#rebuild indexes

[thedbahub]

When to Rebuild All Indexes in SQL Server: A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction Have you noticed your SQL Server database running more slowly lately? One potential cause could be fragmented or inefficient indexes. In this article, we’ll explore when it makes sense to do a full rebuild of all your indexes to improve database performance. You’ll learn how to identify index fragmentation, the pros and cons of rebuilding indexes, and best practices to follow. Let’s…

[antiparticular]

procrastination so bad I pick up my bass for the first time in 8 months

[lycheebloom]

delirium : yan. shadow milk cookie drabble

tw : yandere shadow milk cookie, extreme psychological manipulation, implied mind break, obsessive & possessive behavior

epilogue to..!

.𖦹 .° Peculiar.

.𖦹 .° That would be an accurate description of his feelings towards you.

.𖦹 .° An irrelevant cookie you were depicted as on the surface that many could not see past, yet he could not bear to lay a finger on you despite all the power he held. How strange, indeed!

.𖦹 .° As the Master of Deceit himself, should he not be better equipped in handling such situations? He frequently asked him this question as well. Alas, it seemed there were.. exceptions to his very perspective on cookiekind.

.𖦹 .° A phenomenon of a being, his deeply prized puppet—one could even argue you were his favorite.

.𖦹 .° Shadow Milk Cookie walked about in the void where an endless abyss laid, a shadowy labyrinth crafted by his own hand. In the abundance of eyes sprawled an indecipherable web of lies and trickery, entangling any unfortunate enough to step into it.

.𖦹 .° With a twirl of a wand, he tore forth a rift in the dark space—stepping in as the world twisted and turned to his will. As he stepped into the portal, his surroundings distorted until your intangent form pieced itself together bit by bit into a familiar shape he adored—carrying your features that he would wordlessly trace over on nameless nights.

.𖦹 .° Your weathered state was evident through your strained muscles, a posture slumped against velvet pillows, and your head cast down. You remained as motionless as a marionette with its strings cut, even as Shadow Milk Cookie stepped closer.

.𖦹 .° “(Name)!~” He cooed, excitement bouncing off of his voice. He lowered his head, reaching eye level with you—despite your gaze being cast down to the floor. A small frown replaced his expression upon your lack of response, the man tilting your chin up with his index finger.

.𖦹 .° “It’s not nice to ignore people, dear!” He smiled, tilting his head at an abnormal angle. “Much less your lover of all people, (Name) Cookie..!” He dramatically sighed, lowering his hand to place on your shoulder.

.𖦹 .° You no longer pulled away from his touch, nor did you resist his advances. You took in his sickeningly sweet proclamations and vows of adoration, his sugarcoated acts of bloodshed, amidst all other things he did in the name of his love for you. Wasn’t he such a thoughtful romantic? An obsessive maniac.

.𖦹 .° With time, affection withers intelligence, as it cracks open an opportunity for the yearning heart to abandon all lucidity.

.𖦹 .° Shadow Milk Cookie almost regretted breaking you down. Almost.

.𖦹 .° If it were not for the countless number of times he had already done this.

.𖦹 .° For what entertainment would there be in letting this small ordeal with you suffice? No, you were worth something much more than to be discarded like his many broken toys.

.𖦹 .° With a tug on a string, he’ll rebuild you. He’ll shatter your entire reality of life and death, the limits of logicity and grasp of vanity, molding your thoughts and being to his taste. He needs to be your everything, for him to possess your mind, body and very soul. He craved the essence that made up every sacred atom of yours—Oh if he could, he’d conjoin himself with you so that you won’t even dare to think of anything else.

.𖦹 .° Don’t deny him, don’t fight your fate. Resistance is futile, he’ll be easier on you if you accept the truth as it is!

.𖦹 .° For your bond with him transcended that of sanity itself.

.𖦹 .° So let him guide you, and everything will be alright. He’ll take care of you, his precious little star.

[chuellas]

Evictions on Your Door | E is for Exhibitionism

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, use of the names “Doll” and “Baby”, exhibitionism, fingering with/out gloves on, spanking, finger sucking, gagging, unprotected sex, creampie, plugging, not edited like at all ajdjsjdjsjjds WC: 2.4k

A/N | Ik I’ve said it a million times today but Happy Valentine’s Day. This one i had to cut short bc I went way over my self allotted limit 🤡 Hope you all thoroughly enjoy <3

You should have known better than to tease Chuuya before a three hour long meeting. Normally, you wouldn’t sit next to him in the meeting, being Verlaine’s representative. The absent man’s seat was always across the table from Chuuya while Kouyou’s was next to the ginger. Outside of executive meetings you and Chuuya rarely interact while working, especially after Akutagawa took the position of overseeing the Black Lizard instead of Hirotsu reporting directly to Chuuya.

You had brazenly tossed your panties at him in the privacy of his office earlier in the morning, a pair of royal blue silk and lace high-cut underwear. You’d caught him eyeing you in the rare pencil skirt, something you only wear on days you know for certain you won’t be going into the field. You know that Chuuya’s favorite feature of yours is your legs. So, you thought you would pay him a visit — tease him a little. You were not disappointed by his reaction.

But now you’re paying for it as you sit right next to Chuuya at this crowded meeting table with not only the executives but with their second in command and even third in command. Mori isn’t here, doing some sort of damage control within the Armed Detective Agency’s President and the government. It was up to the executives to lead this meeting to figure out how to rebuild Yokohama after the devastation that Ame-no-Gozen brought onto the city. 

You’re almost two hours into the meeting and Chuuya’s gloved fingers are snuggly nestled in your drooling cunt. It started off as teasing of his own, leather gliding up and down the expanse of your inner thighs. You slapped his hand away a few times, trying desperately to pay attention to what Kouyou was saying but your self-control wilted at an alarming rate. 

Chuuya easily hides the flexing of his arm underneath his coat that hangs over his shoulders. Every time he opens his mouth to add to the conversation your stomach twists is both excitement and fear. You try your best to keep your composure but Chuuya is relentless.

The ginger bullies his middle and ring finger into your cunt, stopping every time you even hint at fluttering around you. 

You’re hunched over the table, the lower half of your face being concealed by your folded hands, hoping to god that you just appear to be really intrigued by whatever it is being discussed, when in reality you’re just crumbling under the touch of the man sitting beside you. Your concentration is fluctuating, you’re only getting bits and pieces of the solutions being shared and the opinions being bounced around. You’ve barely given any input yourself, which was a shame considering you had planned on contributing to this meeting at least once. 

You can hear the faint sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and you hope once again that Akutagawa, who is sitting on your other side, can’t hear it. The way his body is stiffer than normal, jaw so taught it looks painful, tells you otherwise. Your thighs involuntarily squeeze in desperation to quiet the noise and you have to work double time to suppress a gasp when Chuuya slots his leg between yours and pries your legs back open.

You’re close again, eyes burning with unshed tears you’re desperately trying to hold back. Everything is buzzing, your chest is heaving, your stomach is in knots and your head is vibrating. You can’t tell if it’s hot in this room or if the dampness you feel underneath you on the seat is your slick pooling in the chair. 

