#sketched it the very night before everything went to shit

[astragatwo]

For the drawing requests, do you mind drawing Adam lobcorp? Thank uuu so much :))

[dinodanicus]

you can skip this wall of text its just about the scam this illustration was involved in.

This fairly ordinary illustration of two hands holding was involved in a very weird and convoluted scam. Last month I was commission to illustrate this image for invitations meant to go out for a supposed wedding anniversary coming up in March. The whole commission seemed odd to me I mainly draw dinosaurs and aliens. Not many people know I also draw people but the buyer who called himself Petterson Reid was offering to pay 300 up front and 200 after the work was finished. A nice offer for what was a very simple illustration. I took the job and sent him a very rough sketch of the hands to show him what the final image might look like. He liked the sketch and told me to finish the image after he sent the first payment I went ahead and finished the image that night. I held onto the picture to see if he would really send the 300 dollars first. The buyer wanted to send a check by mail which is weird but I thought he might have been a boomer who didn't understand how to use PayPal. His emails and text seemed like something my grandmother would write very proper and overly polite. I was fairly suspicious of him and waited to see if a check would actually be delivered. To my surprise a check did arrive a week later from Petterson Reid except it was for 2,790 dollars. knowing this was far too much money I asked him if it was a mistake. He said the extra money was for a PayPal invoice to the printers involved in the invitations. He wanted me to use the extra money on the check to pay the printers on his behalf. Again very weird but I chalked it up to an old person who didn't know how to pay online. I cashed the check the next day, since it was from an out of state bank they were putting it on hold for 3 days to see if the funds would clear. I told the buyer about the three day waiting period and asked for the invoice I was suppose to be paying and he went absolutely ape shit. He claimed I was trying to steal his money and was threatening to pursue legal action I was completely shocked by the change in attitude. I had to mute my phone because he kept sending wave after wave of threatening texts. At this point I was 90% sure this was some sort of scam but when I called the bank they said there was nothing to do until the hold expired. I was confident it wouldn't then to my surprise the check cleared and the money was in my account. At this point I had the finished artwork and the money so I wanted to get this crazy asshole on his way so I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. I told him to send the invoice for the printer and I would pay it with the money on the check then I would send the picture and our business would be done. This prick sends some half assed looking invoice with a payable link on PayPal. When I try to pay, it says payment will be held till Feb 7th. Apparently this date is too late for the printers so now that processing payment has been canceled by the printer in favor of a new payment process through Zelle. I was trying to figure out what was going on, if its a scam what is the take the entirety of the check was still in my account it didn't even say it was pending. I go to pay on Zelle and discover the 2,790 dollars has been rescinded by the bank. I call and learn this ass hair had sent a forged check to the bank in an effort to have me pay these fake invoices with my own money. He guessed the bank would deposit the check without fully vetting it for the standard 10 days since I'm a long time member. He knew he had until about five a clock that day before the bank would catch the discrepancy. He was posing as the printer in order to scam 4,740 dollars from me through both attempted payment methods. luckily for me I'm broke as hell right now and didn't have the money in my own account to cover either payment with out the check. everything has been taken care of now I just thought I better share this story since I've never seen a scam like this before. It took an entire month for him to essentially get nothing I really don't know what to think of any of this its such a weird scheme.

[shitwillnotbegiven]

All of Elain mentions in Acosf 🌸

True hell, because that was Elain lying on the stone floor with the red-haired, one-eyed Fae male hovering over her. Because those were pointed ears poking through her sister’s sodden gold-brown hair, and an immortal glow radiating from Elain’s fair skin.

***

And the sound of that voice, the voice of the male who had done this to Elain …

***

The King of Hybern—he had done this. To Elain. To Cassian.

***

The Cauldron struggled like a bird under a cat’s paw. She refused to relent.

Everything it had stolen from her, from Elain, she would take from it.

***

Prologue

🌸

He sketched a bow, not daring to take his eyes off her. She’d emerged from the Cauldron with … gifts. Considerable gifts—dark ones. But no one had seen nor felt any sign of them since that last battle with Hybern, since Amren had shattered the Cauldron and Feyre and Rhys had managed to heal it. Elain, too, had revealed no indication of her seer’s abilities since then.

***

Feyre and Elain had tried to convince her to move. She’d always ignored their advice. Just as she’d ignore whatever was said today. She knew Feyre planned a scolding. Perhaps something to do with the fact that Nesta had signed last night’s outrageous tab at the tavern to her sister’s bank account.

***

It was the King of Hybern’s fault. She knew that. But it was hers, too. Just as it was her fault that Elain had been captured by the Cauldron after Nesta spied on it with that scrying, her fault that Hybern had done such terrible things to hunt her and her sister down like a deer.

***

Cassian held her gaze as he stalked for her, then reached out an arm—

And plucked the cerulean-and-cream scarf Elain had given her for her birthday this spring off the hook on the wall. He gripped it in his fist, dangling it like a strangled snake as he brushed past her.

***

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit. Sitting on a stone bench amid bushes bursting with pink and blue hydrangea. The formal gardens of their first home, that lovely manor near the sea. Nesta and their mother were nowhere in sight.

That was how it had been, after all: Elain and Feyre doted on by their father. Nesta prized and trained by their mother.

