#and i would want to make sure that is edited and polished and pristine and ready to go

[aparticularbandit]

So - just a general idea of the conclusions I'm coming to with the polls so far (and there's still just under two days to vote, so please vote!):

It's in the goals, there's an overwhelming yes towards having a fic to look towards to every Monday, and I'm planning on continuing this. The poll is affirming what I suspected and reinforcing the decision to do something I was planning on doing.

Friday is actually winning just barely the additional weekly update poll (it looks tied with No Preference, but that's because my vote is there, and in the case of a tie with this, I would let the other option edge out my vote). I like this, because Thursday (which currently has a vote) is where the second OAFC chapter goes when I double chapters, which leaves Fridays open for other stuff. We'll get back to this below.

Going to do this out of order and look at the fandom stuff first, the important thing for me is that there is an overwhelming preference here. (In fact, the sole No Preference vote is mine, so that I could see the results.) All of you are here for a specific fandom of some sort, but an overwhelming amount of you (so far) are here for Danganronpa content.

Continuing the out of order, there's also more votes for No Preference when it comes to weekly scheduled stuff vs. stuff going up immediately. Where there is a preference, it's slightly for weekly scheduled stuff, but only by one vote. My preference is also for weekly scheduled stuff, so it's likely I'll go in that direction - and as a result, given the current trend of the second poll, those would go up on Fridays.

Overwhelmingly (so far), there is No Preference on voting for the weekly update. (That said, no one disliked this option. Which says something, too!) This one is important in light of specifically the fandom poll - because there is an overwhelming amount of you here for Danganronpa stuff, in a poll where something Danganronpa goes up against anything else, it becomes significantly more likely that the Danganronpa stuff will win. Given that I've already currently got weekly DR stuff going up (re: OAFC) and have DR stuff planned (Junkan Week and Femslash February both in February), I think that if I set up a poll, it'll probably be when you're choosing between DR content (or between stuff that isn't DR content). I think in sense of fair/even playing field, that's the best decision here.

And then the original writing poll is just for me. I'm super happy to see that right now all of the answers have been positive (I understand it depending on the story; there are some stories, even written by people I really like, that I wouldn't read) - but none of you said no and none of you don't have a preference, which is. thanks.

SO.

TL;DR - IF CURRENT POLL TRENDS CONTINUE, weekly updates continue on Mondays; if posting a second scheduled thing weekly (outside of fandom events), that should go up on Fridays; polls for Friday posts only if between nothing Danganronpa or all Danganronpa.

I don't know if I'll wait until Fridays to post one-shots or if I'll post them when they're done. I might. We'll see? I think I would rather plan on bulking them to get ahead for Friday stuff (like I did with Monday updates last year), but I've enjoyed posting stuff as it's done, too. Especially with one-shots. So we'll see on that.

It is possible that I get ahead enough on another multi-chapter fic project to run stuff on Mondays and Fridays, but it will be a while before that happens. I want to finish the rough of OALH before focusing on another multi-chapter fic, and I'll probably run a poll about that when we get closer to that moment.

If I get that far ahead, then I'll probably look at Saturdays for the additional posting (given that Thursdays are occasionally OAFC (or eventually OALH) chapters), but. that's super far in advance.

If you have further thoughts - or if you haven't voted and want to get your vote in! - HERE ARE THE POLLS. Things may change if the polls change!

[slapmeshigaraki]

౨ৎ "Are you scared, sweetheart?" ౨ৎ

♡ warnings: meanie!sylus x reader, spit, gunplay, daddy, condescension, improper evol use lmao, actually pretty tame ngl the dirty talk is kinda gross though, sylus is out of character in this in case that bothers you

♡ a/n: okay i lied and said i wasn't posting this until later in the week, but i finished editing it early so... idk happy valentine's day i guess. another old fic that i just edited. enjoy pretties !!

♡ Sylus doesn't ask you for much other than to leave him alone for a few hours on Sundays so he can clean his gun collection, but after a few interruptions too many, he decides that you can stick around just this once. Afterall, maybe you can help? ♡

“What is it?” he said after letting out a deep sigh, not bothering to look up at you through the lenses of his glasses. They sat loosely against the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his lap, softly polishing one of his most prized possessions: a gun. You weren’t sure whose death he’d pictured on the other end of it, but he treated it like the last bite of dessert, savoring it, keeping it hidden away for a special occasion. No one could touch it, look at it, breathe on it, except him. When Luke and Kieran gave you your first tour of the house, they wouldn’t even walk you down the hallway of the safe, scared that ‘Boss would smell your scents when he returned.’ It wasn’t until months later when he’d decided that your firearm wasn’t up to par any longer that he’d invited you in to 'shop' for a new one. That’s when you saw it, hung up on the wall in a glass case so high that only he could reach. It was wrapped in a fine silk fabric, a pristine black cherry gun whose make or model was so far beyond your pay grade that you’d never heard of it before.

Every Sunday he disappears into the safe for hours before dinner. He was not to be disturbed. It was the only thing that he was really particular about, but he needed it just to clear his head—some solace after a long week. So, the fact that you were interrupting him for the third time with a knock on the door was grating, to say the least.

“Nothing I just-“

“Is something on fire, darling?”

“No, Sylus.”

“Has someone managed to break into the house?”

“No.”

“Has Mephisto spontaneously combusted, leaving a feather lodged into one of your eyes?”

“No.”

“So, you can clearly see that I’m busy? Then I’ll ask again, what is it that you need?” His eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, his tone strained.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted rice or mashed potatoes for dinner, but since you’re so caught up in tending to an inanimate object, I’ll decide for you.” He was snippier than usual, the darkening of his voice making it obvious he was not in the mood for witty banter.

“Be careful there, sweetheart. I’d hate for that pretty mouth to get you into trouble.”

“Or what? Will you get trigger happy and let that precious gun go off? No, of course not because we must keep it clean for a hypothetical threat that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Kneel.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. It was a command, an order barked at an underling.

“Go fuck yourself,” You said, venom in your voice as you made a move back towards the door, hand clenched around the golden handle.

“If you make me get up to come catch you sweetheart, you’ll be sorry.” His eyes met yours for the first time, a fiery crimson illuminating your line of vision. His gaze was dark, challenging you to disobey him. When Sylus told someone to do something, they did it and you were no exception. You might bite back once in a while, but he always knew that you’d do what he told you to at the end of the day.

So, you kneeled, perhaps too slowly because it wasn’t before long that your knees were forced to buckle beneath you, Sylus making good use of his evol to bind your ankles together. The cool marble tile flooring chilled your flesh as your heartbeat ran wild, your mouth getting wetter with each second, practically drooling as if you were waiting to sink your teeth into your favorite meal. In the same breath, your hands were bound as well, moved behind your back against your will and stuck together like glue.

“Go on, crawl to me.” There was amusement staining his expression, a sinister smirk plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Can’t you get to me? A big strong girl like you with such a dirty mouth, surely you can move just a few feet on your own.” You relaxed your legs, letting your knees spread apart to rest them.

“I can’t…” You mumbled under your breath, unable to meet his glare any longer.

“Speak up, pet. You were so loud a few moments ago. Speak to me with that same tough voice now that you can't run away from me.” His slender fingers kept moving, cleaning the trophy with such grace. It was rhythmic, methodical, and calculated. It made you wet just to watch him, reminding you of how easily those same fingers could make you fall apart in his arms.

“I can’t move.”

“You can’t move?” he whined, pouting, mocking you without remorse.

“Well, I want you kneeling in front of me. So how do you suggest you get over here, sweetie?”

“Sylus…” You pled, which was slightly better than flat out begging.

“Tsk tsk, where are our manners?” The same red mist that bound your wrists and ankles now curled around your throat, not hesitating to squeeze abruptly, threatening to rob you of all of your air altogether.

“Please sir, help me.” Without letting another second pass, you were pulled into the air and inched over to him by the mist, roughly thrown back to the ground before him. His legs were spread in his seated position, gun resting on one, the other resting between your thighs.

“Thank you,” You said, hanging your head to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Aw, so polite. See what happens when you ask nicely? See how sweet I can be when you aren't a fucking brat?” With that, his foot adjusted, the tip of his perfectly polished leather shoe gently pressed against your core. You struggled not to writhe against him, desperately needing some form of friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

“Look at me, darling.” You did. The fervent desire in your eyes obvious, bottom lip bloody from biting it so hard, restraining yourself from any more unnecessary commentary.

“You look so needy like this, my foot pressed against your cunt, pouting underneath me. You look like you want to ask me for something? What is it, baby? Do you need something from your daddy, hm?” A whine fell from between your lips against your control as you tensed your legs, begging them not to move without permission.

“Please can I- can you fuck me please?”

“Can I fuck you? Do you think that I should dirty myself--” the hold on your neck tightened once more, “by fucking someone so pathetic that they’re getting off at the thought of grinding on my leg? Someone who can’t go a few hours without my attention shouldn’t get my cock inside of them. Someone like that shouldn’t get to feel my cum filling them up and spilling out of their tight little holes. They shouldn’t get to feel daddy’s tongue cleaning them up, kissing and sucking every inch on their pretty little pussy, should they?” You couldn’t get yourself to say no, but you knew yes wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so you stayed quiet. The cool sensation of metal burned your skin in an instant, tilting your jaw up, forcing your vision toward to ceiling, your eyes getting lost in the gold detailing of the mural above. Silence filled the space between you two, the only sound to be heard was the quickening of your heartbeat and the flip of the gun’s safety that was pressed against your flesh. A lump grew in your throat at the noise. You could feel the sole of his shoe pressing into you even more, gently moving back and forth as you bit your lip again.

“Let me hear you, baby. Tell daddy how good it feels, go on.”

“Th- Thank you daddy. That feels so good.”

“Say ‘thank you daddy for making my cunnie feel good.” You whined at the request, embarrassment causing tears to prick and sting at the corners of your eyes.

“You don’t want to use your words? How ungrateful.” It wasn’t long before the coolness against your jaw was gone. You dropped your gaze to look at him once again. The man before you was starved, his face void any sign of amusement. You wondered if this is what his prey felt when he looked at them, a lamb waiting to be eaten by the lion, forced to let him play with his food before he could be thoroughly satiated. He put the barrel of the gun against your lips now, his thumb languidly dancing on the trigger.

“Open up for me. Let me see that pretty tongue.” You hesitantly stuck your tongue out, the spit that had been building up in your mouth finally free to drip onto the metal as he pushed the barrel against the back of your throat. Your eyes widened at the sensation, the realization that his prized possession was being soiled by your drool far too humiliating. The tears flowed freely now. Your cheeks grew damp as you cried out against the obstruction in your mouth.

“Aw sweetheart, are you crying? Do you want to push your hips against me? Will that make your cunnie feel better?” You nodded, sniffling softly as you shifted uncomfortably, the realization that you couldn’t move at all finally catching up with you.

“Go ahead, hump my leg. You have permission. Make yourself feel good for daddy.” You tried to do as he asked, moving your hips slowly back and forth, the ache only growing in between your legs, but all you could think about was how dirty that gun was getting your mouth. Sobs fell from your lips now. His face contorted slightly at your cries.

“M-s-sorry daddy,” You struggled out, words muffled by the metal. He slowly pulled the gun out of your mouth,

“Are you scared, sweetheart? Is that why you’re dirtying this pretty face with tears, hm?” You felt his skin for the first time against yours, his free hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb making small circles on your flesh.

“No I just… I hate that I’m getting your gun dirty. I know how much you care about it. I’m sorry I just can’t stop drooling on it.” His fingers softly pressed under your eyes, catching the tears.

“Your spit is the sweetest thing I could use to clean this gun. It’s just an inanimate object, huh?" he said, being sure to use your choice of words exactly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl.” As he spoke, your wrists and ankles fell freely, the stress on your throat lifting as the red mist fell away.

“Come up here,” he said, fingers beckoning for you to stand and sit in his lap, your back pressed against his warm and muscular chest. Hooking his arm under your knee, he spread your legs apart, resting your ankle over the arm of the chair. His fingers wasted no time finding their way beneath your skirt, softly pulling the satin fabric of your panties to the side as he slipped a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh my god,” You moaned out desperately as he hummed in amusement.

“I’m jealous. Your god is getting all of the praise, but I’m the one that's making this pussy leak all over my fingers. That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

“Fuck, daddy thank you.” His pace quickened, every inch of his long and slender fingers making you gasp and writhe beneath his touch as you bucked against his palm.

“You are very welcome sweet girl. Next time you want daddy’s attention, you can just ask and we can skip all the theatrics, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Aw, ‘yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy.'” Such pretty words from such a dirty mouth. The same mouth that stained my gun, isn’t that right?” he said. You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, your wetness forming a spot on the fine fabric of his pants as you felt his cock growing beneath you. It only made you squirm more at the thought of its thickness filling you up after being empty throughout this whole ordeal.

“Relax for me.” This was the only warning you got before you felt that same cool metal slide between your folds, the ridges of the firearm serving as a new source of friction to grind on before Sylus slid his finger out of your walls, replacing it with the tip of the gun against your entrance. He felt you tense up immediately in his grasp.

“No no no,” he said, thumb gently caressing your inner thigh, his touch burning you with ease.

“Relax baby. Let daddy’s pussy open up for him, hm? I just want that sweet little hole’s juices to cleanse my gun thoroughly.” Your mouth hung open, moans escaping as he spoke. Your head rested against his shoulder, hair messily rubbing against his shirt. He pressed his soft lips against your forehead.

“That’s it, puppy. Gooood fucking girl, you're taking it so well for me, huh sweetheart?” his fingers found your clit once more, melting away any tension. Slowly, the tip of the gun pushed its way between your tender walls, your flesh clenching around it tightly, making it hard for him to slide it in and out of you.

“That’s a greedy pussy, isn’t it— holding onto anything that it can, my fingers, my cock, my tongue, my gun. She just wants to be filled, hm? She just loves daddy so much that anything he puts inside, she doesn’t want to let go of?”

“Y-yes daddy, she loves you. Please please please keep touching her.” So, he did. Slowly but surely, he pushed the metal in and out, salivating as he watched the way your flesh gripped on to the tip before he’d shove it back inside.

“Fuck--you wanna cum for me? Gonna make a big mess all over daddy’s gun, sweetheart? How fucking filthy,” You nodded as Sylus’s rough hands gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Without warning, his spit filled your open mouth, slowly dripping from between your lips, coating your chest.

“Don’t swallow it. Keep my spit in your mouth when you cum for me. Stick your tongue out and cum all over me like a good little puppy,” He sped up even more now, the tip of the gun pushing against that spot inside of you that made your body heat up like white lightning that was trapped in a bottle and begging to be let out. He hit that spot over and over again, making your head fuzzy as he held your gaze captive with his scarlet eyes.

“Daddy—fuck—please, I don’t think I can take it.” You panicked, your hand desperately reaching for his wrist, hoping for some freedom from the incessant pleasure only for the mist to trap you once again, binding your hands up above your head and around Sylus’s neck, pressing your bodies even closer together.

“Shit—you’re so wet, you’re making a puddle in my lap. Are you gonna squirt around my gun, baby?” He said, emphasizing his point with a sharp push of the metal against you g-spot.

“No I- I can’t. It’s too embarrassing please don’t make me.”

“Come on, listen to your daddy and let go all over me. Squirt, cum, cry, I don’t care, but I’m gonna pull it all out of you either way. So, give it to me, it’s mine. I worked so hard for it,” he said, fingers finding their way into your open mouth, but you didn’t dare close your lips around them, just letting the spit drip down onto yourself and he bullied your pussy over and over again until you just couldn’t take it anymore. Tears streamed from your eyes once more as you let go. Your wetness spilled all over his lap, pulling guttural screams from your throat that were muffled by his hands.

“Good girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for daddy, baby. Poor baby, so pent up. It must feel so good to let go now, huh?” Streams of ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’ echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed against his grasp. He pressed his full lips to your face again as he pulled his finger and his firearm from your holes slowly. You watched him with tired eyes, as you were covered in your own wetness. The gun dripped with your juices, but he wasted no time putting the metal to his own mouth this time, flattening his tongue against the barrel of the gun and licking it clean.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart. Maybe you should let you help me clean my guns more often.” Dazed, and far too exhausted to protest, you closed your eyes, resting your head against him once again, your hands finally free. He pressed small kisses against your sweaty face, gently brushing any hair from your skin before you spoke up again.

“T-thank you, Sylus.”

“The pleasure is all mine, pretty girl.”

[skekdris]

Sketch of my OC/Species graciously brought to life by @aryeonos , The Arhulian. Needless to say, a huge, six-eyed, badger-centipede is both intimidating and hard to depict visually. Thanks to Ary again for assisting me with editing and proof reading. I don't think my story could have reached this level of polish if I did not have my love to bounce it off of. <3 Down below is a short story of them meeting the Amaranthine characters by @kwillow and @chocodile . They are in for a surprising house guest, that's for sure! Seems like a good way to get a feel for a character is to put them up against some "knowns" to see how the character would react in those circumstances. Acts as a good backdrop to flesh them out from there. As for right now, I'm still 'sculpting' out a lot of the Arhulian lore and worldbuilding. Initially the story was supposed to be with Hyden, Alex, and Theo, interacting with my Arhulian character 'Niadris' - but the way things were written out and flowed - it turned out to be Alex, Theo, and Ridge instead. I really wanted Hyden to meet them in this story, but then again, Hyden being deadass asleep while all the interesting stuff happens sounds like a pretty Hyden-y thing to do. Anyways, onto the story. It's somewhat of a long read, at ~7k Words. There's a lot of character interaction, so I hope stayed close to how the three would react in such a situation!

The Visitor

It was an afternoon in middle spring - which for this area of the continent meant that if the weather was good, temperatures would rise above freezing. The cool air with the humidity of melting snow seemed pleasantly mild compared to the long, bitter winters. In the study of a large manor on the outskirts of a town called Northcrest; an older, corpulent, Rabbit with a cracked gem embedded in his forehead was gripping the sides of his hair in frustration. "A person of my mind, MY intellect should have solved this weeks - no - months ago!" Hyden snarled to himself. 

"You sure you aren't just stalling for time to enjoy your little 'vacation' here?" A Bat leaning in the doorway chided. 

Hyden put on a despondent look. "I am trying, Ms. Solokov. Really, in earnest. The faster I can put an end to this disaster, the faster I can rebuild my oh-so woefully maligned reputation!" He said, crumpling up another paper of scribbled equations of arcane theory, tossing it into a waste basket. 

Alex wanted to retort, but it would just be another fight, another exchange of barbs like all the other times before. She rolled her eyes, then stood up to wander out of the office. "Hopefully Ridge gets back soon. I want someone I can actually talk to." She thought, returning to her room to take stock of her things.

Hours later, as the sun was setting - casting the hillsides in an amber glow, a brawny teal Shark bundled in a heavy coat returned. In both of his arms were large crates, as well as canvas bags hooked around his arms. The door was opened by a short, roundish fancy Rat. "Oh, do make sure you remove your filthy boots at the entryway, I don't want any melting slush being tracked all over my estate." They sneered in their shrill voice. 

"Yes, of course Theo. I wouldn't want to sully your pristine hardwood floors." Ridge responded dryly. Before the Rat could retort, the large Shark added. "Anyways, here's everything you had on your shopping list, these supplies should keep us stocked for a few weeks before another trip." Preemptively cutting off Theo again, Ridge blurted out: "Oh, and I trust 'ya have the perfect spot to put everything. I wouldn't want to scramble 'yer pantry, after all." 

Theo scowled at the bulky outsider, their constant pokes and attempts at wit got under his skin. He knows Ridge was trying to get out of putting away the groceries after a long walk - but he was also right. "Yes, of course. As the sole keeper of this venerable estate, it is my duty to tend to all it's functions, right down to it's inventory." Theo stated. There would have been more words to shoot back, but Theo's duty as a host kept him from slipping any further into banter with his guest.

After dropping off the groceries for Theo to tend to, Ridge went off to search for alex. The manor contained more rooms and floors than any “house” he had ever set foot in. It irritated Ridge to no end that the little rich Rat insisted that the doors remain closed at all times, so he had to peek into half a dozen rooms and three closets before finding the reading room his friend was residing in. The weary Shark entered, flopping down on a chair; glad to be able to finally sit down on something soft and cushy after his trek. Alex smiled, welcoming him. "Your shopping trip took a long time Ridge, I know he asked you to grab a lot. Is everything alright?" The Bat queried.