You subtly move your index finger between your teeth to keep your mouth occupied with something so you don’t make any noise. 

You’re going to get caught in a room full of the Port Mafia’s most important members getting finger fucked by a man who is not supposed to be touching you, per Verlaine’s personal request. Just as you’re about to let the taut cord in your lower abdomen snap, Chuuya removes his hand completely, causing you to shiver from the sudden loss of his warmth. You bite down on your finger harder, just barely catching the whimper clawing at your throat. 

Chuuya loudly clears his throat and it catches everyone’s attention. “It’s been over three hours now, Kouyou. Don’t you think we should give everyone a break? Maybe we can revisit this tomorrow with less people, now that we’ve come up with a solid foundation of how we’re gonna fix this damn mess.”

Kuoyou stares at the other ginger for a moment before curtly nodding her head. “Fine, we’ll bring what we have to the Executives table tomorrow and finalize it with Mori.”

Chuuya slyly shoves his now ungloved hand in his pocket and rises to his feet, his head tilted as a way to point at you. “You can head out, she offered to help me clean up.”

Verlaine narrows his eyes at that statement, scrutinizing the two of you before letting it go and turning on his heel, probably going back to whatever hole he was allowed to crawl out of. You watch silently as everyone shuffles out in a hurry. You’re thankful for that, not wanting anyone to linger so you can finally compose yourself and actually clean up the mess Chuuya made. 

Akutagawa lingers and you give him a puzzled expression but he’s not looking at you, his gaze set on the remaining executive. “You don’t have to stay, Chuuya-san. I can help clean up in your stead.”

Chuuya lets out an easy chuckle, completely unbothered by Akutagawa’s offer. “Nah, don’t worry about it and how many times do I gotta tell you? Drop the damn formalities, it’s just Chuuya. Now go, I’m sure Gin is waiting for you.”

At the mention of his sister, the Port Mafia’s Black-Fanged Hellhound no longer hesitates to round the table and walk out the double doors, pushing them to swing shut behind him. Despite the flimsy effort, the door doesn’t quite latch closed all the way, you can still see out into the now empty hallway from the slivered gap between the doors. This boardroom is in a far corner that people rarely visit. You know for a fact that no one will be coming by for at least an hour, maybe more, because this room was booked for five and a half hours. 

Even so, when Chuuya bends you over the table and lifts your skirt up to bunch at your hips you let out a whine. “Chuuya- Wait…What if someone catches us?”

“Let them, not like they can do anything about it. Did you forget that I’m an executive?”

The gravity manipulator emphasizes his words by landing a harsh slap to your ass — immediately followed by him kneading and massaging the sore flesh. He repeats his actions on your other cheek and you finally let out a loud moan, losing all capability to hold them in any longer. Chuuya looms over you, leaning in and gingerly moving your hair to the side, his breath hot as it tickles the tip of your ear.

He grazes his teeth against the shell of your ear and you let out another noise, this one far more pathetic than the last as he simultaneously inserts his fingers back into your cunt. “That teach you to not tease me like that ever again, Doll? How’d it feel, huh? Knowing Akutagawa was aware of everything that was happening under this table? Could see how tight his pants were when he got up. Y’know, he has a little crush on you? It was cute how he tried to stop this from happening. Shoulda kept him here and let him watch as I fuck you dumb into this table.”

“Chuuya-” You let out a sharp gasp when his fingertips graze that sensitive spot, making your walls flutter around him already. 

You spent hours pent up thanks to him and now that you were finally alone you pray he finally lets you cum. Luckily for you, your prayers are heard. Chuuya quickens his ministrations and brushes his index finger against your clit messily.

Your mouth falls open and a string of moans flow out as your walls tighten around  Chuuya. The taut cord in your abdomen finally snaps and you’re seeing stars before your vision goes completely white. Your ears feel plugged, everything sounding like you're inside of a long tunnel. You feel something wet running down your chin and you distantly think it might be your own drool. You collapse onto the table, but you don’t get much time to think because you’re being yanked up by a pair of strong arms. 

“We’re not done yet, you still got at least one more in you, yeah?” Chuuya litters kisses across your jawline and brings his hand up to your mouth. “Suck.”

You’re barely lucid enough to understand what he’s saying but you get the gist when he impatiently taps his fingers against your mouth. Pink and swollen lips warp around his middle and ring finger, then you peer back at him as you suck and twirl your tongue around the digits. You hum around his fingers in appreciation and the vibrations go straight to his dick that is now free from his pants and nestled between your thighs. 

Chuuya removes his hands from your mouth when he’s sure you’ve cleaned all of your own juices off. When he takes his hand away he’s almost immediately bringing it back and stuffing something in your mouth you look down and your eyes widen — Your panties. He had kept them with him all day. Your eyes flutter at the thought and you can’t help but to press your ass into his hips.

The executive lets out a hum. “Since you’re so worried about getting caught. Can’t have anyone else hearing you now, can we, Baby?”

To keep you from removing the fabric from your mouth, he takes both your arms and holds them securely behind your back with one hand.

You moan but the noise gets lost in the fabric stuffed in your mouth. Chuuya smirks at your response and finally guides his cock to your entrance, bending you over the table again. When he sinks into your slick cunt, you both sigh out moans, his noises louder than yours since he can let them out freely. His hips stutter on their own and his free hand takes purchase on your hip so he can give himself a moment to ground his eager body.

“Shit, you’re s’fuckin’ warm and soft. God damn- Feel like ’m gonna cum already, the fuck are you doin’ to me, Doll?” The ginger’s head lolls back and he starts languidly thrusting in and out of you.

You whimper, trying to respond but resigned to simply look back at him with pleading eyes.

“Hah…Ok, ok. Don’t gimme that look, I got you.”

Chuuya’s pace picks up and it’s not long until his hips are slamming into you. The whole table rocks, loudly scraping against the marbled floors. You desperately try to keep yourself upright but one particularly harsh jostle has your core muscles loosening, giving out on you and you sink into the cold surface of the tabletop.

Muffled noises catch in your panties and Chuuya is letting out a string of curses. Your hips are twitching and thighs trembling from the oversensitivity and you’re embarrassingly close to cumming already. Though, from the way Chuuya’s hips are stuttering and losing their rhythm, you’d say he isn’t too far off either. 

As if he can read your mind, Chuuya voices your suspicions. “Fuck, fuck, Doll.  Gonna- shit- ‘m gonna cum, you close? Gonna cum with me, yeah? C’mon, Baby, cum with me.”

His hand sneaks around your hips and his fingers find your clit with ease. Just a few passes and pumps of his cock and your clamping down on him while wailing into the material stuffed into your mouth. Your vision goes white again, black creeping in at the edges, and your ears start to ring. You distantly hear Chuuya’s moans and his hips still as he spills into you, cumming just as hard as you.

You try to catch your breath and after a few moments your vision returns and the ringing turns into a slight buzzing. Still disoriented, your head becomes dizzy again when Chuuya flips you around so your back is now resting on the table. You don’t know how much time has passed nor do you remember where you even are at this very moment

All you know is Chuuya.