***

Like Nesta, Amren did not possess court-specific magic related to the High Fae. It didn’t make her influence in this court any less mighty. Nesta’s own High Fae powers had never materialized—she had only what she’d taken from the Cauldron, rather than letting it deign to gift her with power, as it had with Elain. She had no idea what she’d ripped from the Cauldron while it had stolen her humanity from her—but she knew they were things she did not and would never wish to understand, to master. The very thought had her stomach churning.

***

Where the hell was Elain?

***

Chapter 1

🌸

Rhys had laid a comforting hand on Feyre’s, squeezing gently before he looked at Azriel, and then Cassian, and laid out his plan. As if he’d had it waiting a long, long while.

Elain had walked in halfway through. She’d been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn, and had been solemn as Rhys filled her in. Feyre had been unable to say a word. But Elain’s gaze remained steady as she listened to Rhys.

***

Amren had suggested a few days in a dungeon in the Hewn City, but Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta.

Someone like Feyre, too. And Elain.

All three sisters were now High Fae with considerable powers, though only Feyre’s were let loose. Even Amren had no idea whether Elain’s and Nesta’s powers remained. The Cauldron had granted them unique powers, different from other High Fae: the gift of sight to the former, and the gift of … Cassian didn’t know what to call Nesta’s gift. Didn’t know whether it was a gift at all—or something she had taken. The silver fire, that sense of death looming, the raw power he’d witnessed as it blasted into the King of Hybern. Whatever it was, it existed beyond the usual array of High Fae gifts.

***

“Elain needs to be able to see me—”

“Elain agreed to this hours ago. She’s currently packing your things. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

Nesta recoiled.

Feyre didn’t relent. “Elain knows how to contact you. If she wishes to visit you at the House of Wind, she is free to do so. One of us will gladly take her up there.”

***

Feyre toyed with her silver-and-star-sapphire wedding ring. “I told you: it wasn’t that I didn’t care. We—everyone, I mean—had multiple conversations about this. About you. We— I decided that giving you time and space would be best.”

“And what did Elain have to say about it?” Part of her didn’t want to know.

Feyre’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t about Elain. And last I checked, you barely saw her, either.”

Nesta hadn’t realized they were paying such close attention.

She’d never explained to Feyre—had never found the words to explain—why she’d put such distance between them all. Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded.

Things had only gotten worse from there.

You have your lives, and I have mine, she’d said to Elain last Winter Solstice. She’d known how deeply it would wound her sister. But she couldn’t bear it—the bone-deep horror that lingered. The flashes of that discarded cloak or the Cauldron’s chill waters or Cassian crawling toward her or her father’s neck snapping—

Feyre said carefully, “For what it’s worth, I was hoping you’d turn yourself around. I wanted to give you space to do it, since you seem to lash out at everyone who comes close enough, but you didn’t even try.”

***

“The others are waiting,” Feyre said. “Elain should be done by now.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“She’ll come visit when she’s ready.”

Nesta held her sister’s stare.

Feyre’s eyes gleamed. “You think I don’t know why you’ve pushed even Elain away?”

Nesta didn’t want to talk about it. About the fact that it had always been her and Elain. And, somehow, now it had become Feyre and Elain instead. Elain had chosen Feyre and these people, and left her behind. Amren had done the same. She’d made it clear on the barge.

Nesta didn’t care that during the war with Hybern, her own tentative bond had formed with Feyre, forged over common goals: protect Elain, save the human lands. They were excuses, Nesta had realized, to paper over what now boiled and raged in her heart.

Nesta didn’t bother replying, and Feyre didn’t speak again as she departed.

There was nothing to bind them together anymore.

***

Chapter 2

🌸

“Did you keep those fighting leathers from the war?” Cassian said to Nesta by way of greeting as he stalked into the entry hall. “You’ll need them tomorrow.”

“I made sure Elain packed them for her,” Feyre replied from her perch on the stairs, not looking at her stiff-backed sister standing at their base. He wondered if his High Lady had noticed the disappearing servants yet.

***

Nesta shoved out of his grip the moment her feet hit the worn stones. Cassian let her, folding his wings and lingering by the rail, all of Velaris glittering below and beyond him.

She’d spent weeks here last year—during that terrible period after being turned Fae, begging Elain to demonstrate any sign of wanting to live. She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs.

***

She wouldn’t have cared where she stayed, except for the convenience of the small, private library also on her level. Which had been the place where she’d discovered those smutty books, as Cassian called them. She’d devoured a few dozen of them during those weeks she’d first been here, desperate for any lifeline to keep her from falling apart, from bellowing at what had been done to her body, her life—to Elain. Elain, who would not eat, or speak, or do anything at all.

Elain, who had somehow become the adjusted one.

***

She had nowhere to go. Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.

Had made Nesta fight like hell to keep Elain safe at all costs.

***

It wasn’t until the sound faded completely that she took in the room before her, unchanged since she’d last been in it, the connecting door to Elain’s old suite now sealed shut.

***

Chapter 3

🌸

Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

***

My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.

***

Chapter 4

🌸

A brutish male face grinning as he anticipated the trophy that would be pulled forth—

She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save Elain, sobbing on the floor. Couldn’t save herself. No one was coming to rescue her, and these males would do what they wanted, and her body was not her own, not human—not for much longer—

***

Chapter 6

🌸

“No healer can repair them?”

Her face tightened, and Nesta regretted her question. “It is extremely complex—all the connecting muscles and nerves and senses. Short of the High Lord of Dawn, I’m not certain anyone could handle it.” Thesan, Nesta recalled, was a master of healing—Feyre bore his power in her veins. Had offered to use it to heal Elain from her stupor after being turned High Fae.