Ridge sighed. "Yea... well maybe. Just some things 'goin on." He added before continuing. "I know you don't get out much since you 'gotta keep an eye on them two, so I figured I'd go around town and pick up a little news for ya. See what's happening. There's been talk of some strange things going on. Livestock vanishing, hunting season has been looking a little sparse, and strange tracks out in the snow. People said they look like ski pole marks, I dunno what to make of it, I figured you uh - you have gotten out more than I have, so you'd have an idea."

Alex frowned. "Well, unless we are dealing with a roaming pack of wolves with skis, it's probably another one of those magic, twisted monsters that appeared ever since this whole catastrophe began." Alex sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yet another thing I ought to give that fat Rabbit a piece of my mind about." She said, her voice lowering, oozing with contempt. 

Ridge gave Alex a concerned look. "Yeah, well, if it was just that, that wouda have been one thing. But I saw those funny tracks near the path to the mansion... I don't have a good feeling about this."

Alex nodded. "I see. As much as I want to see that guiltless loaf ripped apart and eaten like cheap, stale bread by the very monsters he's created; we need him. I'll keep my eyes and ears out for anything strange." The following nights were uneasy for Alex. Each night, she'd take station and perch herself on one of the roofs accessible via a second story window, scanning the horizon for activity. Her large ears would catch whispers of something roaming in the distance, but she never could locate the source of the sound or what direction it was coming from. It always vanished just as she felt like she was homing in on her target.

She felt an uneasy tingle in her veins as her frustration mounted. If it was just wildlife, or even a monster, she surely should have spotted something by now. "Is anything really out there?" She thought to herself. After another uneventful evening watch, Alex swallowed her worries long enough to get some rest. She already has Hyden to keep watch over, she doesn't need whatever this is stealing her attention.

During the late evening; an hour past midnight, the manor was quiet, save for the crackle of the evening fireplace, as well as the stirring of but a single person; Theo. Between his duties as host, the sole caretaker for an entire servant-less manor, as well as his intense suspicion of everybody - save for his living historical idol Hyden - Theo was often the last person to go to bed, and the first to rise. This truncated sleep schedule, the bags under his eyes; they were merely the cost of business to keep everything in order. During the final rounds of his estate, a knock came from the door just as theo entered the foyer. The ears of the diminutive Rat twitched, his shoulders jerking at the sound of the knocking, which in the dead of night was as clear as his crystal wine glasses.

Tap tap tap. Another knock came. Theos' ears were not deceiving him. "Who in their right mind would visit at this godsforsaken hour?" Theo thought to themselves. This was abnormal. Tap tap tap. He rarely had visitors, ever. Let alone at a time like this. As he neared the door, he hesitated. The magical crystal embedded in his left hand felt strangely warm, and his hand was flush with blood flow. This was never a sensation he had experienced before - something was off. Tap tap tap. Before Theo could ponder any further, the fancy Rat scrunched his nose and bared a snarl as they heard more knocking pickaxing through his inner monologue. Whatever was going on, it was a terribly rude hour to be disturbing anybody, let alone him. Arming himself with some choice verbal barbs for his unwanted visitor, Theo opened the door.

As the door swung open, he was greeted by a silhouette of something massive - even taller than Hyden - though much of it's form was obscured by the evening darkness and their ebony fur, but what could be seen was not the body of a person. It was of some kind of beast. The fuzzy forelimbs of this creature ended in large, gently curved, off-white spikes, similar to that of a praying insect that Theo had only seen depicted in a historical encyclopedia. He looked up; his eyes met with the pairs it had on their badger-like head. The creature's triangular ears flicked, then it looked down at the Rat; the creature's three pairs of eyes were arranged above one right after the other - like the pips of the six side of a die. The eyes were pure black, save for the iris that shone like a purple ring in the light of the lantern. The words Theo had prepared found themselves lodged in his throat.

Aghast, the fancy Rat stumbled backwards, but his heel snagged on the edge of a floor rug, causing the Rat to land on his posterior, painfully pinching his tail. "Eek! M-monster... Gnnnk! Demon! Hng Aberration!" Theo exclaimed in a shrill voice as his rapid breathing caused him to fumble over his own words. He wanted to call out for help, to Hyden; even to the outsider, Alex. But he could not utter anything beyond sharp gasps as his breathing went to disarray.

The imposing creature looked at the panicked Rat and spoke to them. "Oh? Is that so? Would a monster choose knocking over divorcing your door from its frame?" The creature's voice was deep, coarse, and multitudinous as if three separate beings were speaking in unison. The creature remained in the doorway, peering at the quaking Rat, examining them and their actions closely. All six eyes were locked onto Theo, and the gaze made his fur stand on end. Theo already hated being stared at by just one pair of eyes. 

Theo sat on the floor, his whole body feeling flushed and trembling from his pounding heart. That thing had just spoken to him. In fluent dialect no less! Theo had heard of monsters before, but never an intelligent one - let alone one capable of speech. Something about this creature disturbed him to his core. His mind raced at kilometers a minute trying to process just what he was witnessing.

The creature's lips tensed as if it were about to speak; but then it stopped, before looking to its left. "It seems your sentry has been roused." The creature spoke aloud.

"Ess... Sentry?" Theo questioned. Then it clicked; it was referring to Alex. She always kept watch. How did they know about her? "Was this thing spying on us?" Theo exclaimed in his mind. The Rat felt dread bubbling up within him.

In one of the manor's guest rooms, Alex was sleeping. The tension of the last few nights had made deep sleep an impossibility. Thus, when the sound of Theo's raised voice came from downstairs, it was enough to wake her. She rubbed her eyes as she rose from the bed. "Was that Theo shout-" Her large ears flicked as they heard the sound of something unearthly and her fur stood on end. Without any further thought, her body reacted and she grabbed her hunting rifle, sprinting to the location of the sound. Fortunately, her eyes were fully adjusted for the night, and she made it to the foyer without a stumble despite her scramble. 

She sprang into the foyer, stopping herself with the guard rail of the grand staircase. Alex laid eyes on the huge beast in the doorway, it's six met with hers. Alex was prepared to shoot, but the violet irises of the beast were staring right at her the instant she rounded the corner into the foyer; as if it already knew she was going to be there. The sight made her freeze. "Theo! What in the hells is that!?" Alex exclaimed.

"A monster!" Theo shouted.

"A visitor." The creature stated, it's baritone, stentorian voice matching Theos' shouting in volume.

No longer half asleep with no obstructing walls to deaden the sound, Alex heard the creature's course, multitoned voice clearly. "Did that thing... just speak?" She said aloud.

Before either Theo or Alex could interject, the creature filling the doorway spoke to the two startled people in the foyer of the manor. "Yes. I did. Your language is relatively simple compared to my native tongue." The beast stated flatly. 

"Meh Ms. Solokov! It's egk dangerous! It's bee been spying on us!" Theo said, his chest still struggling to steady itself. 

Alex kept her rifle leveled at the beast in the doorway. She wasn't sure if Theo was speaking the truth, or was just in shock. "Okay, who and what the hell are you?" The Bat said, keeping her focus on the creature.

They replied. "I am Niadris. I am what your tongue would call... an Arhulian." 

Alex looked at Theo in bewilderment. Theo glanced back at the Bat. "Are-rule-lee-an?" Theo said aloud, sounding out the word by each syllable. "In all my eghk studies. I've never heard of such a species!" Theo said. The Rat's eyes glanced back to the creature in the door with fear and revulsion. "More like 'arhulian'." Theo muttered under his breath. One of the Arhulian's pairs of eyes shifted it's gaze back to the Rat.

"After knocking on your door and introducing myself, you suggest that I am a feral beast?" Niadris queried, in their deep, hellish voice causing the Rat's fur to stand on end as they swallowed nervously. The 'Arhulian' did not just speak their language, but had an advanced understanding of their grammatical structure. The implications of this rattled Theo as he shuffled back to get further away from this creature.

Alex took a deep breath as she maintained composure, interjecting before the situation escalated any further. "Alright, 'Niadris', why are you here? Theo said you were spying on us." She questioned, her rifle planted firmly in the direction of the unplanned visitor. The Arhulian was unfettered by her brandishing a gun right at them. Did it really not know what a gun was, or worse - did it not care?

"Spying? Given that your kind have responded to me with either fear or hostility on sight, I must carefully select when I reveal myself and to whom. It is no act of subterfuge. It is a necessity. Even now; you have your armament at-the-ready just from me knocking on your door and speaking to you. I wanted to speak to an individual, then have them inform the rest of my presence. Do you really imagine this going any better if I had been more bold in my approach? Depicting myself as non-threatening would be an order of magnitude harder with gunshot wounds." Niadris snorted, all three pairs flicking their gaze to Alex before one of them returned to Theo. The multiple pairs of eyes looking in different directions at the same time perturbed them both. 

"I eghk do agree that your appearance ehm elicits revuls-" A second pair of eyes locked onto him again. " -ghn a response." Theo said, catching himself. The Arhulian did not speak a word, yet the message was clear; it tore Theo up on the inside to even dare admit, but so far this 'visitor' has shown themselves to be quite capable of not letting verbal barbs go unnoticed.

Alex lowered her rifle, still keeping both hands on it. "I suppose that's... a pretty good point actually." She sighed. "But still, why are you here?"

Niadris spoke calmly. "We share a common enemy. Despite my imposing stature and prowess, physical might is all but meaningless against a foe that subsumes and absorbs all flesh that it touches." Alex's eyes widened as the creature continued explaining. "All my strength and ability are merely tools to avoid becoming a hearty meal in the wake of such a lurid foe." Both Theo and Alex became less defensive as Niadris continued. "...It is a terrible entity that digests without need or moderation. It is a blight upon this world."

Alex and Theo knowingly looked at each other. 

"Yeah. We call it the Shadow." Alex said. Her mind feeling a slight amount of guilt over her hostility, her rifle lowered completely. 

"Hrm Yes. In that regard we do have a commonality..." Theo relented, stopping before adding too much.

The fancy Rat composed himself enough to stand back up, and brush himself off. "So, that brings us to the matter at hand. How did you find out about our mission? I don't think anyone would have snrk told you about Rising Dawn."

The Arhulian stared with no reaction. "Rising Dawn? Is that a title?" They paused before adding: "No, I sensed that this place had an anomalous aura, so I studied you from afar before approaching." 

Theo raised an eyebrow. "What is this urgh 'aura' you speak of? What do you mean by sense?" He asked, his voice dripping in incredulity.

"My kind - Arhulians - have a 7th sense if you will. We can see the 'aura' of living things." Niadris explained. "This place caught my attention because I observed a strange aura much further than I would normally be able to; I was at the crooked sign above the red roofed well when the aura became detectable to me. My normal range is about three-fifths of that."

Theo and Alex raised both their eyebrows. "That's half a kilometer!" They both exclaimed in their minds.

"As I approached and could resolve things in detail, I noticed five distinct auras." Niadris raised their scythe-like forelimb and pointed in various directions. "Two crimson auras; one that luminesces brightly." Niadris pointed to Theo before continuing. "Crimson auras? Is it referring to our catalyst stones?" Theo thought to himself as the creature explained. The Rat was still skeptical, as him being a witch was public knowledge after all. As the Arhulian continued narrating, they mentioned: "The second crimson aura seems faint - as if it were hibernating or asleep." Theo's face twitched in shock as the creature pointed to the direction of the room Hyden was currently residing in - an interior room with no visibility from the outside, nevermind the fact Hyden's presence was supposed to be hidden. Niadris, still speaking: "Then there are two mundane auras - one of them with a notable a tendency to perch from a defensive vantage point." The Arhulian stated, pointing their bone-tipped forelimb to Alex.

"Is that how he snuck past me? He knew I was on watch and avoided me?" Alex pondered. 

"Then lastly, the fifth aura. A writhing, squirming mass of discordant signals, that seethe and roil like water itself harboring anger, yet cannot move freely. As if it were sealed away." Niadris pointed in the direction of where the shadow sample was.

Alex and Theo were at a loss for words. There was no way this thing could have such intricate knowledge of Theo's manor without ever having set "foot" inside. 

Before either could speak up, the Arhulian spoke again. "Another one of your kind has roused. It is the other mundane aura, and a voluminous one at that. They are to the northeast, and heading in this direction. Could you inform them of my presence before another outburst happens?" Niadris asked with a dry tone.

Alex was stunned in disbelief. They must be talking about Ridge!

Theo butted into the conversation: "I'm not sure what kind of feh fool you take me for, but I highly doubt you really have such a fantastical ability. Really, you can 'see' us through solid walls?" Theo's mind was a whirlpool of doubt and skepticism. The creature's claims seemed too extraordinary to be true. Theo was not sure how, but it has to be some sort of ruse! In the depths of the Rat's mind, the idea of this creature being able to observe him constantly, undetected was a soul-chilling prospect that fundamentally violated his privacy. It has to be a ruse.

"Yes." Niadris bluntly responded.

"Hmph Well, it was a cunning deception, but I'll have you know, our guest is residing in the southwest portion of my manor. And even if they were where you claimed to be, you aren't even looking in that direction..." Theo scoffed. As he was monologuing, the Bat's large ears flicked as she picked up the sounds of footsteps... coming from the northeast. 

Niadris did not care to let the Rat finish before speaking, their baritone, multitudinous voice overpowering the Rats' in the conversation. "You have previously admitted to having no information about my species, yet you are presuming knowledge of my capabilities?" 

Theo was incensed at being interrupted. "How dar-"

Ridge entered the foyer, scratching his back with a pillow in the other hand. "Hey, uh, is there a barbershop trio here, who are you talki-" The large Shark froze in place as his eyes met with the strange, badger-like creature filling the doorway. "Ah! uh! What in the goddamn...?!" Ridge dropped his pillow and adopted a boxing pose as best they could as their limbs still felt heavy from their evening nap. The Arhulian's eyes devoted a pair to focus on each individual in the foyer.

"Calm down, Ridge! This thing isn't... being dangerous. It wanted to talk to us." Alex blurted out with as much composure as she could muster. 

Theo's face was flush as he exclaimed. "What are you doing there? Your room is on the other side of the manor!" The Rat's entire body tingled as any shred of doubt he could summon was scalded away by the unfolding situation. 

The muscular teal Shark stammered, as so much was happening all at once for him. "Uh, well, I wandered around and dozed off in one of the book rooms. I got up because it was cold, then I heard this guy... thing?" Ridge said, glancing at Niadris, reluctantly dropping their boxing pose and grabbing their pillow.

"Well, at the very least, Niadris isn't lying to us." Alex said exasperated. Though she too, had her doubts about this 'visitor', she did not appreciate Theo antagonizing them openly. Theo glared at her. So far the Rat has shown hospitality to the outsider, but this jab from her really rubbed him the wrong way. In the uncomfortable silence of the foyer that was now getting cold due to the door still being open, Alex's mind sparked with an idea. "Wait a minute. Your special 'sense' is omnidirectional? And it works through stuff?" The Bat thought aloud, raising her voice as her ideas congealed before her. "You mentioned exactly where our sample of the Shadow was earlier too... Theo! They can detect the Shadow long before any of us can see it coming! Don't you realize how insanely useful that could be?"

The fancy Rat stammered as they choked on the shreds of their ego. "Hhhhnngh I'll... take that into consideration... Eugh if we are going to board this creature. I just hope it's civilized enough to behave as a guest." Theo sneered.

The Arhulian made a grin, showing off their sharp, carnivorous fangs to the Rat, as well as the deep plum hue of their interior flesh. "Considering your kind have reacted negatively to my being - often with violence - my exposure to 'civilization' has been quite limited. If my lack of knowledge bothers you so greatly, perhaps you could take some time to elucidate on the matter of guest-hood~" Niadris smirked. 

"Grrrr... Perhaps I will." Theo scoffed. “But I hope you know, we do not have the culinary erk inventory for something of your dietary needs.” Niadris nodded. “I am more than capable of procuring my own food, so you will not have to worry about my nutrition. In fact, I had eaten a deer a few days prior. I should be satiated for several days at least.” The fancy Rat raised an eyebrow. “You have, egh ‘eaten’ ’a’ deer? I think your grammar is a touch underdeveloped. Don’t you mean you caught a deer? hmph What did you do? Swallow it whole?” Theo sarcastically remarked. “I had to break off those meddlesome antlers, but yes, I devoured it whole.” The Arhulian responded nonchalantly. The foyer was stunned. “A-an entire deer?” Alex said incredulously. Theo’s face contorted with disgust. The thought of a creature this size ingesting prey whole - and possibly alive - summoned dreadful imagery in his mind. “So… that would uh... ‘splain the missing animals without a trace. Heh, we thought that was the Shadow ‘fer a moment there.” Ridge chuckled nervously. Theo did not relish being in the room with this lurid creature any longer than he had to. He turned up his scrunched nose before walking off. He was ready for this evening to end. “As I was stating; ehm your first lesson on etiquette will be on closing the door. You're letting all the warm air escape!" Theo spoke as he slinked to the other room, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter from his suit pocket, needing something to take the edge off. As he puffed on his cigarette, the tingling in his hand faded.

Niadris scuttled forward into the foyer, bowing their head to ensure they cleared the door. As the Arhulian entered, their full figure and size was apparent to Alex, Ridge, and a distant Theo peeking from a doorway. Though superficially resembling a badger from the neck up, from the neck down; the Arhulian had a long, Myriapodic form with six pairs of pointed, centipede-like legs. The limbs started off fleshy, covered in fur, then transitioned to softly curved limb spikes that were off-white in color, like bone or horn after the third joint. The Arhulian's body was long and arranged like that of a large, furry millipede or caterpillar, albeit with no segments. Despite their body arrangement, the Arhulian was mammalian - bone clad in flesh - yet clearly centipede-like in their silhouette and locomotion. Niadris closed the door with a light slap of their long, tapered, heavy tail.

"Holy shit. That's... not somethin' you see everyday." A tired Ridge said, not entirely sure if they were still dreaming or not. 

Alex looked at Niadris and saw that they had the strap of what appeared to be some kind of homemade rucksack across their chest as their only article of clothing. "Yeah, I was about to ask about the lack of clothes... but I guess there's nothing in your size." She remarked lightheartedly, trying to break the tension in the air.

"No. There is not. My metabolism can vary to maintain body heat relative to the environment, so clothes would be unnecessary. In addition, they would both limit my range of movement, and be unlikely to hold up to the kind of abuses my hide experiences." Niadris responded earnestly.

The teal Shark spoke up once there was a gap in the conversation. "So, uh... How do I say this? I don't see nothin' down there, and yet your voice is deeper than an Ironfrost coal mine. What are ya? A guy or girl?" The Shark asked. 

Alex's face went wide with shock before scrunching back down into a glare at the Shark. "Ridge! That's terribly rude to just go and ask someone a thing like that!"

Niadris interjected. "There is no need to chide him. It is a perfectly legitimate question. After all, that den keeper did state there appears to be no documentation whatsoever of my kind in their knowledge base - and given the encounters I have had - neither do the rest of your kind for that matter. To answer the first question, my reproductive organs are housed internally to protect them from the rigors of life. Likewise, the answer to the latter question is that your binary terms are insufficient to describe me. Arhulians possess both the ability to fertilize a mate, and sire children. We are hermaphroditic." Niadris explained. "Your language is... limited in expressing my form, so gender neutral terms will be adequate."

Ridge's face was flush with embarrassment as he realized how personal and blunt his question was. "So yeah, on that... if 'yer talkin' about mates; doesn't that mean there are more of 'you' out there?" The shark said sheepishly, trying to adjust the course of the conversation away from his prying faux pas. He clutched his borrowed pillow tightly. Talking to this thing still seemed like a surreal dream to him.

The Arhulian was silent for several seconds. Up until now, they had been immediate to respond to questions. Alex and Ridge glanced at each other. "My kind are not native to this land. In addition, I have traveled a substantial distance. It is highly unlikely you will encounter another Arhulian." Niadris stated, with a briskness to their voice. 

Alex looked down at Ridge from the second floor and gave Ridge a gesture to "Cut it out." Ridge gave a small nod. Alex sighed. "Well, it's safe to say your arrival has been quite a surprise. I think we all should get some rest and continue your introduction properly tomorrow." The Bat said, waving her arm for Ridge to come over to her.