The man in question regains himself faster than you and removes the makeshift gag from your mouth. He carefully pulls his now softened cock out of your hole and quickly plugs you up with the very same panties that were in your mouth just seconds ago. The loss of him filling you up hits you and that’s when all your senses finally come flooding back and you return to the boardroom finally.

“What are you doing?” You croak out and you wince at the hoarseness of your voice. 

The ginger doesn’t respond. Instead he leans back down to rest his head on your chest. A grunt leaves your throat at the sudden weight and the pressure he puts on your stomach makes it hard to keep anything from spilling out of you.

You can’t believe you still have to tidy up when all you want to do is get into bed with him and sleep. After the stunt he pulled, you should be furious with him, but he was right in his confidence earlier. There would have been no repercussions because Chuuya is invaluable to the Port Mafia. 

That doesn’t stop you from feeling bitter.

“Chuuya-” You’re about to scold him, tell him to get off of you because he volunteered you both to clean up and all you’ve done so far is make a bigger mess, when he cuts you off.

“I know, I know. Just- Gimme a second, ok?” And how are you supposed to say no when he nudges his nose against your chin and rubs his fingers into your hips so soothingly?

[snapscube]

okay this is a really weird question but i'm taking my shot

does anyone have experience with successfully re-learning your natural pen grip as an adult??

i have got it in my head recently that i REALLY want to """""fix""""" my pen grip, as it's always been a little bit off from the one that most people are taught. i didn't end up with a SUPER unorthodox grip or anything, i just tend to rest my thumb overtop my index and middle finger, but lately i've just been like.... what if i went out of my way to rebuild that habit.

i understand 100% this is the kind of thing that is extremely unnecessary as long as your grip is comfortable for you and you can write/draw without excess strain. but i also have to believe it's likely that SOMEONE has gone out of their way to change their pencil grip on purpose as an adult and unlearn decades of habit. so like... is this something that anyone has experience with and, if so, what is the time commitment on that kind of thing? would it take long enough that the end goal wouldn't be worth the amount of time spent with a notable loss in writing/drawing proficiency? i've been practicing here and there and i'm so curious at how practical this would ultimately be.

[littlemelanintales]

Aftercare

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Soft!Bucky, cock drunk reader, after care, no smut

Your face was still mashed into the mattress beneath you. Ringlets voiding your full vision with the taste of salty sweat creeping past your huffing lips. You felt kisses placed on your hot shoulder blades and the curls being swiped from your face.

Your eyes were unfocused but centered on the lightly breezy curtains,

"Speak for me."

"Mmm." Was all you could let out. Bucky got up from the bed and crossed the hardwood to the adjacent bathroom. You could hear the sink running and the medicine cabinet open then shut again. The loud padding of his weight crossing the floor filled the otherwise virtually silent room.

He squatted to your eye level, bringing the cool towel to gently wipe the night from your brow.

Your breathing relaxed further, drinking in the sparkle in his eyes and the gentleness he has with you.

"There she is he said softly.

"Sit pretty for me, Baby. Can you do that?" You nod and slowly started to sit up and turn yourself over. Small squeaks and groans escaped your lips as the buildup in your triceps tensed up. You leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. He started to bring the duvet up but you declined,

“ ‘m hot." He smiled, leaning in and placing a kiss to your forehead. Bucky grabbed the 2 Tylenol and glass of water from the night stand. He lifted the cup to your lips and placed his cold, hard index finger under your chin to guide your head with the water. You took and swallowed the medicine before resting your head back. He placed the cool towel on your forehead before standing,

"That needs to be empty before you go to sleep." he said behind him as we went back to the bathroom. He re-entered with another cloth in hand. He sat beside you and ran his hand up the length of your leg. You twitched when he reached her inner thigh and he left out an breathy laugh.

He gently separated your legs, lightly lifting it and placing himself on his stomach between them.

He leaned in and softly left open mouthed kisses to the insides of both your thighs. He closed his eyes and sighed at the smell of you; sweet left over arousal and sweat. When he opened them he was eye to eye with your sticky, wet pussy. The sight of your juices and his cum secreting from your used hole left him in a trance.

"Ohhh, Baby. You did so well for me," your heart rate started to increase just slightly, "the best girl I could ever have. So needy. So obedient. Drink your water, honey.

You brought the cup to your lips and Bucky brought the new warm cloth up from his side. He started with a single swipe. You arched your back at the sensation the courses through you. You placed the cup down, mesmerized by him.

"You made me feel so good. Did I make you feel

good?"

"Yes, Daddy," you said as you smiled down at him and ran your fingers through his hair. His grip on your left thigh tightened just a little bit, his body unwillingly notifying you that his heart skipped a beat.

He finished cleaning you up and got up from the bed. He pulled the duvet over you without asking this time. Bucky lifted the cup one last time and you happily drank the rest of it contents. He threw the towels in the hamper, grabbing a shirt from the dresser in the process. He walked back over to you and let you settle into your pjs.

He walked to his side and climbed in, immediately pulling you as close as possible. He left kisses on the back of your neck while he whispered about how he wants to spend the next day.

"I love you, YIN."

"I love you too."

seen this before? tumblr deleted my other account so i have to rebuild

[pkmn-redirect]

Chapter 3 - Page 17

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Index

Just a heads-up that I'm probably going to be taking a couple of weeks off here pretty soon? Heck, it might even be next update- not sure yet. I have a lot going on this summer and work is going to be hitting me with overtime in the next month or so. Redirect will still be getting worked on in that time for sure, I just want to try and rebuild a backlog for all the time that I won't have to spend on this in the coming weeks. :'D tldr; There will for sure be something in the feed on June 1st, it just might be a short hiatus notice instead of a page. (I'm really really trying to avoid going to a once-every-two-weeks schedule- but I just don't have the time/energy to work on it during the weekdays like I did at my last job augh)

[sissy-cheri-949-usa]

Feminization Steps Index

Here is a list of my Feminization Process/Steps so far. Please reblog as much as possible; knowledge is power, and many sissys need help.

This is a re-do, as my previous account was unjustly axed. I'm in the process of rebuilding. The original steps link are on the right side, but replies are disabled. As I get them rebuilt, I will enable their links. That will allow me to reply to comments directly.

Until I get all these redone, you will need to add @sissy-cheri-949-usa to your comments, so I can see it.

Panty Him Original (Replies Disabled)

Man-Scaping Original (Replies Disabled)

Pantyhose Original (Replies Disabled)

Pedicure Original (Replies Disabled)

Sleep-Wear Original (Replies Disabled)

Waist Cinchers Original (Replies Disabled)

Name He/r Original (Replies Disabled)

Lingerie / Panty Drawer Original (Replies Disabled)

Body Shapers Original (Replies Disabled)

Breast Forms Original (Replies Disabled)

Brassieres Original (Replies Disabled)

Aerobics Original (Replies Disabled)

Bubble Baths Original (Replies Disabled)

Treadmill Training Original (Replies Disabled)

Female Icon / Avatar Original (Replies Disabled)

One Piece Swimsuit Original (Replies Disabled)

Enema Original (Replies Disabled)

Evaluation #1 Original (Replies Disabled)

Still looking for some blogs of friends, so DM me and say Hi !!!