Nesta blocked out the memory of that pale face, the empty brown eyes.

***

Chapter 9

🌸

Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn. Had noted her scrying with bones and stones and made her regret it.

She had done this. Brought this upon them. Touching her power, wielding it, had done this, and she would never forgive herself, never—

Elain would surely be tormented, ripped apart body and soul.

***

Chapter 10

🌸

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just …” He struggled for the right word.

“Get along? Be civil? Smile at each other?” Feyre’s laugh was hollow. “It’s always been that way.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. I mean, it was always that way with us, and our mother. She only had an interest in Nesta. She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.” Resentment and long-held pain laced every word. That a mother would do such a thing to her children … “But when we fell into poverty, when I started hunting, it got worse. Our mother was gone, and our father wasn’t exactly present. He wasn’t fully there. So it was me and Nesta, always at each other’s throats.” Feyre rubbed her face. “I’m too exhausted to go over every detail. It’s all just a tangled mess.”

***

Chapter 11

🌸

“I took dancing lessons as a girl.”

“Really?”

“We weren’t always poor. Until I was fourteen, my father was as rich as a king. They called him the Prince of Merchants.”

He gave her a tentative smile. “And you were his princess?”

Ice cracked through her. “No. Elain was his princess. Even Feyre was more his princess than I ever was.”

***

Chapter 14

🌸

“My other sister, Elain—we were forced into the Cauldron and turned High Fae.” Nesta swallowed again. “It … imparted some of itself to me.”

***

Chapter 15

🌸

At night, exhaustion weighed so heavily she could barely eat and bathe before tumbling into bed. Barely read a chapter of a book before her eyelids drooped. She’d found a smutty novel she’d already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed, and had laid it on the desk.

***

Elain was in the private library.

Nesta knew it before she’d cleared the stairs, covered in dust from the library.

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.

Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. Nesta knew she herself had looked like that at one point, even if Elain’s breasts had always been smaller.

She peered down at herself, bony and gangly. Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Someone had brought Elain here, since there was no way in hell she had climbed those ten thousand steps.

Nesta didn’t return her sister’s smile, but rather gestured to her body, the leathers, the dust. “I’ve been busy.”

“You look a little better than you did a few weeks ago.”

The last time she’d seen Elain—a week before she’d come to the House. She’d passed her sister in the bustling market square they called the Palace of Bone and Salt, and though Elain had halted, no doubt intending to speak to her, Nesta had kept walking. Hadn’t looked back before vanishing into the throng. Nesta didn’t wish to consider how poorly she’d looked then, if the picture she presented now was better.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

Like Nesta was some sort of disease-ridden leper.

How many times had they been in this room during those initial months? How many times had it been this way, only with their positions switched? Elain had been the ghost then, too thin, with her thoughts turned inward.

Somehow, Nesta had become the ghost.

Worse than a ghost. A wraith, whose rage and hunger were bottomless, eternal.

Elain had only needed time to adjust. But Nesta knew she herself needed more than that.

“Are you enjoying your time up here?”

Nesta met her sister’s warm brown eyes. When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.

It was always that way between them: Elain, sweet and oblivious, and Nesta, the snarling wolf at her side, poised to shred anyone who threatened her.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match.

Nesta had been twelve at the time. Elain barely eleven.

She’d absorbed every word of her mother’s scheming, plans for futures that had never come to pass.

We shall have to petition your father to go to the continent when the time is right, her mother had often said. There are no men here worthy of either of you. Feyre hadn’t even been considered at that point, a sullen, strange child whom her mother ignored. Human royalty rules there still—lords and dukes and princes—but their wealth is tapped out, many of their estates nearing ruin. Two beautiful ladies with a king’s fortune could go far.

I might marry a prince? Nesta had asked. Her mother had only smiled.

Nesta shook her head clear of the memories and said at last, “I don’t have any choice but to be here, so I don’t see how I could be enjoying myself.”

Elain wrung her slender fingers, nails kept trimmed short for her work in the gardens. “I know the circumstances for your coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.”

“I sat by your side for weeks,” Nesta said flatly. “Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die.”

Elain flinched. But Nesta couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.”

Elain, surprisingly, held her ground. “I wasn’t drinking myself into oblivion and—and doing those other things.”

“Fucking strangers?”

Elain flinched again, her face coloring.

Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.” Elain squared her shoulders again, just as Nesta added, “It’s not like you and Graysen didn’t act on your feelings.”

It was a low blow, but Nesta didn’t care. She knew Elain had given her maidenhead to Graysen a month before they’d been turned Fae. Elain had been glowing the next morning.

Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up. Instead she said, “You’re angry with me.”

Fine, then. She could be direct, too. Nesta shot back, “For packing my things while Rhysand and Feyre told me I’m a worthless pile of shit? Yes.”

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

The words struck Nesta like a slap. They’d spoken of her, her behavior, her attitude. Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

Elain had chosen Feyre, chosen her perfect little world. Amren hadn’t been any different. Nesta’s spine stiffened. “There is nothing to explain.”

Elain held up her hands. “We did this because we love you.”

“Spare me the bullshit, please.”

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and worry for you, and if Father were here—”

“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”

She forbade her leash to slip completely. But she felt it—the stirring of that terrible beast inside her. Felt its power surge, blazing yet cold. She lunged for it, shoving it down, down, down, but it was too late. Elain’s gasp confirmed that Nesta’s eyes had gone to silver fire, as Cassian had described it.