Ridge added: "Oh, uh, I don't think we have any beds that'd fit you. 'Fer now you'll have to stay in the reading room I was in. Theo's got a big cushy rug in there. The fire is dyin' down, but I'm sure it's better than out there, heh.``

Niadris gave an acknowledging nod while their triangular ears perked up. They then pointed in the direction of the room Ridge came from with their uppermost arms, that had regular - albeit large, clawed - hands instead of a fang-shaped spike like the rest of their limbs. The shark raised an eyebrow. 

"Hey, uh, how do ya know what room I came from?" Ridge asked, confused. 

Alex sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah... I'll explain that in a minute, Ridge. I think Niadris here wants some space, they need a moment to relax after the 'welcome' we gave them." She said, physically pushing on the Shark to usher them out of the foyer.

It was true that they wanted to be left alone. Niadris had little experience dealing with people. They felt exhausted having to keep their composure on total lockdown to appear as non-threatening as possible. Niadris was eager to find this "reading room" Ridge had mentioned. Spatially, they knew exactly where it was based on the Shark's location in their mindsphere. On the other hand, their mindsphere did not consider walls, thus the Arhulian had to take a few moments to figure out how to navigate the interior of the manor to the reading room. 

Despite their size and bulk, the sound of the Arhulian's centipede-like legs scuttling across the floor were much quieter than one would anticipate. Niadris made it a point to take light steps, and maneuver on rugs and carpets to minimize sound. Not out of etiquette, but as a means to hone their stealth. Never before Niadris had such an opportunity to interact and maneuver around people in close proximity in a safe environment.

The Arhulian noted a single aura tailing him; it was the bright, crimson one of Theo. Not desiring further drama, Niadris elected to ignore the Rat's presence as they made their way to the "reading room" Ridge had spoken of. The comforts of fire and shelter were secondary to the Arhulian; what had piqued their interest was the very title of the room itself. Alex and Ridge were returning to their rooms, trying to process the evening's events. "They were... quite the visitor." Ridge said, his tone unsure. Alex looked down at the floor as she walked. "Yeah. Something about them makes my fur stand on end. It's like a creeping feeling going up my back." The tall Shark looked down at his troubled friend. "Are... are ya afraid? They give me the creeps somethin' fierce too." The Bat exhaled. " I... I don't know Ridge. I had my gun pointed right at their head, but they were unfazed. Niadris seemed to know what guns are, yet they treated me like an afterthought. They don't seem dumb either; they gave Theo a good run for their money in a debate. So either they got a damn good poker face, or... this 'Arhulian' might be even tougher than it looks." Alex trailed on, the confidence in her voice gone now that she was in private with the one person here she could truly consider her friend. "...I'm a soldier. A hunter. I've had scraps with big game, I've fought people bigger than me. Even gave ol' lard chops a bloody face." Alex said, referencing her brawl with Hyden. "But that creature, it isn't like anything my training could have prepared me for. I don't fancy getting into a fight with them." Ridge scratched his fin. "So, was letting 'em in really a good idea?" "Personally, I think their alibi passed the sniff test. They could have attacked any time and hit us when we couldn't see it coming. If they wanted to make a move, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be playing mind games like a certain someone I know. We have that going for us at least." Alex paused. "Even so, I feel like they aren't telling us everything." Ridge nodded. As they reached their bedrooms, the two parted ways, then closed the doors to their rooms.

In the other portion of the manor, the Arhulian arrived at the reading room; their three pairs of eyes widened in delight. Wall to wall shelves lined with books! Niadris had very limited experience with books from their fleeting encounters - or spoils - from outsiders. Most of those books contained relatively uninteresting data like logs or journals, or completely fictitious tales. Here however, had an assortment of books on a large variety of subjects and organized quite neatly. The Arhulian removed their handcrafted backpack and pulled something out. It was a thick leather-bound book. It was plainly covered, with the sole word "Dictionary" for the title. 

Niadris' chest seemed to squirm and writhe all on its own, followed by the faintest of popping and cracking of stiff joints. With a sound of flesh being pulled taught, numerous pairs of spindly arms came slinking out from in between the creature's ribs on the sides of their chest! These arms were very thin; near-skeletal in appearance. The hands on them were clawless, and consisted of three vaguely conical digits - two fingers, one thumb. These limbs were much slower and deliberate in their movements, and the leathery skin they had was a very deep plum color, almost black. In their travels, Niadris had quickly learned that the pages of books often were too delicate for their stronger, clawed, "normal" arms.

After tenderly putting away their dictionary, the creature's three pairs of eyes darted all across the room, scanning the spines of each book for topics of interest. The low-light conditions of the dying fire was more than enough for the Arhulian to discern the titles. Then, the Arhulian scuttled across the perimeter of the room, picking out a dozen books before returning to the center of the reading room by the smoldering fireplace. The huge, badger-centipede-like being then rested their long form on the floor, their body and abdomen landing on the carpet with a plompf. Niadris laid out three books with the covers open, while each pair of eyes scanned it's own book.

Theo had been quietly observing the beast from a hidden spot in another room through a peephole; and totally-not-a-hole that he had not gotten around to patching yet. The Rat monitored them carefully, shuddering at the sight of the numerous lanky arms protruding from the Arhulian's chest, and those arms touching his books. Yet, his attention was stolen when he witnessed this creature reading three books at a time! Was this creature really that capable of absorbing knowledge? Then, another thought crept into his mind. "Wait, who taught them to read in the first place?" As his mind contemplated, Theo's eyes widened when the creature looked up, and peered straight at him. Eye to eye contact, as if the wall parting them was not even there. Niadris gestured "come over here" with one of their their large, scythe-like forelimbs that were mounted below their exterior arms. Theo ducked down from the footstool he was standing on - nearly falling off in the process - then he covered his face in embarrassment. It seemed like there really was no hiding from this damned creature.

Letting out a sigh, Theo came to the reading room. The warm tingling sensation in his left hand returned. Was his catalyst stone reacting to this creature? The fancy Rat took slow, cautious steps forward. "It is remarkable. A wealth of knowledge at my fingertips." Niadris spoke aloud. They continued. "For so many years, I had to learn matters in direct fashion. I knew your kind stored information on physical documents, but I never could have imagined this place being lined to the ceiling with this treasure." When Theo was up close to Niadris, and composed enough to listen clearly, the Arhulians stentorian voice seemed to be composed of multiple octaves speaking in perfect unison. The scholarly Rat recalled the Arhulians' comment on their native language... “If the multiple octaves can be modulated separately, the grammar of this species could be phenomenally intricate!” However, Theo had more pressing things on his mind than appealing to his inner linguist, and set aside that tangent in his mind for later. The voice had strong projection, and the beast seemed to be making a concerted effort to whisper - which was speaking volume to Theo’s delicate ears.

Theo initially had some words for the Arhulian prepared, but the "treasure" comment gave him pause. The Rat stood there in silence for several minutes as the Arhulian continued reading what appeared to be volumes from an encyclopedia series, watching their thin ribcage arms turn the pages of each book. The hands were slow, deliberate, and delicate. Near by was a cloth that seemed to have been borrowed to wipe the oils from the creature's hands before interacting with his books. The rat let out a swift, small exhale. This monster treated his things better than some people he's hosted. Theo then spoke up. "At least someone else besides His Grace sees my library for what it is, and not eguh ornamentation. Though, I am surprised you would have any academic interest at all." Theo's words trailed on. Niadris shot a glance at him. "However, I presume it is not a completely irrational observation; a thing like you just can't sceh scuttle into a library. Which begs the question at hand, just who would teach you to read?"

The Arhulian paused, before giving Theo their full attention. "I... am not sure." They responded.

"What." Theo said, the word seemingly having spilled out of his mouth in disbelief. "What do you mean you don't know? How ek! How is that even a facsimile of an answer!? Didn't your moth-er well, parents teach you?" Theo said, his voice raised in frustration.  

Niadris explained. "I do not know how I came to this knowledge. My earliest memories were of me being carried in my brood lord's abdomen. In my cradle of flesh, I would see and hear the world as they would. They would make demonstrations for me to observe as I nursed inside them. Their past memories would come to me in my dreams." As the Arhulian narrated, Theo shuddered at the prospect of being entombed alive and conscious in writhing, moist, undulating flesh from all sides. The fancy Rat took a deep breath and persisted in wading through the graphic descriptions from the beast - he wanted answers for the trouble he had gone through this evening. 

Theo waited for an opening in the creature's explanation to jump in. "Your kind- urk Arhulians, have hereditary memory? If so, how is it you do not know where your knowledge came from? Perhaps a past ancestor?" Theo questioned, only half seriously.

The Arhulian shook its head in disappointment. "If only the answer was that simple. It is far more complex, and I am uncertain of the details. I will tell you what I know." Theo rubbed his brow, adjusted his glasses, and nodded. "When I dream, I see fragments of memories; but these memories are abnormal. I see... a settlement, a school, memories of a life not only not that of my ancestors, but not of my kind entirely... and our biology cannot interbreed. That I do know." 

Theo gestured for the creature to get on with it. It was unconscionably late.

"I do have one possible hypothesis. There is another way our kind can exchange memories and experience. A ritual called Arhel-vāl." The strange word was accentuated by the Arhulian's multitudinous voice. "In your tongue, the closest word to it and what it means is amalgamation. Two mature specimens of our kind, typically one larger than their partner, subsumes the other into their flesh..." Theo's stomach churned at the vexing, visceral, possibly even vulgar imagery the Arhulian had verbally illustrated to him. "...but unlike ordinary cannibalism, the subsumed being is absorbed alive, mind intact, and two, become one." Niadris described, sparing no detail, much to Theo's revulsion.

The fancy Rat's tail quaked as his analytical mind began to put together a picture his sensibilities did not want to see. "You're hnnngh suggesting you have Esss assimilated a person?" He said, his mind racing as fast as his heart. "Oh heavens! Is that why it is here? To consume our minds and seize our knowledge?!" Theo's mind screamed.

The Arhulian peered down at the Rat. "Your luminant aura is flaring and seething. Do you find this knowledge troubling?" Niadris asked. Theo looked at the beast glaring down at him, his eyes wide with terror. "I see. You imagine me as your would-be predator." The beast let out a hushed, hellish chuckle with their deep, multitudinous voice. "Worry not, Theo. The ritual of Arhel-vāl is strictly between my kind; the 'donor' in question must be of the utmost certainty in their union - lest their knowledge be torn apart in a maelstrom of panic and fear. Your kind were never even considered a possibility due to the mental fortitude required to uphold the ritual. The being that amalgamated with me - whomever they were - must have been exceptional in their conviction."

The trembling Theo swallowed. "Well, erf I suppose that is good to know. Hrf Well, if you'll excuse me, egk I need to be getting some rest.” He stammered. “It is dreadfully late. And do take care to return my books exactly as you have found them. hgn It was painstaking to order them all as I have." With an abnormal spring in their step, the fancy Rat wheeled around and left the reading room with haste. 

"By the gods, what is that thing? How does it exist? And why did it show up to MY manor, of all places?" Theo cogitated. Their attempt to seek out answers seemed to have only made the question mark hovering over this mysterious creature even fatter. Theo paced around the manor, and passed by the room Hyden was sleeping in; him blissfully unaware of all that had transpired this evening. Theo raised his gloved hand, as if to knock on the door, but he stopped himself. "I can't disturb His Grace during his rest... but I must inform him of this aberrant thing as soon as I can." 

Theo, anxious and jittering, sat down on a cushioned chair outside of Hyden's room, fumbling with a pack of cigarettes. Alone with his thoughts his mind began to wander; all trains of thought leading back to that enigmatic creature. A particular moment from the Arhulian’s behavior stood out to Theo. The way they retreated to the library, and found refuge in books where they were not judged for their appearance or the mannerisms that others found odd... Theo shivered as he felt what was quite possibly a degree of familiarity with this creature. He did not want to fancy such feelings. The Rat shook their head and calmed their mind enough for exhaustion to take its toll; his head bobbed down, and the unlit cigarette in his hand fell onto the floor beside him as he lapsed into sleep right in his chair. The heavyset Rabbit snoozing under their blanket on the other side of the door was the only person in the manor to have had quality sleep that evening.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙈𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙅𝘼𝘾𝙊𝘽𝙎𝙀𝙎. | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

edit by @raeganlolz <3

∘ requests: I tried to use as many as I could that made sense! Hope you enjoy!

“the things i’d do to meet edgy karl’s parents.”

“ok but next time you want to write smut for edgy!karl...post pregnancy scare...karl having a fixation on readers tiddies...like the whole time. -🧚🏻‍♀️”

“i stg this is my last thing ill send in today about edgy!karl but karl letting reader dom him completely.-🧚🏻‍♀️”

“CONSIDER edgy!Karl saying ‘that's my girl’”

∘ pairing: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader 

∘ warnings: nsfw (minors dni), mentions of underaged sex, asphyxiation, domination, this being 4k

∘ word count: ~4000 (im so sorry)

∘ links: 𐐪 ao3 𐑂 𐐪 previous part 𐑂 𐐪 submit an edgy!karl edit 𐑂

∘ disclaimer: I made up all the dynamics and Karl lore. This is also an au and I do what I want so

You rolled your shoulders, twisting your back to alleviate some of the stress in your back as your mind raced at the possible outcomes of spending the weekend at Karl’s parent’s place. He seemed to deal with the situation in his own way, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips as he scrubbed the nail polish from his fingers. You wondered if his parents were sticklers for order, then again, knowing Karl, there was no way they weren’t crazy strict. You thought about your own family and what would happen if Karl were to meet your mother.

Karl seemed almost absent-mindedly going through the motions of visiting them like you had nothing to worry about. There were occasions when he even made it clear that you had your life more intact than he did, so it was doubtful they would hate you.

You peered over at him, taking your eyes off the road momentarily as he paused to blow smoke out of his window. “Why do you have to take it off?” You asked, gesturing to his hands.

He scoffed slightly, sitting up and throwing the dirty cotton ball into the small bag beside him. “My mom hates the dark colors,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette bud outside. He moved a hand to settle over your thigh, wrapping his fingers around the flesh. “Don’t worry, I’ll paint them again when we get back,” he chided. “I know it’s the only reason you keep me around.”

You snorted at this, shaking your head at his joke.

The two of you came to a small stop-over town, swapping seats after filling up the tank at the local gas station. Through the crack in the passenger window, you could hear the cashier greeting Karl as if they were old friends, smacking him on the back and walking him out the door with a smile. As Karl sank into the driver’s seat you furrowed your brows. He looked at you with a shrug. “We vacation around here sometimes,” he brushed off, making your mouth twist in disbelief. He was downplaying the extent of his family’s hold over the town.

As the two of you drove through the main street of the town, your eyes snapped to the various stores with his last name plastered on the signs. You nearly asked him about it, instead opting out as you figured he would give you a half-assed answer and only give you part of the story.

His house had its own street, a long winding road that ended in a looped driveway the size of a suburban cold-de-sac. You willed yourself not to let your mouth gape at the sheer size of the mansion as it stared back at you, blocking the moonlight as Karl opened the passenger door for you to climb out. “Stop treating me like the fucking Queen of England,” you murmured, elbowing him as he pulled on his hoodie, shaking out his hair slightly.

He laughed at you, popping a piece of gum in his mouth, and pressing his lips to yours in a nearly heated kiss as if to give you a taste of what he had in store of you. As he broke the embrace, his nose brushed against yours. “I can treat you worse if you want, pet?” He offered, causing you to shove him away from you.

“We are literally in your parents’ driveway. Chill out,” you urged, making him chuckle as he laced his fingers with yours, pulling you towards the front door. Your heart hammered in your ears as he pushed open the door. You tugged on his arm. “Shouldn’t we knock first?” You whispered, making him pop his gum and shrug.

As if telling you not to worry, he pulled you the rest of the way in the house, only to be greeted with an old man barely reaching over your height. “Karl! My god, you nearly scared the living daylights outta me!” He hooted, as Karl wrapped his arm around the old man, the two chattering away like the best of friends.

You smiled at the warmth between the two, watching Karl blossom. He moved to stand by you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gesturing to the man. “This is my nanny, Leslie. He wouldn’t leave so I think he just dusts the books in one of the libraries,” Karl joked, making the man swat the air in front of Karl.

You raised your eyebrows. “One of the libraries?” You repeated quietly as if to make sure you heard him correctly.

He smirked at you, disregarding your surprise. “This is my girlfriend,” he introduced, rather proudly as Leslie’s face lit up. He grabbed your hands and rambled on about how he had never thought Karl would introduce a girlfriend to the family.

“I thought I heard Karl’s voice. Did he make it?” A feminine tone rang out into the foyer, capturing Karl’s attention a beat before she had started talking as if he had sensed her. You wanted to smirk at the vision, knowing he did the same when he heard you.

A woman came around the corner of one of the walls, her hair and makeup applied to a professional standard and her clothes were cleanly pressed. She looked as if she had just gotten home from an office job with a corner office. Her intimidating aura vanished along with his as soon as she saw him, scooping him up in her arms as he chuckled slightly. She held him out an arm’s length away, pinching his sides and calling him a beanstalk. Another man a few years older than Leslie entered the room, draped in a flowery apron. He embraced Karl as well, the couple fawning over him like they hadn’t seen him in years.

Karl gestured for you to come closer as he showed you off to the pair, introducing them as his parents. Karl’s mom immediately embraced you, murmuring about how Karl hadn’t brought a girl home in ages let alone a girlfriend and you were quickly being to notice a theme amongst the group.

The house was massive, which you had quickly noticed was even bigger than it looked outside, as Karl’s mother looped her arm around yours, giving you the tour and explaining the extensive history of the Jacobs family and their impact on the house. Leslie and she served as some of the most entertaining tour guides you’d ever experienced as they giggling and joked. Karl walked quietly behind the group of you, hands in his pockets as he looked up at the ceilings and pictures as if he hadn’t seen them a thousand times growing up.

You peered over your shoulder, making sure he was still with the rest of you. He set you a wink, lips curling at the sight of you getting along with his family members.

After you were finally beginning to lose track of time Karl broke into the charade, and after vaguely mentioning he was tired, his mother when into a mock cuddling mode, cooing to him sarcastically, yet letting the two of you slink away for the night with the promise of finishing the tour before Karl’s brother showed up in the morning.

Soon it was just you and Karl again, him leading you up a flight of stairs. The hallways were lit with small lanterns that at one time had probably fostered candles but were now replaced with electric ones. You weren’t sure where to look as the walls were crammed with painting and photographs. Half of you wanted to admire the architecture while the rest of you was attempting to identify who the artist was that had done most of the artwork.

Karl sighed tiredly, popping open a door and switching on the lights. You bit back a smile at the view of his room in its pristine condition. The various shades of blues and greys accenting the features of his bed and various pieces of furniture. As you looked around, he threw his wallet and keys onto the dresser beside his bed, shutting the door to drown out the faint music coming from the kitchen. You sat in one of the massive chairs beside the fireplace, your mind running blank with disbelief. A fire was already burning in anticipation of his return.

You ran your finger along the seam in the leather. “When you said your family had money… I didn’t picture all,” you paused gesturing around you, “… this…”

He shrugged with a small smile on his face. “Do you wanna know a little piece of Karl lore?” He asked, smugly.

You perked your eyebrows at his words. “You know I do.”

He gestured with his fingers for you to come towards him as he walked closer to one of the massive windows. He settled his hand in the crook of your neck, turning you to look across the pond at a few of the other massive properties. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before pointing at one directly in front of you. “I lost my virginity in that one,” he stated, making you chuckle.

He wrapped his arms around your waist. “And to whom?” You queried, as his teeth nipped at your ear.

You could practically hear him smirk. “Her name was Ms. Scarlet back then, but I think she’s been married again,” he answered, making you freeze in his hold. “I think she was between husband two and three.”

“Wait, what?” You turned around to face him.

He brushed his lips against yours. “You jealous?”

You furrowed your brows at him, pulling out of his touch. “Were you of age?” You questioned, voice coming out in almost a winded laugh.

He shrugged, plopping down on the bed behind him, leaning his weight back on his hands. “Not the first time.” He smiled up at you. “She’s a friend of mine’s mom. I cut her grass that summer.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Jesus Christ,” you murmured. “Did you hook up again after that?” It was like he had opened Pandora’s box, a mass of questions echoing like bees within your mind.