[ghoulsverse]

Chapter One [Intro]: Nice to Meet You?

[Summary] Wanda returns to Westeview and comes face to face with what she's done. 1.8k words | [Tags] Angst, Sad!Wanda

Chapter Index

Next Chapter

The silence was the worst part. After the roar of collapsing universes, the screams of the damned, and the final destruction of Wundagore, the quiet that followed was a suffocating shroud. Wanda Maximoff existed within it, stuck in the wreck of her own making. Guilt was a constant.

She’d found refuge, of a sort, in a remote cabin nestled deep within snow-dusted mountains, far from any prying eyes or lingering magical signatures that might betray her location. Days bled into nights, marked only by the meager meals she forced herself to eat and the fitful hours spent pouring over ancient texts, searching not for power, but for something else… Atonement? Understanding? Oblivion? She didn’t know anymore. All she knew was the emptiness where her children’s laughter should have been, where Vision’s presence should have grounded her.

Westview had been a desperate act. An open wound lashed out upon reality. Frowning, Wanda closed her eyes, letting herself feel every emotion. She decided it was time to face her sins. Returning to Westview.

Wanda took her time traveling back to New Jersey, most of that time spent feeling anxious. Anxious over the reactions of people, in her mind she saw an angry mob formed with torches and pitchforks like in Frankenstein. As much as she loved the classics, she wasn't Frankenstein. Frankenstein wasn't the monster, his creator was, and in this story, she was the creator. Forcing an entire town to live in her own reality, one that they didn’t want. She was the monster here.

She dealt with the stares and hushed whispers, people crossing to the other side of the street and the look of fear in their eyes as she walked past. All to walk up to her own home, or what should have been her home, covered in graffiti calling her an evil witch. She didn’t feel sadness or anger when she saw the words written on the concrete foundation, she felt understanding.

This was her punishment.

The lot was hers since no one wanted to buy it after she lifted the Hex, and what better way to atone for her actions than to rebuild her life from the ground up?

She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the concrete foundation, sweeping off the dust and leaves, and scrubbing the paint off the side. It felt safe to do the entire project without magic. It was therapeutic in a way, like forcing herself to focus on something tangible, something that didn’t change with her emotions. The weight of each motion, of every scrub and every sweep, grounded her, like she was actively working toward some sort of repair, if not of the town, then of herself.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, she decided to head out of town to find a motel to stay in. No place in Westview would allow her to stay, so she found a small motel in Eastview that took pity on her, agreeing to let her stay if she did a bit of housekeeping for them until her house was rebuilt. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She opened the door to her room and looked around at the dingy and under-kept conditions. This was her punishment.

Wanda spent the entire night tossing and turning, barely getting any sleep. She stopped at the grocery store to get something to put in her stomach, even though she couldn't stomach much. This was how she would start over.

With only a few vegetables and snacks in hand, she left to head to the home improvement store to get some items to begin rebuilding her home.

Then she saw you.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up. Your eyes met hers across the street. There was no fear in your expression, no shock. Instead, a slow, warm smile spread across your face, a look of such genuine, uncomplicated affection that it struck Wanda like a physical blow.

"Wanda," you called out, your voice gentle, familiar. "You're back early today."

Wanda. Not the Scarlet Witch. Not the monster who tore through Kamar-Taj. Just… Wanda. The version of her that existed here, apparently. The version you smiled at with such open adoration, your cheeks flushing slightly.

She expected everyone in Westview to still hate her for what she did, but you didn’t. It unnerved her. There was something else, something was off about you. Something she couldn't put her finger on. She wanted to look away, to hide, but instead, she found herself frozen in place, as if she were a child caught doing something wrong. As if she were still that girl, hiding behind an illusion of family, of happiness.

“She hasn’t been the same… since you.” A passerby hissed at her, disdain clear in their voice.

“What?” Wanda felt sick.

“When you left, she stayed stuck. Still thinks she lives in the past.”

Nausea churned with a bitter, possessive longing. You were here. Still trapped. Trapped in her creation, a cage built from her subconscious desires and tainted magic. And you were looking at the very source of your imprisonment, with eyes full of burgeoning love.

The urge to rip it all down, to shatter the facade and pull you out with a deeper, more potent fear. If she broke the spell, if she showed you the jagged, broken thing she truly was, stained by the Darkhold and soaked in blood and grief… that adoration in your eyes would turn to ash. You wouldn't be so nice to the real Wanda. Nobody did.

She stood frozen on the street, suddenly feeling a desperate, terrifying need to save you and also to run for the hills.

This was her punishment.

So she ran. Wanda ducked her head down and continued on with her day, a deep weight settling in her stomach and in her heart.

The entire time she was working on rebuilding her house, her body was moving on autopilot, her mind moving a million miles a minute. Seeing you made her think, how many other people were stuck in their minds? How many people were stuck in the reality she created?

“Finally fixing it up?”

She froze, instinctively turning to where your voice came from, her eyes wide.

You looked at her sweetly, a smile reaching your eyes. “Sorry, Wanda. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“O-oh, no-no problem.”

“I was just wondering if you decided to fix up the house finally?”

Wanda stood up from her spot and awkwardly played with her hands. “Y-yeah, I guess it felt like a good thing to do.”

“By yourself?”

She just nodded.

“Well, props to you, I could never. If you decide you need a snack while you’re hard working, feel free to stop by. I’m still just two houses down.” You smile at her softly before readjusting the bag of groceries in your hand and turning to head back to your own house, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil Wanda's feeling.

Wanda watched you walk away, the cheerful swing of the grocery bag a stark contrast to the leaden weight settling deeper within her chest. Two houses down. So close. Living in a gentle memory while Wanda stood in the harsh sunlight of reality, surrounded by the literal and figurative wreckage of her actions. You saw the Wanda from the fantasy, the one who maybe deserved such simple comforts, not the woman scrubbing hateful graffiti off a foundation, trying to rebuild something from ashes she herself had created.

She sank back onto her heels, the rough concrete scraping against her jeans. The hammer felt heavy and useless in her hand. Rebuilding this house piece by painful piece felt like a tangible act of repentance, something solid she could focus on. But you… you were different. A living, breathing consequence, trapped not by physical walls but by the magic she’d desperately tried to leave behind.

The passerby’s words echoed… “She hasn’t been the same… since you.” Since Wanda left.

Since Wanda ripped away the illusion for everyone else, but somehow, you remained tethered to it. Why? Was it some quirk of the magic? Something specific to you? Or just another random cruelty dealt by forces she barely understood?

Her atonement couldn’t just be manual labor and glares, it had to include fixing what she broke within people, too. Especially you.

Later that evening, after forcing down a few bites of the meager groceries she’d bought and enduring another tense check-in at the Eastview motel, Wanda found herself drawn back. Not to the lot, shrouded in darkness, but down the quiet street, towards your house. She stayed in the shadows across the road, a phantom watching the warm light spill from your windows. She didn’t dare use her magic overtly, terrified of strengthening the illusion or causing more damage. Instead, she reached out tentatively with her senses.