But Nesta smothered the fire in her darkness, until she was cold and empty and still once more.

Pain slowly washed over Elain’s face. And understanding. “Is that what this is all about? Father?”

Nesta pointed to the door, finger shaking with the effort of keeping that writhing power at bay. Each word from Elain’s mouth threatened to undo her restraint. “Get out.”

Silver lined Elain’s eyes, but her voice remained steady, sure. “There was nothing that could have been done to save him, Nesta.”

The words were kindling. Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

This time, Nesta didn’t stop the power from shining in her eyes; she shook so violently she had to fist her hands. “You tell yourself there’s nothing that could have been done because it’s unbearable to think that you could have saved him, if you’d only deigned to show up a few minutes earlier.” The lie was bitter in her mouth.

It wasn’t Elain’s fault their father had died. No, that was entirely Nesta’s own fault. But if Elain was so determined to root out the good in her, then she’d show her sister how ugly she could be. Let a fraction of this agony rip into her.

This was why Elain had chosen Feyre. This.

Feyre had rescued Elain time and again. But Nesta had sat by, armed only with her viper’s tongue. Sat by while they starved. Sat by when Hybern stole them away and shoved them into the Cauldron. Sat by when Elain had been kidnapped. And when their father had been in Hybern’s grip, she had done nothing, nothing to save him, either. Fear had frozen her, blanketing her mind, and she’d let it do so, let it master her, so that by the time her father’s neck had snapped, it had been too late. And entirely her fault.

Why wouldn’t Elain choose Feyre?

Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death?” Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people. “No one but the King of Hybern is to blame for that.” The quaver in her voice belied her firm words.

Nesta knew she’d hit her mark. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t continue. Enough. She had said enough.

That fast, the power in her receded, vanishing into smoke on the wind. Leaving only exhaustion weighing her bones, her breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this. Those fights had been petty, born of misery and discomfort. This was a different beast entirely, from a place as dark as the gloom at the base of the library.

Elain headed for the doors, purple dress sweeping behind her. “Cassian said he thought the training was helping,” she murmured, more to herself than to Nesta.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Nesta slammed the doors so hard they rattled.

Silence filled the room.

She didn’t twist toward the windows to see who might fly past with Elain, who’d be witness to the tears Elain would likely shed.

Nesta slid into one of the armchairs before the unlit fireplace and stared at nothing.

She didn’t stop the wolves when they gathered around her again, hateful, razor-sharp truths on their red tongues. She didn’t stop them as they began to rend her apart.

***

When Elain burst into the dining room of the House, Cassian and Rhys were shaking off the frigid air that had been howling through Windhaven.

Her brown eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her chin high.

“I want to go home,” she said, voice wobbling slightly.

***

Cassian cast the memory aside as Rhys surveyed Elain, his violet-blue eyes missing nothing. “What happened.”

When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.

Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.

“Elain,” Rhys said as he and Cassian trailed her into the dying light.

Elain stood by the rail, the breeze caressing her hair. “She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.

Rhys turned to him, his face grave. Feyre warned her.

Cassian swore softly. Nesta is making progress—I know she is. Something set her off. He added, because Rhys was still looking like cold death personified, It’ll take time. Maybe no more visits from her sisters, for the time being. At least not without her permission. He didn’t want to isolate Nesta. Not at all. If Elain wants to see her again, let me ask Nesta first.

***

Rhys held his stare, the inherent dominance in it like the force of a tidal wave. But Cassian weathered it. Let it wash past him. Then Rhys shook his head and said to Elain, “I’ll fly you home.”

Elain didn’t object when Rhys scooped her up and launched into the red-and-pink-stained sky.

When they were a speck of black and purple over the rooftops, Rhys sweeping along the gilded river as if giving Elain a scenic tour, then and only then did Cassian enter the House.

***

His heart thundered, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile. “What did you say to Elain?”

She leaned forward to peer at him. Then rose to her feet, a pillar of steel and flame, her lips curling back from her teeth. “Of course you’d assume I’m the one at fault.” She prowled closer, her eyes burning with cold fire. “Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

He crossed his arms, letting her get as close to him as she wanted. Like hell would he yield one step to her. “I’ll remind you that you’ve been the chief defender of sweet, innocent Elain until recently.” He’d witnessed her go toe to toe with Fae capable of slaughtering her without giving it a thought, all for her sister.

***

Chapter 17

🌸

“What did Elain say to you?”

She couldn’t revisit that conversation, couldn’t talk about her father or his death or any of it. So she shut her heavy eyes. “Why don’t they sign up for training?”

***

Chapter 18

🌸

Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?”

“No.”

“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.”

“It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.”

“It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?”

His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.

Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up.

***

Chapter 19

🌸

Nesta said nothing, unable to speak with the churning in her stomach. Who would be here? Which of them would she have to face, to endure them judging her so-called progress? They’d probably all heard of her fight with Elain—gods, would Elain be present?

***

Rhys and Feyre sat on the sapphire couch before the window. Azriel leaned against the mantel. Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a gray fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter. No Elain, no Morrigan.

***

“But Briallyn is Made,” Amren said. Nesta’s mouth again went dry. “When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.”

All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta.

“You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”

***

Cassian shifted in his seat. “So we track down the Dread Trove—how?”

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.”

***

Chapter 20

🌸

Nesta’s head went silent as Elain’s words finished sounding in the room. Feyre had twisted in her seat, face white with alarm.

Nesta shot to her feet. “No.”

Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“The last time we involved ourselves with the Cauldron, it abducted you,” Nesta countered, fighting her shaking. She found the words, the weapons she sought. “I thought you didn’t have powers anymore.”

Elain pursed her lips. “I thought you didn’t, either.”

Nesta’s spine straightened. No one spoke, but their attention lingered on her like a film on her skin. “You will not go looking for it.”

Amren said coolly, “So you look for it, girl.”

Nesta turned to the small female. “I don’t know how to find anything.”

“Like calls to like,” Amren countered. “You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t.” But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It is Elain’s choice, Nesta.”

Nesta whirled on her, ignoring the warning flicker of primal wrath in Rhys’s stare. “Keep out of this,” she hissed at her youngest sister. “I have no doubt you put these thoughts in her head, probably encouraging her to throw herself into harm’s way—”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

Nesta’s pulse pounded throughout her body. “Do you not remember the war? What we encountered? Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?”

“I do,” Elain said coldly. “And I remember Feyre rescuing me.”

Roaring erupted in Nesta’s head.

For a heartbeat, it appeared that Elain might say something to soften the words. But Nesta cut her off, seething at the pity about to be thrown her way. “Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Nesta blinked, everything inside her hollowing out.

But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.

Every awful word Nesta had spoken hung in the air, echoing.

Feyre said to her, gratingly gentle, “It wasn’t an easy choice for me to ask Elain to endanger herself like this.”

Nesta twisted to Feyre. “Can’t you find the Trove?” She hated each cowardly word, hated the fear in her heart, hated that in merely asking, she’d exposed her preference for Elain.

***

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?”

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

***

Rhys winked at her. Feyre rolled her eyes. But then she said to Nesta, “Elain will need time to dust off her powers to try to See the Trove. But you, Nesta … You could scry again.”

***

“What choice do I have?” Nesta asked.

If it was between her and Elain, there was no choice at all. She would always go first if it meant keeping Elain from harm. Even if she’d just hurt her sister more than she could stomach.

***

“How did he know?”

“I don’t know,” Feyre admitted, her hand again drifting to her stomach. “But I didn’t realize how much I wanted a boy until I knew I’d bear one.”

“Likely because having sisters was so horrible for you.”

Feyre sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Nesta shrugged. Feyre might say that, but the feeling was no doubt there. Everything that had just happened with Elain—

Feyre seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”

“It was directed at me, not you.”

“I’ve been guilty of the same things, Nesta.” Sorrow dimmed Feyre’s eyes. “It was unfair for Elain to level that truth only at you.”

Nesta didn’t have an answer to that, didn’t know where to start. “Why not tell Elain about the baby’s sex first?”

“She discovered the pregnancy. I wanted you to know this part before anyone else.”

***

Chapter 21

🌸

“I hope so,” Cassian hedged. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Nesta putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely. If he’d had to pick between sending one of his brothers into danger or doing it himself, he would always—always—choose himself. Though he’d winced at every harsh word that had come out of Nesta’s mouth to Elain, he couldn’t fault the fear and love behind her decision. Could only admire that she had stepped up—if not for the good of the world, then to keep her sister safe.

***

“Nesta isn’t up for a scrying,” Cassian said. “We don’t even know what power she has left.”

But Elain had confirmed it for everyone: both sisters still possessed their Cauldron-gifted powers. Whether they were as powerful as before, he had no idea.

“You do know, though,” Azriel countered. “You’ve seen it—even beyond when it glows in her eyes.”

Cassian hadn’t told anyone about the step he’d found with the clear finger holes burned into it. He wondered if Azriel had somehow learned of them, the news brought to him on his shadows’ whispers. “She’s volatile right now. The last time she did a scrying, it ended badly. The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.” He’d seen every horrific memory flash before Nesta’s eyes today. And though he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory, Cassian knew firsthand the lingering horror and pain of a loved one stolen and hurt.

Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.”

Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

***

Chapter 22

🌸

Seeing them spar had been overwhelming. Their beautiful forms, tattooed and scarred and carved with muscle, gleaming with sweat as they fought with a viciousness and intelligence she’d never seen … She’d been sweating herself when they’d finished, wondering what it’d be like to be between those two male bodies, letting them turn all that lethal attention on worshipping her.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts. And to hear that Nesta had already had two males in her bed not once but twice, and had enjoyed every second of it. But the males Nesta had shared herself with hadn’t looked like Cassian and Azriel. Hadn’t been Cassian and Azriel.

***

Chapter 24

🌸

Nesta had only felt relief when the old beast had died. Elain, who’d been spared the cruelties of Grandmamma’s tutelage, had wept and dutifully laid flowers at her grave—one soon joined by their mother’s stone marker. Feyre had been too young to understand, but Nesta had never bothered to lay flowers for her grandmamma. Not when Nesta bore a scar near her left thumb from one of the woman’s nastier punishments. Nesta had only left flowers for her mother, whose grave she had visited more often than she cared to admit.

***

Nesta had told herself that day that Tomas would take her in, if necessary. Maybe even Elain, too. But his family had been hateful, with too many mouths to feed already. His father would have refused to feed her, without question. She’d been prepared to offer the only thing she had to barter to Tomas, if it would have kept Elain from starving. Would have sold her body on the street to anyone who’d pay her enough to feed her sister. Her body had meant nothing to her—nothing, she’d told herself as she’d felt her options closing in. Elain meant everything.

***

“I always forget how similar human ideas of propriety are to the Illyrians’.” Emerie took another bite. “Would you have wanted to see the world, if you could?”

