatically.

“A Xhorhastian,” Yasha tried.

“A drow,” Essek came to their rescue. “No, she is right.”

There was a sharp and semi-affronted exhale from Jester. “Did you get any funny looks when you arrived? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“And do you remember which ones they were?” Caleb added quietly.

Essek hesitated, trying to remember, but through the bright haze of sunlight and hot summer, the furious clamor of construction outside—

“I…do not think anyone saw my arrival.”

“You’re wearing full black and carrying a pink umbrella,” Beau grunted. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated again. “Ah…no.”

“All sorts of interesting people have visited us since the school project started,” Caduceus said. In line with the conventions of his personal narrative, he was attempting to make tea over a tiny, portable burner. “You probably won’t be the strangest thing they’ve seen or will see, working here.”

“They’ve already seen Fjord—”

“Hey! That—why—”

“The people of Felderwin can be touchy though,” Veth continued, smugly ignoring Fjord. “I don’t really think you can blame them, either. If it wasn’t the goblin attacks for years before that, it was the, well, the huge invasion where a purple worm ate the ground and half the town caught on fire.”

She maintained eye contact with Essek as she said this. Her gaze intensified when he shrugged. 

“That is…fair enough,” Caleb cut in. “But I would feel…ill at ease to force you, Essek, to hide if you did, ah, did not wish to…”

Essek gestured vaguely at his appearance. “Actually, I had assumed I would be needing to disguise myself. I have masqueraded as a high elf before, and it would not be difficult to do so again.”

“Isn’t that a lot of spells wasted?” Fjord asked. “Won’t it be annoying to have to keep that up?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Veth, under her breath.

“Oh, oh, I could Polymorph you!” Jester clapped her hands together, enthused. “I can make you anything! You could be an elf, or a tiefling, or a firbolg or a—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Essek said smoothly, “but I do have a few resources at hand. A simple ring of illusion would do the trick.”

“What are we gonna say about you, though?” Beauregard asked. All heads turned toward her. “If the court wants to know about you, a random mage and one of the first hires of the magic school, what are we supposed to tell them?”

They considered this.

“He’s a…family friend?”

“Whose family?”

“Well, I’d like to think of us as a family—”

“Why don’t we say he’s from Nicodranas?” Jester suggested. “We could say he’s, um…oh! That he was recommended by Yussa!”

“Yussa?” Essek echoed.

“Actually…that doesn’t sound half-bad,” Fjord mused. “Master Yussa is a mage that the king recognizes, yes?”

“Ah, he is a mage?”

“He’s a friend of ours!” Jester beamed. “A super powerful wizard that lives in the Open Quay. He’s pretty powerful, Essek. Maybe even more powerful than you!”

This was delivered with a winning smile. Caleb sighed. “From what I gather, Master Yussa is much older, and has had quite a few lifetimes’ worth of practice. He is also…quite reclusive, and therefore not exactly what we had in mind for this school.

“And he said no,” Beauregard muttered.

“Yes, danke, and he also turned us down. The point is, we can pretend you are acquainted with him. That should be enough to assuage the court.”

“Will this…Master Yussa agree to such a thing?” Essek asked.

Caleb answer with a faint grin. “He is a wizard who feels he is…not so beholden to court pressures. Also, he owes us a favor, as is.”

Essek couldn’t help but match Caleb’s expression. “Is that so? Then I find I quite admire this man.”

“We saved him from the Happy Fun Ball,” Yasha supplied, a collection of syllables that no betting man would have ever predicted to come from her. “He likes us.”

“He loves us,” Jester corrected. “He has our Little Willi and his assistant Wensforth practically worships us and everything!”

After the pertinent information had been properly located, Essek nodded. “That is, er, lovely. I owe him my thanks.”

“Now we just gave to give you a new name,” said Veth. “I don’t think we can keep calling you ‘Thelyss,’ unless we want the idiots on the Committee getting suspicious.”

“The…excuse me?”

“The Arcane Restoration Supervisory Committee,” Caleb sighed, “is a group of concerned officials—”

“—nosy dillweeds—"

“—that was formed to manage—”

“—micromanage—”

“—to oversee our current rebuilding efforts. It is very likely,” he continued, giving Beau a look, “that this is the court’s way of reconciling with the fact that an unknown quantity has been handed the reigns of the Dwendalian Empire’s arcane future.”

“I know that,” Beau countered, “I just don’t like them.”

“Caleb is the unknown quantity,” Caduceus added.

“…I see,” said Essek, eventually. “Should I, ah, be concerned about them?”

“Probably not,” Beau said. “They’re just a bunch of nobles who think they understand the first thing about magic.”

“You being an expert on the subject, of course,” was what Essek did not say, because self-preservation interrupted just in time. Instead, what left his mouth was:

“I had also anticipated concern about my involvement—that is, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’s involvement—in this matter. If necessary, I can masquerade as someone else. I, ah, will still need an umbrella during the daylight hours, though. Or perhaps a large hat?”

The elongated squeal from Jester atop the milk crate filled him with regret.

“What was the name you used last time?” Fjord asked. “Desden…Desbin…”

“‘Dezran Thain,’” Essek supplied. “Actually, I could employ that title again.”

“Uh…is that a good idea?” Veth asked. “Wasn’t Dezran a friend of the Assembly’s?”

Essek shook his head. “Strictly speaking, Thain was just a very minor lord that lived in Nicodranas. When the peace talks began, he was called upon by Da’leth to play tour guide and host due to his interest in magic and local familiarity. Only he, de Rogna, and Tversky knew who I really was.”

“It is…not bad, as far as our plans go,” Caleb said after a while. “It aligns with the story that you are Nicodranian, and it might actually sit well with the court members that had favored the Assembly. As for those who supported us against them…”

Beau rolled her eyes when Caleb’s gaze fell on her. “Yeah, yeah, an Expositor will vouch for him.”

“An Expositor?”

“Gods, fine, this Expositor.”

“Thank you.” Then he gave Essek a nod. “That about covers it then, ja? This story, we can tell the court, and then—"

“Wait, hang on—” And this was Beauregard again, leaning forward, staring directly at Essek.

“Yes?” he said.

“What did you tell your court?” she asked.

—

Mother had spoken to the Bright Queen alone. This was not technically out of the ordinary, as the Umavis of Rosohna frequently met to discuss state matters too selective for anyone else. But Essek was unused to being considered “anyone else,” which was why the situation still rankled, in his mind.

“Tell me again,” he turned to face his mother, floating clothes and books drifting past his head. “Is that all you said?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

At his still-annoyed expression, his mother sighed. “Yes, dear. I just told Leylas that this was a unique opportunity for you to integrate yourself within the Empire and gain ample information that would otherwise be inaccessible. We all saw how abruptly the war ended, and how quickly the Assembly seemed to fall afterwards. No one can blame her for being curious.”

A small inkwell drifted across the room as Essek resumed packing. “And then?” he prompted.

His mother sighed again.

“And then I reassured her Majesty that there were plenty of souls that could temporarily come together to fill the void you would leave behind—”

No doubt all from Den Thelyss, Essek thought.

“—and that even in absentia, you would still be serving as a valuable font of information for the Dynasty. Which, after all, is what the Shadowhand is meant to do. And of course, should it ever be required, you could always be called home.”

“…indeed.”

“Indeed,” his mother smiled. “Though, of course, this is all under the assumption that aside from your prospective employer, nobody else will know who you truly are.”

Essek gave this due consideration.

“I have a feeling that the rest of the Mighty Nein will be told, Mother.”

The Umavi of Den Thelyss was not an easy woman to read. Her expression gave nothing away as she said, “I see.”

“But,” Essek added, because he felt he needed to, “I don’t think anyone else has to know.”

She reached out slowly and plucked a mirror from the air.

“I have more faith in you than that, my dear. I am confident you will ensure it is so.”

—

“—temporary leave of absence,” said Essek, now, to the Mighty Nein. “I have been the Shadowhand for most of my life, and a diligent scholar of the nation before that. I was owed some vacation days.”

“Vacation days—” began Fjord.

“But how temporary?” asked Beau, cutting him off. “I thought it’d be hard for you—you know, as you said, the Shadowhand—to just up and leave, after all. How long can you stay here?”

Essek gave her a wry smile. “Fortunately, I expect my definition of ‘temporary’ is somewhat different than yours.”

“Longer,” said Caduceus.

“Longer,” he agreed. “It is very safe to assume that I can stay for at least a decade, if I wish.”

“And I certainly hope you do wish,” said Caleb quickly. “There are many things we will need to accomplish, after all, not just today during construction, but in the future. And, ah,” he added, a little more pointedly, “I do feel as if I should thank you again. For everything you have done for us, and now today in volunteering your expertise.”

“Man, we’re really going to need it,” Jester groaned, throwing herself back across the milk crate. “The Committee keeps telling us to go faster, hire this person, that person, build the school different—everything.”

“Really?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, but that all can be explained tomorrow,” he said. “For now, though,” and he stood, crouching to avoid the ceiling of the tent, “let me show you to where we are staying. I expect you must be tired, ja? If not by the travel, then at least the time difference.”

For just a moment, Essek thought about saying otherwise. But there was something in Caleb’s hopeful expression that made him pause.

He yawned very minutely, and smiled. “It would be nice to put my things away,” he admitted. “And, ah, perhaps have a short rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Caleb gestured to the door, but did stop to address the group at large. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he added, “but if anyone needs me…Jester?”

She saluted cheerfully, for the spirit of it. “Got it!”

“And of course, Veth, you are the Professor in charge.”

This was answered with an expansive wave, and a grin.

“Of course, Headmaster! Leave everything to us!”

—

“So…Headmaster, eh?” One pair of footsteps—and then sheepishly, another—began to crunch through the freshly-dewed grass. All around them, spanning the entirety of the field, a legion of masons and stonecutters and workmen cut, sawed, hammered, and hefted the thick wooden frame of an enormous building in its first stages. A group of surveyors stood at the center, arguing as more lumber was lugged into view, directing the flow of Construction and Progress.

“Apparently so,” Caleb said, “though I have to admit, I am not quite used to that title yet.”

Something enormous soared overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun.

“Would you prefer Professor Widogast?”

Caleb sighed as the shadow vanished.

“I prefer ‘Caleb,’ to be truly honest.”

Essek chuckled. “Then for now at least, I will oblige.”

He glanced up as the next shadow approached, squinting to see in the bright morning light. After rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, he could make out the shape of a massive carpet, carrying sacks of sand and brick.

“Spoils from the remnants of Soltryce,” Caleb explained, before Essek could ask. “We found quite a number of things in the basement of that school, some…well.” His expression went dark, and not just because of the shadow overhead. “Many of those things we managed to release. Some, ultimately, had to be destroyed.” But then he gestured to the enormous architectural undertaking around them and added in a lighter tone, “Some things, though, ended up being rather useful. Like the, ah, look, over there—”

Essek blinked again, and this time spotted what appeared to be twelve hulking stone statues, moving slowly between a line of workers. Each had gait like rock grinding on steel, and were lifting whole logs like they weighed nothing.

“Guardian constructs,” Caleb said. “They were a nuisance to battle, but once de Rogna was gone, they went dormant and stopped fighting. We figured out how to pilot them later.”

Essek looked suitably impressed by this. He shifted his umbrella into his other hand.

“Really?” he said. “And are you now their master?”

“Oh no, nein,” Caleb quickly shook his head. “Honestly, it was suggested, but I…there was something that bothered me about the idea of having control of them. And not just I, but…it felt wrong to let any single person control a fleet of sleepless warriors. So Beauregard got creative.”

“Indeed?”

Caleb pointed to a wooden sign that was nailed into the ground a few feet from their path. A handful of workers was crouching next to it, carefully reciting what was scrawled across its surface. After a moment, to Essek’s genuine surprise, he realized they were practicing an arcane incantation.

“How do—”

“A pronunciation guide,” Caleb said. He was—yes, he was smiling about this. “We managed to translate enough verbal commands to make them usable for anyone who can read Common.”

“But…but…that’s everyone,” Essek said, hurrying a bit to catch back up. It took him some effort to tear his gaze from the sign. “Are you not…are you not concerned about this information falling into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, but if anyone can use them, then there is no problem. The playing field, as they say, has evened out. That was Beauregard’s idea, anyhow.” At the silence that followed, Caleb tilted his head and said, “Think of it this way, ja? A magic sword controlled by an evil person is not so dangerous if even a peasant can tell it to stop. What is the use of a weapon of war that listens to everyone’s commands?”

“Yes, but…” Essek struggled to find the right words. “Now…now…right, but now the sword is a, a, a butter knife! What would be the point of that?”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he managed a trying smile. “That…depends on what you need though, no? Right now, what we are looking for is not war. It is toast. Er…that is, a metaphorical toast.”

“But…still, if that is the case, anyone could steal your constructs,” Essek said, somewhat subdued. “Should they not be guarded? As you would protect a prized tool?”

Caleb actually snorted at this. “If anybody attempted to do so,” he said, “they would receive quite an earful from the Chief Surveyor. They would not dare.”

And then Caleb turned, met Essek’s gaze, and it looked like he was waiting for cheerful agreement.

Neither response felt appropriate. Something about this still bothered Essek, almost like trying an ill-fitting sock.