There it was. Faint, almost imperceptible, but undeniably hers. Threads of chaos magic, woven into a soothing, repetitive pattern. It wasn't the suffocating blanket of the Hex, it was softer, more personal, like a favorite song playing endlessly on repeat, designed to comfort. It clung specifically to your house, to you. It seemed the Hex hadn't fully lifted here, it had just collapsed inward, keeping you in a personalized memory bubble.

A porch light flicked on, and Wanda instinctively pulled back further into the shadows as your front door opened. You stepped out, holding a small plate covered loosely with a napkin. You glanced towards Wanda's dark, empty lot, a soft, almost melancholic smile on your face, before looking up and down the quiet street. You seemed hesitant, perhaps debating whether to leave the plate on the foundation for Wanda to find tomorrow. After a moment, you sighed softly, shook your head, and went back inside, the lock clicking softly in the night.

Wanda leaned her head back against the rough bark of a tree, closing her eyes. Seeing you, seeing the lingering magic, seeing the simple, persistent kindness you held onto for a version of her that never truly existed… it solidified something within her. Fear with protective determination. Rebuilding the house was one thing. Freeing you was another.

It wouldn’t be easy. Breaking the illusion might shatter the gentle peace you currently existed in. Facing the reality of what Wanda had done, who she truly was now, might destroy the affection you held. It might break you. And it might break Wanda, facing that rejection.

But she had to try. Leaving you trapped wasn't atonement… it was cowardice.

This, too, was her punishment. And maybe, just maybe, her path to actually fixing something that mattered. She turned away from the warm glow of your house, the weight in her chest now mingled with a fragile, dangerous resolve. Tomorrow, she would continue rebuilding the house. And tomorrow, she would start figuring out how to bring you back.

Next Chapter

[thedbahub]

A Comprehensive Guide to Tackling Fragmentation in SQL Server 2022: Strategies and T-SQL Techniques

Fragmentation is a common issue in database management, affecting performance, storage efficiency, and overall system responsiveness. In SQL Server 2022, understanding and addressing fragmentation is crucial for maintaining optimal database performance. This guide provides practical T-SQL examples to help you identify, analyze, and mitigate fragmentation. Understanding…

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Unbearable Itching

“Get a grip. You’re a grown man, for goodness��� sake!” he berates himself.

But old habits die hard. Even as a little boy, he hated coarse fabric against his bare skin. He turned his t-shirts inside-out when his mother refused to remove the labels. The more worn and softened they were, the more he relaxed. He couldn’t stand it when he started to outgrow them, and constantly needed new ones. It took weeks before they transformed into how he needed them to be.

Not for the first time, Sherlock wonders why it’s only his torso that reacts to stiff and itchy fabrics. He never needed to wear his pants inside-out, despite the label in the back. 

Freak!

The word that has haunted him his entire life, appears, unwelcome even now.

***

When Baker Street blew up, all his clothes were ruined. Sherlock hadn’t given it much thought until he realised, he couldn’t wear the same clothes for weeks without changing them for new and itchy ones. His rant, directed at Mycroft, unfair as it was, didn’t make him feel any better. 

Mycroft knew his secret, and to his credit has bought the softest t-shirts available, and removed every label, but still Sherlock is in agony.

John has never noticed this, but now, as they rebuild 221B together, Sherlock registers that John has changed. He’s far more perceptible than before. It must have something to do with becoming a father, Sherlock thinks. 

“What’s wrong?” John asks when Sherlock throws a paint-tainted rug across the sitting room.

“Nothing,” Sherlock mumbles and scratches his nails over his chest.

His t-shirt gets pulled out of his trousers when Sherlock lifts his arm to reach the itch just above his shoulder blades. A gasp from John, stills Sherlock’s movements.

Shit, shit, shit!

John is not meant to see this. What will he think when – 

“Sherlock,” John says carefully. “Where does this rash come from, and why haven’t you got a prescription for a cream or ointment?”

When Sherlock waves it away without answering, John places his paintbrush on the tray, and approaches Sherlock.

“Let me have – “

“Not necessary,” Sherlock interrupts him.

“Look here, smartarse. I’m the doctor here, so let me be the judge, yeah.”

Before Sherlock can move away, John is there, lifting the t-shirt higher, exposing the alabaster skin, stained with pink blotches. Sherlock desperately wants, needs, to get moving, but now John’s fingers are stroking, soothing the itching, and God, it feels good. A strangled sound escapes him, and he feels his face blushing.

“John, please,” he whispers, uncertain of what he pleads for exactly.

“Shh,” John soothes, and continues to stroke his torso. “New clothes, yes?”

Sherlock hums in agreement, to his embarrassment leaning into John’s touch. He wants to hide, but John won’t let him.

“Take it off. You can have mine,” John says.

He withdraws and pulls his own, worn, soft t-shirt off, standing bare-chested in front of Sherlock. It takes all his willpower not to reach out to touch the golden skin of his best friend, the man he loves more than anything, the man he’s died for, and will die for again if it means that John Watson lives.

John’s t-shirt is far too small for Sherlock’s taller frame, but it’s soft, and more importantly; it smells of John. Sherlock inhales and strokes down the fabric with trembling hands.

“Better?” John asks fondly.

Sherlock looks at him and starts to chuckle. John looks like a schoolboy wearing his father’s clothes. Despite the tight fit of the tee, it’s far too long for John’s torso, but it clings beautifully to his broad chest and shoulders, Sherlock thinks.

John glares at him in mock annoyance, and Sherlock can’t help himself. He dips his index finger in the white paint, smearing a stripe on John’s cheek. John’s eyes widen in surprise, before he narrows them into slits, and attacks.

The air leaves Sherlock’s lungs when he hits the floor, though his head is carefully cupped by John’s hand.

“Git,” John growls, letting his left hand tickle Sherlock relentlessly until Sherlock begs for mercy.

“John, stop! I can’t stand it anymore. Plea – “

The last word is effectively stopped when John’s lips connect with Sherlock’s. As the kiss deepens, Sherlock feels like floating in the ocean, no more itching. In its wake only waves of pleasure and softness remain. And John. Always John.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

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(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[graveyardshiftcryptid]

Okay so over the years the Nevermore staff and students get used to Wednesday and her affinity of attracting disaster. They devise a way to figure out how bad it is based on her sidekick of choice.

Enid calls it the Support Character Disaster Index (tm).

Level 1 the Girlfriend (Wednesday asks for Enid's help): Everything is likely fine, something is going down but it's unlikely to disrupt the majority of school life. Maybe a light murder or minor property damage. Business as usual.

Level 1.5 the best friend (Eugene): Bees are swarming, do not engage. They can handle it, call in Enid for clean up. There's nothing to see here. Probable torture, the nurse will be busy so don't bother. Business as usual, bring bug spray if allergic.

Level 2 the Rival (Bianca): Shit is a little fucked but still probably fine. A few classes may be cancelled, fencing may not happen without the captains. Stay alert but no panic is needed. It's probably a little arson or a normie causing trouble, no biggie.

Level 3 the Acquaintance (Wednesday refuses to admit Divina is actually a solid friend): Okay, we're in trouble. No classes are happening, shit is getting real. Stay in your dorm, do not go out, do not get in their way. The school may be under literal attack, hellhounds may be involved.