“It was half a world, wasn’t it? With the wall in place.”

“Still better than nothing.”

Nesta chuckled. “You’re right.” She considered Emerie’s question. If her father had offered to bring them on one of his ships, to let them see strange and distant shores, would they have gone? Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?

***

Chapter 25

🌸

Nesta around Gwyn was a wholly different creature than who she was with the court. They didn’t tease or laugh with each other, but an easiness lay between them that he’d never witnessed, even when Nesta was with Elain. She’d always been Elain’s guardian, or Feyre’s sister, or Cauldron-Made.

***

Chapter 27

🌸

“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.” She couldn’t stop her body from locking up. “I can’t endure it, risk it. Not even for this.”

***

“Helion is a last resort,” Rhys said, sipping his wine. “Which we may come to in a matter of days if Nesta does not at least attempt a scrying.” The last words were directed toward Cassian. “I’d have Elain try her hand before we approach him, though.”

Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa.

***

Cassian countered, “Nesta will do it, if only to keep Elain from putting herself at risk. But you have to understand that Nesta was deeply affected by what happened during the war—Elain was taken by the Cauldron after she scried. You can’t blame her for hesitating.”

Amren said, “We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it.”

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

“But Nesta should?” Cassian growled.

Everyone stared at him.

He swallowed, offering an apologetic glance to Az, who shrugged it off.

Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, “Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes.” She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Cassian and Azriel looked to Rhys, who merely sipped from his own wine. Amren’s order held. As Rhys’s Second in this court, short of Rhys overruling her, her word was law.

Cassian glowered at Amren. “It’s not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying.”

“There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair. “You’re a fool if you think threats will make her obey you.”

Everyone tensed again. Even Varian.

Amren’s lips spread in a sharp grin. “We are on the cusp of another war. We let the Cauldron slip from our hands in the last one and it nearly cost us everything.” Amren’s new Fae form was proof of that—she’d yielded her immortal, otherworldly self to remain in this body. No gray fire glowed in her eyes. She was mortal, in the way that High Fae were mortal. Varian’s fingers tangled in the blunt ends of her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was here, she’d remained with him. “We must head off this potential disaster before we lose the advantage. If we need to manipulate Nesta into scrying, even by using Elain against her, then we’ll do what is necessary.”

His stomach tightened. “I don’t like it.”

***

She’d failed at everything. But she could do this.

She’d failed her father, failed Feyre for years before that. Failed her mother, she supposed. And with Elain, she’d failed as well: first in letting her get taken by Hybern that night they’d been stolen from their beds; then by letting her go into that Cauldron. Then when the Cauldron had taken her into the heart of Hybern’s camp.

“You don’t have to like it,” Amren said. “You just have to shut up and do as you’re told.”

***

Chapter 29

🌸

Nesta said, “The Trove. And what happened the last time I scried.”

Feyre said, “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.”

“Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said.

“Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk. “We won’t make the same mistake twice.”

She believed him. “All right.” She scooped up the stones and bones. They were ice-cold against her fingers.

***

Chapter 31

🌸

Rhys sighed to the ceiling. “Shall we?”

Nesta glanced up the stairs past Feyre. Elain had again opted to remain in her room when Nesta was present, which was just fine. Absolutely, utterly fine. Elain could make her own choices. And had chosen to thoroughly shut the door on Nesta. Even as she fully embraced Feyre and her world. Nesta’s chest tightened, but she refused to think of it, acknowledge it. Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

***

Chapter 32

🌸

What would Elain think, to see Nesta here with a friend? The thought bubbled up from nowhere. As if in opening her mind, it had rushed toward her. Would Elain be pleased, or would she feel the need to warn Gwyn about Nesta’s true self?

***

Nesta did so, focusing on the breaths and not Elain. I acknowledge this thought about my sister, and I am letting it go.

She was on her seventh breath when her sister appeared again. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.

Had Elain been right? Feyre had admitted she was guilty of it, too, but—Feyre hadn’t known Elain as Nesta did. Or, it hadn’t been that way before. Before Elain had chosen Feyre.

***

Chapter 39

🌸

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort. “And I came up here because Feyre said I should. I need to kill a few hours before I’m to meet with her and Rhys. She thought I might enjoy seeing Nesta at work.”

***

Chapter 40

🌸

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.”

***

Chapter 42

🌸

“I hate this place,” he muttered, flushing. “Allergies.”

Nesta swallowed a laugh. “You don’t need to hide it from me. In the human realm, I used to get so itchy I had to take two baths a day to get rid of all the pollen.” Well, before they’d gone to the cottage. After that, Nesta had been lucky to bathe once a week, thanks to the hassle of heating and hauling so much water to the lone tub in a corner of their bedroom. Sometimes, she and Elain had even shared the same bathwater, drawing straws for who went in second.

Nesta’s throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.

Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place.

And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

***

She’d never forget that beast. How it had broken down the door of their cottage and terrified her to her bones. How all she’d been able to think of was shielding Elain while Feyre had grabbed that knife to face it. Face him.

***

She held his emerald stare, knowing silver flames flickered in her own. “I went into the Cauldron because of you,” she said softly, and could have sworn thunder grumbled in the distance. Cassian and Eris faded away into nothing. There was only Tamlin, only this beast, and what he had done to her and her family.

“Elain went into the Cauldron because of you,” Nesta went on. Her fingertips heated, and she knew if she looked down, she’d find silver embers flaring there. “I don’t care how much you apologize or try to atone for it or claim you didn’t know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property.”