“I think, ah, that I prefer jam,” he managed eventually. “On my toast, that is. And perhaps, a cup of tea?”

Blessedly, this elicited a chuckle from Caleb. “Of course, of course. That I can provide. We are quite close to the tavern, as is.”

And indeed, after only a few more minutes, they passed through a thin line of trees and arrived at the edge of a small, but bustling town.

“Welcome—well, welcome back to Feldwerin,” Caleb corrected. “Though this time, I expect, you will be staying longer.”

—

When the war ended, Felderwin Tillage had been left in a state of utter chaos. Purple worms had torn apart acres of land, fields had been razed by advancing soldiers, and scores of houses, stables, and shops had been burned to the ground when the invasion began.

And then, the Cerberus Assembly had fallen, and more information flooded the populous. They’d been told, virtually overnight, that the Archmages had been secretly using this town as a testing ground. They’d unleashed uncontrolled magic here for generations, tricking and abusing the townsfolk for their experiments, forcing a local lad—the widower—to work for them, and when people fell ill, they’d blamed it all on molded fruit.

Suddenly, the villagers felt quite foolish. And then, they’d started to get angry.

So it came as a genuine shock to Caleb that when the time came to build their campus, Veth had stepped forward and said it should be in Felderwin.

“But…they’d never agree,” he’d said. “Why should they?”

But she’d shaken her head. “They will.”

And so, the next morning, Veth marched through the village center with Luc and Yeza following behind, the Mighty Nein scrambling to keep up. She’d stormed up the stairs of the Town Hall, looked the Starosta dead in his eye, and informed him that everything was about to change.

All they’d need, she said, was a swath of land outside town, far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with the calm that this village had been so denied, but close enough that it was still in the tillage. She’d told him, when he’d protested, that yes, there would be mages, but there would also be student mages, young, burgeoning minds that would spend quite a long time at the school. They’d be trained there, fed and housed and cared for, and eventually, once they grew up and graduated, when they looked back fondly on their younger years, it’d be in Felderwin.

Besides, she’d added, tapping the side of her nose, now the King would have to protect this place. After all, it’d be right next to the Empire’s arcane center, and wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some proper defenses? Not to mention, if you needed to borrow any of the bright young masons and stonecutters we’d hired, well. That could be arranged, easy.    

Sometimes, she’d said, it doesn’t hurt to be on the map. Because then the world pays attention to what happens to you.

And then the mayor had said, Aren’t you dead?

And then Veth had informed him, I got better.

And so it was now, a few months later, that Caleb led Essek past the newly-rebuilt Brenatto Apothecary, toward the Glassy Grass Inn. It had become the go-to tavern for the Mighty Nein, not because they were unwelcome in Veth’s house, per say, but more due to a gentle conversation that Yeza had had with his wife about work-life balance after Caduceus had walked into the center of the shop during its busiest hours in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush.

After that, they agreed to at least sleep next door.

The bell overhead rang as they entered, though the sound was lost in the din of voices. Essek had barely shut his parasol before a burly man in an apron rushed past, carrying tray upon tray of drink and food.

“It’s gotten rather busy since we moved in,” Caleb explained. “Word got around, and apparently people quite like staying in the same pub as us. That, and old Littlebottle agreed to let our workers take meals and rooms at a discount. The barkeep.”

“Really?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “How generous of him.”

“Well, apparently he is grateful for the business. And, I expect, grateful that our project has kept his neighbor preoccupied. Apparently Veth and Yeza were responsible for quite a number of the scorch marks at the edge of his lawn.”

“Is that so?” Essek chuckled. “I find it easy to believe.” Then he added, as he watched Caleb wave to a face in the crowd, “It seems you have taken well to your new assignment. And life in this town.”

He was caught off-guard when he noticed the faintest coloring of Caleb’s ear.

“Oh, er…is that so? Have I?”

“Well, I…just meant it seems you have made friends with the locals. And you, ah, move through the village with purpose, and had quite a lot to say about your endeavor.”

“Is that—scheisse, was I annoy—”

“Oh! No, no, not at all. I just, er…”

They stopped in the doorway leading up to the second floor, laughter and conversation winding slowly all around them.

“I just meant, ah…it is nice to see you so relaxed,” Essek finished lamely. “Retirement from adventuring seems to suit you.”

Caleb seemed to relax. “Well,” he murmured, “I am glad you think so. Though I must say, my retirement has certainly been eventful.”

“Better still than the typical hero’s retirement, no?”

“Ha! Lucky for me, eh?”

They stood there for a moment longer, as if neither were sure who should go first. But after a short pause, Caleb stepped back and began rummaging through his pockets. “Here, ah, here, take this,” he said, and pressed a small silver key into Essek’s hand. “It leads to my bedroom, but you can rest there while I see about getting you a room. And some tea.”

Eseek turned it over, looped a finger through the cord. “Oh, but I can’t just leave you to—”

“No, nein, I insist,” said Caleb. “I do not mind—”

“Are you sure—”

“Of course.” And with the air of someone playing a trump card in a social encounter, he added, “After all, you have travelled quite a distance, my friend. Please. I will join you in a moment.”

—

The Mighty Nein ate their sandwiches peacefully in the meadow outside their tent.

Then:

“I thought he’d be wearing different clothes.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I just thought he’d look…less shadowy.”

“Like he wouldn’t be wearing that creepy mantle, or something?”

“Yeah! Like I thought he’d be in, like, summery clothes! Like a flowy shirt and regular pants and short sleeves and straw sandals. He is taking a break from being a spymaster, after all.”

There a pause as they pondered the likelihood of this.

“He…could be wearing that under the mantle,” Caduceus said.

“Sandals? Really?” said Fjord.

“But his skin, he probably could not wear those if he wanted to,” Yasha said.

“Hmm…that is a good point,” Jester conceded. “But still, all black? In the summer? That’s

“Not if he’s got, I dunno, ice under there,” said Veth. “What if he has a bunch of ice strapped to his chest?”

“Ice? Now, really…” said Fjord, but everyone else had started to ruminate on this.

“No stains,” said Beau eventually.

“What?”

“No stains,” she repeated “If there was ice, there’d be stains. From it melting, right?”

“Or he’d be—ugh, gross—he’d be leaking,” said Veth. “Like there’d be puddles underneath him and stuff.”

Three of them snickered delightedly at this. Then Caduceus passed around more juice, and more sandwiches.

—

There was a cat on the bed when Essek walked in, sprawled out as if it owned the place.

Disguised drow and disguised fey regarded each other for a moment. Then Frumpkin stretched lazily, and yawned.

It occurred to Essek, as he continued to stand in the doorway, that this might be some kind of test. Minutes passed as he struggled to find the right thing to say—this was a familiar, was it not? And then he realized that anything he did end up saying would probably come across as rather silly. He decided to err on caution and simply nodded to the cat before sitting down on a worn wooden chair.

It ignored him completely. Essek twisted at his sleeve.

And finally, by the Grace of the Luxon, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Come in, come i—Caleb, that is much too much food.”

“Nonsense,” said Caleb, who had closed the door behind him rather inelegantly with a foot. Carefully balanced across his arms were two wooden trays absolutely laden with breads, cheeses, sliced meats and fruits that Essek at a first glance couldn’t name. A third tray floated behind Caleb, supported by a faintly-shimmering Unseen Servant, carrying drinks and utensils.

Not to be outdone, Essek gave a faint smile and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The trays rose out of Caleb’s grasp and drifted toward the table.

“I had it,” but his former student was now smiling as well. “Though I have missed seeing an esteemed Gravaturgist at work.”

The food came to a gentle rest between them. “I have also missed showing off,” Essek said wryly. “It is hard to find someone in the Dynasty unfamiliar enough with Dunamancy to appreciate my skills quite as much as you d—you alldid.”

“We did make you teleport us around quite a bit,” Caleb chuckled. He picked up a small piece of bread and split it in two, offering half to Essek. “I do not think we ever repaid you properly, either.”

Essek examined the bread in his hands. “Well, if I remember the contents of your letter correctly, it is the world that should be trying to repay you. The Chained Oblivion? Really, Caleb?”

“Oh, ah…” The man actually had the nerve to sound bashful. “That was mostly an accident, as it were.”

“You…sorry, you accidentally defeated the Chained God? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Well, er, no, not exactly.” He picked up one of the small round fruits and held it between his fingers. “It was sort of an accident that we found it…or rather, we did not know what we were looking for.”

This sounded like the Mighty Nein that Essek knew. He motioned for Caleb to go on.

“We had been…following a dream of Yasha’s,” Caleb said. “She had received it from the Storm Lord ages ago, but with one thing and another, we had never had time to pursue this. There was…a place, an island in the sea, she had felt it was a place of great importance. We weren’t sure why, until we arrived and found…”

A place of starlight and iron chains, buried in the heart of a dead volcano. A chamber, a ritual-site, fading incense and chalk, ensnaring an obelisk and a shattered crystal and at its center, a pulsating, churning darkness—

A hole in reality, Essek would remember, lying awake that night. The bastards had found a hole in reality and then they’d jumped in—

And found themselves standing in a pocket dimension…or at least, that’s what they’d thought. The air swirled with dark mist, the sky alive and churning. The walls of the world seemed to lurch and expand and it was Caduceus who realized that the whole plane was breathing. Jester shifted them out, returning them to the chamber, and they began to pour through the notes left behind. They realized that someone had found a Divine Shackle, then turned it in on itself, re-directed the ritual, created a bridge that would grant them access to the very being of Tharizdun, the most ancient and chaotic of forces—

“But who?” Essek breathed. He held a gooseberry, though he didn’t know it yet. “Who was responsible?”

Caleb scowled. “They left their notes behind. Who else would it be?”

As far as the Cobalt Soul could tell, the archmages themselves had not originally been involved in any actual cult. But after Vence’s capture, and Tasithar’s transfer, a spark of interest had been ignited in the minds of some of the nation’s brightest.

“It is like your metaphor,” Caleb said. “Before, they were simply sailing on a boat—"

Essek hesitated. The horrible sourness of the fruit might’ve been muddying his concentration. “It is what?”

“Like they were sailing,” Caleb repeated. “And every so often, they could lean over the edge and skim the sea for knowledge from relative safety. But capturing the cultists had…inspired the Academy to instead, go for a dive. And so they dove, down into the deeps, plumbing the darkest tides for secrets. And of course, they ultimately encountered the monster of all monsters…”

From there, it had been a matter of getting the proof—about this, about everything else they’d done—into the hands of Cobalt Soul. But word got out, and whispers travelled, and more people than the Nein could ever have imagined rose up, demanded justice and retribution—

Essek remembered the reports he’d received on the morning of the fall of the Cerberus Assembly. The casualties had been extreme, but what happened afterwards, even more so.  

“You arrested them,” he murmured. “The ones that survived, anyway.”

“And still, quite a few of them escaped,” Caleb sighed. “That is of course not even including the fact that not all of them were guilty enough to fully imprison to start with. As I understand, Hass has left to see the world, and Lord Uludan is still a diplomat for the king.”

Essek glanced at a slice of cured ham. He wondered if it would be enough to counter the taste in his mouth.

“With the…Assembly gone,” he said carefully, “there will not be a council of mages to balance the rule of the king, anymore. The nation has lost a powerful governing body and a source of great strength. What do you suppose this means for Dwendal?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essek. “I certainly do not think the Assembly was doing much balancing to begin with,” he said, almost as slowly. “As for the King, well…the man is quite old, and very paranoid. He will be tricky to manage, and yet there are a number of good people surrounding him. In fact, the elimination of the Assembly could allow them to finally step up. That, and this nation has now witnessed a historic uprising of the people. For the first time in a long time, citizens are trying to make their voices heard. And unless the royal court wants more chaos, or to fall in the way that the Assembly did, for once, I think they will have to listen.”

Essek lowered his hand. He stared at Caleb. “But…they are just people,” he said, astonished. “How could they know what is best for the nation?”

Caleb’s expression changed, slightly. He was silent for quite a long stretch of time.

“My dear friend…they are the nation.”

—

“No,” said Fjord.

“But—”

“No, Jester. I will not let you tape ice cubes to my armpit.”

There was a pause. Then a huff.

“Fine, I’ll ask Beau.”

—

After lunch, Essek was shown to a room slightly farther down the hall.

“It will likely be some time before we will be able to move into the school grounds,” Caleb said, “so I recommend you make yourself comfortable here.”

Essek was given another small key, tied to a leather cord.

He felt like something needed to be said. Gods, if he could just figure out what.

“I, ah…thank you,” he tried. “For…lunch, for everything, the room, and, ah, if you need gold—"

Caleb shook his hand. “Nein, please, no. It is, as they say, on the house. More accurately, on the dime of the royal treasury.”

There was another hesitation. Essek sought desperately for a solution, but when nothing came, he sighed. And gave up.

“I, um…am sorry,” he said. “If I…made a statement that was…incorrect.”

Caleb studied his expression. Then, he seemed to sigh as well.

“A school is for learning, is it not? Maybe we will be surprised by who teaches.”

“Er…”

“I just mean,” Caleb murmured, “that we do truly come from different worlds. That are, in many odd ways, rather the same. I just hope it will not be too much.”