He looked at the ceiling. “We stopped before my sophomore year of college, I think.” He furrowed his brows in thought. “Yeah, so almost five years.” Your mouth gapped slightly. “But only when I came back for breaks.”

“You were seventeen?” You stressed. “And when you came back from where?” You sat beside him, attempting to decide if you should be worried or not. Obviously, it wasn’t a fact you could change, but the fact that a woman had him at so young-

He hummed slightly. “Boarding school,” he mumbled, trying not to seem smug. He wrapped his arm around your waist. “I know it sounds bad now, but she wasn’t taking advantage of me or anything,” he assured. “I think you’d like her, honestly.”

“You think I’d like a woman that preys on little boys?” He snorted at your comment and you smacked his chest, making him laugh louder.

He dug his face into your neck. “Age of consent is lower here,” he continued to assure. “Baby, I’m okay.” His teeth nipped at your skin. “Plus, I don’t think I’d know how to make you feel so good without her.” That made you green around the gills. You attempted to put the thought of Karl and an older woman out of your mind. “How did you lose yours?”

You swallowed your questions, deciding to save them for another day. “In a treehouse before I left for college. With my roommate’s twin brother,” you murmured.

He chuckled. “Oh, shit. We’re both bad friends, aren’t we?” He jested.

You shook your head, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I was dating him, actually. It was really brief.”

“The sex or the relationship?” He asked, making two gesture two fingers into the air. He pulled away from you, sending you a small smile. “And what’s his name? I need to know who you’re comparing me to.”

You scoffed. “Clay,” you answered, the image of the boy flashing into your mind for an instant.

Karl’s demeanor changed. “Clay?” He repeated, sounding like you earlier as you wrapped your brain around the extent of the Jacobs fortune. “What does that seem so familiar…” he trailed off in thought. You perked your eyebrow at him, knowing full-well the two could have unintentionally crossed paths on campus.

The next morning, you could have sworn you were on the set of a period piece if it weren’t for Karl’s father’s golfing attire and his mother’s tight black dress as they welcomed various family members into the house. You had finally met Karl’s older brother, an accomplished man with a good job and an even more impressive education, yet each time he attempted to boast about his earnings or the progress he was bringing to the family business, he was swatted off only for his parents to gloat about Karl’s fraternity connections and grades.

You peered over Karl’s shoulder as he showed you Todd’s Instagram post, the two of you scoffing before you liked his picture from your account, making Karl roll his eyes as you snickered.

“… And that being said, renting cars is no longer a strenuous task,” Karl’s brother finished.

Mrs. Jacobs nodded her head slightly. Karl had mentioned the family joke of disregarding what his brother said, even if it was impressive or you were interested. It had been a running gag since Karl was in high school and they weren’t planning on letting up anytime soon. “Yeah, that’s neat. Did you hear Karl learned how to do his own laundry?” His mom boasted with a small chirp to her voice as if Karl were the best thing on the planet.

You bit back a laugh as his brother grumbled to himself, his wife patting his arm reassuringly. “He was also one of the most expensive at KA. Very impressive son!” His dad added, sending him a thumbs up.

You stood with Karl in the living room; his arm draped around the top of a bookshelf you were leaning against as you both listened to one of his cousins talk about a new boat they had just paid off.

Your heels felt tight on your feet as you switched the weight from one ankle to the other, leaning closer to Karl. He moved so his lips were near your ear. “Don’t let him fool you. It’s a hollowed-out log with a rudder,” he chided, making the corner of your mouth twist up.

“It’s not much, but it’s honest,” you mockingly defended. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Inexplicably,” he murmured back, making you laugh quietly. He let a beat of silence pass between the two of you before wetting his lips. “Say the word and we’ll find a random room and I’ll ruin your makeup,” he whispered.

You scoffed, inching closer to him while your eyes remained on the center of the room where everyone was talking. “How can you be horny around your family?”

You could feel his warm breath against your neck. “Because I’m more focused on you in that tight little dress than Kevin’s boat.”

You took a sip from your cup. “Dirty boy,” you joshed quietly.

Karl smirked at you before his eyes drifted to the front door, a new flow of people filing into the house. You noticed him grow quiet, following his gaze to a woman and a boy around your age. They greeted Karl’s parents happily before integrating into the living room with the rest of you. You could tell by the way his face twisted smugly that the woman was Ms. Scarlet. You drew in a breath as she neared the two of you.

Karl stood up a bit straighter and you bit back a laugh, making a mental note on having to tease him about his MILF. The woman smiled brightly at Karl, pinching his cheek. You attempted to piece together who the boy was and if Karl had mentioned him before.

Karl cleared his throat after they shared their pleasantries. “Uh, this is Nick, but everyone calls him Sapnap, and this is his mom… Ms. Scarlet?” He questioned the last part as she charmingly laughed.

“Oh, no darling. I’m Mrs. Donahue now.” Sapnap rolled his eyes slightly at her words, taking a sip of his drink as she winked at him.

Karl smirked. “Right, congratulations. Anyway, they’ve been our neighbors for years-”

She cut him off, squeezing his arm. “Oh, come on! We were trying to marry Karl off to one of Nick’s cousins and finally join the families, but it’s just funny how things work out,” she stated. You wracked your brain, attempting to figure out if it was a dig at you or Karl. The two of them went off on a tangent about the array of Sapnap’s cousins that Karl had had to take on dates and whatnot.

“So, you’re dating Karl then?” Sapnap asked you, more of an aside as they had seemed to forget about you.

You nodded; the fact still rather foreign to you when given the chance to think about it. “Yeah, I’ll claim him,” you joked. “Did you guys go to the same high school?” You asked, attempting conversation.

He looked at you tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve been classmates since we were little.” You hummed in interest. “I mean, since he fucked my mom we haven’t been hanging out or anything,” he added as if you had been itching to ask.

You had been.

You snorted at his words as he smiled slightly. “Sorry, that’s not funny,” you apologized, covering your mouth.

He shook his head, laughing softly. “No, it definitely is, don’t worry.”

“How did, uh… that affect you guys?” You asked, biting back your humorous response.

He seemed to relax from his stiffened introduction a few minutes prior. He wet his lips. “Honestly, there’s no going back from that, you know?”

You giggled. “No, I don’t.”

He laughed at your answer, covering it with a cough as Karl seemed to remember you were standing beside him. Sapnap’s mom suddenly spotted an old friend of hers, the two parting from your life almost as quickly as they had entered. You leaned against Karl’s arm.

“I like Sapnap,” you hummed, watching the two leave. “He seems quiet.” Karl shrugged beside you. Your mind wandered to whether Sapnap knew Todd. Part of you wished you had asked him, but you were struggling to remember Todd’s real name anyway. “Did you have fun with your lady friend?” You mocked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, biting back a smirk. “You’re my lady friend.”

You chuckled. “Oh? I thought you’d forgotten.”

Before you knew it, you were pressed against Karl in a coat closet in a remote part of the house, unable to make it to his room before his hands were up your skirt and his lips were attacking your skin. He pinned you against the door as if he were worried you would slip out of his grasp as he ground his hips against yours. His teeth grazed against your neck in a mess of hands and hair.

You pushed him further into the closet before he plopped down in a chair towards the back. The both of you shared a look of confusion as to why it was there yet shrugged and went back to carding your fingers through his hair and tugging at his lips with your own. He moaned into your mouth as you climbed into his lap, his hands gripping the flesh of your thighs before snaking up to slip into the top of your dress and take your breast into one of his large hands.

Kissing him felt strange without his tongue ring; if you weren’t so desperate to get yourself off, you would have complained about missing it.

You ground yourself on his lap, groaning at your newfound friction as he spread his legs further for you, his free hand dragging you against his crotch. You pressed your lips against his neck, biting at the skin, determined to mark him as yours. You weren’t doing it to ward off Ms. Scarlet, no. This was for you, knowing full well that Karl always wore your hickeys with pride.

Your hands went to his belt buckle, impatience taking over as you nipped at his skin, earning moans of pleasure as he let you have your way with him. He pressed his lips to your chest as you freed his cock from its cloth entrapment, stroking him with your hand. “Give me your panties,” he whispered, breathlessly as he hooked his fingers around your waistband. You obliged before angling him at your entrance and sinking down onto him. The two of you let out moans of pleasure, swallowing each other’s appraisal.

The air grew warm around the two of you as you began to roll your hips against him. Your head tilting back as you tried to quiet yourself down, knowing the last thing you wanted was for someone to walk in… again.

Karl’s fingers moved to unzip your dress, exposing your chest to his mouth as your fingers moved to tug at his dark locks. He ground his hips up into yours, a thankful moan slipping past your lips as his tongue pressed against the valley between your breasts.

You pushed him against the back of the chair, capturing his lips against your and slipping your tongue into his mouth. He completely submitted to your actions, wanting nothing more than to taste you as you began to ride him harder. Your nails dug into the back of the chair, your other hand moving to unbutton the top of his shirt and wrap around his neck. “Is she better than me?” You asked; your breath husky and demanding as his teeth flashed back at you, his leering smirk mixing with his blissed-out expression as he tried not to roll his eyes at how good he felt with you taking all of him.

“N-no. Of course not,” he groaned. His lips were pink from your teeth, cheeks flushed with lust and adrenaline as his blunt nails raked up your body to claw at your back. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, voice almost a whimper.

You moved your hand to press your thumb to brush against his bottom lip, loving the pleasured expression on his face as he looked at you like you owned him. “Good,” you answered plainly, swirling your hips and tightening your grip on his neck before you could feel your impending orgasm nearly within reach. He almost smiled up at you. What a little freak.

You moved your hand to fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him up to press your lips against his as you bounced on top of him. He let out a deep moan before you felt him release, making you scoff sardonically. His fingers moved to grip your hips, thrusting against you harder, determined to get you to follow him. You dug your face into the crook of his neck, his teeth digging into your skin.

Shamelessly, you let him drag you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you with a flash of heat and relief. Karl kissed you roughly, desperate to taste your moans as if looking for your approval. "That's my girl," he moaned, smiling against your lips.

As the two of you straightened your clothing and cleaned up your appearances, you went for your underpants in Karl’s pocket, but he grabbed your wrist, drawing you to his chest. “You got to be on top, that means I’m in charge of foreplay for the rest of the night,” he answered, pressing a brief and sultry kiss against your lips to wipe away your shocked expression.

“Fine, then I’m in charge when we get back and I’ll send lewds to Todd,” you threatened with an empty conscious on the matter. “Just to make it spicy. Stir it up a bit,” you joshed.

He groaned, making you smirk. “You’re playing with fire,” he mumbled.

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[s1ater]

god, forgive me

parings. louis partridge x named!reader

prologue of tbd parts

about. in which louis and chicago are both very unstable catholic boarding school students just barely hanging on by a thread of alcohol and drugs... until they meet each other

things to know before reading. reader’s (you) name is chicago, the rest of the cast is right here

warnings. swearing, sexual themes, underage smoking and drinking, catholic religion based (but i’m not catholic so it’s not going to be accurate and i’m sorry if i offend anyone who is)

put a pin in this. this used to be an old wattpad book of mine (which was in real bad writing because i didn’t like to edit at all and still don’t but-) and i wanted to post it here... with a few minor changes

“i’m not going to give you fifty bucks even if there was something in it for me.”

“c’mon, it’s for weed,” josh practically stumbled after sabrina as she made her way down to her last class of the day. she rolled her eyes as he got closer and closer with needy hands that would never be satisfied unless he had an unlimited supply of blunts in his hand, which would never happen... because josh was broke.

“josh, you’ve sucked me dry of basically all my tuition money, i don’t have 50 bucks for weed,” sabrina loosened her grip slightly from the books she held in her right hand. she didn’t have time for josh nor his stoner problems that blossomed in the eighth grade, “ask finn.”

“that’s who i’m buying my weed from.”

“just give him the money, sab,” louis eyebrow lightly quirked as he blew smoke from his mouth, not really wanting to hear anymore of the bickering that would so easily fly from josh’s mouth.

“shut up, louis,” sabrina rolled her eyes despite listening to his words, stopping, and leaning against the wall as she begun to dig in her front skirt pocket, “you’re paying him next time.”

she handed off the money to josh with his grabby hands while giving louis a pointed look who wasn’t even looking, sucking at the tip of his cigarette with nothing to fill his eyes with entertainment. just blank and filled with dead, dead feelings.

“louis,” she snapped her fingers full heartily while josh scampered off like a dumb dog with a rewarded bone in his mouth, “louis.”

“what?”

“you’re paying him next time, got it?”

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waved her off, turning away slightly while she took off into her class.

he pursed his lips, looking around before throwing his cigarette on the polished, green pristine floor. nothing filled his head but noise. noise of teenaged snotty girls and boys full of high self esteem and their toxic talks. he soaked it all up, feeding on it like a sickness as he looked at his nice shoes for a moment.

he felt sick in the head before patting his pockets in desire. desire of something to make him go blind for a couple of hours. blind from the real world painful sights of boring old school and boring old generalization of life.

°•

“chicago, you got five seconds before paulson kicks your ass.”

you squinted up at the sudden sunlight that swelled in your vision... and then your eyes met odessa’s bright blue eyes, filled with concern as she reached out for you.

you met her half way, your practically limp arm falling into her stable one, hauling you to your feet before slinging it around your back, making sure you were steady.

“how much you on right now?” odessa guided you down the hallways, glancing at you every once and awhile as your head tipped back like it had no stability or awareness of what was happening or what it’s job was.

you didn’t answer her. you were barely even conscious let alone had the ability to process what your friend was asking you or where she was guiding you to. all you could think about was how colorful the walls were and how everything was swelling like a purple bruise.

it made you want to throw up.

“you’re gonna kill yourself with how much you’ve been taking recently.”

you groaned in response, rolling your head as sweat begun to dip down your forehead and the back of your neck, your hair beginning to fall from it’s volume. you looked horrible, worse than usual with how much your recent addiction was taking a heavier toll on your mind and body.

it gave you the shakes during class when you weren’t on anything, and you sweat like a dog making it looked like you took a shower minutes before. you felt like you could barely breath half the time and you could barely sleep without taking at least three doxepine.

everything was hell unless you were high, but unfortunately it was killing you and it seemed that everyone could tell.

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[jennygirl2014]

Just Deserts-Chapter 2

(It’s finally here!  Sorry for the delay! I didn’t proofread or edit yet, so please don’t hate me, I will fix it up later. I just wanted to get it up.  Thanks for reading!)

Chapter Summary: Tawney goes over to Ransom’s for the first time, hoping to keep it professional.  But of course the arrogant asshole has to try and get under her skin.) Warnings: language, some mild racism.

Chapter 2

“This guy could be a murderer.” Kira’s voice carried over the kitchen.  She was busy getting her station set up for the day, having just arrived.  Meanwhile, even though it was only a little after ten in the morning, Tawney was cleaning up her mess for the day.  “Or a rapist. You don’t know.  Call him up and tell him to shove his deal up his ass.”

“And how else do I pay to have the car fixed without insurance?” Tawney replied as she placed the last of her dishes in the industrial dishwasher.  “He was gonna call the cops!”

“We could have a bake sale. You know people love your desserts. We could raise the money somehow.” Kira walked over, wiping her wet hands with a rag.  

“Cupcakes aren’t going to fix this, Ki.” Tawney finally looked her friend in the face.  “Besides, I don’t even have his number.”

“Even more reason not to go!” Kira fussed, “Seriously.  You’re signing up to be some creepy stranger’s house maid.”

“It’s just cooking and baking.  How else can I pay to have a freaking Beemer fixed?”

“A Beemer?  Fucking rich dickhead…” Kira scoffed.  

“If things get creepy, I’ll leave.”

“You better.  And you better not let him talk down to you.  If he does, slip something extra into a pie or something.” Typical Kira.

              Tawney knew her friend meant well, and she had every right to be concerned.  The truth was, Tawney really was nervous about the whole thing, but she didn’t see any other options at the moment.  After she had managed to get home the night before, she could barely sleep, between the adrenaline, the guilt, the anxiety of the unknown, and also not having a working air conditioner.  She still managed to roll out of bed and make it into work, extra early, at 2AM, just to be sure she could leave to get to this stranger’s house by noon.  Her lack of sleep was likely clouding her judgement as well, but she didn’t have time to worry about that.  She was just grateful that her boss loaned her a spare key and that he had given her permission to go in so early.  

              She had to use her GPS to find this guy’s house, which meant keeping her phone within sight, something that she was terrified over after how using her phone while driving had resulted the night before.  During the drive she was scolding herself for agreeing to this, this guy, Ransom, was a complete stranger.  Hell, he could have been a real perv, especially after how he jumped at the idea of being paid in other forms the night before, something that was not on her mind at all.  But he was a good looking guy, he was likely used to women just dropping to their knees for him.  Well, that wasn’t who she was.  And once she pulled into the driveway and finally saw this guy’s house, she was sure he was used to having all sorts of female company.  He was secluded, his house hidden by a wall of trees, yet practically the whole house was made of glass.  So many windows, so much to see, and like there was nothing he had to hide.  Just stepping foot into this house, she was going to feel exposed.  

              Her car rattled into a spot next to his and she parked it.  The damage on his car really wasn’t as bad as hers had been, and she eyed the scratched up side of his car before she fought with the broken handle to release the door to get out.  Every foot step up to his door made her heart pound harder, and her knife bag felt heavy as it hung from her shoulder.  When she was close enough to press the doorbell, she froze, thinking.  She still had time to run away, she could turn back and race out of there without him even knowing she was there.  How would he know?  How would he find her?  Maybe she could get away with this whole thing, no service required.

              Just as she started to weigh the decision in her mind, the door swung open and there he stood, the same man from the previous night. His blue t-shirt fit relaxed on his broad frame, but it still showed off a certain physique that caught her eye.  Hell, her eyes fell right onto his chest, and she instinctively held her breath.  “Good, you found the place.  I saw you walking up.” He spoke as he opened the screen door and held it open for her. Of course he saw her, all those windows. She still stood in place, like her feet were cemented to that spot on his top step.  She had a sinking feeling about stepping past that threshold, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” he grew annoyed.  She put her guard up and stepped in past him.  

              Her eyes scanned the place.  Was this the place of a murderer, or a rapist, or a crazed pervert? It seemed more like the palace of a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, a man without a care in the world, but all of the expectation.  It was big and spacey, and it made her feel so small, like she was being swallowed up. His furniture was leather, the hardwood was perfectly polished, and the smell in the air, dark and masculine, like pine, fresh and clean.  She did not belong in that house, standing in her already stained chef coat, wearing the sweat and smells of working eight hours in a kitchen.  This was all too pristine, too high class.  She felt vulnerable.

              She turned to him, to see him in his own habitat, and she was slightly alarmed to see him just standing there, eyeing her. She gulped and wet her lips, not knowing what to say, or how to even speak in such a situation.  Luckily, he handled that first awkward moment for her. Not to her surprise, this man likely has no sense of shame.  

“You look like you came from work.”

“I did come from work.” She replied.  

“Oh.” He shrugged it off, like working a full day before going to a second job was nothing. “Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.” He walked ahead of her and led her into a large open kitchen. The countertops were marble, there was an island range and two ovens stacked into the wall on the far side.  Everything was dark rich tones with pops of stainless steel, perfectly collaborated.  This was her dream kitchen, a kitchen meant for hosting and cooking large elaborate meals, and it looked like it had never been touched.  He had no idea how lucky he was, or how much she envied him at that moment. “My maid, Maria, comes early every morning.  She just left, so, the kitchen is all ready and clean for you.” He informed her.  Tawney walked over to the island counter and set her bag down, looking around a bit more before opening up her bag and unrolling her tools.

“I clean up after myself.” She told him

“Why?  I just told you I have a maid.” He pulled out a stool and took a seat across from her.  

“Because I don’t like having other people clean up after me.” She replied as she pulled out a small notebook and a pen.  

“Suit yourself.”

“So,” she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and then sighed. “What kind of stuff do you like?”

“What do you mean?” she couldn’t believe his casual response.

“Like…what kind of foods do you like?” she paused, “You have had a cook before, right?  I mean, you said that last night.  Clearly they must have had some recipes you preferred.”