Level 4 the imbecile (Yoko has entered the chat): OH FUCK. We are at DEFCON 1. Flee for your lives, abandon ship, every man for himself. Addams is in deep shit and the usual methods aren't working so we're going with plan z - codename: "so dumb it has to work". The school may need rebuilding again.

[mastercucco]

Hateno Boy - Part 1 - Link x Reader

The Calamity is gone, but so is Link’s purpose. He feels completely lost in post-Calamity Hyrule where everyone but him seem to have found their new place.

It certainly doesn’t help his restless nights that you, a young Hylian whom Zelda has hired as the new teacher at Hateno School, are slowly taking up more and more of his headspace with each conversation you two have.

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Mature (might go up, might go down, let's see) Contains: feel-good, slow burn romance; platonic Link/Zelda; Link being an angsty retired hero Chapter Index | Read on Ao3 A/N: Very excited to write something possibly disgustingly cute. The story takes place after the events in BotW but before the beginning of TotK. All characters are adults! I hope you enjoy the story! xx

Chapter 1 - Purpose

Contains: Link being an angsty retired hero; Zelda being embarrassed by Link's inability to talk to girls (or other human beings in general) Word count: ~1,3k A/N: Please look past any weird sentences, English isn't my first language :p

A breath of warm air blows from the sea, gentle on skin and smelling of sea salt. The wind hurries over the hills of Necluda, tall grass bowing before it like waves on an emerald green ocean. Once it reaches Link sitting on top of the hills, it gently tugs on his hair and pushes his hood down.

He has been sitting there for quite some time now – so long that the tips of his ears are starting to redden from the wind, as gentle as it is. The sun that was high up when he arrived at the hills, is now hanging low over the horizon. It is soon time for him to go; Zelda asked him in the morning to stop by the school before sundown.

He is alone, as he is on most days nowadays. There isn’t much for him to do: Zelda is busy rebuilding Hateno, the recently finished village school her new pride and joy. And when she isn’t mingling with the villagers, she’s kept busy with her research at the Tech Lab. She doesn’t require an escort anymore, not after Purah hired a young researcher to assist them decipher ancient Zonai texts anyway. The man rarely leaves Zelda’s side when the two of them are together – which is often. Very often.

Link was jealous at first. After all, he is the Princess’ appointed knight, and he is the one who wields the Master Sword, and he is the one who saved Zelda’s life – not some overly excited, self-proclaimed explorer with a stupidly tall frame and an apparent distaste for wearing upper garments that hide his muscles.

Eventually, his jealousy morphed into loneliness – something he did a terrible job of hiding from Zelda. She asked him if he wanted to return to Hyrule Castle to help the Royal Guard in training new soldiers. Link said no, that he likes it here in Hateno.

“I wouldn’t mind if you go,” Zelda said, gently placing her hand on top of his, “I can see how lost you are here.”

Somehow, Zelda seeing straight through his lies and offering him kindness hurt more than her asking Link to leave in the first place. After that, Link couldn’t help but feel even more uncertain and disconnected. Everyone had seemingly moved on, everyone but him. While he still remains close with Zelda, honoring his duty, accompanying her whenever she travels outside of Hateno, even living with her, he knows deep down that she doesn’t need him anymore. The Calamity is gone, and so is his purpose.

The sun hangs low when Link arrives at Hateno School. The sky is flaring in shades of red, reminding Link of a cozy fire under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be. The school’s front doors are open, but the playground is silent and the windows are dark, all except one. It has been a while since Link last visited the school. The children adore him, which is exactly why he prefers to stay away. Their looks of admiration and curious questions make him uneasy. Ever since moving to Hateno, all he has wanted is to lay low, going as far as to hide his head-turning Champion’s tunic in the bottom of his drawer. He wanted to throw the tunic away, but Zelda wouldn’t let him.

He can already hear Zelda’s excited chattering when he reaches the open doors and quietly steps inside. Zelda is having an eager conversation with a young Hylian woman – you – whom Link doesn’t remember seeing before. He does remember Zelda telling him about a new teacher she hired a few months back, and he figures it must be you.

You notice Link arriving before Zelda does and give him a polite smile in greeting. Only when he lightly taps on Zelda’s shoulder does she stop talking and turn around.

“Oh, Link,” she smiles. “You have impeccable timing. We were just talking about you!”

Link furrows his brow. Great, just great, he thinks, already feeling the tips of his ears growing warmer.

“Only good things,” you assure with an awkward laugh. “The Princess told me you made the apple pie she brought the other day.”

Link hopes that the dim light of the oil lamps is enough to hide his red ears. He clears his throat, though not even intending to say anything.

“I don’t think you two have met before, have you?” Zelda says, giving Link an encouraging nudge.

Even after all the years spent in royal banquets practicing formal pleasantries with Hyrule’s nobility, Link still feels awkward having to introduce himself. Nonetheless, he extends his hand for a greeting. When you offer him yours, he brings it to his lips and gives your knuckles a polite kiss. Your skin feels soft and pleasant, he thinks, now horribly self-aware of just how sweaty his own palm is.

When he looks back at you, even he can pick up the awkward tension in your smile and words as you introduce yourself. He feels his whole face heat up, not really understanding what he did wrong but knowing he must have, because even Zelda has the same tension in her smile as you do.

“He is very accustomed to his formal greetings from his days at the Castle,” Zelda says with a forced smile and gives Link a look. Only then does he realize that a hand kiss, though adequate in greeting a noble woman, is not something you, a village school teacher, was expecting from a Royal Knight. He would apologize, but his mouth is dry and no words come out.

“And, well, you probably already know of Link,” Zelda breaks the uncomfortable silence after it becomes clear Link isn’t going to introduce himself.

“The Hero of Hyrule,” you say, knowingly. “We have actually met before.”

We have? Link thinks, the heat of embarrassment getting unbearable. All he wants to do is run home and hide under his bed covers for the rest of eternity. This is why he rarely leaves their home or willingly socializes with the villagers. He would cringe if he wasn’t too embarrassed to move his face muscles.

“You have?” asks Zelda out loud, her disapproving eyes boring into Link’s.

“It was years ago,” you are quick to add. “He took refuge in our family home once. I wouldn’t blame him for not remembering.”

Zelda doesn’t appear quite as understanding when she shoots another scolding look at Link, the pink in her own cheeks deepening as well. “Please,” she says as she turns back to you, “accept my apology. Link can be awfully forgetful sometimes.” She gives him a final glare that, at last, makes him drop his head. He’s not sure if dying of embarrassment is a real occurrence, but if it is, then he must be very close to leaving Hyrule for good.

“It’s quite alright, Your Highness,” you say with a slightly uneasy laugh that fails to fully mask your discomfort. “I don’t mind it, really. Like I said, it was years ago.”

There is an uncomfortable silence between the three of you. Then Zelda claps her hands, and the tension breaks like a taut rubber band. Link sighs, relieved.

“Well,” Zelda says, “now that we are done with introductions, perhaps we can show Link the curriculum we’ve been working on? I’m sure he can give us his opinion on the section about monster parts and their usage in elixirs.”