Essek was not a stupid man. He opened his mouth again, to protest, but stopped when a hand brushed against his arm.

“You should get some rest,” Caleb said. “Unpack, adjust to our time zone, relax. Then tomorrow,” and here there was the faintest hint of smile, “I will give you a real tour of the school. You should have a voice in some of our plans, too, for the curriculum and into the future. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it will be better to have everyone around when we finish the story. Yasha does very good sound effects for the Chained Oblivion.”

There was another pause. Not nearly as tense, but still quite bewildered.

“She does…what?”

“You did not think that was the end of the story, did you?” Caleb grinned. “That we toppled the Assembly and the Maw that Devours just vanished?”

Essek recalled the other reports.

“Ah,” he said. “More the fool I.”

Caleb gave him a friendly pat. “Once a bridge is built, it goes both ways,” he said. “It is funny how often we wizards forget that.”

Then, in the warmth of the hallway, he nodded.

“Have a rest, Essek Thelyss. I will be down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he nodded, and turned around, and left.

—

“Jester, I—oh gods, that’s cold.”

“Hold still, silly! You have to hold still.”

“But I—ah—oh, oh gods.”

—

And later that evening, alone in his room, Essek summoned an exquisite onyx chest. He popped it open, and slowly all his worldly possessions began to drift out. Clothes, papers, books and components slowly floated across the room, settling into the proper drawers or hanging themselves in the closet.

And then, Essek collapsed into bed. With a wave of his hand, a small mirror appeared.

It was black, made from polished volcanic glass and set into a twisted metal frame. It had been a gift, and as far as mirrors went, it was rather lacking, but—

He sighed.

It would get the job done.

—

[Part 1] - [Writing Tag] - [The Bail Project] - [National Bail Fund Network]

[pocket-luv101]

His Lighthouse || Part 2

Fandom: Servamp Ship: KuroMahi (Fem Mahiru) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: After Mahiru’s uncle goes missing, she searches London for him. She meets Kuro and she asks him to help her investigate the disappearance. (KuroMahi, Fem Mahiru)

Part 1 || (Part 2) || Part 3

“This is everything I’ve found in my uncle’s office. He has been recording the suspicious movements of the Noberu family. The last date of his report is the same night he went missing.” Mahiru told Kuro. After they finished eating breakfast, she took him to her uncle’s office. She had decided to trust him and asked him to help find her uncle. “If we follow this pattern, he likely disappeared while investigating this family! They must be connected. I’ve tried to continue his work but no one will speak with me.”

“The Noberu are a powerful family. Even if someone knew about their crimes, they wouldn’t want to speak out against them. It’s best to be cautious when inquiring about the family. Between their wealth and status, they’re dangerous.” Kuro’s words made her think of the man who chased them the previous night. She was certain that she would’ve been killed if Kuro hadn’t rescued her.

She had decided to search for her uncle alone because she didn’t want to endanger her friends. Mahiru glanced towards the photo of her mother and uncle. “My mother was a duchess but I know very little about high society. They seem like a complicated bunch with their fake smiles and secrets. It was naïve of me to investigate the family so openly, wasn’t it?”

“I only met you yesterday but you seem like the straightforward type.” Kuro spoke his thoughts out loud and he noticed the small frown that appeared on Mahiru’s lips. He added, “I don’t think that’s a bad thing. For a while, I worked with your uncle and he had a similar approach to you. People are more willing to speak with him than us.”

“I never imagined they would brush me off the way they did. It made me realize how sheltered I’ve been in my little lighthouse. I mainly speak with my friends and relatives through letters.” Her mother and uncle had raised her in the lighthouse and it held a lot of precious memories for Mahiru. At times, she wished that the lighthouse was closer to the city so she could visit her friends more often. Mahiru had many chances to leave but she decided to stay each time.

She focused on the investigation again and said, “You said you worked with my uncle. Was it for investigations similar to the Noberu family?”

“Not in a formal way. He needed something taken care of and he paid me to look into it.” Kuro’s explanation was vague and she could hear that there was more he didn’t tell her. She reasoned that he had his own reason for why he wanted to keep his work a secret. Her uncle also hid his investigation from their family for the sake of their safety.

“I’m sorry if that was a weird question to ask a man I only met recently. I was hoping that you’ll have experience with investigation and you could tell me the best place to search for clues.” Mahiru said. “You don’t have to tell me about your past work with my uncle unless you’re comfortable.”

“My clients would have my head if I tell you such sensitive information.” Kuro didn’t know how she would react if he told her that he was an assassin. She could lose her trust in him if she learned that the Noberu family had hired him to silence her. He hated being an assassin but it allowed him to provide for his family. He had seven younger siblings and they lived in poverty.

When the Noberu first approached him with the request to target a brunette noblewoman, he had refused. Kuro thought it was wrong to kill someone who was innocent. Yet, it was difficult to refuse a request from a powerful family who would target his siblings in retaliation. If he helped Mahiru, she would pay him and he could keep his siblings safe from the Noberu.

“Your uncle has been gone for a month without contacting you. You said that he would send you a letter once a week while he’s on his past investigations. How can you be certain that he’s still alive?” Kuro sat in a chair across from her and studied her expression. “I don’t want to ask this to be cruel but we should be realistic about this. I’ll help you finish your uncle’s investigation but I can’t promise we’ll find him alive.”

“He’s alive!” She yelled and she stared into his eyes. Her brown eyes were steady and they reflected the determination she felt. “My uncle left me this note. It said his co-workers would come to collect his files if something happens to him. Until they come with the news, I believe he’ll return home. Something is stopping him and I’ll be the one to save him.”

“You know him better than me so I’ll trust your opinion.” He agreed quicker than she expected. Her friend, Licht, would often tell her that it was difficult for her to gain the respect of the men in her field. Kuro was different from the others and Mahiru became curious about what kind of life he had. “You’ve managed to collect a surprising amount of information on Frankenstein Noberu.”

“I went to the library to gather these documents. It’s not as much as I wanted.” Mahiru said nonchalantly. Yet, Kuro thought she was intelligent and studious from the progress she made on her own. “This is all the scientific discoveries that they’ve made in the past three generations. They have been given numerous grants but that money shouldn’t be able to cover the cost of research and development.”

“I’ve never went to school so you’ll have to explain the math to me.” Kuro told her. He broke his gaze with her because most would judge him for being uneducated. His family couldn’t afford to send him to school and he needed to work at an early age to feed his family.

“They must be getting money from somewhere else and embezzling the money from their grants. There’s a chance they’re using cheap materials in their research as well.” Mahiru told him without a hint of condensation in her voice. “My uncle has been tracking their movements but he can’t go inside the house to see the details of their experiments.”

“He has the graveyard circled in his map. If that’s a place he had seen them visit frequently, it’s possible that they’re grave robbing to fund their experiments.” He suggested and she nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, it’ll be impossible to catch them in the act. I doubt they would commit the crime themselves though. They will hire thieves to do the work for them.”

“The Noberu own a large estate but my uncle went through each building to locate the one they would use for experiments.” Mahiru spread out the map between them and pointed to the notes her uncle made on each building. “This one has a basement and it’s far from the main gate. This is the best place to have a secret lab. We should break in to see if they have keepsakes they stole from the dead.”

“Did your uncle draw a map to a secret passage we could use to sneak inside? Otherwise, we’ll be caught easily and arrested. They’re a powerful family and they can bribe the judge to have us locked away.” Kuro pointed out. The sadness in her eyes answered him even before she shook her head. He took the map and folded it before he placed it in his pocket. “I’ll try to find a way inside.”

“Are you planning to investigate that house on your own? My uncle did that and they likely have him captured somewhere in that building.” She jumped to her feet to stop him from leaving. “Thinking simply, we need to work together to find a safe way inside. I already have a plan.”

Mahiru returned to the desk to take out an invitation from the drawer. “I was speaking with others to find a way to enter the Noberu’s manor. They’re holding a masquerade ball and we can use it to sneak in. I still have a few of my mother’s ballgowns that I can wear to disguise myself. You can accompany me as my guard.”

“You’ve thought this out.” Kuro took the invitation from her and studied the font. He wondered whether she would’ve gone to the ball by herself if they hadn’t met. Then again, he already knew that she was recklessly brave. She had pulled them into the river to escape the gun. “I’ll go with you but I’ll drag you out of that house the moment it becomes dangerous. Your uncle made me promise to protect you.”

“I doubted he expected the situation to be this dangerous when he asked that of you.” She recalled the events of the previous night and hugged herself. “That man with the gun would’ve killed me. Do you think there’s a chance that he could find us after we fell into the river? It has been a day and he hasn’t come for us yet. But…”

“Are you scared?” He asked. She didn’t answer him but he knew anyone would be afraid in her situation. Mahiru lived alone in the lighthouse as well. Kuro didn’t understand why he felt a little protective when he saw her loneliness. “Do you want me to stay here in case he comes? I can protect you.”

His offer surprised her but her face quickly softened. “Thank you, Kuro.”

The couch was comfortable and warm compared to the hay cots Kuro usually used yet he couldn’t sleep. With his past, he had trouble relaxing in an unfamiliar place. He turned on his side and stared at the door. Mahiru had insisted he sleep in her uncle’s room but he thought it was better to stay in the living room. He could hear an intruder enter the lighthouse if he slept on the couch.

Footsteps caught his attention and he instinctively gripped the knife hidden under his pillow. Kuro realized that the sound came from the stairs and he knew that it was likely Mahiru. The scent of roses filled the room and he relaxed slightly. He didn’t want her to lecture him about sleeping on the couch so he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

Mahiru’s footsteps stopped next to him and he didn’t know what she intended to do. He felt something warm draped over him and he guessed that it was a blanket. Her hand brushed over his cheek and his heart quickened for a few beats. He knew that the light touch was unintentional so he had to question why it had an effect on him. She whispered under her breath: “If you’re going to sleep here, you should cover yourself properly. You’ll catch a cold at this rate.”

She leaned away from him and left the room. Kuro waited until he heard the creak of the steel staircase before he opened his eyes. Before she disappeared up the staircase, he caught a glimpse of her lonely expression. Kuro had never met a woman like Mahiru before. She was brave and genuinely cared for her family. He sat up and patted the warm blanket that she had put over him.

Her footsteps continued far past the living quarters of the lighthouse and he wondered if she intended to go through the files on the Noberu again. He decided to go help her and he rolled off the couch. “You lectured me about sleeping properly but you’re the one who’s staying up late with troublesome work.”

As he climbed the staircase, he glanced out the window to the cliffside next to the lighthouse. Between the bright light of the lighthouse and the waves crashing against the cliff, he didn’t know how someone was able to have a peaceful sleep. He reached the office and he was confused to find the room empty. Kuro didn’t know where else Mahiru would go inside the tall building.

Her sad frown appeared in his mind. There would be a lot on her mind after the stressful events of the past week. As strong as Mahiru was, she was a normal woman. He debated whether he should speak with her or if it would be better to leave her alone. Kuro didn’t know her well and he had never comforted someone outside of his family.

Before he decided what to do, he found himself climbing the stairs. Kuro reached the top of the lighthouse and pushed open the trap door. A warm breeze hit him as he stepped out onto the balcony connected to the lantern room. The heat was likely created by the large lamp spinning slowly. He scanned the balcony for Mahiru and he spotted her sitting on the roof of the little house.

“How did you get up there?” Kuro wondered aloud and his voice drew Mahiru’s attention. She thought that he was sleeping on the couch. She carefully moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at him. The glow of the lamp illuminated his face and highlighted his strong features.

“The light will burn your eyes and turn you blind if you continue to stand there.” Mahiru warned and gave him a reassuring smile. She was bathed in both the light of the moon and the lighthouse and he thought she was surrounded by liquid fire for a moment. She didn’t seem to notice him staring because she casually pointed to a ladder. “You don’t have to worry about me falling and hurting myself. There’s a ladder on the south side of the lantern room.”

“Do you want to be alone?” He whispered the question but it tugged on Mahiru’s heart. Silently, she shook her head. Kuro had called her strong and she was worried that he would change his opinion if he learned that she was scared. He climbed the ladder she pointed to and walked across the flat roof to sit beside her.

He didn’t want to pressure her if she felt uncomfortable speaking with him so he stayed silent. Among the quiet, his beating heart sounded like thunder. They stared at the stars above them and he listened to her soft breathing. While they sat far above the world, the vast sky made him feel small. The view in front of them was stunning but his focus was on Mahiru.

She slowly moved to hug her legs against her chest and curl into a ball. He hadn’t realized how small she was until that moment. Mahiru turned away from the stars to face Kuro. “The previous lightkeepers installed the ladder to remove bird nests from the roof but I like to sit up here to watch the stars. My uncle would teach me about the different constellations. You might call me a silly girl but I also thought he was a superhero for knowing so much.”

“I used to read books to my siblings.” He said and she tilted her head slightly at his words. Kuro could feel her brown eyes on him. “In those stories, the heroes will always come home to their family. Heroes have a troublesome habit of waiting until the last moment to save the day in a big reveal. It makes for an interesting story but their family is left behind to worry. You should lecture your uncle about that when he comes back.”

“I will.” Mahiru nodded with a warm laugh. Her heart felt lighter after he spoke with her and she was glad that he offered to stay with her. She knew he only wanted to protect her but he had done so much more for her. “Will your siblings mind that I’m taking so much of your time?”