“Okay, miss sassy pants,” he took a small jab at her before he answered, “I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.  I like my protein.  I’m not a huge fan of vegetables or fish, but I’ll eat them if prepared to my liking.”

“Which means…?” she started taking notes down.

“Nothing boiled.  Sautéed is fine, roasted is fine.”

“Okay.”

“I like a good sandwich for lunch.  Breakfast I usually handle myself, just eggs and toast, so you’re off the hook there. At least for now.”

“At least for now?” she repeated his statement and looked up to make eye contact with him. “What…what does that mean?”

“It means sometimes I might like a nice cooked breakfast.”

“…I have a job, dude.” She reminded him.  “I have to work.”

“That’s not my problem.” He replied with a smug smile. “You damaged my car, which means you work when I need you, or I report it.  I’ll let you know ahead of time, that way you can work something out with your boss.”

“I’ll need twenty-four hours’ notice.”

“I was thinking more like a couple hours.”

“No, that won’t work.” She got annoyed.

“Okay, twelve.”

“Fine.” She gave in.

“And don’t call me dude.” He started to lecture her, “I’m not one of your homies.” That one wasn’t going to fly.

“Okay,” Tawney lifted her pen only to drop it and lay her hands on the marble as she addressed him. She wanted him to know how serious she was. “I may be young, and I may have damaged your car, for which I am sorry. But I’m here now, in a professional manner.  Which means, I show you respect,” she pointed to herself, “And you show me respect. Now it doesn’t take a detective to figure out we’re from different sides of the track, but…you will not talk to me like I’m some girl from the ghetto.  I worked hard to get where I am today.  And if you have any qualms about hiring a black girl, you can go ahead and call the cops about your car and then find yourself another cook because I won’t stick around for it.”

Ransom looked at her with wide eyes.  But then he scoffed and his expression turned to that of amusement.

“Wow.  Okay.  Well as long as we’re laying down rules,” he leaned in, “This is my house.  I don’t appreciate you showing up in a stained uniform, it looks messy.  And if you wanna talk about being a professional,” he tilted his head at her, “See what I’m saying?  So, bring a clean one.  No blasting music, no hanging out on your cell phone, you’re here to cook.  If I had guests over, I’ll let you know, but this contract is extended to them too.  If friends are here and they’re hungry, they’re going to get fed.  Got it?”

“Fine.” She felt like he was just trying to even the score some.  

“And I don’t have any qualms, just so you know.” He tossed that last part out there for affect. There was a moment of silence between them, like they were measuring each other up.

“We got off topic.” Tawney changed the subject back, “What do you like?  As far as food.” She clarified again.

“Italian.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard.”

“If you expect respect, then you’d better start giving it too. Missy.” He warned her.

“My name is Tawney.”

“That’s right, I forgot.” He rubbed his chin, “What kind of a name is Tawney, anyway?”

“Family name.  What kind of a name is Ransom?”

“You know I’m starting to regret not having you address me as Hugh.” He countered as he cut his eye at her.

“So, Italian,” she came back to topic, “What else?”

“Chinese.  Not a huge fan of Mexican.  Never been a fan of collard greens or chitlins.” He started to push her buttons again.  Tawney realized this was going to be a never- ending battle.  He thought he was being funny.

“Dessert?” she refused to let him see her get worked up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve got a real sweet tooth.” When he finished his statement, she caught his eyes scanning her again.  

“Custards?  Cakes?”

“Cookies, pies, brownies…”

“Is that another cheap shot?”

“What?  Saying I like brownies?” he sat back and held his hands out in defense, but the smile was still sporting nothing but amusement. He knew what he was doing.

“What am I making today?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far.  But Maria brought groceries this morning.  Take a look around and see what you can come up with.” He stood up from the stool.  “Call it an audition.” He turned to walk away, but stopped and turned to her again.  “One more thing, don’t go snooping around the house.  The kitchen is on this floor, there’s no need for you to go upstairs.”

“Why would I go upstairs?”

“Exactly.” He paused, “I mean, unless you’re invited.”

Dick.

“I’m just fine right here.” She abruptly closed her notebook and turned to get to work.

              Ransom walked off into the living room while Tawney marched over to his fridge to figure out something.  She figured she would make enough food for him to last two days, he has said three days a week the night before, so maybe she could get away with not having to come again the following day.  She found some ham and roast beef for sandwiches, different cheeses, some ground beef, a couple tomatoes and a couple other things.  Then she went through the cupboards next, finding pasta, different spices, but not a whole lot.  She wondered what his previous cook had been doing, or how long he had gone without a cook. It was clear this guy wasn’t much into cooking for himself.  Then of course she had to come up with a dessert, since he had mentioned having a sweet tooth, and really, why not do one? There wasn’t a lot available, but she could figure something out.

“When was the last time you had a cook?” she called out to him.

“It’s been like a month I guess.” He replied from his couch, where he was sitting on his phone.  She wondered what rich people did during the day, by the looks of this guy, not much.

“What was your last cook’s name?” she asked another question as she found a bowl in the cupboard and pulled it down.  

“Tim…something…can’t remember his last name.  He didn’t stick around long.” Then he added, “They never really do.” His statement made her heart sink, she felt like her goose was cooked before she even had the chance.

“I’m going to need more things from the store, eventually.  There’s not a ton here.”

“Make a list, I’ll have Maria get them tomorrow.”

“Where does she shop?”

“God you ask a lot of questions.” He turned his head from the couch to shoot her an annoyed look.

“Never mind then.” She retorted and went about her business.  “Prick.” She muttered under her breath.

              Within a couple minutes, she had prepared him a sandwich with apple slices and some chips.  She arranged everything on a plate and called out to him when it was ready. He came over, took it from her, grabbed a can of soda from his fridge and went back to his spot on the couch to watch TV.  She figured if he didn’t like ham and cheese, he would say something, and when he didn’t, she figured everything was fine and she was ready to move on with tomorrow’s sandwich.  She caramelized some onions for a roast beef sandwich with swiss, and she made a garlic aioli and toasted the bread to keep it from going too soggy.  Next came a lasagna, which she threw together with the cans of tomato sauce he had in his pantry, but it was lacking without any fresh herbs.  Ransom saw this as he placed his plate in the sink.

“You’re using canned tomato sauce?”

“Well you don’t have a ton of fresh tomatoes or herbs, so…” she trailed off, keeping her eyes on the meat she was browning.  When she noticed that he wasn’t walking away she looked up at him. “I can’t make herbs appear out of thin air.”

“Just put it on the list.” He quickly reminded her of the list and walked away.  Tawney’s eyes went wide with annoyance, but she maintained her composure.

“How was the sandwich?” she genuinely wanted feedback.

“I like fresh tomato and lettuce on my sandwiches.  I would hope that a cook can dress up a sandwich…”

“I’ll put stuff on the list!” she snapped at him before he could finish.  The man shook his head and walked off.  She puffed out her frustration and rolled her shoulders.  He wasn’t making this easy.  

              The lasagna came out as best as she could manage without the ingredients she would have hoped for.  What was most annoying about all of this was that she knew how to make good food, and she wanted that good food on her own table, but she couldn’t afford to live like that.  The lasagna with canned tomato sauce was something she would whip together for herself, because it was cheaper.  Here he was complaining and it was out of being lazy.  Every minute in that house and every minute in Ransom’s presence reminded her of how different their worlds were.  The food still smelled good, and it would still taste good, but he was just looking to find fault in all of it.  Matters were made worse by the fact that she was exhausted, and that she was starving.  Her stomach was rumbling and starting to hurt.  It was almost like being teased, making so much food and not being able to eat. When Ransom came over to get a glass of water, he happened to hear her stomach growling.  She swallowed her embarrassment and looked away as he eyed her.

“Hungry?” he sounded like he was mocking her.

“I haven’t eaten in ten hours.” She defended herself.  Ransom leaned against the counter with his glass of water, watching as she washed up the dishes she had used.  

“Aren’t you going to make a dessert?”

“Yeah, I’m just cleaning up a little.” She tried not to make eye contact with him, but he lingered there.

“You can eat something if you’re hungry.” He offered.  Tawney was surprised by his suggestion; he didn’t seem the type to allow her to eat.

“I…I didn’t think you would…you know…” she didn’t know how to word whatever it was she was trying to say.

“I don’t care if you eat.” He snapped at her as he walked out of the kitchen.  It was odd, like he was angered by her assumption.  How else was she supposed to interpret his attitude? She settled on eating an apple and getting back to work.  

              The lack of ingredients made it difficult to think up a good dessert, but any dessert would have worked at that point.  She would have to settle for the idea of wowing him with a dessert another time.  The most curious part about making a dessert for this man was trying to figure out why she cared.  He wasn’t the nicest guy, and she was there to settle a debt, so what did it matter? It had to have been her love for baking that made her so consumed with the idea of making something special.  Afterall, she was in her dream kitchen, and not on a time restriction, she had the chance to make something special.  Maybe that was the silver lining in all of this.  Yeah the guy was a complete asshole, but she could really flex her culinary muscles in this kitchen.  She could perfect a couple techniques that could maybe lead to a better job one day.  Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

              It was about half past four when Tawney finished cooking and baking.  She was exhausted and ready to call it a night, but she made sure to clean up and leave a detailed list on the counter.  As she was putting away her knives and tools, Ransom came back into the kitchen.  He looked around, inspecting the space.  The lasagna was sitting on the stove and a plate of cookies was sitting neatly on the counter.  He then turned to Tawney, as if waiting for her to explain herself.

“The lasagna just needs to be reheated, you can either cut a piece and put it in the microwave or reheat it in the oven.  It’s up to you.  I made a roast beef sandwich for you for lunch tomorrow.  It has swiss and caramelized onions and—"

“You’re not coming tomorrow?” he interrupted her.  Tawney managed the coolest face she could muster at the moment.

“You said three days a week. I made enough food that you shouldn’t need me tomorrow.” She explained to him.  He huffed and turned to look at the cookies. “These are lemon ricotta cookies. I figured there was leftover ricotta, and you had a lemon, and I couldn’t think of much else.  The glaze is lemon flavored with a little zest.” She described the dessert she had made.  Ransom reached out and snatched a cookie up from the plate, and he eyed her suspiciously as he bit into the soft cookie.  Tawney kept her gaze on him as well, trying to get a read on him.  It was like some kind of standoff, like he was trying to think of a reason to make her stay longer or come over the following day.  She was worried he may have hatched something in his mind, but when he looked down at the other half of the cookie in his hand and nodded to himself, she figured that was him expressing his satisfaction.

“Not bad.” He gave the closest thing to a compliment she was going to get.  Screw him, she knew those cookies were amazing.  

“The list is there on the counter.  Anything else?” her tone sounded triumphant, and why shouldn’t it?  She was proud of herself.  

“I guess not.” He sighed, “So Wednesday?” he confirmed.

“Yes, I’ll be here.  And in the meantime, please try to come up with a list of go-to recipes.” She politely requested.  Ransom dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.  

“I still need your number.”

“Right,” she proceeded to give him her number and he shoved his phone back into his pocket.  

“I guess that’s it.” Ransom excused her, and she wasted no time in grabbing her bag and heading for the door.  She was beyond grateful to be leaving.  The thought of a shower and a full night of sleep sounded like heaven.  She hurried to the door, where Ransom opened it for her, and as soon as she stepped out, he closed it loudly behind her.  

              Tawney managed to stay awake on the drive home, probably because she kept her foot on the gas and the music blasting.  She felt like she could breathe again, like the air was fresher and clear once she left his place.  And she relished the fact that she wouldn’t have to go back the following day. She was hoping she wouldn’t hear from him, that he would just ask his maid to go shopping and that would be the end of it.  Her phone chimed in her pocket, and she was sure it was Kira making sure she was still alive and in one piece, but she wasn’t going to answer it until she got home.  Lesson learned.  Once the car was in park and she was only moments away from stepping into her muggy apartment, she reached into her pocket to retrieve her cell phone and read the text message.  It was from a new number, someone not in her contacts.  

You left some crumbs on the counter. Thought you were going to clean up after yourself.

              She could have thrown her phone out the window. Was this man hell bent on getting under her skin?  She didn’t even bother texting him back, there really was no need to.  He could be mad about it if he wanted to be, but she wasn’t going to waste her time with his nonsense, not while she was off the clock. But still, that message was another reminder of what she was getting herself into, and likely warning of what was yet to come.

“Asshole.” At least she didn’t have to hide her true feelings for him while she was out of his house.

Previous chapter here.

Next chapter here.

[the-nerd-writer]

Winter Embrace- A Sad² Story!

Hello, everyone! I just wrote this piece for my good friend @cyndercrys, and since it features both of our OC’s, and it’s the most wonderful time of the year, I thought that you all would enjoy it!

Renee Jones belongs to @cyndercrys-- thank you so much for letting me write her, Gwen! <3

Edit: This was inspired by a prompt by @charomiami! Thank you, Charo!

Word Count: 766

The house was filled with the warm smell of fresh coffee, a couple of cinnamon candles scattered around the room on top of tables and shelves. The air was warm, a sense of peace in the air. Elwood sat at his newly acquired desk, scratching out onto a yellowed notepad the current inventory.

“One… hundred and fifty… 7.63MM ammo boxes… how many is in a box?” Elwood muttered to himself, frowning as he tapped a dirtied pencil to his lips. His desk was filled with various nuts and bolts, an empty Nuka-Cola Quantum bottle perched precariously near the edge and dozens of pieces of paper, both pre-war and current, cluttering the space. “It’s… it’s thirty, right?”

Elwood rolled his head around, trying to crack the crick in his neck that had been nagging him. As he reached the finish of the second roll, he felt a snappy POP, and the ache went away. With a sigh, Elwood stretched his arms upwards and lifted himself out of his chair. With sleepy eyes and hunched shoulders, Elwood shuffled out of his study and turned the corner to the living room, only to stop on his heel.

Renee sat at the base of their Christmas tree, dozens of small knick knacks surrounding her. It was as if she was in the center of a mob of figurines, antique items and do-hickeys. As she looked around the pile, she came upon a small golden bulb. The paint was barely chipped, her reflection warped as it gleamed back at her. With a small smile, she placed it in the middle center of the tree. She repeated the process with a couple of knick-knacks; a broken Vault-Boy bobblehead’s caricature, a Bottle and Cappy ornament from Nuka-World’s gift shop, and near the very bottom of the tree, a Vault-Tec lunchbox.

She paused for a moment, gazing at a small paper package to her left. The brown paper was pristine, a twine ribbon festooning the top with a simple bow-knot. She lifted up the piece of paper, pulling one of the strings and peeling the tape off of the back of the wrapping. As it fell away, Elwood saw a small glass statue pressed in her hands. It looked freshly made, shining brighter than any glass he’d seen in a while.

Two figures stood, fused together at their arms and hips. They had wrapped arms around one another, almost as if they were slow-dancing. One of the figures had a blue body, the other black. One figure had shorter brown glass for hair, the other with longer auburn chips. One had a black piece of glass at its hip, the other with a black strip on their back. In the middle of the ornament, where their chests touched, a ruby-red heart sat. It twinkled in the candlelight.

“Holy shit…” Elwood whispered, slapping a hand over his mouth as Renee spun around with wide eyes.

“El! You’re ruining the surprise!” Renee gasped, pulling the statue away for a moment. Her shoulders relaxed a moment as her face morphed from frighten and frustrated to a bit disappointed. “I was gonna save this until tonight, but…”

“Ren, are you serious?” Elwood slid down to her, his wool socks slipping on the freshly polished floor boards. “This is fucking… amazing!” He glanced up from the statue, eyes twinkling. “How in Atom’s name did you get this?”

“There’s… there’s a guy in Diamond City.” She glanced out the window towards the massive stadium. “Usually only does glass repairs for housing and glasses, but I asked him to make an exception.” She looked back down at the glass ornament, a smile softening her face. “I… I wanted to make sure that this Christmas was really something special, you know?” Her eyes connected with Elwood, two pairs of diamonds glistening in the fiame’s glow.

“Ren… this is incredible.” Elwood lifted his hands to cusp her cheeks. “This… this is more than I could ever ask for. Being with you, it’s… it’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Renee gently chuckled. “Laying it on thick, now, aren’t we?”

Elwood returned the soft laugh. “No… no, I mean it. I’m so very lucky to have you in my life, Renee… to be able to love you is one of the best things I’ve ever done.”

Renee smiled, setting down the ornament and wrapping her hands around Elwood’s face. She pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, cheeks warm and fingertips cold. As the two pulled away, Renee ran her hand up and down Elwood’s cheek.

“I love you, Elwood Rogers. Merry Christmas.”

[juggieheadcoopers-blog]

The Girl From the Journal (Pt 2)

Part 1

Surprise! I finished the second part to my soulmate AU! Sorry it took 62 years to finish. Enjoy!

A/N: In this AU, Riverdale is a much bigger city than it is in canon, so the Riverdale Register is much bigger as well. Also, shoutout to @birdlovesafish for giving me the idea for Betty’s nickname that Polly’s kids call her. Thanks, lovely!

–

Betty Cooper stumbled through the revolving glass doors of the tallest building in town, the Riverdale Register. Betty took a look around the recently renovated lobby, her eyes widening in awe at the pristine marble flooring and state of the art computers on every desk from the receptionist’s right in front of her, to the reporters’ in the back room. 

“May I help you?” The man standing behind the reception area asked in a nasally voice, his nose turning up to the tall ceiling at the sight of Betty and her too-tight ponytail and wrinkled baby blue skirt clumsily sliding her way across the recently mopped wet floor. 

“Yes! I’m looking for a Mr. Jones,” she explained once she had made her way safely over to him, holding onto the counter tightly with one hand and smoothing down her blouse with the other. “Um, he left something of his at my sister’s cafe this morning and I’m here to return it.” 

“Do you have a name?” the man wanted to know, glancing down at his computer briefly to check something before flicking his eyes back up in her direction impatiently. 

“Uh, I do. But whatever name you give him won’t mean anything to him,” Betty informed him, her words coming out rushed and jumbled as she scrambled to explain herself. “He doesn’t actually know me - I mean apparently he writes about me, but he’s never met me. Well technically he met me this morning, but it was only briefly and I don’t think he really even looked me in the eye or-”

“Rambling crazy lady with a journal,” the man spat, cutting her off and eyeing her with a look of annoyance as he picked up the phone on the counter to punch in a number. “That’ll be enough of a description for him, thanks.” 

“Rude,” Betty muttered under her breath, backing away from the desk and rubbing her arms up and down uncomfortably as she waited for the receptionist to make his phone call. 

“He’ll be down in a moment,” he told her. “Try not to touch anything while you’re waiting. In fact, try not to even look at anything breakable until Mr. Jones arrives.” 

“Well okay then,” Betty mumbled, making her way over to the wall on the opposite side of the reception area where she found row after row of noteworthy articles from past news editions, framed and polished for the entire office to read. 

Betty scanned the wall, taking in title after title until one particularly lengthy column that sat at the very end, nearest to the staircase, caught her eye. It was written by the very man of whose journal she was lugging around in her purse, and as curiosity got the better of her, she began reading until she was completely immersed in his words, just as she had been when she was reading his journal. 

 “Wow, he’s good,” she breathed, staring at the article in awe, feeling completely captivated by this stranger’s thoughts on the boycott at the local theater a few months back. 

“I hated that article.” 

A voice coming from behind Betty startled her into shuffling backwards, nearly knocking a ceramic vase off the shelf hanging on the back wall. She turned to find the man she had seen at the cafe that morning descending the stairs, the beanie he was wearing earlier now absent from his head, leaving him with a thick head of dark hair that Betty thought suited his features very nicely. 

“I sat outside that theater for sixteen hours waiting to talk to some C-list celebrity who supposedly organized the entire event and who, turns out, had no idea what he was even boycotting,” Jughead explained as he took the few steps to stand beside her, his eyes focused on the wall in front of them. 

“Well apparently it was good enough to make the wall,” Betty pointed out, turning on her heel to gesture to the framed articles laid out before them. “Looks like you have a lot of wall-worthy articles.”

“Yeah,” Jughead muttered, his expression distant as he finally turned to meet her gaze. “So what’s this I hear about a crazy lady and a journal?”