When you turn to look for something from your writing table’s drawers, Link grabs Zelda’s sleeve and gives her a pleading look. Zelda narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do not even think of fleeing” she hisses in his ear before she hurries over to you to help you with a pile of scrolls close to toppling over. Link lets out a silent grunt and looks longingly at the open doors. The sun has gone down, the sky now the same shade as embers cooling down under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be.

Chapter 2 - Heromania »

[ultra-raging-ghost]

According to bad, "Worst case scenario: you die and reset! But if you dont wanna reset, you just gotta deal with it. Problem is the longer you live, [...] your mind is like a library, the bigger your library is. So me, mouse, tina, we've got massive libraries! So its not like we lose any of our memories, but like how do you find one book in that library? You have an index! Resetting just... is like deleting that index. [...] So you still have the memories, theyre still there, but your library's really big, so it takes a while to rebuild that index."

[stereopticons]

On this Day in Schitt's Creek: February 22

2018

when your sister has lice, sleep with your business partner [david/patrick, M, 5,167] by mihaly

When Alexis has lice, David stays with Patrick instead of Stevie.

2019

Without a Paddle [mulder/scully, M, 6,346] by ScullyGolightly

Mulder and Scully investigate a case in the town of Schitt's Creek

2020

Blizzard Preparedness [david/patrick, G, 563] by @doublel27

David keeps getting distracted during Patrick’s lecture on blizzard preparedness.

Good Defense [david/patrick, T, 1,905] by bigficenergy

Sebastien Raine returns. Patrick's having none of it.

I'm Helping [david/patrick, T, 620] by thegrayness

David 'helps' Patrick assemble his new desk. For prompt #17 from RosebuddWrites: "I don't understand"/On the floor

One More [david/patrick, E, 7,441] by @samwhambam

“You’re so good at that,” David said. He pulled at Patrick’s shirt, pulling it up so he could press his fingers against the warm skin of Patrick’s lower back. “Being used?” Patrick asked, his voice light. “Helping people get what they want,” David responded, refining Patrick’s answer. * Patrick tells David about an experience he had in college that leaves David panting and leads to a conversation about them having fun with a crowd.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? [david/patrick, E, 29,230] by @mostlyinthemorning

All David wants is to order some flowers. What he gets is a very cute, very snippy shopkeeper who he can't stop thinking about.After taking over his parents' shop, Patrick feels like he's being crushed by the weight of expectations. Until he meets someone who turns everything upside down.

2021

A New Dawn, A New Day [david/patrick, T, 16,383] by BiblioPan

Mandy Greenhorn, former step-daughter of Wendy, gets her first job working at Rose Apothecary over the summer. She learns about customer service and more than she ever imagined!

Always, Then, & Now [david/patrick, T, 9,117] by @my-nameless-bliss

“Hypothetically, David. Not about us, not about me. Just as a concept. Conceptually, what do you think about marriage?”David swallows. “Why?”“Because it’s what you do.” Patrick goes back to his laundry, goes back to folding his fucking underwear like he didn’t just corner David halfway into a panic attack. “When you’re in a relationship, at some point, you gotta have The Talk. It’s not a plan; it’s just to see if you’re on the same page.”David sniffs, hoping it comes across as unimpressed. “Sounds fake.” David’s never really thought much about marriage. He’s never had a reason to, before. Patrick gives him a reason.

Costa Rica [david/patrick, T, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Déjà vu (Or: What's Wrong with Wednesdays) [david/patrick, T, 12,445] by @beaiola

“’Fraid you got a little problem with your hand cream, pal.” On the patch of skin between Roland’s thumb and index finger, the skin is pink and inflamed. The main sore spot is maybe an inch or two in diameter, the rest of the hand also blotchy and red. “Itches like hell.” Ew. - A number of people in town have rashes and all signs point to Rose Apothecary as being the source. David and Patrick set out to discover out what's going on while dealing with the negative publicity surrounding the mystery and trying to rebuild their reputation.

falling into place like dominos [stevie & alexis, M, 4,897] by @roseapothecary

Alexis spins the bottle and Stevie doesn’t know if she wants it to stop in front of her, or if she’s hoping it points literally anywhere else. She thinks she’ll figure it out when it stops moving, but… even with the neck of the bottle unmistakably pointing at her foot, she still can’t identify what the feeling is. Is that happiness or dread settling in the pit of her stomach? Since when do those completely different things feel exactly the same? If she’s being honest, though, it feels like a combination of things. It’s that feeling you get right before you do something you know you might regret later… like throwing back a jello shot (which she wishes she had done), calling an ex at 3am, or maybe jumping out of a plane. David and Patrick hold a second housewarming party, this time at their newly-renovated cottage. For old times' sake, they decide to play spin the bottle. Meanwhile, Stevie has been wrestling with her feelings for Alexis since she left for New York... and it never occurred to her that those feelings could flow both ways.

I like where you sleep (when you sleep next to me) [david/patrick, T, 874] by @blackandwhiteandrose

Patrick leaned in, rocking up on his tiptoes for a sweet kiss. “Do you still want to?” David hated that Patrick even had to ask. This shouldn’t be a thing. He should just be able to say ‘yes’ and just do it. Because he wanted to. Because he’d always wanted to.

I want your midnights [jake/twyla, M, 666] by @sarahlevys

"Remember: consent is the sexiest, respect the safewords you're given, and in this house, we practice 'no glove, no love.'" Jake swallows some of his beer, then adds, "And if anyone's interested, we're gonna be winding down after the festivities with a special post-coital seance." Jake diversifies his whiskey nights with help from his partner.

Oh, Brother [patrick & alexis, G, 932] by @delilah-mcmuffin

The morning after Moira Rosé, Alexis has some feelings about her brother(s).

something worth fighting for [david/patrick, G, 598] by budd

David helps Patrick decorate his new apartment and is met with a piece of decor that leaves him with questions.

Swiping Regret [ray & ronnie, T, 3,197] by @treepyful

Ray’s adventures on Bumpkin: the aftermath of five bad dates and one good one.

The Dock Where it Happens [david/patrick, M, 1,527] by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 and @vivianblakesunrisebay

David and Patrick want to explore uncharted territory together and it goes a little something like this. Or The tender, soft-focus, dialogue-only docking fic you’ve been waiting for.

What a Way to Make a Livin' [david/patrick, G, 4,498] by @sweatersinthesummer

Rose Apothecary is doing well. It's time to hire some help!

2022

A Budding Proposal [david/patrick, T, 1,584] by canyouhearthefandomscrying

Patrick asks Stevie for her blessing to propose to David.

A Pizza the Action [david/patrick, G, 868] by @a-noble-dragon

Assuming his husband to still be tucked up in bed, Patrick makes his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on and fix himself and David a healthy breakfast. He lifts the bottom of his shirt as he walks, wiping the sweat off his face and brow, and exposing his stomach to the cooler air of the kitchen. "Hmmph guh!" The noise makes Patrick startle. His shirt drops from his grasp as he takes in the sight of a wide eyed David, mouth stuffed full of pizza, standing over the garbage can and looking caught.