“They’re already grown with their own lives. Also, my work often keeps me away from home for long periods of time and they’re used to it. They trust me to return home.” Kuro took off his jacket and placed it around Mahiru’s shoulders. She wasn’t cold but she held the jacket around her. “I’ve stared at the stars all my life but I don’t know much about them. Can you tell me what you know?”

“Well, there’s the North Star. You can see it no matter where you are.” Mahiru told him and pointed to the sky. He squinted into the vast collections of stars and he struggled to see which one she pointed to. Kuro didn’t expect her to move closer to him until her arm brushed against his. She sat close to him so their eye line would be the same and she placed her finger beneath the star. “See it yet?”

“I think so,” He said. Kuro was certain that they were so close that their lips would brush together if he turned to face her. She learned away from him and he didn’t know if he felt disappointed or relieved. Mahiru didn’t seem to notice as she continued to name the constellations in the sky. She wore a smile that would light the night better than the lighthouse they sat on.

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.07

Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site

Nairi stared at the window. The window stared back. The window very much wanted her to know that its name was “Joe”.

Linden swung back out of the doorway of the bar, looking between Nairi and the window, and she grinned. “Yeah, Joe’s just like this,” she said, grabbing Nairi’s wrist and tugging her towards the door. “Come on, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

The inside of the bar was warmly lit, and while it wasn’t fancy it was definitely nicer than the dive Linden had set on fire last week. The lights hung low from the ceiling in eclectic, mismatched lamp shades, yellow and incandescent despite what felt like five million articles a week about the environment and fluorescent lighting. The booth seats were lined with shiny red vinyl, stacked along the wall opposite the long bar with its tall stools. The lights behind the bar were big, painted bulbs on a string, decorating two signs in clashing materials that read ‘JOE’ and ‘JOE’S KITCHEN’ in different fonts and stretching along the shelves that were cluttered with bottles that looked like they’d been arranged with more mind paid to how they looked than their cost or use. There was an old-fashioned popcorn machine sitting on the corner with a wire rack stacked high with paper cones, and a flowerpot on the back counter with ‘TIPS’ painted on it in colourful dots. A short and cheerful looking guy in a black shirt and thick rimmed glasses was drying a cocktail shaker with a rag, and he grinned at the two of them as they approached the bar.

Linden dropped Nairi’s wrist and slammed her hands down on the counter, gesturing towards the bartender. “Nairi, this is Joe! He runs a great bar.”

“Right,” said Nairi, nodding at him after a moment, hand raised very slightly to wave across the bar. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” said Joe, setting the shaker on the counter and draping the rag over his shoulder. “At last—Linden never shuts up about you. Can I grab you guys a drink?”

Linden what?

“Whatcha got on the non-alcoholic front?” asked Linden, totally unbothered by this assertion, grinning animatedly with glossy lips and blushed cheeks. She winked and elbowed Nairi lightly. “Nairi’s tee-total. Not big on the caffeine, either.”

“Just a coke is fine,” said Nairi to Joe with another awkward nod.

“Oh, I can do you an orange juice if caffeine’s a bug,” said Joe brightly, pulling a glass off the rack in front of him. “Gotta say, coke’s got too much for me on nights I’m not working, don’t like to drink it after the sun’s down, y’know? Or if you wanna go a bit fancy I can whip up a mocktail! Dash of grenadine, shot of mango, tiny umbrella, the works?”

“Orange juice is great, thanks,” said Nairi after a moment, hooking her hands into her back pockets to stop them from clasping in front of her chest.

“Coke’s got caffeine in it?” said Linden, leaning on the bar.

Joe nodded, bending at the waist and pulling a bottle of orange juice out of one of the clear fronted fridges behind him. “Yeah! I guess ‘cause it’s sweet most people don’t think of it. Can I grab ya something, Lindy? I got a new case of chocolate stout in on Tuesday, it’s pretty great.”

Linden laughed, kicking her toe back behind her to prop on the floor as she leaned in. “Oh, don’t tempt me—you know how I feel about stouts! Can I just have a vodka on a rock?”

Joe laughed and nodded as he finished pouring the orange juice, pulling out a squat glass and depositing the largest ice cube Nairi had ever seen into it. He poured a generous amount of vodka over the ice, then finished each drink with a splash of pink grenadine and a novelty straw. Linden’s had a heart shaped loop in it.

He pushed set them on the counter in front of them with a grin, and Nairi smiled back, handing over her card.

A warm hand found Nairi’s, Linden guiding them towards a booth at the back of the room. Nairi glanced at her, eyes flicking around the room for a bin where she could get rid of her novelty straw. “How do you feel about stouts?”

Linden’s mouth twitched. “No clue,” she admitted. “They’re like, the dark ones, right? Joe’s really big on his beers.”

“You’re not?” said Nairi, her mouth twitching a little.

Linden held up her vodka in a mock salute with a wink. “I’m more in favour of efficiency and having fun.”

“A woman after my own heart,” said Nairi.

Linden giggled, the lines around her eyes creasing as they drew to a halt by the backmost booth, occupied by two colourful hairstyles and a grouchy looking ginger in glasses. The first two Nairi recognised from Linden’s texts—the grad student friends with musical talent. The ginger was a mystery.

“Guys, this is Nairi!” said Linden to the table, prompting the three of them to turn their heads with a chorus of greetings, curious eyes lingering on Nairi. “Nairi, this is Mason,” soft faced man, teal hair flat ironed into a fringe over one eye, “Flo,” a young black woman, her cornrows and wayfarer style glasses in matching shades of bright pink, “and Agatha!” solving the mystery of the ginger.

“Welcome to the post-grad misery zone,” said Mason, toasting her with a pink and fizzy drink complete with a straw to match Linden’s. “Agatha’s just submitted her PhD thesis, we’re commiserating.”

“Oh, uh, congratulations?” said Nairi to Agatha.

“Thanks,” said Agatha tiredly, shoving her glasses up her nose.

“No!” said Flo, slapping the table with a wide grin. “We cannot congratulate you before your defence, it’s bad luck! We’ll jinx you!”

Mason laughed, a little too loudly, shaking his head as Linden slid into the seat next to Flo with a short cackle, patting the vinyl next to her with a grin at Nairi. “We’ll crack out the leg-breaking wishes on the day for you, Aggy,” she said, leaning into a hug from Flo.

Nairi perched awkwardly at the edge of the booth, setting her pink-tinged juice on the table. Agatha’s eyes kept flicking towards her as she and Mason talked about scheduling logistics and email exchanges with professors. Nairi tried not to let it bother her and took a sip of her drink, turning her head to tune into Linden and Flo where they’d gone rapid fire into chatting about… performances? She thought they’d been arguing about theatre curses, but they were well into local bands now, the conversation jumping so quickly she couldn’t keep track.

She turned the glass around in her hand, fingers twitching slightly, and then glanced up as she heard footsteps approaching. Edith caught her eye, slowing to a halt on her way past the table. “Oh, hello again,” she said, sounding faintly amused as her eyebrow twitched up and disrupted her usual frown. “I heard you two had an exciting week.”

“Not really. Kinda quiet,” said Nairi, taking another sip of her juice.

Edith gave a quiet scoff of a laugh, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop next to Nairi’s hand. “Really? That’s not quite what Nicholas has been saying.”

Nairi hummed, setting her glass down.

Edith collected a neat whiskey from a round-faced young woman who joined her from the bar. “This is Verity,” she said, nodding at her. “Verity, this is Nairi and the redhead is Linden, the one who knows people in town closer to your age.”

At a guess Verity was about ten years older than anyone else at the table. Edith didn’t appear to care about this fact. Nairi nodded at her with an awkward smile, her teeth toggling with a tag of skin on the inside of her cheek. “Nice to meet you. Excuse me, uh, I just—need the bathroom a second.”

“Have fun,” said Edith glibly as Nairi stood and edged past her.

Nairi ignored her as she strode to the back of the bar, trying not to pick up speed as she went.

Mercifully the bathroom was empty. It was a small, two stall affair, and while Joe’s sense of interior design had extended into the room in the questionable paint choices and a talking bass over the paper towel dispenser, it was also quiet. She hesitated, then wedged the door shut, leaning her back against it and covering her face with her hands.

What was she doing? It was only three people. Three of Linden’s friends, that was all. Edith and Verity made five, but that wasn’t a crowd. She’d been in crowded bars, filled with way more people, louder volumes, far, far more confusing conversations—

And when she escaped to the bathroom it was usually to snort something before she went back out and glared at everyone who tried to talk to her, filled in the cynical voice that sat in the back of her head.

Suddenly the bathroom was the last place she wanted to be. She glared at the floor and stood up properly, setting the cold tap on the tiny sink to full blast and shoving her hands under the stream. She slammed the soap dispenser aggressively and started scrubbing at her hands, wrinkling her nose at the strong, sickly scent. Water splashed up her sleeves as she took deep breaths through her nose, counting down from one hundred silently.

By the time she turned off the tap her hands were numb, the paper towel scraping her skin through what felt like a thick, protective coating all over her fingers. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath before exiting the bathroom.

When she came back out there’d been a switch in the conversational configurations and she paused, looking around to see if there was somewhere she’d… fit. It was worth it, to try, wasn’t it?

Mason and Flo were knocking elbows at the bar, looking at liquor bottles, while Verity and Edith had joined Agatha for a conversation that apparently required a lot of serious expressions and shredded napkins. Linden had swapped tables entirely, engaged deeply in a conversation with an older woman.

Nairi started to drift towards them, catching a snippet of what they were saying.

“—yeah, it definitely gets easier once you’re off the spiro, after,” Linden was saying as she rolled a beer bottle between her hands, previous glass empty on the table in front of her. “I go for injections these days, I’m like, totally useless at remembering to take a daily pill, though I did while I was in college.”

“I’ve been considering swapping,” said the woman, nodding at Linden. “My partner gets squeamish with needles, though—”

Nairi’s feet turned to head towards the bar without her actively thinking about it. She had no desire to discuss anything relating to needles or medication right now, no matter how benign.

“Oh, I knew if I left them alone they’d get into hormones!” said a cheerful voice from just beside her.

Nairi turned and was greeted by a short, androgynous looking blond with their hand outstretched. For lack of a better response, she shook it.

“I’m Avery,” they said, smiling widely. “Are you Nairi? Your friend, Linden, mentioned you before I left her alone with Cynth and let them derail straight into titty-skittle talk.”

Nairi latched onto one part of the sentence without meaning to. “Synth?”

Avery burst out laughing. “Sorry! Cynthia—my wife. I have to shorten every name, it’s my worst trait!”

“No-o! We all do it, you’ll fit right in!” cried out Flo, wrapping an arm around Avery’s shoulders and squeezing. “Nairi! Come sit with us! Avery uses they as a personal pronoun, isn’t that cool?”

“Um, very cool,” said Nairi, letting herself follow them up to the front of the bar where Mason and Joe were very seriously discussing what the essential components of a good Manhattan were.

Flo and Avery giggled, jostling up against each other and Nairi as they took the seats next to Mason. Joe grinned at them as they sat, Mason taking a dainty sip of his cocktail through a comically small straw. “Hey, hey! Anything I can get for you ladies and genderqueer? Another juice?” he said, winking at Nairi.

Flo gasped, slapping the top of the bar. “Mocktails! Joe, do you know any good mocktails?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay—” started Nairi, but Flo and Avery were nodding eagerly, and someone’s hand patted her shoulder.

“I love mocktails!” crowed Avery, nodding eagerly. “Cynth thinks they’re dumb—she’s a grain alcohol kinda lady—”

“I might know some mocktails,” said Joe loudly, and Mason, Avery and Flo cheered raggedly, Flo clapping over the counter.

Joe did make a good mocktail, or at least a tasty one. Tasty wasn’t always the same as ‘good’ when it came to regular cocktails, but she thought hers might be pineapple based and it was sweet, so Nairi thought it was good. The others were easy conversation too; they didn’t actively leave her out, but no one was leaning on her to talk, and when she did, at least one of them paid attention.

Still, when she heard her name called she was grateful for the excuse to walk away from the loud chatter.

“There you are,” said Linden cheerfully as she stopped at the table, the seating arrangement having cycled through again. She and Agatha were on one side of the booth, their cheeks reddened from the booze, or the warmth, or the conversation, Nairi couldn’t tell. Edith was sprawled across from them, taking up the whole bench seat and looking highly amused by whatever they were talking about. “Do you wanna go for a ride?” Linden asked guilelessly, looking up at Nairi as she took a drink from her beer.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nairi, shrugging at her. “Where were you thinking of heading out to?”

Edith snorted and Linden shrugged back. “Don’t know yet, still mulling it over. You left your drink at the bar,” she added. She was still smiling, but there was something cynical lurking in her eyebrows.

“Oh, thanks,” said Nairi, with the nagging feeling that she’d missed something.

There was a small kerfuffle as she turned to head back to the bar, rustling of cloth and Linden saying, “You see what I mean?” about something.

Her drink was where she’d left it, Flo and the others were being corralled back to the booths by Cynthia, and when she turned around, Agatha was standing there, looking a little flushed. “Hi,” she said, blinking at her.