“Right! First of all, not crazy,” Betty began, turning back to glare at the smug receptionist with as much disdain as she could muster. “Well, I mean I might be crazy. I lied to you. I’m not here to give you back your journal - well I am, but I think that we should talk about it first - not in a weird way or anything. I just think that-”

“I’m hoping that there’s a ‘second of all’ amidst all that… whatever that was,” Jughead teased, quirking an amused eyebrow in her direction as he gestured back towards the receptionist polishing the counter with his coat sleeve. “Because I’m really starting to see what Matthew was saying about your tendency to ramble in long strides now.” 

“Second of all,” Betty said with mock-annoyance, stepping forward to shove the leather-bound book into his chest. “Here’s your journal.” 

Jughead took the journal from Betty, their fingers brushing ever-so-slightly and lingering atop the front cover for just a split second. To anyone watching from the outside looking in, it would have looked like an accidental encounter - nothing more than a meaningless touch from two strangers. But they felt it in their fingertips - that electricity that clued them into the idea that maybe this was more than a coincidence. Maybe this was fate. 

“Uh,” Jughead blinked as Betty quickly drew her hand away from the journal, shaking his head as a way to snap himself out of his trance. “Thanks for returning it. I rarely go anywhere without this thing, so it would have been a tragedy of monumental proportions if I had lost it.” 

“No problem,” Betty smiled shyly, backing away from Jughead and crossing the room to fiddle with the vase she had almost knocked over that was sitting on one of the shelves hanging on the back wall. “It’s really beautiful by the way. The journal itself I mean, not the writing. Not that I’ve read you’re writing - other than the article on the wallI mean! But I’m sure that if I did read it, it would be beautiful too I just-”

“You definitely read it,” Jughead concluded, smirking knowingly at the flustered look creeping onto the pinks of her cheeks as he resisted the urge to burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Yeah, I really did,” Betty admitted, biting her bottom lip nervously as she turned back to meet his gaze with a look of guilt plastered on her face. 

“So if that’s what you wanted to talk about,” he muttered, taking a few steps along the shiny marble floor to meet her in front of the shelves with a smug grin. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

“The girl you write about in the journal,” Betty began, the cautious tone to her voice causing Jughead’s eyes to shimmer slightly with amusement. “Is she real?”

“I’ve been writing about her since I was sixteen,” Jughead explained, his eyes flicking down to scan the picked-at leather on the book he still was clutching in his hands. “But I’ve been dreaming about her long before that. I can picture her in my mind, but I never actually see her face. It’s mostly just lines and faint hues of color but what stands out - what makes her real to me - is her presence. So poignant and vibrant and beautiful. But to answer your question, no she’s not a real person. I’ve never met her. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think a woman like her could ever really exist.” 

“I mean she could,” Betty said slowly, her brows drawing together in annoyance at the skeptical tone to his voice. “There are people all over the world with those qualities. You could have passed her in the street and not have even known it. In fact, she could be in this very building right now and you could be missing the opportunity to tell her and show her everything you’ve written in that journal.” 

“I don’t think so,” Jughead said confidently, although there was a faint line at the corners of his lips that gave the impression that he didn’t truly believe the words he was saying. “Like I said, I’ve been writing and creating her character with my own words for so long - I would have known if I had crossed her path.” 

“I just think you’re too quick to assume that your mystery journal woman is just a fantasy,” Betty shot back, her hands moving to her hips as she hurried to follow him as he made his way towards the elevators. “In fact, I find it pretty presumptuous of you to assume that you’re talented enough to create such a dynamically strong person with just your words alone.” 

“Is it now?” 

“Yes,” Betty spat, her arms flying into the air dramatically as she resisted the urge to rub the smug grin off his face with the elbow of her rose-colored cardigan. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a room full of energetically frustrated third graders to teach so - you’ve got your journal back. Goodbye, Mr. Jones. I hope you and the girl from the journal have a wonderful life together on pen and paper.” 

With the swing of her slicked back ponytail, Betty spun around to march away from the man in the expensive-looking suit and fancy briefcase, her small hands pulled into tight fists as she tried to control her breathing. 

“Ms. Cooper?” 

“What?” Betty quickly turned around to meet his amused gaze with a look of fuming aggravation, her sensible loafers skidding to a stop so suddenly that she was sure that they would leave a scuff on the pristine floor. 

“The exit is that way,” Jughead pointed in the opposite direction, his smirk still evident on his lips as he tried his best to hide the amusement that was bursting through every pore. 

“I knew that,” Betty muttered, pulling on the hem of her white blouse and stomping her way to the front of the newsroom’s main entrance. 

As he watched her shuffle her way out of the building, throwing a menacing glare in the rude receptionist’s direction before pushing through the glass doors and stepping out onto the bustling streets of Downtown Riverdale, Jughead couldn’t help but smile faintly to himself as he clutched the worn leather journal in his fist. Bringing it up to rest in front of his chest, he flipped it to the very last page, grateful that Betty had only thought to read the first few entries. 

Her golden hair may have resembled that of an angel’s glowing halo, immaculate and knowing not of anger or malice, but the fire in her eyes as she flicked her chin up and away from his playful gaze revealed the secret that she had kept locked away in the confines of the very darkest parts of her. She was more than just a kindhearted school teacher from the very heart of suburbia - she was a rebellious warrior that wouldn’t stand for mistreatment or judgments of any kind. The boy knew, as he followed her swinging ponytail and swaying hips out of the towering glass building, that he was going to have a tangling mess of a time attempting to exist in the same world as her. But it was going to be a thrilling whirlwind of a time trying.

Jughead closed the journal, tucking it beneath his arm as he turned on his heel to head back in the direction of the elevators. 

“Exactly what I thought she’d be like,” he whispered to himself once the doors had opened, leaning forward to press the button that would send him to the fourth floor. Thinking back to the day he had written that entry over a week ago, he was still completely in awe with the accuracy of his words and how they had matched the real-life encounter precisely. As the doors closed, Jughead wondered what he was going to write next, and if it would ever measure up to the feeling he got when he was in the same room with the real Betty Cooper. 

–

“He’s unbelievable, Pol,” Betty mumbled into her bowl of ice cream, adjusting her position on the stool and glancing up to meet her sister’s gaze. “I swear I’ve never seen someone so pompously in love with his own writing before, it was insane.” 

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he just confirmed that the girl he was writing about in his journal wasn’t a real person,” Polly admitted, bending down to pick up a clean spoon from underneath the counter and helping herself to Betty’s sundae. “And it sounds like your anger stems from the fact that he wasn’t actually writing about you.”

“So not true,” Betty denied the accusation through a mouthful of vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles, pushing the bowl across the counter and frowning. “This sundae doesn’t have enough chocolate syrup.” 

“What’s the matter, Betty?” Polly quirked an amused eyebrow at her sister. “The ice cream not bitter enough for you?”

“I am not bitter,” Betty gasped, narrowing her eyes at her sister as she reached forward to swipe at her arm with the back of her hand. 

“You might wanna tell our class that, Bebby,” Betty’s niece, Jenny, hopped onto the stool next to her, reaching across the counter to pick up the spoon that she had just abandoned and shoveling a scoop of sundae into her mouth. Betty smiled faintly at the nickname that Jenny and her twin brother JJ had given her when they were two and couldn’t say their t’s correctly, secretly grateful that it had stuck so that she could revel in the fond memories she had of them when they were babies every time they said her name. “Our morning work today was to create a short story around a character based on someone we know in real life and to ‘not assume that our characters are the end all be all of literary genius that the world was lacking until we picked up a pen and put it to paper.’“ 

“Elizabeth Cooper,” Polly’s mouth dropped open as she pulled the bowl of ice cream away from her daughter, eliciting a disapproving pout to form on her lips as she leaned back in her stool. “You’re telling me that I’m sending my kids to school to be taught by some sourpuss teacher who can’t separate her personal life from her job?”

“It wasn’t my finest teaching moment,” Betty admitted, turning in her seat to place a hand on either side of Jenny’s smooth cheeks. “But that was privileged niece-auntie information, little miss. You’re making me consider asking Principal McCoy if I can have your brother in my class instead of you.” 

“You wish you had the better twin,” JJ told her as he sauntered his way over to his family from the back of the room. “But we can’t all be that lucky.” 

“JJ, go back to the loser’s section of the cafe where you belong,” Jenny teased her brother, her long red hair nearly smacking him in the face as she swiveled her stool around to face him. “Girl talk doesn’t involve boys who can’t remember to shower everyday like a normal human being.” 

“At least I don’t have bad breath,” JJ shot back, warranting Jenny to stick her tongue out at him in protest and for JJ to tug on the bottom of her ponytail. 

“Enough you two,” Polly intervened, nodding to the storage room with a flick of her chin. “Go get your stuff, your Dad is going to be here any minute to pick you up and Aunt Bebby and I aren’t finished with our conversation.” 

“I think you should just talk to him,” Jenny told Betty as she hopped off the stool, placing a small hand on her cotton-covered shoulder and shrugging. “Grandma Alice says that boys who play hard to get are really just hiding something that they’re too afraid to show the rest of the world.” 

Betty pulled her niece into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head before pulling back to smile down at her with a dumbfounded look on her face. “Are you sure you’re only nine?” 

“I have a complex insight into the perils and tribulations of the world for a kid my age,” Jenny shrugged, pushing off on the edge of the counter and turning to join her brother at the other end of the cafe. 

Both sisters turned to look at the pint-sized beauty with wide eyes, her fair skin and flaming red hair resembling her father’s own twin sister more and more each day. “Get out of here, you little rugrat,” Polly ushered her daughter to the back of the room and leaned across the counter to meet Betty’s gaze. “She’s right you know. If you’re so sure that his journal was written about you, I think you should tell him that. He might think you’re insane and suggest I send you to a mental institution in the end. But it’s worth a shot, you know?” 

“I don’t know, Polly,” Betty mumbled uncertainly. “What if I don’t measure up to the girl in the journal? He already said that he doesn’t think she could exist. How could I live up to those kinds of standards?” 

“You don’t have to live up to any standards,” Polly reminded her, coming around the counter to place a hand on either side of Betty’s shoulders. “You’re my sister and if he doesn’t like you for exactly who you are, regardless of what he wrote in that silly journal of his, then he’s not worth your time. In fact, send him to me and I’ll teach him a thing or two about messing with my little sister.” 

“Thanks, Pol,” Betty gave her sister a grateful smile, squeezing her arm reassuringly as she fiddled with a chipped piece of wood on the countertop with her other hand. 

“You really believe that you have a connection to him?” Polly asked, reaching up on her tiptoes to retrieve the chocolate syrup from the top shelf and setting it on the surface in front of Betty. “You really think you guys could have been writing about each other for all those years even though you’ve never met until this morning?”

“I feel it,” Betty said confidently, lifting the syrup container and squeezing the sugary liquid onto the semi-melted ice cream until the frozen treat was completely coated in chocolate. “I know that sounds crazy and I know it doesn’t make sense, but I think that we were writing about each other’s lives so that we could eventually find each other and-”

“And what?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Betty admitted. “But I guess I’ll find out when I talk to him.” 

The ‘ding’ coming from front of the cafe caused Polly’s head to snap up, watching with wide eyes as the customer who had just walked through the door turned the corner to head to his usual booth. “Well you might want to figure it out soon,” Polly told her, pointing to the raven-haired man sliding into his seat in front of her. “Because he just walked into the cafe.” 

Betty followed her gaze to find Jughead Jones pulling that same leather-bound journal out of his messenger bag, placing it delicately on the counter as he reached for the menu resting on the table beside him. 

“Wish me luck,” Betty mumbled to her sister, jumping off the stool and straightening out her slightly-wrinkled blouse with a quick tug of her hand. 

“Luck,” Polly told her, giving her a lopsided smile as she watched her sister march her way over to the boy sitting in the booth. 

Betty took a deep breath and navigated her way through the dining area, nearly knocking over a petite waitress carrying a tray full of coffees and tripping over a slightly-too-pulled-out chair before stepping in front of the booth with a look of determination. 

“Elizabeth Cooper,” Jughead greeted her without looking up from the menu to meet her gaze with that same amused grin. “Come to snoop through my journal and call me names again or did we think up a new tactic this time around?”

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Betty demanded, willing herself to stay focused and to not get swept up by the way his hair fell elegantly over his eyes or how his lips did a deliciously attractive twitching motion when he was restraining himself from smiling up at her. “We need to talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” Jughead asked innocently, his hand resting on the journal sitting on the table next to him, causing Betty to narrow her eyes at him suspiciously. 

"I think the girl that you’ve been writing about is real,” Betty admitted, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she mustered up the courage to say what she had been feeling since she had found the journal earlier that morning. “And I think that I’m her.”

Jughead’s head lifted slightly to meet her eyes for the first time since she had walked over to his booth. “Have a seat, Betty,” he said calmly, his expression remaining neutral as he gestured to the other side of the booth with one hand. “I guess we have more to talk about than I thought.”

[naomi-l-tiessen-blog]

Tips on Staying Motivated With Writing

Hellllloooo everybody ~

Happy Thursday Blogday!

I’m not going to lie, I’m being a heavy-duty hypocrite right now. This blog is about staying motivated to write (especially when you already are working full-time in a job that is NOT writing…*le sob*), and guys, I’ve been literally dancing around my computer for like 2 hours, avoiding this blog like the plague. I have been doing everything BUT writing…paying bills (barf), cleaning the house, making lists of all the things I need to do (I love a good color-coordinated list!), anything and everything that did not consist of typing.

I am so ashamed of myself. Where’s a nun jingling a bell screaming, “SHAME” when you need one?

Alas, I am here now, and I am GETTING THIS DONE.

So, as some of you might know, I like to refer to myself as a wolf cloaked in sheepskin. Not only does calling myself this make me feel badass, but I also feel like, at this point in my life, it accurately describes who I am. I am a writer trapped in a nurse’s body, and up until last year, I didn’t realize just how badly the writer in me wanted freedom, how badly the wolf I had been hiding inside wanted to howl. But it’s not as simple as waking up in the morning, throwing open your window, and declaring to the world, “I AM A WRITER, HEAR ME ROAR!” And I know some would disagree, but at least in my case, you can’t just quit your day job and assume the role of Starving Artist (see above reference to paying bills and barfing). Unfortunately, money still makes the world go round. It is simply not that simple, not for me, anyways. So, if you’re like me, you work full-time and write on the side. Sort of like a double life.

And that is ok.

It’s ok to do both. As much as I hate nursing, I know that I still rely on it heavily. It would not be a smart idea to jump ship (my husband can be my sugar daddy, right?), not when talk of buying houses and going back to school are in the works. So, as I slave away at a job that makes me feel dead inside, I am spurred forward by the hope that, one day, I can completely submerge myself into my writing and leave nursing in the dust.

But, that’s going to take a lot of work.

And sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it, the drive is just. Not. There.

Sometimes, when I come home from a 12-hour shift, my brain is so tired, all I want to do is watch TV or do something that requires very little thinking. And don’t even get me started on night shifts. Once, I went down for what I intended to be a light nap, and BAM! Entire day gone. Oops.

I know I’m not alone in this. Sometimes that full-time job we are reluctantly committed to just sucks the life right out of you, and you feel like you have nothing left to give to your writing.

That’s where this blog comes in! And Lord, I need this now more than ever.

So, without further ado, here are 9 tips and tricks to staying motivated to write, even when you feel like life is shoving a whole bunch of suck in your face, and your job is killing you slowly.

I could have done 10 tips but I chose not to because, hey *points to self* writer. Writers are weird. Not sure if you knew that already or not.

ALSO, a wee disclaimer: some of these won’t work for everyone. Hell, some of these don’t work for me. But that doesn’t mean that they aren’t solid pieces of advice!

ALSO, another disclaimer: before anyone gets their pantaloons in a jumble, I’d like to point out that I have nothing against people that have already claimed the role of a full-time writer. I know that there are people out there that had no choice but to jump into the role, whether they were ready for it or not, and actually, I’m incredibly jealous of you. That takes bravery. Right now, I can only dream of doing that *sits in a dark corner rubbing hands together, murmuring, “sooooooon”*, but I know that my time will come when I am finally able do the same. But I should mention that whether you are a full-time writer, or a wolf in sheepskin, these tips can still apply.

1)  Carve out a bit of time each day to focus on nothing but writing. This could be when you're in the shower. This could be on your lunch break. This could be when you are waiting for your bout of insomnia to pass and for sleep to finally take you hostage for a couple hours. Even if you are just tossing around ideas, or working up a new subplot, or brainstorming that next big scene, it will make the next time you sit down to write a bit easier to slip into relatively unscathed. This SORT OF falls into that saying, “write every single day,” but to be honest, I’m not terribly fond of that saying. Like I mentioned before, sometimes it’s bloody hard getting my brain working at a functional pace after a long day, but if I’ve at least catalogued some time thinking about my manuscript, I still feel like I’ve accomplished something at the end of the day. So, in my opinion, if you do something writer-oriented every day, whether it’s brainstorming, note-jotting, or planning/strategizing, that still counts, and is getting you a little closer to your goal. And that is dandy.

2)  Having said that, don’t forget that you need to be committed. Maybe some days all you can afford to do is think about writing. And that’s totally fine. But the days you can manage to sit down and actually write, I urge you to. Having a full-time job doesn’t give me a lot of free time, so whenever I see the opportunity to write, even if it’s a couple sentences, I seize that opportunity so hard. Writing, as much as it is a passion for us, it needs to also be taken seriously. Treat it like a second job. Show it that you are committed to making it a priority. Let it know that you are serious about it. Writing has feelings too, you know! So, when you are planning your week, look ahead and see when you can squeeze in writing. Maybe cut down on the video games (haha, yeah ok), or cancel that Girl’s Night Out that you didn’t really want to go to anyways. Maybe get up a bit earlier than normal, or go to bed a bit later, in order to jot down an extra couple hundred words. Any little bit helps. Do whatever it takes to get from point A to point B.

3)  Visualize your manuscript in all its finished glory. Now, I’m going to tell you right now that this tip doesn’t work for me, because when I think ahead, all my mind is doing is, “OH GOD THE EDITING, THE BETAS, THE DRAFTS, THE MARKETING, THE PUBLISHING OH GODDDDDD”. Sooooo, there’s that. But for those people that are highly visual, then this tip is wonderful! Think about your manuscript all polished and pristine, that beautiful, sharp looking cover, and your name on the front of your novel baby. You, my friend, are officially an author, and your novel is ready for the public! You are so much closer to your goal of having writing be your main career now! Can you just envision it? Isn’t it wonderful? Great, now get writing.  

4)  Don't wait for the muse to strike. if you do that, you'll be lucky if your manuscript is done in like, 7 years. Seriously, I’m speaking from experience here. I get it…it’s hard when your brain is begging to do literally anything but write. But if you give in to your brain’s pleas every single time, you will never get anything done. You need to push through. “But my work will be shit if I just push through!” Yeah, it might be. But that’s what editing is for. “But this is haaaaarrrdddd!” Uh, yeah, it is. Who said it was easy? I’d like to have a word with them.

5)  Start early. Start marketing even if your manuscript isn't done (see example: meeeee). Get into the writing community and make friends that are in the same boat as you. Let's face it...as supportive and loving as some people are, if they aren't going through the same shit as you, it's hard for them to truly understand what you are going through. "Well, why don't you just write it like this? It’s really not that hard!" Or, "Why don't you just wait for inspiration to strike?" I LITERALLY DON'T HAVE TIME TO SIT AND WAIT AROUND, DEBBIE, GAWD. But on a more serious note, finding people in the same situation as you builds community and fellowship, which helps motivate and encourage. Since I’ve joined several platforms in an attempt to become more public with my writing journey, I’ve come across many people with similar situations. It’s so nice to know I’m not alone in this. I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s a relief to know that tons of others don’t know either! Let’s be clueless together!

6)  Now, on that note, make sure you aren’t distracted. For me, this is easier said than done. I get distracted a lot. A LOT. Like, squirrel much? I literally stopped writing this blog several times to do something else (my relationship with YouTube is an unhealthy one). But that’s where time limits come in. Time limits are your friend. Set down a chunk of time with ZERO distractions. No TV, no Facebook, no Instragram, no Twitter, no YouTube (unless that’s the source for your music, then by all means). Just you and your manuscript. For that chunk of time, show your manuscript that you mean business. If you are easily distracted like me, these time limits are generally smaller…like 30 minutes to an hour. Some people can go longer. When my time is up, I take a small break. I try to get up and stretch, see what my cat is up to, maybe grab some water or a snack. Get the body moving, get the blood flowing. My breaks can range from 5-15 minutes. But then it’s back to writing, and back to no distractions.  