Coming Home [david/patrick, G, 2,156] by chilleddew

“You’re wearing my hoodie.”Patrick immediately stiffens against him, flushing pink as he glances down at the black and white material. It takes him a moment to respond. “Is that ok?”

Ray Butani: Undercover Matchmaker [david/patrick, G, 1,784] by @weathereyehorizon

It was no coincidence that Patrick took that fateful B13 appointment, but rather an expertly executed plan by Ray Butani: Schitt's Creek’s Undercover Matchmaker.

Scripture says [david/patrick, T, poetry]

So God created man in His own image

Take One [david/patrick, M, 2,007] by @frizzlenox

“I’m glad you were cast. I may have thrown your name out there when the writers brought up giving me a new love interest.” Patrick Brewer is the newest cast member on a primetime drama, the new love interest to longstanding cast member David Rose. A meet-cute.

2023

I Want A Rose, not Sand (And Stone Pallette) [david & twyla, G, 6,066] by DavidRoseIsMySpiritAnimal

"It was a chance remark by Roland, of all people, that really started the chain of events that followed." **** Or, Twyla realises that the Cafe and it's food isn't really good. As the new owner and lover of all townspeople, she decides to change things. Who better to guide her in planning than the resident expert of art, culture and taste- David Rose? Alternatively; Twyla wants better, David is consulted and Twyla's Cafe Tropical is born.

The Seven [david/patrick, T, 1,685] by obsessedwithdavrick

David's life is a mess, but the lovely Barista at a new cafe brings him hope.

What He Heard [david/patrick, M, 5,400] by KayeKaye

A 5+1 tale of the funny, touching, awkward, and intimate moments Ray encounters with Patrick Brewer (and David Rose?) as his friend and roommate.

2024

the future is a wishing well [ted/alexis, M, 2,769] by JewFlexive

“I don’t think that was an adult kiss,” Alexis says carefully as she stares up at Ted’s ceiling. There’s a stain on it from when she tried to make him a birthday cake, back when they were dating. It had gone terribly and she’d tried very hard not to be absolutely mortified at how carefully she’d worked at getting every little thing just right just to fail so miserably. It’s difficult for her, being careful, always has been, but after the broken engagement—okay fine, broken engagements, plural—she’s been trying to be more careful with Ted. He’s not like her other ex-boyfriends. He’s breakable. Human, even. Ew, some part of Alexis that’s still sunbathing on that nude beach in Santorini cringes. A larger part of her just feels sad. For him, but for her, too.

Stats:

No fanworks in 2017 2018: 1 fic/5,167 words 2019: 1 fic (x-files crossover lol)/6,346 words 2020: 5 fics/39,759 words 2021: 12 fics/55,434 words 2022: 6 fanworks (5 fics, 1 poem)/8,596 words 2023: 3 fics/13,151 words 2024: 1 fic/2,796 words Total: 29 fanworks (28 fics, 1 poem)/131,249 words

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: These Summer Storms by Sarah MacLean

4.5/5. Releases 7/8/25.

Heat Index: 5/10

—Succession vibes but make it lighter

—stuck on an island

—lost siblings finding each other again

—a stern, stern, hot, hot man

The Basics:

Alice hasn't spoken to her family in years—certainly not her father, billionaire Franklin Storm. But his death does draw her back to the family's private island... running into Jack, a man who turns out to be Franklin's fixer and the executor of a rather interesting inheritance game. Each of the siblings has a task to complete; and each task is, in its own unique way, a punch to the gut. There are secrets to uncover and bonds to rebuild—but is either of those things even possible amongst the Storms?

The Review:

Sarah MacLean is an icon of historical romance—so yeah, it raised some eyebrows when she announced a contemporary that wasn't even a romance. As a MacLean connoisseur, I'm here to assure you that, yeah, this is really, really good. And yes, it's a classic MacLean in a lot of ways, albeit with a different shape.

And... while it doesn't fit the romance genre, exactly, there is a killer romance subplot. (Technically two, though one is more prominent than the other.) It is hot, and it will, I'm so sure, please those looking for a MacLean romance fix.

But the reason why it's fair to call this not-a-romance is that ultimately, this is the story of a family. It gives a little Succession (not nearly as dark, but with its own commentary on late-stage capitalism), a little Arrested Development (albeit with a good bit more drama and emotion), and a bit of a great drama with a bit of gloss, a la Big Little Lies (the show more so than the book).

Each of the Storms comes to life in their own unique way, though Alice is ultimately our core protagonist. She's the artist who separated herself from the family physically, but not quite emotionally—daddy issues galore (but isn't that all of them?) and ready to blow it all up... but not without pain. Greta, the oldest of her siblings, is their mother's shadow, devoting herself to a family that doesn't seem to offer any devotion in turn. Sam, the only son, is following in his father's footsteps in name only, unhappily married, annoying as hell, and somehow hilarious (his challenge dealt by Franklin is by far the funniest) and oddly endearing. Emily, the youngest, is very witchy woo woo and seemingly without the shackles her older siblings seem to feel. But why?

I mean, I didn't even get into the mother, Elisabeth. MacLean weaves a classic grand dame there, alternating between loathsome and horribly human. She has several moments I found utterly despicable; yet she was also completely compelling. And, I mean—points were made.

Let's circle back to that main romance subplot and talk about Daddy's fixer, the true Daddy of the novel, Jack. If you need a MacLean hero in your life, look no further. If we're being real, Alice is the heroine and Jack is the love interest more than a hero, but damn, does he have those MacLean hallmarks. He's stern, he's ultra-competent, he throws a punch in Alice's name with incredibly efficiency, and BOY does the man deliver a line. I was swooning. And frankly. despite the fact that MacLean is juggling (extremely well) the character development of an entire family, Jack has his own arc and his relationship with Alice feels fully formed. It's hot, it's a little dreamy, and I was as sold on it as I would be with any of her historical romances.

So if you're a "romance or die" person made a little curious by the author involved... I recommend giving this a shot. I used to read a lot more contemporary fiction than I do now. But this has me kind of really wanting MacLean to write more along these lines. I mean, don't get me wrong—more historical romance as soon as she's got it ready. More historical romance FOREVER (and romance in general if she wants to try other subgenres; I'll read anything she writes, frankly). But this gave me the kinds of feelings that are hard to get from a contemporary—sweeping and epic, even if the drama is very interior.

This is a family drama at the end of the day, and it's deftly done. Anyone who has a complex relationship with their father (don't we all?) is bound to feel a bit of a gut punch. While the ending had me smiling, it doesn't wrap everything up with a perfect bow and promise there will be zero challenges ahead for our Storms. And that kind of added a bit of gorgeousness to it all. Things don't have to be perfect for us to grow; they don't have to be flawless for us be fulfilled.

The Sex:

There isn't a ton of sex on the page here, but I kind of expected... a full closed door situation, maybe? And nope! This is not that! I am happy to say that Sarah MacLean dials up to heat exactly when you need it in this book. And Jack can play the game with any of her 1800s boys.

The Conclusion:

These Summer Storms is evocative, a little soapy in the best possible way, and, in some ways, a throwback. Pick it up ASAP.

(And uh, let's call out those billionaires, yeah?)

Thanks to Ballantine Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.