“Hi,” said Agatha, and then, all at once: “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” said Nairi immediately, a rush of relief filling at her at the sudden escape route in front of her.

“Really?” said Agatha, smiling at her. “I, I meant—with me?”

Nairi smiled back at her. “Yeah.” Agatha was cute, in an angry kind of way, she thought, suddenly speculative. And god only knew it had been too long since she’d had any kind of intimacy like that, friendly or otherwise. Besides, if it went downhill she could probably take her. “Let me just say goodbye to Linden, she doesn’t like it when I vanish without warning her.”

“Oh, of course,” said Agatha, nodding, her cheeks reddening. “I’ll meet you outside?”

Nairi set her glass down in the ‘return zone’ Joe had marked out on the bar in neon washi tape (it had parking bays, he was really committed to the quirky bit) and walked back over to Linden’s booth, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Hey, I’m heading home for the night,” she said casually, nudging Linden’s shoulder with her knuckles.

Linden’s eyes widened as she looked up, gaze darting past Nairi then back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, nodding at her. “It was good to get out of the house. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” said Linden, tone clipped, nodding. Across the table Edith was visibly laughing into her hand. “Later.”

Nairi headed towards the exit and Agatha, and behind her she heard Edith’s laughter suddenly rise in volume over the chatter.

[wildlyminiaturesandwich]

The Sims 4 Moschino Stuff - Early Access CAS Review

Huge thank you to the EA Game Changer Program for providing me with the opportunity to play Moschino Stuff early! 

When I first heard about The Sims collaborating with Moschino to create a Sims 4 Stuff pack... well, let’s just say I wasn’t very happy about it lol I didn’t — and still don’t — understand how anyone on the Sims Team thought this would be something we wanted BUT I was determined to keep an open mind and not form any opinions until I was able to see exactly what was in the pack.

If you’ve ever read any of my Early Access reviews before you’ll know that I have never lied about my thoughts on new content and this review isn’t going to be any different. I will admit, while I wasn’t excited when the pack was announced, the trailer had me a little curious because the build/buy stuff looked really good. But to be completely honest, after checking everything out, I’m left feeling more than a little underwhelmed by this pack.

There are definitely some things that I like about it, and to me those things make it worth owning the pack personally, but there are also just as many things that I either have no interest in using, that I just plain don’t like, or that have issues/bugs that make it likely I won’t use them if they’re not changed/fixed.

I’m going to be posting two separate reviews (Create-A-Sim and Build/Buy) because there’s a fair bit to go over, and by that I mean I have many opinions. Because let’s face it, this is a $10 stuff pack; there’s never a ton of content in stuff packs lol So let’s get to it!

As always, if you have any questions about the pack, feel free to send me an ask!

 See a preview of all the new CAS items here

Something I really wasn’t expecting to care so much about was the CAS stuff. I have no interest in high-end fashion or Moschino in general, and even before seeing what was in the pack I knew I’d probably never use most of it... but never in a million years would I have thought I’d ever be so very disappointed by not just how lacking the CAS items were but also how tame they are.

When you hear the word “Moschino”, you immediately think crazy-unique high-end fashion. And if you’ve never heard of Moschino, you'd find exactly the same thing if you Googled it. However, nothing in this pack really says Moschino in that aspect and that is weirdly disappointing to me. I was worried that the Sims Team would go all out and every piece of clothing would be like that, but I never imagined that NONE of the clothing would be high fashion, and somehow that’s worse.

👗The Hair

The hairs are probably my favourite part of all of the CAS content and one of the only things I’m not completely disappointed with. The only thing I’m a little disappointed in is that aren’t any crazy high fashion looking ‘dos. But I do like the hairs we got and will definitely get a lot of use out of them, both in game and when it comes to making CC!

Oh and there’s also a weird texture glitch in the back of the long hair that only shows up on some of the swatches. Which, I mean let’s face it, when has there never been at least one hair with the weird texture issue that never gets fixed in any new pack? lol

👗The Clothing

The first thing you’ll notice when you get the pack (if you get the pack) is that for a pack that is supposed to be focused on fashion, Moschino Stuff is really lacking in actual fashion. You’ll also notice that it’s even more lacking in colourways. Out of the 19 pieces of clothing in this back, quite a few of them have three swatches or less, a couple even have just one. And not a single piece of this pack’s clothing has more than 10 swatches.

I understand that this is just a stuff pack so there’s not supposed to be a lot of items in it, but it’s also supposed to be a stuff pack based around a fashion label.

I think the biggest issue I have with the clothing is that if you take the branding away that’s on some of the pieces, you would never know that the items were supposed to be high-end fashion let alone designed by Moschino. The Gurus did tell us that the stuff included would be more “wearable” than probably 90% of Moschino’s real life clothing ranges, but honestly, I would have preferred having less wearable stuff if it meant more CAS content. If you go to Moschino’s website they have some surprisingly ok stuff in their ready to wear ranges that practically screams Moschino, even if they didn’t have their name plastered all over it.

A lot of their couture stuff is a little too out there for my liking but again, it also screams Moschino. I’ve been looking at a lot of their collections over the past few days and I’ve not only realised that they have some really nice stuff that I would have actually loved to have seen in TS4, but also that the stuff that was chosen to be in the pack was all from collections that are now almost two years old. Despite my original concern with this collab, I found myself really, REALLY, hoping for some actual high-end clothing. My sims wouldn’t wear it on a daily basis but it would have been so good to use for photoshoots with the new Fashion Photographer career!

Once again we didn’t get anything for children or toddlers. I really don’t understand why consider Moschino actually makes some super cute stuff for babies and kids! Hell, I would have even settled for just some toddler and child versions of the freezer bunny/llamacorn tees.

Another issue I have with the CAS stuff is the English. This is a collab with Moschino, so obviously their name is going to be all over it, and I’m not saying it shouldn’t. All I’m saying is I really wish the Sims Team had listened to the 90% of the community that practically screamed at them “Please include Simlish swatches too!”.

Which brings me to my last point. The textures and meshes. Most of the meshes are really well done, but some... leave a lot to be desired. For example, the freezerbunny/llamacorn tee completely changes the shape of female sims bodies in a very strange way. I would have loved to have been able to use some of the male clothing on females too, like the tracksuit and marching band uniform, but of course they fell prey to the dreaded black hole crotch that all of the Sims “gender neutral” clothing has. And the suit jacket tee... is literally just a long sleeved tee with a suit jacket painted, which to be fair so is the original, but the Sims version is a poorly executed imitation.

Then there’s the pixelation on that llamacorn tee. I just... I don’t even really know what to say about it other than it disappoints me and I feel like literally every CC creator could have done a better job to be honest. Also, the Moschino font being in the same gradient as the old Sims branding is is a little strange considering how hard they’ve been pushing the rebranding.

I know it probably seems like I’m nitpicking but a lot of these issues have been constant problems with pretty much every pack that’s been bought out in last few years.  I do like a couple of the CAS items — the matching quilted jacket and shorts, the cropped motto jacket, the boots, the plumbob earrings and swimsuit, and the hairs — but I’m still just really disappointed that CAS was so tame and lacking in a pack that is literally supposed to be a pack based on a high fashion label.

👗The Verdict

Overall, I would definitely not buy this pack purely for the CAS content. It’s okay, but nothing groundbreaking and and I probably won’t use a lot of it outside of the Fashion Photography career. I honestly feel like there’s way better CC out there actually. I’d love to be completely CC-free some day but until we start getting new, original content instead of just re-textured and reused/frankenmeshed stuff over and over again, I’d much rather download some gorgeous, unique CC made by the talented people in the community instead.

All thoughts and opinions expressed in this review are my own. I am not paid by EA to “hype” their games; I am given the opportunity to review their games early in exchange for an honest review.

Click here for my Build/Buy Review

[lovelyirony]

Tony wasn’t part of the reconnaissance mission to get Barnes back. Steve said he didn’t want to add more work onto a growing list Tony had.

But Steve was also a shit liar, so there was that.

Tony wants to know why he’s not involved; he’s the one who has the tech, has the means to get to wherever the hell Barnes has decided to go in Europe. (And really, it’s Europe. If you want to go unnoticed, there are about seven cities you can go to without them looking at you oddly. Maybe even six depending on the day.)

Steve is hiding something from Tony, and he has the sneaking suspicion it has to do with exactly what Barnes has done. So with a sigh and a look upwards, Tony works with Jarvis to start research.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t consult at least Agent Romanov?” Jarvis asks.

“She’s the one who’s remaining tight-lipped about it and helping Steve get all his stamps on the passport,” Tony says. “Forgive me if I’m not a bit jealous, J. I’m not on that vacation.”

“Very well, Sir. Should I delve into the files?”

When all of that information landed on the internet, Tony knew people were fucked. So he got the best people possible, and they contained it. A lot of it was information Tony would rather not see. Hydra techniques, their little get-togethers to be assholes.

But...he needed to see this. Why he wasn’t involved, why Steve had those looks he gave Natasha, why she told Tony to stay out of it. People didn’t tell you to stay out of it unless they wanted to make sure that you never reacted to what they were doing.

He finds out at lunchtime, which is not a very good time to find out such things. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but more people than should’ve been there for a Thursday lunch. He had ordered a sandwich with a nice chipotle aioli, and that was pretty good. He’d had it once or twice, although he can’t remember the last time he’d had it. Maybe a year ago.

But hey. That didn’t particularly matter. Tony’s not very good with dates. Only remembers four: Happy’s birthday, Rhodey’s, Pepper’s, and his parents’ deaths. December 16th. He had almost gone to that, hoping to impress his father with initiative and networking. But then he remembered that no matter what he did, his father fucking hated him, so he stayed home and worked on coding Jarvis.

Not even the police had come to his house. No one like SHIELD. It had been flashing cameras and pretty newswomen saying they were sorry for his loss in that annoying news voice and he had to be confused.

He remembers the newswoman’s name who told him. Terri Lewis. She had froze, not smiling in that frozen way like most news people do.

“Tony...your parents. They’re dead.”

Well, that had been the icing on the fucking cake. Car accident. Tony can’t say he’s surprised--Howard wasn’t exactly known for his collection of sobriety chips. Mom never got her license, and hated driving in cars anyway. The car is wrecked, slammed into a tree.

Well. He’s in the restaurant, still eating the sandwich because apparently he doesn’t know how to act, and he finds out that that unfortunate accident?

Hydra must recruit drama students because that stage was perfectly set. And they used their star Winter Soldier--James Buchanan Barnes--to do it.

He doesn’t tell anyone about it. Has a long drink of scotch, and listens to Black Sabbath until he can’t hear lyrics, until he feels an iota of calm. He doesn’t blame Barnes, doesn’t really want to exact his pound of flesh or whatever. Or would it be metal? Well, that joke probably wouldn’t land, scrap that.

Tony falls asleep at some point. Wakes up to low voices arguing. He stays on the couch, slowly pulling the blanket over himself. Steve’s back, probably at Nat and Sam’s insistence.

“I saw him, Sam. I know we can get him.”

“I know you need a break,” Sam says. “You’re running yourself ragged, and I’m not going to pretend like you’re fine, Steve. We all know you’re not.”

“A judge and jury, hmm?” Steve retorts. He’s never liked discussing his mental health, Tony knows that. They’re two peas in that pod that reads “Fine” in bold, size 24, Comic Sans font. It’s not serious, but they’re pretending like it is.

Steve still wants to go. Tony doesn’t let him. Steve has dark circles, a wild look about him that has a tendency to never give up. Tony has learned over the years that sometimes, giving up is not that bad. It will not be the end of the world, and you will be okay.

“You’re not a part of this,” Steve hisses. “You don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Tony says. “I know you, Steve. I know that you’re running yourself ragged because Bucky is the only one who probably knows what it’s like to be warped into future, to be like you, and no one else will catch up. You need to stop. You need to relax.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” Steve says. “Quit acting like you know everything, like you know me.” And there is Steve’s problem, because people do know exactly what he’s like. He’s stubborn, he’s cold, and if he thinks you’re not saying the right thing? He doesn’t listen. Which is both admirable and frustrating. But Tony is tired people thinking that he doesn’t know things, like he doesn’t know them. He knows what people are like, he could probably have a fucking major in behavior analysis by the time he was thirteen.

So this? Icing on the fucking shit cake he’s baked over the past couple weeks.

“Let me tell you what I know,” Tony says, voice dangerously calm, “you’ve been backpacking on Europe, trying to find someone else instead of what normal people do and find themselves. In this process, you’ve kept me out of the loop, which usually wouldn’t be a bad thing, but you can’t lie at all. So then, you’ve gotten me curious. What the fuck are you up to? Why was I not invited when I so clearly could’ve probably found your friend in a month, tops?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Everything about you again, Stark?”

“In this case, yes,” Tony says. “Because you knew, you son of a bitch. You fucking knew about what he did, and you just....what? Were you gonna mention it when things got all better? Or not at all?”

Steve shuts up. Eyes are wide, because Tony shouldn’t know about that, should he?

“If you wanna keep a secret, Steve, you have to keep it on paper,” Tony says. “Or you tell me and you don’t piss me off.”

They don’t talk for a month. Steve doesn’t set foot in the tower, and Tony doesn’t blame him. Tony attends meetings, goes about as business.