***

Chapter 43

🌸

“Valkyries?” Feyre asked from across the dining table in the river house, fork half-raised to her lips. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Cassian said, sipping from his wine at dinner that evening....

“We never heard of them in the human lands,” Elain said. She’d been as riveted as Feyre to hear Cassian tell of it: first of Nesta and the others’ interest, then of the brief history of the female fighters. “They must have been fearsome creatures.”

“Some were as lovely as you, Elain,” Rhys said from beside Feyre, “from the outside. But once they set foot into the arena of battle, they became as bloodthirsty as Amren.”

***

...Cassian added after a moment, “Nesta would have fit in well with them.”

“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.

Feyre at last took her hearty bite of food. “Nesta is a wolf who has been locked in a cage her whole life.”

“I know,” Cassian said. She was a wolf who had never learned how to be a wolf, thanks to that cage humans called propriety and society....

Elain leaned forward. “You only think you know—you haven’t seen her on the dance floor. That’s when Nesta truly lets the wolf roam free. When there’s music.”

“Really?” Nesta had told him once, when he’d dragged her out of a particular seedy tavern, that she’d been there for the music. He’d ignored her, thinking it an excuse.

“Yes,” Elain said. “She was trained in dance from a very young age. She loves it, and music. Not in the way I enjoy a waltz or gavotte, but in the way that performers make an art of it. Nesta could bring an entire ballroom to a halt when she danced with someone.”

***

“She wouldn’t have gone into much detail about it,” Elain said. “Nesta was only fourteen at the last ball we went to before—well, before we were poor …” Elain shook her head. “Another young heiress was at the ball, and she positively hated me. She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”

“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.

Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”

It was definitely that. Even though Elain would have been barely thirteen at the time.

***

“Nesta spent a small fortune on her gown and jewels for that night. Our father was always too scared of her to say no, and that night … Well, she truly looked the part of the daughter of the Prince of Merchants. An amethyst silk gown with gold thread, diamonds and pearls at her neck and ears …” Elain sighed. Such wealth. Cassian had never realized what wealth they’d possessed and lost.

“The entire ball stopped when Nesta entered,” Elain said. “She made an entrance of it, perfectly cool and aloof, even at fourteen. She barely glanced the duke’s way. Because she’d learned about him as well. Knew he grew bored of anyone that chased him. And knew that the wealth on her that night dwarfed anything that heiress was wearing.”

Amren was grinning now. “Nesta tried to win a duke out of spite? At fourteen?”

Elain didn’t smile. “She lured him into asking her for a dance with a few well-placed looks across the ballroom. The same waltz that heiress wanted for herself, had boasted would be all she needed to secure his marriage bid. Nesta took that dance from her. And then took the duke from her, too. Nesta danced that night like she was one of you.”

“If you’ve seen Cassian’s dancing,” Rhys muttered, “that’s not saying much.”

Cassian flipped off his High Lord as Feyre and Az chuckled.

Elain continued, voice hushed with near-reverence, “The duke was vain, and Nesta played into that. The entire room came to a standstill. Their dancing was that good; she was that beautiful. And when it ended … I knew she was an artist then. The same way Feyre is. But what Feyre does with paint, that’s what Nesta did with music and dance. Our mother saw it when we were children, and honed it into a weapon. All so Nesta might one day marry a prince.”

Cassian froze. A prince—was that what Nesta wanted? His stomach clenched.

“What happened to the duke?” Azriel asked.

Elain grimaced. “He proposed marriage the next morning.”

Rhys choked on his wine. “She was fourteen.”

“I told you: Nesta is a very good dancer. But that was what my father said—she was too young. It was a graceful exit, since my father, despite his faults, knew Nesta well. He knew she had taunted that duke into making a marriage offer just to punish the heiress for her cruelty toward me. Nesta had no interest in him—knew she was far too young. Even if the duke seemed more interested in just … reserving her until she was old enough.” Elain shuddered with distaste. “But I think some part of Nesta believed she would indeed marry a prince one day. So the duke went home with no bride, and that heiress … Well, she was one of the people who delighted in our misfortunes.”

“I’d forgotten,” Feyre murmured. “About this, and about her dancing.”

“Nesta never spoke of it afterward,” Elain said. “I just observed.”

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

***

Elain nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “So I’m very pleased to hear of this Valkyrie business. I’m happy that Nesta finds interest in something again. And might channel all of … that into it.” That, Cassian knew, meant her rage, her fierce and unyielding loyalty to those she loved, her wolf’s instincts and ability to kill.

***

Chapter 44

🌸

“I walked away because you chose my sister.” Just as Elain had done. Amren had been her friend, her ally, and yet in the end, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d picked Feyre.

***

Chapter 46

🌸

She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that roared at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood. Elain had been the only one who perhaps grasped it, but now her sister loathed her.

***

Chapter 49

🌸

A wave of words pushed themselves out of her. “I should have found a way to save us before then. Save Elain and Feyre when we were poor. But I was so angry, and I wanted him to try, to fight for us, but he didn’t, and I would have let us all starve to prove what a wretch he was. It consumed me so much that … that I let Feyre go into that forest and told myself I didn’t care, that she was half-wild, and it didn’t matter, and yet …” She let out a wrenching cry. “I close my eyes and I see her that day she went out to hunt the first time. I see Elain going into the Cauldron. I see her taken by it during the war. I see my father dead. And now I will see Feyre’s face when I told her that the baby would kill her.” She shook and shook, her tears burning hot down her cheeks.