7)  Make goals and reward yourself for achieving them. They can be small goals, like hitting a word count, or finishing a scene or chapter. It could also be on a larger scale, such as setting up a deadline to finish your first draft. Whatever it is to keep you trucking along, make sure they are obtainable to you (trust me, it’s pretty soul-crushing when you set a goal that you know in your heart of hearts that you can’t reach but you try anyways and crash and burn horribly). But when you reach those goals, hooray! Reward yourself, you deserve it! Maybe take a break and play video games, watch a movie you’ve been wanting to see, treat yourself to a nice dinner, or get a facial. I personally like candy. Those fat Twizzlers get me every single time.

8)  Always push yourself to do better/challenge yourself. If you were able to write 500 words yesterday, maybe shoot for 1000 today. I tend to not focus on word counts, because honest to god, the moment I hit one, I am done for the day, even if I’m in the middle of a scene that I’d been dying to finish. My general challenge is to finish the scene I’m working on. Some days, this is incredibly easy. Some days, this is really fucking hard. I once didn’t get to go to sleep till 4AM because it took me that long to finish a single scene. But I did it, and man, it felt so freaking good. Waking up at 8AM, however, did not.

9)  Be accountable to yourself. It is up to you and you alone to get shit done. Yes, you might have amazing support systems in place, as well as friends and family cheering you on, but at the end of it all, when it’s 2AM and everyone’s gone to bed, and it’s just you and your computer (or notepad), who is in charge of getting those words out? You. So when you don’t meet that goal, or more or less pull a Scarlette and get distracted into oblivion, it is your own damn fault. It’s ok to make mistakes and not meet goals. It’s ok to get distracted, just don’t make it a habit to blame others. If you transfer blame to something or someone else, you’ll never learn from your mistakes. You are responsible for you.

And that’s it!

I hope these tips come in handy. Whether you are struggling to find motivation, or you just need a bit of encouragement, or someone to tell you that you’re not alone in living the double life, then this blog is right up your alley.

If not, well, then…hah, sucker, you read the entire thing anyways!  

Until next time, happy writing!

[saxspielercaderface]

Fic: Take Care of Your Tools

Summary: Finley comes to a bit of a realization regarding her relationship with Azzanadra. Takes place shortly after Fate of the Gods.

Notes: Azzanadra as a character is so intriguing to me, especially the darker and twisted parts of him. ESPECIALLY the way he calls the Player Character a friend and praises them, yet always seems to qualify it with something along the lines of ‘for a human,’ which other Mahjarrat (namely Wahisietel and Kharshai) don’t seem to do. I always saw his affection toward the PC more along the lines of the love a woodworker has for their tools, so this is me putting those observations down. A further note: This is meant to be specific to Azzy’s interactions with my WG, which are tense at best, and is my interpretation of canon.

EDIT: Ahhhhhh also thanks to Shady and @saiansha for editing/suggesting stuff!

It was a lesson her father had taught as he handed her the little iron handaxe when she was old enough to accompany him for weekly firewood collections.

“Always take care of your tools.”

Finley, that gangly, disheveled, and perpetually dog fur-covered child that she had been at the time, had asked him something to the effect of; “Like how Geilir takes care of his dogs? Or like how you and Ma take care of Sully and Rhani and I?”

Liam had just laughed and ruffled her hair.

“No, not exactly. An axe isn’t a person or a hunting dog. It’s a thing of wood and metal - it can’t feel or think. But, that doesn’t mean you don’t treat it with respect. Keep the blade sharp. Keep the handle polished. Take care of it, and it will serve you for many years.”

And so, she had.

Over the decades, every tool strapped to her belt was kept in immaculate working order. Polished, cleaned, sharpened after each use.

They were, as Liam had said, things of wood and metal and crystal and magic - worthy of respect and care as extensions of one’s body and will, and perhaps even worthy of a certain love for the art they helped create, the goods they helped provide, and the even the martial protection they could grant if need be. Yet, they weren’t her dogs. They weren’t her family, her shield-siblings, or even her friends.

They were just tools.

Splitting the final block of firewood for the night, she sat on a nearby rock and opened one of the many pouches that hung from her toolbelt. Among the various trinkets and tools, protected by a leather wrapping, lay a sharpening stone, and she plucked it out, balancing it and her axe on her lap.

Yet, something caught her eye before she began sharpening. A deep purple crystal, about the length of her palm, nestled between a bar of soap and her sheath-knife.

The shard of Zaros’ arm he had personally given her in gratitude - if he could even feel gratitude - for restoring him to full strength.

Worrying the inside of her cheek and turning the sharpening stone over and over in her hand, she stared down at the shard.

It had been a long trek, a long fight, to put Zaros back together, and for what? Why had she done it?

Tapping her foot, she thought.

Yes, there was the looming Elder God problem - bringing Zaros back incomplete or injured could have spoiled the best chance of solving that and keeping existence itself intact.

Yes, she felt it right to spite Sliske’s attempts to divide people along factional lines, as well as to bring the god that Wahisietel and Akthanakos were loyal to back to life as a token of appreciation.

However, there was a single, far more pressing reason that stood out above the rest.

She had wanted to placate Azzanadra so that the blows the two of them had nearly come to time and time again would be little more than bygones.

And it had worked.

For now, at least.

He had smiled and praised her lavishly after Zaros’ return - called her a true friend - surely that meant something, right?

Yet…

She thought further, bouncing the stone in her hand.

What joy was conveyed by a smile that, at best, was some strained slash that barely hid obvious disdain, and how genuine were thanks and assurances of friendship spoken from that mouth?

What good was praise that was qualified? Praise like the empty and borderline insulting compliments she had heard before from some of the snobbier Faladian citizens during her stay there?

You speak very well for a Fremennik.

You’re quite good-looking for a barbarian.

You’re quick-thinking for a human.

You’re well-spoken for your kind. I’m impressed.

You are a credit to your race.

How real was any camaraderie between her and Azzanadra when the later couldn’t call the former a ‘friend’ without something cushioning the word and making the idea seem less...utterly distasteful to him?

Distasteful.

He wrinkled his nose every time she stood near, even after a (admittedly infrequent) bath.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed every time she lapsed back into her native Fremennik dialect or used a Finley-ish euphemism or double entendre.

His attempts to teach her the ancient arcane arts and hymnals were rife with subtle jabs at her race and heritage - except when she managed to cast a halfway decent spell or pronounce an Infernal word correctly, and then she was the smartest, most intelligent human student he’s ever taught, emphasis on the ‘human’ part of the equation.

His voice seemed to pause and hiss each time he called her a ‘friend’ - an affection that was completely absent in Wahisietel’s voice. Akthanakos’ voice too. Even Azzanadra’s own voice, when he referred to his fellow Zarosians or to Zaros himself.

It was clear now that it was more than just the idea of friendship that was distasteful to him.

She, herself, was distasteful to him, and the fact was now brutally obvious to her.

Her brow furrowed and she gripped the sharpening stone as hard as she could.

That keech-spewing liar...

“He’s no more honest than Fenrir wrapped in a baby blanket and bawling his eyes out, that great spiky bastard,” she hissed, finally tearing her eyes away from the shard and drawing the sharpening stone across the blade of her axe.

Teaching her the ancient magics, the curses. Defending her at the Ritual when she attacked Lucien. Providing armor and weapons and tools for her use on Freneskae. None of it was out of a genuine want to help or teach or protect. None of it was out of kindness or respect or friendship.

It was all just to sharpen her. To polish her. To keep her upright and pristine and in full working order.

“Always take care of your tools.”

She was a tool to him.

No more a person to him than the axe that sat in her lap.

Perhaps less. Far less.

Another swipe of the stone, another shing of the blade in response.

“But I'm not entirely sure you are human anymore. No, you are something else now.”

“Then what am I, ye pajama-wearing, blethering, worm-eyed, keech-speaker?”

Shing.

“What am I in yer eyes, ye crease-faced, silk-balled, sniveling clump of jobby?!?”

Shing.

“Ye might treat me like a rusty screwdriver hanging from yer toolbelt that ye can just to tighten the bolts in yer gods-forsaken head, but I’m a person, ye great arse-pit. No matter what ye or yer dickless hunk of crystal ye bow down to say!”

SHING!

“Human or...whatever ‘else’ ye think I am. I’m a person. Can’t be that bloody hard to treat me like one - it isn’t hard for yer brothers, I can tell ye that for free. But no, I’m just a tool.”

Just a tool.

Just a tool for him and Zaros to use for furthering their goals.

Shi-

Her hand halted mid-swipe, an idea worming its way into her mind. Perhaps a devious and  underhanded idea, yet one that made her chuckle.

Why not challenge Azzanadra at his own game? If he was dead-set on treating her as a tool, what was to stop her from reciprocating in a sense?

He had power. Resources. Ideas. Access to Zaros, a transcendent god with power and resources of his own.

In a way, they were her tools, just as much as she was theirs.

Their goals were already alike - stop the Elder Gods from awakening and resetting existence. It would be simple to stay close to Azzanadra and Zaros, using their actions and plans towards that goal as a thermometer of sorts to gauge if she should lend her support or act in opposition and find a different solution.

Yet…

Don’t be like them, Finley, she reminded herself. Don’t be like him.

Find a balance. Treat them with respect as people. But make use of them as tools.

Colleagues.

“Aye, that’s what they’ll be. Colleagues. Not friends, no matter how much Azzanadra farts that word out his crease. Not anything like shield-siblings, either. Just co-workers trying to prevent the apocalypse.”

Nodding to herself, she returned to sharpening her axe, humming some aimless tune in time to the continued shing of the blade.

Always take care of your tools.

[opaloremerald]

Chapter one  (in current editing stage)

My broom sputtered a little as I stopped for a break from my long flight to school. The village that I landed in was small and still had traditional German houses with thatch roofs. My feet touched to the ground a few yards from the outside of town in a dense forest, and, as I walked out to the dirt road leading onto the main square I snapped my broom into its smaller form, a polished hairpiece. As whipped up my hair and stuck my broom in to keep it up, small tufts of dust were kicked as I walked down the deserted way. It was like a sickness rushed in and cleared the life out of the town. 

I peeked into a few windows as I looked for the mercantile shop. I passed an inn with a few new-looking bikes on the rack, but I saw no rustling of the curtains or movement in the parlor. My eyes bounced around on different abandoned buildings and a couple of one-story houses until they landed on the mercantile. I stepped over to the shop quickly, suddenly feeling eyes on my back. The sensation was unnerving. As my feet crossed over the threshold a spark cracked through my bones. I turned my head to look out the grimy window of the mercantile to see the abandoned square, a dry fountain in the middle. I inspected each window, trying to see an edge of a face as I saw my reflection in the pane of my own waypoint. After a long minute of watching I turned back into the cluttered store I had walked into. Cans of food were clustered in small pyramids by shelves of perishables. I looked at a few parcels of jerky and took one in my gloved hand.

My satchel bumped against a shelf as I checked how many coins I had in my money belt. Four silvs, twelve clohs and a glo. The glo itself would probably get me a few parcels of jerky and cheese, but the silvs would get me one of each, and I was saving the glo for later. One cloh would help me replenish my broom with a bundle of fabric and a little to spare. As I thought about if I should buy some ink and quills for school and not have to borrow the ones at school or buy a new cloak so I wouldn’t seem old-fashioned to my friends a tug came at the edge of my tunic. I startled and skittered to one side, looking at a small boy with floppy brown hair and a nose smattered with freckles. His big blue eyes turned up to mine and his mouth opened to ask a question. But instead of a sweet, melodic voice, a screech came out of the tiny voice. And, as soon as that screech came out of his mouth, more started to sound. Other screeches came from the back room, the street outside, the neighboring houses, almost everywhere.

I glanced at the shelf beside me, at the bundle of fabric, cloak and ink. I turned my attention back to the boy and the ongoing screech that was almost deafening. I looked back at the shelf, my hand raising to the hairpiece that was my broom. My wand was in a secure pocket in my satchel and I had no way to get to it. A plan was forming in my head as I pulled out two silvs, and four clohs, setting them on the shelf next to my arm as I pulled out my broom. It lengthened to its full form and I swept the parcel of jerky in my hand, the bundle of cloth and two quills and a bottle of ink into the cloak and tied it up at the end. I pushed the bundle onto the front of my broom and jumped on.

Bursting out of the door of the cluttered mercantile, I finally saw the people of the town. They were staring at me, mouths full of the horrendous sound they made. As I spiraled up into the air I looked down underneath me, staring at the strange townspeople. 

“What the heck just happened?” I asked myself in French as I flew away from the town, looking for a spot to set down and rest for a little. I couldn’t rest for too long, though. I had to be at school tomorrow and tardy people would have to pick the fæ berries. Yuck.

The fæ were a small, humanoid life form that had wings and the power to control growth, like a nature elementalist. They only ate small, foul smelling berries that grew outside the school grounds in the bewitched thicket, and if you had to pick them it took about a million showers to get the stink out of your hair.

After I stopped and ate a little food in a small clearing, I took the bundle of cloth and my broom, wrapping it around the stick of the over the previous layer of fabric. The cloth protected the smooth wood of the stick from the harsh cold up in the north where I took holiday. I took a big bite of the cheese and another of jerky, then wrapped them back up in the parcel. It was only a few hours travel to school from where I had stopped to rest.  

I hopped up onto my newly wrapped broom and started up into the sky, spying only foliage underneath me. I started off east and knocked my broom into straight-travel mode so I could sort through my supplies in my bag without worrying about getting off course. I unwrapped the cloak from its bundle and latched the front around my neck, making sure the ink and quills were wrapped in some extra bits of fabric I had in my satchel so they wouldn’t bend or break. The cheese and jerky were already in their own parcels, so I could just grab a strip of burlap and catch up my hair in a ponytail

The journey to Serpentine Academy was long from my childhood home. It was somewhere in the middle of the United Kingdoms, and, sadly, I lived across the English Channel in France. It took me about three days to get to school as the broom flies and I was always just on time for the orientation speech.

The school was in sight as I started to practice racing stances and trick moves on the broom. The towers cut through the bitingly cold fog and I almost ran into one, swerving around it just in time. I tilted towards the ground, where many footprints stained the pristine white snow.

Dropping down to the matted snow path, I adjusted my cloak and snapped my broom into the small hairpiece. Shoving it into my ponytail, I walked up to the door, knocked three times, and waited impatiently. Soon, a fæ slid open the small sight to squint her tiny eyes at me.

“Name, year, ability and Take?” she squeaked.                                                                                                                                        

I rolled my eyes and rattled off the answers, “Emilie Beaumont, year 6, seer, Take Eiva.”

The fæ dutifully opened the wooden double doors and I stepped inside, relishing the warmth that the Great Hall provided me. The Great Hall had ceilings so high that a racer could trick ride from beginning to end. A large staircase in the middle of the hall led to the upper levels and many-a-doors in the hall held offices for teachers and staff. Two large wooden doors, identical to the main ones, opened into the dining hall, where girls of all ages sat at tables corresponding to their Take.

A Take is a place you were assigned to be in from your very first year, and there are eight years. Take Eiva, my take, is for people who come from farther away than normal. For instance, I am from France, one of my roommates, Sonya Gorbachav, is from Russia, and the other of my roommates, Adrianne Smith, is from Australia.

Some other Takes would be Take Una, where witches who wanted to live with humans, Take Yinzi, where foreign languages such as Fæ, Elv, Mermish, and Dwarf were learned, Take Lor was for the future witch historians, Take Verl is where the academy sticks the troublemakers—I would’ve been in this Take if it weren’t for Take Eiva—, and Take Cinta, where the richer kids were put. The Take Cinta girls hated the Take Eiva girls, but only because we didn’t buy our way into the good grace of the Headmistress, we just were liked by her. Really, my Take was just made as an afterthought. Serpentine Academy is the only witches-only school for miles. There’s another in America, but their teaching methods are too obscure for many Serpentine girls to comprehend.

I spotted Sonya in the middle of the Take Eiva table, glaring over at the next table, which was filled with Take Cinta girls, who were decked out with expensive jewelry and new brooms that were twisted up in their hair to make elaborate hairdos. I spun a few of my own earrings nervously as I sat down next to the air Sonya was glaring into.

“Is there a reason why you’re letting her look daggers into Skylar Jones’s new bejeweled broom?” I asked the air. My other roommate, Adrianne, materialized next to me, blocking Sonya’s view of the Cinta table.

“She always does it before you arrive to ask us about our break,” Adrianne said to me, “Anyway, why do you have all this snow on you, Emilie? You usually come in snow-free.”

I sighed and messed with my compacted broom. “I packed my wand too far into my satchel and I never had the time to dig it out. Oh, yeah! I want to tell you about the weirdest thing. I stopped in a weird town in Germany about—I don’t know, five hours ago?—and it was like a ghost town at first.”

“At first?” Sonya asked in her thick Russian accent. She twirled her dark coil of braid around her arm as she listened.

“Yeah, but when I went into the mercantile shop there was this spark that just went up my spine. After that I checked back outside to see if anyone had been outside to charm me or anything, but no one was outside the houses,” I explained, “it was so weird.”

“Was it one of your usual drop-byes, you know, the ones you go by for school every year?” Adrianne asked. I shook my head.

“My broom was winding down because of the weather. I just touched down to get some food and cloth, but I got this cloak and some ink and quills. Anyway, after I started looking around and picked out the stuff I wanted there was this little boy, looking at me. Of course, he scared me, so I kind-of jumped to the side. I think I scared him and he startesd to make this huge wailing noise. I stole the stuff got out of there as…”

The doors of the Dining hall flew open, cutting my story off, and Headmistress Christopher walked down the middle isle of the Takes’ tables. Everyone was silent as we watched our idol float down the way. The doors stayed open and the rest of the teachers walked to their designated seats solemnly.

Everyone was just about to stand up to recite the motto of Serpentine Academy when more people started filing into the Dining Hall.

Three boys to be exact.

Every girl in the hall froze as the boys went down the teacher’s tables.

As I told you earlier, Serpentine Academy is a girl’s school, so we barely ever see boys. I mean, we see them, but not at school.

Adrianne’s face dropped in surprise, Sonya’s did not. Her and I saw the boys waving at the Cinta table, totally ignoring the many other Takes of girls. I turned my back to the boys and started the long search for my wand in my satchel.

“This year we have many new students that are to be separated into Takes, but this year we have three new students who are going to be introducing the new side to our school,” Headmistress Christopher’s voice rang loud and clear as I shuffled some cheese to the side and found the slit I usually hid my wand in. I reached in the slit and produced my wand, a beautiful thing carved out of willow and cherry wood. It had a thin area where my thumb settled perfectly so I could cast spells quicker and more easily. The thing vibrated in my hand as I returned my broom to my hair and went to work polishing it with a scrap of cloth I had in my bag.

“And as well as having some male counterparts at school, this year we will skip our motto and get right into the separating of the first years,” Headmistress Christopher said, her wispy hair waving up in the sky as if it was in water. I rolled my eyes. Beautification magic, useless. I went back to polishing my wand.

The separating of the first years was pretty straightforward. The divining teacher, Ms. Crawley, placed her hand on the girl’s head and read what she was like. Ms. Crawley was a seer, like me, so she can see things that other people can’t.

“Jevo!” Ms. Crawley announced, meaning the Take for future officers of the Magician’s Law. I rubbed my head, trying not to get pulled into the same vision Ms. Crawley was having. If any normal witch or wizard touches a seer when they’re having a vision they see it too, but when another seer is around one having a vision, an invisible rope pulls them to the seer having the vision. And since, I’m the only seer other than Ms. Crawley at school, no one feels my pain.

“Avan!” the take for future politicians, “and last but not least, Eiva!”

My head jerked up as I saw a tiny little girl with white-wash blonde hair and the palest skin I’d ever seen skittering over to the Take Eiva table. She was a first year, who are all twelve, but looked so much younger than that. Her spot was a few people down on our sparsely populated table. Adrianne, Sonya and I were actually the oldest in our Take because the last few graduated two years ago.

“And these boys will be put into……” Ms. Crawley paused to add dramatic effect.