He gets a text from Natasha. when r u and steve making up. i’m tired of angst

when were you going to tell me about the little incident?

not my place 2 say

oh because you always mind your business, romanov.

And then they don’t speak.

It really should terrify him, actually. but it doesn’t.

The Winter Soldier is in his kitchen, eating a banana, and blocking access to tea.

“Can you move? I need mint tea,” Tony says. “Also, Steve isn’t here.”

He relaxes a bit, which is odd. Also relatable on some level.

“I-I’m not here for Rogers,” Barnes says. “I’m here for an apology to be made. By me.” Tony waits. “I...remember it. Killing your parents. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tony doesn’t really know what to say. People don’t really apologize to him for big things, and Tony...his emotional skills are practically nonexistent.

“Do you wanna get a burger?” he blurts out. “I really want a burger with at least four pickle slices on it.”

“What?” Barnes asks. “But--”

“Yeah, I’m not good at emotions, and I really am hungry for a burger.”

They don’t say things for a while. Barnes just says to call him James, and also doesn’t like onions on burgers. Travesty, that. Tony orders the worst burger ever, and decides that if he dies of a heart attack, it probably won’t even matter. Not the worst thing to die of.

Could be a car accident.

They talk after Tony pays the bill.

“So, I know that you did that. And I know Steve would say that it wasn’t you, but I get the sneaking suspicion that you’re not Steve’s imagination.”

“You’re right,” James says. His voice is gravel. He’s tense, looking all around them. “I...I remember more than just being a puppet. I remember having thoughts. Winter Soldier is complex. Almost another person.”

“Cool,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, but I literally am not equipped to deal with this.”

“S’okay. I don’t even know if I can deal with it.”

Somehow, James ends up staying. Tony doesn’t know how, but he’s sleeping on the couch. He puts his backpack on a hook like he’s back from school or whatever, which is cheesy, but whatever.

Tony cooks. He does this more often than people think, because he knows how to do things, he just doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He thinks he cooked for the whole team once, and that was an ordeal he’d literally never do again.

So yeah. Makes eggs, sunny side-up. Drizzles a bit of seasoning over them, puts them on toast, and waits.

As it turns out, James regularly wakes up early, at like three a.m., so Tony could’ve made them two hours ago and been fine.

“So, what now?” James asks.

“Now, we start doing things,” Tony says. “And I’m not sure what things, but probably things that are good for your mental health and shit.”

“Sounds responsible.”

“God, I know.”

[emarli-the-doodler]

Alright so after talking to some people invested into the demon monty au (that I really need to give a name), I wanna some stuff clear to anyone who wants to be involved and wants to be involved in the story that is a big possibility (still debating whether to make it a fic or a comic thing but-) So, once everyone, or at least a decent amount of you that make your character and possibly DM me of how your character works in the AU (which is completely optional, you don't have to Dm, you can always reblog the first post (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/emarli-the-doodler/690284086067134464?source=share) and leave your character's description there of their relationships with any characters, including other OCs of the of creators of the OCs are comfortable with it) Though Dms would be a really optimal way for me to really understand your character and their motivations and such

Other than that I was thinking of things I could do to have the making of the story a kind of way where people can come together and compromise a story together. My initial thought was through a server on discord so we can all collectively come up with a really interesting and very involving plot, but from the people I've spoke with I've seen that some of you would actually be interested in me making the story. Which, I also don't mind, but I would love to make a plot with the people involved in the AU so each one of you can have a part in the story (Plus I really like the idea of us all coming together and making this as a team, its been so long since I've had a group project like that lmaoo)

But yall can decide which way to go with the story. My essential Idea with the AU (Which I'll include under the cut in case you don't want to read it) was something a little like this-

(something i was going to put under the cut but then I remembered some of yall might not read it) If you are interested in one idea or the other pls tell me! I'd love to hear what yall would like to do with this and how this whole AU into a story will work!

So this town (which i really need a name for lmao) is very isolated and very religious, the pope, aka Bonnie, has a lot of word and his word is has more weight than the mayor's word most times. So this extremely religious has some inhabitants who are A). Very religious and are terrified of the devil or B). Question everything and are naturally curious about the side they're supposed to be so against and even offended at the idea of the other side being the good side. Naturally, The people with the B way of thinking on things as of their religious view usually cannot express their opinions to such a one sided town and keep it to themselves, in fear that if what they think would cause a huge dispute or even a really bad fight for the right.

Well, the people with such a massive perspective seen by any everyday citizen of the town will have to face something that challenges their opinion or even changes their opinion on what is good or bad in general.

One night, Something from the depths of Hell digs out of a hole in the cemetery behind the church. This demon is Monty. Monty, who was very beaten up and exhausted, took shelter in the church, (He didn't know that a certain little nun would be there though) and started to clean off in the holy water font (which is basically a tub where baptisms take place). When he was finished, He was found by an unexpecting Peggy, Which logically freaks out and tries to leave. He stops her and tries to convince her he isn't a threat, even proving his claim by gently talking to her (even then he was also in a panic and scared out of his mind) and trying not to hurt her. She ofc in a panic doesn't see that he's telling the truth and starts trying to defend herself. She soon realizes he is really hurt even before she takes a hit at him with a broom.

Now peggy was one of those few that thought like a person with a B opinion, this opinion was the only thing that stopped her from taking the first hit. She instead takes him to A lounge in the church and patches him up and makes him some clothes.

After some talk between the two, she sets out to find where she can find him, and who could help her keep him a secret long enough to get him out of this town so he could have a chance of living.

So yeah that was my og idea, but after talking to a mutual and seeing how Peggy having a relationship with other characters could alter this plot a bit. So I would like to let yall come in and say what ud like about ur characters and what or who they are, bc since this is an interactive au, I wanna give everyone a chance of saying their side before coming to a conclusion. ofc this is only everyone wants me to write it. If you want to help make a plot with other people invested in the AU I'm completely free to that idea as well!

[ktrsvo]

racing to sixty

In which Simon tells Bram that he is Jacques during the party.

@mia-the-dork   *shows up 2 days late wearing sunglasses and a garbage bag* hey thanks for the prompt!! 

Simon knows exactly how this story might go - how it might end - but still it does not stop him from staggering tipsily up the stairs, trying to fend off the fogginess that has settled in his mind. There’s that logical part of him that’s yanking tightly on the reins, warning him that he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but there’s also another voice in his head, the loud, optimistic sunshine-and-rainbows one that says fuck, to hell with all caution. Like seriously, screw it.

Go for it, buddy.

Give this one your best shot.

Eyes forward, chin held up high.

When, at last, he reaches the second floor, he braces himself up against the wall for a moment. His knees threaten to buckle underneath his weight, and his stomach feels like it’s been wrung bone-dry and put in a trivection oven to bake. His insides, they’re this scrambled - though, arguably not as much as his brain is.

His outfit’s starting to feel real suffocating. Especially at the shoulders and around the neck. Simon sucks in a shuddering inhale, pops off the first three buttons on his shirt. His wig got lost somewhere along the way, so that explains the pleasant absence of weight on his head.

“You can do this,” Simon half-whispers to himself, as he disappears into the bathroom to mull over this situation a little bit more.

The pale white lighting overhead casts a strange aura to his face, Simon observes, staring at himself in the mirror. Not anything bad, not anything negative, no. It’s a glow of confidence, one he so often sees inhabit Nick’s face before an important game, filled with the belief that everything will turn out A-okay.

“Hey, Bram, it’s me, Jacques,” Simon says to his reflection in the mirror, fingers curled decisively on the countertop.

The sentence comes out flat, stale. Lame. So that one’s going out the window, definitely. Simon thinks for a moment, willing his addled brain to come up with something a bit flashier on the fly, but all that his wishing has got to show for is a dumb variation.

Hey, Barack, it’s me, Jacques .

A small snicker escapes Simon. Ha, ha, very funny - though, least this one’s got rhyme to it. A smoothness, a style - but Simon figures that instead of clapping himself on the back he’ll end up smacking himself if he seriously messes up the execution. Because Simon logic, you know.

Ah, the ever-frustrating, migraine-inducing physiology of the Simon Spier brain. Definitely not interesting enough to anatomize Freudian-style, but, whatever, Simon has better things to do than get pissy over being too unworthy for a hypothetical consideration by a guy who’s been dead since forever.

And so Simon makes his way out of the bathroom. Shuffles towards the nearest bedroom in the vicinity, because yeah, it’s totally where Bram’ll be chilling at, his job as gracious party host be damned.

Before Simon can get his hand on the doorknob, a wave of self-doubt comes crashing around his ears. He groans. Really? He’s just one second away from pulling the trigger, and the image that chooses to manifest in his mind is of Bram hooking up with a random girl?

“Stop,” Simon murmurs more to himself than anyone else.

A simple twist has the door clicking open, and then the worst case scenario disintegrates completely. Shatters like glass.

Simon’s breath sticks in his throat. There’s a sudden pounding in his ears that he’s sure has absolutely nothing to do with the shots he downed earlier. Also, Simon doesn’t remember his shirt being this stuffy. Or hot.

(Confidence restored? Kind of?)

Bram’s sitting down on the bed, looking deep in thought - a signature Bram expression that ought to be established as its own brand. Simon snickers. Then thinks: it always seems like there’s some sort of very important internal monologue going on inside Bram’s head. It could be about anything. Tax rebates, socialism, dumb puns, whether or not Keanu Reeves is truly immortal, the cool soccer moves he did yesterday, the lyrics of Between the Bars - assuming that he’s Blue, but even if he isn’t, it’s still possible, it’s not like Simon is the only one who knows and digs Elliott Smith.

So, yeah, a concoction of worldly issues, bad jokes, and depressing music - though, it’s probably leaning more towards the intellectual stuff. And, okay, definitely the sports stuff, too. Because Bram’s good at both. Great, actually.

(Simon is totally justified in his assumptions, because Bram’s always been one of those super smart, all-around guys. The handsome, sporty nerd types everyone has a crush on - grandmothers included. It’s amazing, really.)

“Simon?” Bram’s voice cuts through the haze of Simon’s thoughts.

Simon stops.

Functioning, that is. And it’s all because Bram’s got his soft, brown-eyed gaze locked onto Simon’s face, one that somehow evokes an image of an adorable puppy lounging on a stretch of sunlit grass. Simon’s cheeks warm. His pulse does a funny dance.

He stares, unable to look away.

It’s a curious thing, the cute, downward slope of Bram’s mouth when he’s thinking real hard, both dimples exposed, eyes glittering. Luminous.

God, has Bram always been this unfairly good-looking?

(Simon is reminded of how very gay he is. And repressed.)

I have feelings for you, Simon thinks with all his mind. And soul.

“Uh, sorry? I didn’t quite catch that,” Bram says, and Simon’s blood turns into fire. He actually said that out loud?The words leave a painful scorch in their wake, extinguishing what little rationality is left over in Simon’s mind. The motormouth in him has started to take off, racing at around sixty trillion miles per beat, and if Simon were in full possession of his mental faculties, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but since he’s not at his best - though, not exactly scraping rock-bottom, either - this can only bode ill for the next five seconds.

Simon moves forward. One foot in front of the other, slow, methodical, deliberate. He gets up and close, and then, exultant, he gets floored by the precise colour of Bram’s eyes. The crescent-shaped dimples on his cheeks. The pensive bend of his brow. The cupid’s bow of his mouth. The warm, rich hue of his skin - warm warm warm.

Bram Greenfeld is here, in the flesh, within Simon’s reach - physically speaking, of course; he’s still unsure about the mentally bit. Now, here’s the part where Simon should carefully consider what he should say next, but because Simon’s far from being an international gold-medalist at think-before-you-act, he ends up plunging himself into the deep end instead of simply testing out the waters -  you know , just dipping your toes in, gauging for the feel of the moment so that you don’t end up fucking embarrass yourself.

“Bram,” Simon says, then shakes his head, “no, I mean - Barack -” At this, Bram raises his eyebrows -”it’s me, Jacques.”

A beat of silence ensues, then two, three, four. Just as Simon is arriving at the conclusion that he’s made a serious miscalculation, recognition, pure and unfiltered, settles along Bram’s features. His jaw goes slack, and his forehead creases, like he cannot believe that Jacques is really, really here. Fully corporeal. No longer a collection of pixels and Arial font letters.

And then realization hits Simon, too - hard. His mind spins, tilts, whirls, as it tries to reconcile this reality to the fantasy Simon has been constructing out of little more than a few vague hints.

“You’re Jacques,” Bram says, slowly, as though testing the heft of the name on his tongue.

Simon swallows. “And you’re Blue. Right?” He must be. Obviously. Simon doesn’t think he can bear the alternative.

Bram purses his lips. “Donner sa langue au chat ,” he says, and it occurs to Simon that he’s referencing a conversation they had a few emails ago.  Give up guessing an answer. The funny thing is, the phrase could also apply to their current situation.

“Oui?” Simon says.

Bram nods. “Yeah.”

Five minutes later, they’re sitting side-by-side on the bed, knees touching, not speaking. Like they’ve both gone into shock, now on the verge - the cusp - of experiencing cardiac arrest, which, all things considered, is fair enough. Their hands are close enough to touch, and the proximity is electrifying - probably even more so than if they were actually touching.

“I still can’t believe that it’s actually you,” Simon breathes out, breaking the near-silence between them.

“So … you’re disappointed?” Bram’s voice is small. Quiet. Not at all the reaction Simon intended to draw out of him.

“No, no, no, you have it the wrong way,” Simon says impatiently, shaking his head. And it’s true. If anything, it’s Simon who should be asking that question. “Are you kidding me, Bram?” His tone rises up a notch, the way it does whenever he works himself up into an impassioned frenzy - which is next to never, because he’s too awkward for raw, heartfelt spiels, theatre club antics not included. “It’s just that you’re you, Mr. Everyone’s-Got-Their-Eyes-On-Me Greenfeld. I mean, ever take a good look at yourself in the mirror? Like, God, imagine exchanging anonymous messages with someone and finding out that Mystery Person is this smart, popular, sporty, good-looking guy who has always been totally out of your league, who you thought was totally straight and therefore would never have a chance with.” The words continue to pour, relentlessly. “See, this is pretty much the stuff of dreams, Bram, holy shit, I mean, you’ve got me over here, someone who’s a disaster when it comes to starting conversations with cute boys - or just people in general - and then we’ve got you, who -”

Bram’s hand closes around Simon’s. Simon’s mouth closes. “Simon,” he begins in a light tone of voice, the kind that typically precedes a chuckle, “for what it’s worth, I was hoping that Jacques would be you.”

Simon blinks. Lets out an exhale. So … the feeling is mutual, then. Oh.

“Since when?” Simon bleats, because the revelation still feels too brittle. Too new. Like it’s merely an illusion Simon managed to will into existence through sheer wishing alone, an easy-to-break fantasy. Cruel by virtue of it simply existing in its false, hollow state.

At least if Simon never dreamt this up, a desire for more would have never been incited in him.

But when Bram tilts up Simon’s chin with his fingers, saying, “I’ve been crushing on you for a long time, now, Spier. Of course I’d want Jacques to be you,” the impact solidifies - turns real - and then the gap between them is closing, closing, closing, until Bram’s lips are on his.

The kiss starts off awkward. Clumsy.

It is more mouth than feeling, a sweaty fumble of boy instead of exhilaration. But it isn’t bad, no. As a matter of fact, it’s the best kiss he’s ever had in his entire life - not that he’s had enough good or real ones to have a proper benchmark. Simon doesn’t know where his hands should go, if he should be touching Bram here, or touching Bram there, so he just lets Bram guide their mouths together into a slow, experimental rhythm.

And it works out just fine. Bram’s lips are soft against his, so pliant, so warm, and Simon nearly dies on the spot when Bram does the thing, nipping at his bottom lip lightly with his teeth. They break away for a second, to gather their bearings, before pressing up against each other again - this time with a little bit of familiarity and a lot more fervour.

Simon figured out along the way that it would be best to rest his hands right here, on Bram’s shoulders, so that’s what he does now. Every press of Bram’s mouth sears his skin, raises his body temperature a notch higher each time, until Simon’s sure he’s practically indistinguishable from flame. Made from it, even. Embers and all.

The sound that emerges from Simon’s throat is a needy, almost carnal groan that Simon’s sure will plague him later on in his dreams, but for now there is only this: Bram kissing him senseless, breathless, motionless.

They hastily pull apart when there’s a loud knock, the door swinging open to reveal some chick in a minion costume. But the moment she disappears, Bram draws Simon in for another kiss, and the rest is history.

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Akuma Fashion

Summary: Gabriel catches Adrien in an extremely peculiar outfit. Hawkmoth decides to investigate. April Fools crackfic. You’re welcome.

[EDIT: Sorry for the strange characters and no apostrophes but it’s tumblr playing a trick on me. This looks okay on my blog]

AO3 / Fanfiction.net

Gabriel found out only because he caught Adrien sneaking up the cavernous hall of the mansion. Despite Gabriel’s requests he was hunching and walking the crab walk of someone who wishes to become invisible.

‘Adrien!’ he called immediately, catching wind of something fishy.

His son shuddered and slumped even further. He stopped but didn’t turn around.

‘Yes, father?’ the boy asked looking at him over his shoulder.

‘Keep your back straight, I’ve asked you so many times,’ Gabriel scolded.

Adrien straightened up immediately. ‘Yes, father,’ he replied, his back now straight but still in Gabriel’s vision.

‘Turn around, son. It’s extremely impolite to talk to someone with your back to them,’ the designer pointed out, now looking for the reason his son was sneaking to his room.

‘I, um, I’m in a hurry, father,’ the boy’s face contorted in a lopsided smile. ‘I have a lot of homework!’ he squeaked.

Gabriel’s silver brow shot up high above his glasses in reply to this strange behavior. His son was really a poor actor. ‘Turn around,’ the man ordered, mentally slapping himself for wanting to follow it with “slowly”.

It was at that moment he noticed that Adrien’s overshirt bulged in strange ways and even if he stood straight, it still seemed a bit… well… hunchy. A random pun about having a hunch about the hunch crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Puns were now exclusive for his alter ego and he only donned the purple pants in the mornings, when Adrien was at school.

Adrien completed his turn and was trying to combine the impossible - standing straight as per request, and clutching the overshirt close to his chest in a clear attempt to hide whatever it was underneath. It seemed that not only his back was bulgy, but his biceps looked extremely weird and puffy. The boy cast him a quick look and averted his gaze to his feet.

‘I’m sorry, father,’ he mumbled. ‘Can I go now?’

‘What are you wearing?’ Gabriel barked.

Adrien’s eyes got bigger. ‘My usual shirt?’ he whispered.

Gabriel sighed. His son could be oblivious sometimes, he was well aware of that streak. It ran in the family. But he felt personally offended that despite the evidence Adrien still decided to play stupid.

‘And underneath?’ he pressed on. Really, what was the boy thinking?

‘My usual t-shirt?’ Adrien forgot himself for a moment. His hand went to his neck to rub it, like he always did when uncomfortable, and that was all it took for Gabriel to catch the glimpse of the real garment under the white shirt.

The designer cringed and gasped, for the first time in years rendered speechless by an article of clothing. And not in a good way.

At that point Adrien had realized his mistake. ‘I guess the cat is out of the bag,’ he offered a sheepish smile and pushed the overshirt to sides to reveal…

Well damn, Gabriel was a designer for years, participated in a ton of haute couture ridiculous weeks, but he still had difficulty with putting a label onto what his son was actually wearing.

It started as a huge bubble of red, covering his neck and chest, then turned into a smaller bubble of yellow at his stomach and another one, blue, at his waist. From what Gabriel could see, the same pattern was repeated on the sleeves. There was a large eye-like print in front and some dark tube like embroidery going to the back of the garment.

He couldn’t help but to stare until Adrien broke the silence clearing his throat.

Gabriel started. ‘Take the overshirt off, please?’

The boy did as he was asked and bashfully demonstrated another print at the back of the… thing… looking similar to a yellow bubble container. Finally it dawned on the designer what he was actually seeing.

‘Is it… a costume?’ he queried.

Adrien went back to rubbing his neck. ‘Sort of, but not really?’ he hesitated. ‘It’s just like a normal t-shirt just a bit… extra?’

Gabriel could only glare, but the boy soldiered on. ‘Everyone is wearing them,’ he said proudly. ‘This is all the rage now.’

Well it definitely was outrageous, if anyone would bother to ask Gabe. ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ the man muttered under his breath and then a nagging thought kicked him in the brain. ‘What do you mean “everyone is wearing them”?’

‘Oh, it’s this new thing,’ Adrien smiled, apparently taking Gabriel’s startled expression as a sign of interest. ‘It’s not only the Bubbler. There’s plenty of other akuma,’ he enthused. ‘I have Antibug too. And Pharaoh, and Lady Wifi, RogerCop and the Mime. Guitar Villain of course and…’ he paused suddenly, biting his lip.

‘And?’ Gabriel urged him to continue. ‘And who?’

‘... the Collector,’ Adrien mumbled shuffling his feet and once again effectively shutting all the designer’s systems down.

Gabriel’s brain was sizzling at that point. Someone was making akuma clothes? And not just prints on t-shirts, but actual costume-like clothes, as evidenced in the bulges on Adrien’s arms and chest. Someone was selling them? It was a new young fashion trend? Was it only young fashion? Why didn’t he see that coming? And so on, and so on, his mind was flooded with questions. The fact that his son out of fascination or loyalty or whatever else the reason was, bought a shirt based on his akuma was the proverbial cherry on top, which he decided to put away for further consideration.

‘I know it’s silly,’ now Adrien caught on his state and automatically started explaining himself, ‘and that I should wear our brand. But it’s so much fun I couldn’t stop myself,’ he reverted to rubbing his neck again.

Gabriel’s brain finally rebooted. He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t mind,’ he stated gravely. ‘But I’d like to know, where did you buy them.’

The boy shrugged and evidently stopped himself mid eye-roll, ‘The internet,’ he said. ‘But they are sometimes available at local fairs and events. That’s where I got this one,’ he pointed to the black-eyed red bubble covering his chest.

‘Hmmm,’ Gabriel pursed his lips. ‘Thank you for this information. Now I believe you’ve mentioned a lot of homework. Don’t let me detain you.’

Adrien smirked and nodded, probably grateful that the interrogation was over, and rushed to his room, while Gabriel headed to his own study drowned in thoughts.

Someone was using akuma designs to create clothes and it irked him to no end. Haven’t people heard of copyrights, for heaven’s sake?!

Oh, right. Those weren’t Gabriel’s designs. Those were Hawkmoth’s. He couldn’t exactly use them in any of his collections. It would not only be risky, stupidly drawing attention to his brand and associating it with the akumas, especially with the whole deal with the book, but if he was honest with himself it would be also a tad unethical.

‘Nathalie,’ he paused his musing only to summon his assistant. ‘Please find out, who is selling the akuma clothes Adrien’s bought and get me all of them right away,’ he ordered and closed the door in her face.

He started pacing impatiently in his study, mulling over the whole affair.

But those are my designs, something at the back of his brain screamed.

Awful designs, his designer ego replied, wincing.

On purpose, to cover your tracks, the backbrain argued.

Really awful designs, the ego hissed. Cringeworthy, including the Collector.

That’s beside the point, the hindbrain replied. Someone is making money out of it, so they must be good.

Well, the ego stroked his chin, those are my designs after all.

And you don’t mind someone is using them without permission?! the back of his brain screamed.

It’s not like I can just go to them and ask them to stop! the ego now was doubly vexed, at the situation and at that hindbrain of his.

Why not? the backbrain droned.

‘That’s enough,’ Gabriel bellowed, slamming his fists into the wall with enough force to leave a dent. He earned a gasp in reply, as Nathalie dropped a pile of clothes she was just taking inside.

‘Sorry, Sir,’ she apologized automatically and started picking up the weird collection from the floor. She spread the garments over the miniature runway and left, casting him a worried look.

First thing Gabriel did was inspecting the materials. Decent quality, but not over the top. Of course, things like that should be affordable. The stitching was neat. The cut reasonable. Close enough to the akumas’ real look, but comfortable to wear. He was surprised at the variety of the items - there were t-shirts, tunics, shirts and even a Horrificator themed hoodie, with purple tentacles sewn to the hood above the embroidered three eyes.

He clenched his fists. A closer inspection of the hoodie revealed a tag with a trademark - a white and purple akuma outline, similar to what appeared when Hawkmoth talked to his champions. Apparently not only his ideas were borrowed, but also Nooroo’s. The little kwami wouldn’t get any recognition for his logo either, he thought and it somehow made him feel better that he wasn’t alone in his misery.

His rage cooled a bit. These clothes were not only decently done, but also inventive in design. True, it was inspired by his akumas, but neatly implemented into everyday clothing. And in a very creative way. Gabriel whistled in appreciation. He had to admit this wasn’t really a case of design theft, but an adaptation of the idea. Inspiration was a very accurate word here and as a fellow designer he couldn’t help but to admire the concepts.

An acronym “AF” caught his eye. Underneath he found  the phrase “Akuma Fashion” printed in small font. He typed it into his phone and a quick search returned an address in another part of the city. Gabriel considered it for a moment. He was curious. He had been even before he got his paws on the clothes and now that he analysed them, he was itching to learn who was behind all this. But he couldn’t exactly pay them an inconspicuous visit as Gabriel Agreste without causing unwanted gossip.

He chuckled. That’s where having a masked alter ego came in handy. A quick transformation and a few leaps later, he was already nearing the arrondissement where the label was registered.

Hawkmoth sneaked through the backdoor to something he hoped was a workshop. A dark corridor stretched to the front of the building, and from the rooms on either side of it he could hear a familiar hum of sewing machines. He risked a peek inside one of them only to discover a few men and women in Ladybug aprons working on various items of clothing. Some designs he had already seen, but some were new. Curious, he glimpsed into some other rooms, careful to stay hidden in the darkness of the corridor. In every room he found similar set of machines and ladybug-apronned sewers.

He got to a stairwell and then caught voices from the upper level of the building. Silently he climbed the stairs, as the conversation on the first floor unravelled.

‘Well, it was Chat’s idea,’ someone giggled.