I whispered to my roommates, “I bet you five glohs that they are all going to be in Cinta.”

“No way!” Adrianne argued, “I bet they’re too nice to be in Cinta, right Sonya?”

Sonya shrugged, “I bet she split them up, no?”

“So, if I’m right get five glohs from both of you, got it?” I said just as Ms. Crawley announced, “CINTA!”

“Yes!” I hissed as my friends paid up.

“You cheated, didn’t you,” Adrianne said, “You had a vision.”

“When I have visions I usually finish them by coughing up blood, or I’ll have a nosebleed like Madame Crawley. So, no, I did not have a vision,” I said, putting the glohs in my coin belt and pushing my tunic over it.

Most of the time, girls were not allowed to have any money on campus, but I made the most money I ever could on campus, winning the witches’ game of Intercental. Intercental is the magician’s equivalent of poker. The older years of each Take—which meant year five to year eight—gathered in the library on the first and last Fridays of each month, and the day after the first day of school.

“And now it is time for lunch!” Headmistress Christopher called out in her strong British accent, waving her hands across the hall and making food appear. Everyone dug in hungrily, knowing we had to get to classes immediately after. I was the first to finish eating my feast at my table, so I decided to cut a glance at the Cinta table. The three boys were in a group near Skylar Jones and her groupies, flirting up a storm. I rolled my eyes again.

Skylar happened to glance up at the time I was rolling my eyes.

“Have a problem with something, Frog?” she called out to me in her hoity-toity accent. I scowled at her.

“Yes, indeed I do, Redcoat,” I growled back at her, turning all the way around so my back was against the table. Skylar lowered her perfect eyebrows at me and I arched one of my black ones. “Didn’t like that nickname, did you?”

“What is your problem?” Skylar asked, standing up suddenly.

“My problem?” I tapped my wand against my legging-clad leg in an annoyed way, “why do you torment all the girls in Take Eiva? They’re all my responsibility. You mess with them, you mess with me.”

“You’re only in year six,” Skylar said, smirking, “like me.”

“Unlike you, I’m the oldest in my take, so I actually have kids who look up to me for a good reason. Not looking at me with the desire to be me and filling themselves with self-hate, like half the girls in your Take,” I narrowed my eyes at her, daring her to defy me.

“At least I have the beauty for them to admire, you’re just an eyesore. And when you claim you have a ‘vision’ you make this whole scene. I say you’re just longing for attention,” she said, jabbing her perfectly manicured fingernail at me.

I rocketed up then, advancing at her, “Do you know how much blood I lose a year because of my ability? No, I bet you don’t, because you haven’t lost a drop of yours, and if you did, your rich daddy would buy a bag of blood and make sure you had every ounce in your body.”

Skylar’s face widened into a smile, “Hit a nerve there?”

“I challenge you to a game of Intercental tomorrow,” I said, then pointed at the boys, “and they will join you.”

The three boys, who had been watching on the sidelines looked at he people around them, trying to see if I was pointing at someone else. They obviously knew how to play. Everyone thirteen and older knew how to. There was an Intercental competition every year synonymous with the broom competitions, and I was MVP in both.

Skylar contemplated the challenge for a minute, then spoke, “I agree to your challenge.”

I smirked at her, but, right at the wrong moment, a warm stickiness encased my tongue. A tickle went up my throat and I covered my mouth, coughing onto my hand. My knees buckled as I started to fall to the ground.

“Don’t touch her!” Ms. Crawley called from the front of the Dining hall, but strong arms had already caught me and lowered me to the ground. My sight clouded as the vision took over my sight.

“You have the seer precautions up?” a dark voice asked in a smoky room. Not many things could be seen in the room, other than a table set up for Intercental

“Yessir, the charms are in place,” a younger voice echoed from the other side of the room. A head bobbed at the table as a person sat down across from it.

“The subject we are about to speak about is delicate and we can have absolutely no people listening in on it,” the first voice, which was coming from the man that was at the table in the first place.

“What is it?” a new voice asked, most likely the person who sat across from the man with the dark voice.

“We’ve realized that humans have this certain thing about them. This, ability to create magic, but not in any way we’ve been able to do. We’ve been trying to find a way to—”

“Honey?” a voice woke up a young girl and shook me out of what must’ve been her dream, “It’s time to get ready for school.”

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, curls bouncing in front of her face, “Mommy, I think I had a vision.”

The woman laughed out loud and sat next to her daughter. She had brown ringlets, matching her child’s blonde ones, “Seers are rare, and they skip a generation. Since I’m a seer, you couldn’t be one. You’re fine. No one is going to hurt you. That dream was just that, a dream. C’mon let’s get you dressed.”

[ber39james]

5 Helpful Tips on How to Write Emails from Your Phone

Today, 80 percent of Internet users own a smartphone. It’s been predicted that, by this year, eight in ten email users will access their email accounts exclusively from their mobile devices. We’re reading and writing more emails on mobile than ever, so getting it right has never been more important. Getting communication right (in email or otherwise) is the driving force behind Grammarly’s recent launch of a mobile keyboard for iOS and Android. But, although Grammarly will help you write mistake-free messages, it’s combining that polish with style and substance that will inevitably make your written communication effective.

Five Tips for Writing Emails From Your Phone

We’ve all seen the ubiquitous “Sent from my iPhone” email signatures, or sigs along the lines of, “Please excuse the brevity. This was sent from my phone.” These signatures, in part, are meant to excuse the sender from typos, autocorrect slips, and all those other times our thumbs betray us when we communicate via mobile devices.

But just because you wield your thumbs instead of ten phalanges carefully placed on the home row doesn’t mean everything you send from your phone has to look as though it was transcribed by a typing chimpanzee. There’s hope! This article will guide you towards writing clear, concise emails from your mobile device with panache.

1 Put important information first.

Nearly half of mobile readers spend three seconds or less reading an individual email. That is, of course, if you can get them to open your email at all. But let’s assume you send emails that people want to read. Your challenge is to keep those emails brief or risk losing your reader to a very short digital attention span.

That means it’s essential to optimize. Before you put your thumbs to work tapping out your email opus, take a few minutes to figure out the key point you want to get across in your message. Ask yourself If I could have my recipient take just one thing away from this email, what would it be? Use the answer to that question to front-load your email so that the most critical information comes first. If you don’t, your recipient might miss the point of your email entirely, or breeze past it in her haste to move on to her next email to-do.

Hi Jane,

Yesterday, I was talking to Jim and he suggested you would have some good ideas about the upcoming Windy City Widgets marketing campaign. As you know, Windy City is an important client and this marketing campaign is pivotal to our success here at XYZ Advertising Associates. I’m going to be downtown tomorrow afternoon, so I thought we might have lunch at JB’s Sammiches to unpack what the client has told us about their ad needs and deadlines. JB’s is close to your office, so I thought it would be convenient. Does 12:30 p.m. work for you? All the best, Richard

Oy! That email comes in at around a hundred words, and most of them aren’t necessary. Let’s consider all the things this message conveys that it doesn’t have to.

For starters, it’s not necessary to state that Jim suggested talking to Jane. Especially not up front. If Jim’s referral would be helpful in sealing the lunch appointment, go ahead and use it, but consider saving it for later in the email.

It’s also not necessary to reiterate that a client is important. Any time you start a sentence with As you know, you’re probably telling the reader something they actually do already know. Driving home the point with an as you know statement can translate as passive-aggressive. It’s as if you’re saying, “You should know this, but I’ll reiterate just in case you’re not good at your job.” Make sure you don’t come across as talking down to your colleagues.

While it’s nice to consider a lunch location that’s convenient for your colleague, it’s not necessary to point out how nice you’re being. That extraneous information adds words, not impact.

Let’s front-load this email with important information and leave out any unnecessary details.

Hi Jane,

Are you available to meet me for lunch tomorrow at JB’s Sammiches at 12:30 p.m.? I’d like to unpack some of the info Windy City Widgets gave us about their needs and deadlines for the upcoming campaign. Let me know if that would be convenient for you. All the best, Richard

Much better! The message body comes in at a sleek forty-nine words and the all-important ask is straight up front rather than buried in a bunch of unimportant details. We can almost taste those sammiches now!

2 Clean up your wordy writing.

Can you imagine how long it would’ve taken Tolstoy to compose War and Peace on a smartphone? If you want to really feel like a slacker, consider that one novelist wrote a significant portion of his novel on his smartphone while commuting on the subway. (And he did it nearly a decade ago.) When you’re using two thumbs and staring at a small screen to craft your messages (let alone a novel), it pays to know how to keep your writing lean and mean.

First, avoid common filler words and phrases. We already talked about As you know. Now, strike useless phrases like As a matter of fact, For the most part, each and every, and at this point in time from your lexicon. Your readers will appreciate your clear, concise language and you’ll convey your points much better without all the clutter.

While you’re at it, dump most adverbs. These words, which often end in -ly, are unnecessary unless removing them drastically changes the meaning of your sentence. So, don’t bother thumb-typing words like basically, very, usually, extremely, probably, and absolutely.

3 Practice perfect email etiquette.

Your signature may say that your email was sent from your phone, but that doesn’t mean you should bypass the rules of polite email discourse.

When you send email to multiple recipients at the same time, respect everyone’s privacy by masking their email addresses with BCC. Similarly, don’t use Reply All and accidentally share an email with all members of an email chain when your reply was meant only to go to one person. And don’t automatically assume that email is private and confidential. Avoid saying things in an email that you wouldn’t say publicly. Otherwise, that email could come back to haunt you.

Here’s a tip: Don’t email when you’re angry. If you must tap out a strongly worded letter, hold off on hitting the Send button until you’ve had a chance to let it simmer. If you can wait, leave that letter on the back burner and come back to it twenty-four hours later. Were you more hostile than you meant to be in the heat of the moment? Could you have been more diplomatic and gotten your point across just as well? Edit!

4 Dictate it.

Some years back, my friend and I tried having a Messenger conversation by using our phones’ voice-to-text feature, and then sending whatever our smartphone interpreted. The result was hilariously bad. But voice-to-text has come a long way since then.

Most mobile keyboards have voice-to-text functionality. On the Grammarly keyboard, simply long-press the comma key to activate your phone’s voice capabilities and dictate your message. Once dictated, you can quickly edit or correct any misheard words.

Here’s a tip: Speak your punctuation so you don’t have to add it after the fact. Dave, did you remember to file your report? would be spoken as, “Dave comma did you remember to file your report question mark.”

5 Proofread.

You want to make a good impression. Proofreading is one way to ensure you will. We often write hasty notes when we use mobile technology, figuring that others will forgive us because, well, writing on a mobile device has its challenges. But proofreading before you hit send isn’t that complicated. And, if you’re using the Grammarly mobile keyboard, you can simply press the Grammarly button once you’ve finished writing to check your text and make sure your grammar, spelling, and punctuation is pristine. No more excuses just because you sent it from your iPhone!

The post 5 Helpful Tips on How to Write Emails from Your Phone appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/how-to-write-emails-from-mobile/

[ngusman-blog]

Ngusman

Lyrics - Musical Poems

If you are looking for how to write music to lyrics, then I'm glad you found this web page not to mention, I strongly recommend you keep on reading, for the very simple reason that this is definitely my uncensored news about the best way to write music to lyrics.

There are techniques that are essential that I found which are necessary to adding music to lyrics. I've used several practices before I uncovered the one thing which was able to assist me achieve my goal about the best way to compose music to lyrics.

The drawback each of us lyricist have is that we write some lyrics down and we don't have any music. A few people may know lots of friends that uses a machine beat maker or play with musical instruments. Sad to say is not what makes our lyrics pop. I get very displeased, I just want to stop writing. I had to do something about trying to figure out how to compose music to lyrics.

I'm music informed myself and that I came to the understanding that there is just no distinct plan if you would like to know how to compose music to lyrics. For me personally, I normally examine the just two to 3 occasions that are lyrics. Then after that I begin "singing" the lyrics. The outcome is a great but "pristine" melody that I afterwards have to improve and fine-tune to be happy with that.

These are some standard songwriting tips on how to write songs

1. In writing music lyrics, persist try to sing them, it's going to be successful.

2. Try melodies till such time you find and then allow the melody to do the 21, one that functions. Modify your lyrics to match and VIOLA!! You're on the way to composing music to lyrics.

3. Though your song improves don't settle on the first melody. More often than not the melody is fallible your very own judgment is that the authoritative the decider.

4. Set your melody that was chosen up. Given that you'll have a fairly good idea of exactly what the melody may sound like attempt to organize it.

5. Pay attention to the way your favorite artists in addition to how they arrange melodies. Write down the approach in addition to precisely the way the various instruments are responding to each other. You will discover that you are likely to end up receiving fantastic creative concepts for a melody.

If you just happen to keep up this, as you have seen learning how to write music to lyrics isn't that overwhelming. In some instances you will be presented by effects of your daily living with some ideas that are creative.

A simple way to enhance the process is by using Music composition program. Software packages like these aid in planning your work, writing procedure, and also to find out what you are playing. Personally, I really like beat manufacturers and machine beat makers to help out with the melodies that I'm playing in my mind.

So here are a couple of software tools that will help you learn how to write music to lyrics. Take note, I am partial to online beat makers. That is because once lyrics are churned out lirik lagu shape of you by me, and I have somewhat of a melody going through my brain, I fiddle with my beat maker that is online and 9 times out of 10 some melodies that are terrific are created by me.

Do not get me wrong after I learned to play guitar. I would write my lyrics, hum my tune and be sure to mirror the tune.

Stick with the tips above so you will begin the process of coming up with melodies. Utilizing conquer makers that are online is the best method to understand how to compose songs to lyrics, assist you also to listen to your very own music creations that are brilliant and to compose better.

In the event that you a lyricist then it is necessary that you learn to write music to lyrics. If you have just no musicians ability set (oxymoron trigger you are a songwriter) then find out a musical instrument, Piano, Guitar, or any particular musical apparatus.

Yet thanks to the exceptional potential of technologies you do have to know how to play an instrument. In The Event You got an excellent ear and are not deaf without ever picking up, then you may use the new tech A tool.

Can I emphasize I'm partial to beat makers and software .

Oh yeah an songwriting idea real fast.

This is the most vital, so be aware are you ready it is STRUCTURE. If you want your lyrics to be absorbing you definitely call for a arrangement that is clear. This happens to be true with composing lyrics in addition to with coming up with beats.

The principle for beat making and songwriting does not change. Trust me this is the quickest way to understand to compose music to lyrics.

As a musician just if you are very similar to me, then you understand first that we need to understand how to write music to lyrics lyrics that are existing that somebody.

Musicians as well as songwriters tend to write music and then invent lyrics. I for one claim it will not matter. Is that you dream it so make it reality.

Do not be concerned it's easy for those with the patience and will. Just continue reading your lyrics in addition to singing them out loud and you'll discover that tune and the rhythm was already in lyrics. You merely have to find it and trust me you'll.

Your Lyrics needs to flow. Enhance your creative procedure. An individual must leave themselves and permit concepts, inspiration, and the feelings to stream. Don't think of what it is you're writing let your pen is assisted by the words. You don't write the lyrics itself is written by that the lyrics, you are just the medium.

For your next option you have it or you do not although I can invest all night and day showing someone to write lyrics or how to write music to lyrics. So I won't spend time showing how to write poems. Merely allow it to flow and then themselves will be written by the words if you're a true lyricist.

Attempting to find out how to compose music can cause some writers block out. Plenty of folks will be so hung up on finding. The songwriting stops. At this point, consider obtaining a piece of paper and write like crazy. Don't be worried about what it is you're writing write.

As soon as you're able to get 1 page in then you may stop if you need and are good, on the other hand continue you can never tell what prizes you may find through your proof read.

Writing song lyrics is an exercise in self-expression. Imagination and creativity are instrumental in separating yourself from the dozens of song authors when composing song lyrics. Apart from imagination, writing lyrics to music requires a thorough comprehension of music and its elements. Lyrics are instrumental in creating a fan base and grabbing their listeners' attention.

The step involved with composing song lyrics is deciding the styles of music along with the viewer that they enjoy. This helps in setting permissible language the topic matter and the material. The selection of a over-arching motif decides this song's content. The procedure for composing lyrics entails brainstorming idea which leads to composing the advice and points relevant to the lyrics' storyline. Some lyric writers write and polish their lyrics every day, which improves their content.

Writing song lyrics uses devices such as metaphors, rhymes, meter, and alliteration. Metaphors are integrated into the tunes of lyric authors to convey imagery ardently to the listeners. Meter and rhyme are also important elements to be taken into consideration because they set the rhythm of the song when composing lyrics. Alliteration is an effective poetic device that's used in composing song lyrics to put emphasis on a certain verse or line within the song.

Achieving an appropriate level and kind of rhyming is essential because when the lyrics rhyme too much that they will seem childish, when writing lyrics. In contrast, too few rhymes may cause your lyrics to sound unpolished and random. The fitting of content of this tune with its rhythm and melody also needs to be considered in writing song lyrics as it contributes in making the song.

The practice of writing song lyrics necessitates several sessions of editing, which can be instrumental in making the song memorable and more appealing. Of writing lyrical content, knowledge and expertise aids spike the creativity up Level, which eventually contributes to a favorite song's creation.

The mixture of melody with phrases, chord rhythms, sounds and progression of the songs are some elements to be considered during the process of composing lyrics and eventually leads up to a hit song's creation. When you've thought of some lyrics and you also would like to achieve world recognition you want to follow each of of the aspects.

The procedure for composing rap lyrics is akin to poetry writing and requires a mix of lyrics and subject matter. The structure of rap lyrics is based on the corresponding rhyming words and also the rhyming scheme. Rap songs' uniqueness is actually credited to the lyrics. Lyrics are generally the distinguishing feature of any rap tune and are thus regarded as their core power.

Originality, grammar and creativity used in the lyrics would be the columns forming the rhyming arrangement in rap lyrics. Rhyme construction is an essential part of writing rap lyrics which keeps the rhyming sentences and helps in easy placement of words. This makes the lyric structure effortless to be read by the artists. Rappers incorporate rapid-fire rhymes in a single verse which creates a rapid rhythmic pattern.

Rhymes in lyrics are not just limited to the conclusion of the verse line, as noticed in rock or country lyrics. A use of simile is yet another significant aspect. Using similes really adds the lyric structure and a fun value and assists in distributing the message. Metaphors cater the process by adding creative intelligence to the lyric structure, which ultimately captures the attention of their audience effectively of writing rap lyrics.

The use of onomatopoeia must also be considered as it refines the style and delivery of this lyrical structure to a great 29, whilst writing rap lyrics.

Wordplay requires the rotation of unique phrases or words which is a basic part of lyricism. Wordplay implies the construction of lyrics with puns, which can be words with meanings. Depth is added in by two theories through the use of puns' explanation. Rhymes are used by many lyricists for increasing the performance rate of a rap tune. An amicable use of multi-rhymes and mulch-syllable rhymes is an oblivious of skillfulness.

When composing lyrics for 9, alliteration can also be used. Prior to inventing the chorus component of a rap tune, these aspects must be considered. Rap lyrics are really resulted out of by yet catchy choruses that are short.

Rhyming and originality tend to be the hallmark of any rap lyrical construction. Rapid improvements in the audio industry have led to revolutionizing different artists' rap music styles, where lyrics and rhyming have a tendency to be the most critical facet of the rap song creation process, yet the basic characteristics of rap music remain the same.

Can you envision your favorite song would be that it has? You can argue that some songs are purely instrumental if you are a skeptic. However, the ones with effective lyrics are those which interpret and you need to sing about. Consequently, it is true that the song is really made by lyrics forever.

When make songs and melodies last and words are creatively and strategically positioned to communicate a message, they're called lyrics. It can be the other way round as well i.e melodies create make lyrics last. Whatever the case is, there's absolutely no doubt that no song is ever complete without both, lyrics and melodies. Popular singers and recording artists start up careers flourish due to lyrics and exist. If not for lyrics, they would not be able to display and show their singing talents.

While many people may think, lyrics communicate not just messages but also emotions and ideas. Songs impart particular emotions. They make people fall in love, feel despair, draw humor, be angry, and act. Current mood of the listener also influences the kind to. People in love often listen more to intimate songs with lyrics that are romantic, while those with feeling of despair would love to share thoughts of sad songs (nevertheless they are, they are inclined to still draw more listeners.