‘Oh, Bugaboo, it was just a joke that you turned into this miraculous enterprise,’ another voice replied smugly.

‘So both of you were behind this idea, I see,’ a third, professional but amused voice interrupted. ‘How does it work?’

This sounded like an interview. Intrigued, Hawkmoth halted in front of the door to the room that was the source of the voices. He listened, his curiosity finally getting the feast it craved.

‘It’s a social economy venture, we do not do this for profit,’ the first, feminine voice explained.

‘Everything we earn goes to the employees or is donated to public utility foundations of our choice,’ the second, manly voice supplied.

‘And the designs?’ the interviewer prompted.

‘Oh, those are all Ladybug’s input,’ the second voice stated proudly. ‘Turns out that the embodiment of creation has quite a creative streak in her,’ he murmured and there was a slight thwack sound, as if someone hit another someone in the arm.

‘Stop with the praise, Kitty,’ the first voice replied happily. ‘Some of those are your ideas.’

‘But it’s you who provides the detailed designs, my Lady,’ the second voice replied in mock offence.

‘Well, Ladybug, I must congratulate you,’ the interviewer was clearly pleased with their interviewees’ trademark banter. ‘I’ve spoken with a few people of Parisian fashion world and they all complimented the designs as being neat, modern, and well... ahem… cut to consumers’ needs.’ There was a pause and a male snicker was heard before the journalist continued. ‘They were all surprised you don’t want to take credit for them as your civilian self. It would definitely open many doors for you.’

Oh, Hawkmoth would most definitely open quite a few himself, including one trapdoor, Gabriel thought bitterly.

‘Thank you,’ the first voice - clearly Ladybug - replied. ‘But I’m not doing this for fame or portfolio or whatever other reasons. We just wanted to do something substantial for the public and at the same time lessen the stigma that comes from akumatization.’

‘So by making akuma clothes trendy you’re helping the victims?’ the interviewer sounded astonished.

‘We wanted to bring attention to the fact that the victims are innocent and shouldn’t be rejected or bullied, like we know has happened in a few cases,’ the second voice - Chat’s - explained solemnly.

‘And by redistributing the profits we make sure something good comes to us even from such disastrous things like akuma attacks,’ Ladybug concluded.

Well, that was quite a lot of information for Hawkmoth to digest. The idea was brilliant, the motivation noble. It figured the heroes would come up with something like that, he mentally spat. He resisted the urge to stomp and grumble something villainy under his breath, when he felt someone catching his arms and pushing him inside the room where the interview took place.

‘I found one, Nadja,’ his captor called from behind his back. ‘Is he any good?’ they asked pointing a finger to his suit.

‘Ah, this must be your newest design!’ the journalist, who now despite his horror Hawkmoth identified as Nadja Chamack exclaimed in surprise. ‘I think it’s your first suit? How unique!’ she delighted. ‘I thought you aimed at youngsters, but this… I could totally see a gentleman in a suit like that.’

Hawkmoth decided he liked this woman already. She babbled happily about his super-costume completely oblivious that her interviewees raised from their seats and reached for their weapons.

He wanted to draw his sword in reply, but discovered that nasty woman took it away to inspect “the craftsmanship”.

Well fuck, he thought, as the yoyo string wrapped around his arms and shoulders. He squinted at the end of Chat’s baton that stopped millimeters from his face, This is going to be an interesting afternoon.

In his hands, bound behind his back, a white butterfly flickered and turned purple, charged with magic.

[hunterpassion841]

Bearshare Mp3 Songs

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BearShare Music 2.1.4

Download Links: Click the link below to download BearShare Music

Short details of BearShare Music: BearShare Music is a free files sharing software that helps you download all your favorite tunes from its infinite community. It uses latest technology for file sharing, and getting your desired music files will be easier than ever, downloading your files at maximum speed. The main goals of...

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Most of us are familiar with iTunes and Google Play, but these aren’t only online music source available. There is a different kind of website offer free mp3 music download option, and these are the best choice when you are looking alternative music source. Here is a list of top 10 free music downloader for PC in 2020 that will help you find your favourite music and download the latest mp3 song for free download. Read below best mp3 downloader to find the best music online.

BearShare Features. View other users' profiles, photos and music library. Leave comments about your friends and favorite artists. Supports hundreds of MP3 players. Send messages and instant messages to other users, while listening together to the same music. Highly customizable interface; Updates: BearShare Updates. BearShare is a Free Music Downloader by the MediaLab company. From rap to rock and pop to country, BearShare lets you download over 20 million of the latest songs and music videos. Not only that, BearShare version 10 lets you connect with friends to share music libraries and meet new people that share similar music interests. Just try it, start with a search and add songs to your ConverterBear.net playlist. You can do this without an account but we recommend to create an account and save your playlist at your account. ConverterBear.net is one of the fastest and easiest online mp3 converter site. You can convert nearly any youtube videos to mp3 with our service for free. BearShare is a Free Music Downloader by the MediaLab company. From rap to rock and pop to country, BearShare lets you download over 20 million of the latest songs and music videos. Not only that, BearShare version 10 lets you connect with friends to share music libraries and meet new people that share similar music interests.

As ever, we need to stress the importance of copyright: you should only download music if you have the express permission of the copyright holder, or the music is in the public domain.

1. qBittorrent

There is no trouble while you use torrent client for downloading music from online. qBittorrent is and best Bittorrent downloads tool for transmitting large files, high quality FLAC files, uncompressed WAV or AIFF files. It is a very fast and flexible and get songs from multiple hosts simultaneously. Download

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Freemake MP3 downloader is the best source to get music from YouTube. If highest quality is available, it will automatically download MP3s. You can paste a YouTube address into it to start a download. Download music downloader YouTube

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MP3Jam gives you faster downloads experience and get best sound quality. This free music downloader has multi-threaded file downloads, which means it can download from multiple sources simultaneously. Using this music downloader by album search is very easy and over 20 Million audio tracks. Music tracks are all legal and available for free download. MP3jam does not use torrents, p2p algorithms or pirate sites and only searches for music in public access. This free music software delivers best MP3s hosted by YouTube. Download

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With Lacey downloader, you can get your favorite music and video for free. You search song just enter an artist name or song title and press button. Use vkontakte, goear and baidu to download free MP3 files. Get videos and convert them to MP3 from YouTube and Vimeo. Listen to music mixes from SoundCloud, MixCloud and BandCamp. Download complete TV series from kinox.to. Watch movies from ARD, ZDF, Arte and Phoenix. Download

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FrostWire is a free and easy music downloader mp3, BitTorrent Client and Media Player for Windows, Mac, Linux and Android Search, Download, Play and Share Files. Download

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Vuze claims to be the most powerful music downloader engine. It is a free software for desktop platform such as Windows, Mac and Linux. Download

8. Deluge

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Soundnode is An opensource SoundCloud app for desktop (Windows/Mac, Linux). Download

10. Transmission-Qt Win

Bear Share Mp3 Download

Transmission-Qt Win is a simple application for beginners It’s the Windows version of Transmission, one of the best and most reliable torrent downloaders on the Mac. Transmission Qt Win is an interesting alternative to download files through torrent in Windows. The program has a minimalist interface that allows you to start to download torrents after a few seconds Download

Bearshare Mp3 Songs Mp3

Read also: 10 FLV Players for Windows 10

[ritacavicchio]

Kale Yeah Market Bag

The Peabody Pop Up Market “Kids Day” was yesterday, July 10, 2018 at the Leather City Commons off of Lowell Street in Peabody.

It could have been the heat or something, but there were about half the vendors there. But–no harm!–more shoppers for the rest of us! Haha! It sort of worked out for me, because I got to set up at one of the park’s entrances, which allowed for more attention. I abutted two great new vendors.

It was hot, but there was a lot of shade and I got my NEW tent up with a little help from my neighbors. I was also able to give my “old” tent to a local artist named Lauren, whom I met through a GreenPeabody friend. She was so excited to have a tent and the old one wasn’t any worse for wear, so that was a real “win win”! My tent weights–which are compact, horseshoe style square weights–have been ordered, but didn’t come in time, but the tent stayed put.

One of my abutters was Reni (pronounced Ree-Knee) Wilson from Tumbled By Time.  Reni has been collecting sea glass only from the beaches of Marblehead (birthplace of the American Navy and famous pirates, too!) for the last 28 years. Recently she decided to figure out how to make her found treasures into unique jewelry pieces. She doesn’t use clasps, but slip knots to make the necklaces and bracelets and she uses black fishing twine, so you know you can never wear her pieces out!

I got a little sea glass lesson from her, too, and told her all about my glass collecting friend from Canada. I chuckled when she told me the beaches in Canada aren’t good for sea glass! What beaches were she talking about, Deb Reid? Reni is able to tell exactly what type of bottle the glass originated from on most of her pieces and she was a font of knowledge about all thinks sea glass. She was originally from Ohio, but got lured here to our Atlantic Ocean beaches in her early years. They really DO lure you, don’t they?

To my right was a curious man named Adam who was wearing a fruit-adorned shrubbery on his head and handing out samples of “shrubs”. I was curious so I just had to ask what a shrub was…it’s flavored vinegars that have healthy/probiotic and culinary uses. Go figure!! Very keen hipster dude, who helped me out in the end when a certain someone whom I avoid IRL sauntered by.

I got back in touch with my friend, Michael Lucas from back in my days as CSM and VP of a local catalog company.  Michael is retired from most of his other jobs, but he is still doing his Justice of the Peace gig, but also is selling the most unbelievably tasty flavored olive oils and vinegars–real authentic Greek oils! His son-in-law and he have a store at the North Shore Shopping Center (we old “locals” still call it that!) called The Branch Olive Oil Company.  After trying his Fig Flavored Balsamic Vinegar yesterday, I can tell you he can keep his JP skills and just hand me over a bottle of that Fig Flavored Balsamic Vinegar for my salads!!

P.S. I guess there is life after working at a certain local catalog company! Go figure!

I also ran into several GreenPeabody members, including Sheila D’Ambrosio back from Maine, Pam Paine and, of course, Janette, who also runs the Tillie’s Community Herb Project over on Tillie’s Farm on Lynn Street.

Pam was headed to the Salem “No Place For Hate” Meeting…sure do wish we had one of those committees in Peabody, but she said she was turned down when she proposed it to the mayor. It may be something to revisit, Peabody?  What do you think?

Not that many produce/farmers, which I think was the reason why the original farmers market outside of City Hall didn’t do well. Lisa from Bella & Harvey–the event coordinator–has done an outstanding job of getting and keeping interesting vendors and activities. For clarification, this is Peabody’s version of the traditional farmers market, which I think is great, because it allows people like me with natural and/or handmade products to have a booth. Anyone have any ideas? Are you a vendor and want to show your wares? I can point you in the direction of the woman with all the knowledge!

Because it was Kids Day at the market, I gave away some coloring sheets that I did using my Cricut, of course! Full sized pages were also for sale and in about a dozen FREE designs from Cricut’s Design Space.

FREE Coloring Pages

FREE Coloring Pages

FREE Coloring Pages

FREE Coloring Pages

FREE Coloring Pages

FREE Coloring Pages

Sample coloring page drawn and cut using my Cricut Maker

And because I use the creamiest, thickest white card stock, it elevates your coloring experience all the more.

This was the first market that I had some soaps for sale and I did sell a few bars. Lip Balms were the other purchases. I had a load of really fun market bags, but I think I have to display them better. Oh! And it didn’t help that the DJ was giving away free market bags around the corner.

Of course, I’d like to have sold more, but the benefits still far outweigh the difficulties! ❤

The NEXT Peabody Pop Up Market will be on Tuesday, July 24th from 3-7pm. I *think* the them is Crafty stuff…so I won’t need to make anything “special” for that….cuz everything I have is crafty! BOL!

Here are the vendor details from this post.  If you visit any of them, be sure to tell them you heard about them from my blog!  Thanks, loves!

  The Branch Olive Oil Co.

North Shore Shopping Center, 210 Andover St., Peabody, MA

(978) 531-1920

The Branch Olive Oil Co.

New store coming to Pickering Wharf, Salem, MA in 2018

Also on Facebook at /thebrancholiveoil

  Tumbled By Time:

Studio located at 28 South Street, Marblehead, MA

(617) 510-1846

Tumbled By Time

Also on Facebook at /TumbledbyTime,  Instagram and Twitter

  Peabody Main Streets:

Pictures are posted on Facebook.com/peabodymainstreets

E-mail newsletter at: Live Peabody

(978) 538-5704

  La Diva Bella/Miss Rita to the Rescue! (that’s me):

Miss Rita to the Rescue! The Blog

On Facebook at /MissRitatotheRescue and /LaDivaBella

Also on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Quora under my name: Ritamarie Cavicchio

Art with Lauren:

Sit and paint events, bachelor/ette parties and private art lessons

on Facebook at /ArtWithLaurenNoyes

  Peabody Pop Up Market:

On Facebook at /Peabodyfarmermkt

  Soap for Sale at the Peabody Pop Up Market

OMH

Rose Scented

Chamomile Soap

Lavender Soap

    Peabody Pop Up Market: Kids Day The Peabody Pop Up Market "Kids Day" was yesterday, July 10, 2018 at the Leather City Commons off of Lowell Street in Peabody.