***

Chapter 50

🌸

Cassian straightened before Rhys could even speak. “You’re not going to use her.”

Feyre glanced between them, and after a second, as if her mate had spoken into her mind, she demanded, “Really, Rhys?”

Rhys leaned back, and Nesta frowned, the only one of them apparently not aware of what this meant. Rhys said to her, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to. But Elain mentioned that you have particular skill on the dance floor. Skill that once won you the hand of a duke in a single waltz.”

***

Nesta crossed her arms, ignoring Cassian’s pointed glare, silently demanding that she dismiss this notion entirely. “You really think my dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?”

“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.”

“Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. “And you won’t let me near him?”

Rhys threw her a charming smile. “You know what I mean.”

***

Nesta shrugged, unable to find the words. She and Elain had rehung the door after Tamlin had broken it. Their father, his leg wrecked beyond repair and unable to bear weight, had watched them, offering unhelpful advice.

***

She nodded. They’d eaten here, some meals in silence, some with her and Elain trying to fill the quiet with their idle chatter, some with her and Feyre at each other’s throats. Like those last meals they’d had with her in this house.

***

Cassian ran a hand over the painted dresser, marveling. “She really did paint stars for herself before she knew Rhys was her mate. Before she knew he existed.” His fingers traced the twining vines of flowers on the second drawer. “Elain’s drawer.” They drifted lower, curling over a lick of flame. “And yours.”

***

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

***

She studied the calluses already building across her fingers and palms. “The debtors seemed gleeful when they came here—like they’d resented him all this time and were more than happy to take it out on his leg. I spent the entire time more terrified for what they’d do to me and Elain. Feyre … She tried to get them to stop. Stayed here with him while we hid in the bedroom.” She made herself meet Cassian’s gaze again. “I didn’t just fail Feyre by letting her go into the woods. There were plenty of other times.”

***

Chapter 55

🌸

Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They’d planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was. Cassian wondered if Elain and Nesta had broken their silence while waiting for their entrance. They hadn’t spoken to each other for months now.

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

***

Feyre and Rhys took their thrones, and Nesta and Elain came to stand at the foot of the dais, between him and Azriel. Cassian didn’t dare say a word to Nesta, or even glance at her, at the body on display—the body he’d tasted so many times now it was a miracle no imprint of his lips lay against her neck.

***

Feyre nodded as Rhys took the box and set it beside his throne. “Use it well.” She smiled softly at Eris. “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” It was the truth. Feyre had bolted from dinner three nights ago to find the nearest toilet. Now she made a show of looking between her two sisters. Elain gave a passable impression of appearing interested. Nesta just looked bored. Like they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.

***

Feyre noted the direction of Nesta’s stare. “My oldest sister shall take my place.”

Nesta barely glanced to Eris, who pulled his assessing gaze from Elain to stare at the eldest Archeron sister with a mix of wariness and intent that set Cassian’s jaw grinding. Or it would have been grinding, if he hadn’t mastered himself in time to keep his face blank as Nesta began walking toward Eris.

***

By the time Nesta and Eris finished their first rotation through the dance floor, Cassian had the growing feeling that Elain had rather undersold her sister’s abilities.

***

He twirled her again, the waltz already coming to a close. He whispered in her ear, “They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you outshine her tonight.” His hand stroked down the bare skin of her back, and she arched slightly into the touch.

***

Chapter 57

🌸

“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health. Except …

Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room, since Nesta knew Feyre and Rhys had invited him, but for that look to be directed at her …

They hadn’t spoken of their argument in the few minutes they’d had together before the ball’s procession, and then she’d avoided Elain entirely until the event was over. She didn’t know what she’d say. How to make it right.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be … good if I came.”

Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”

“No.” Shame washed through her.

Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.

Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her.

And then Elain burst out laughing.

Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. “I— I’m so sorry—”

Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Nesta shook her head slowly, not understanding. Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

“I was just checking on dessert,” Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

***

And that was that. Nesta ignored the collective sense of relief that filled the room and pivoted, finding herself peering up at Lucien, who greeted her with a wary dip of his chin. Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get. Azriel remained in the doorway. “How’s the Spring Court?” Nesta asked. The fire crackled merrily to her right, and she let the sound ripple through and past her. Acknowledged the crack and what it did to her, and released it. Even as she concentrated on the male she’d addressed.

***

Nesta had been better tonight than last year. Another person entirely. She didn’t laugh freely like Mor and Feyre, or smile sweetly like Elain, but she spoke, and engaged, and sometimes smirked. She saw everything, heard everything. Even the fire, which she seemed to ignore. Pride filled his chest at that—and relief. It had only increased when he’d noticed that she’d cared enough about Az’s aloofness to go up to him to chat.

***

Cassian’s gifts were the usual odd medley: an ancient manuscript on warfare from Rhys, a bag of beef jerky from Azriel—I literally couldn’t think of anything you’d enjoy more, Az had said when Cassian had laughed—and a hideously ugly green sweater from Mor that made his skin look jaundiced. Amren had given him a travel set of spices—so you don’t have to suffer whenever you’re in Illyria—and Elain gave him a specially designed ceramic mug with a lid that he could travel with, bespelled against breaking, to keep tea warm for hours.

***

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Cassian could feel Nesta watching him, but when he looked, her face was unreadable. No one had gotten her presents except for Feyre and Elain, who had together given her a year’s worth of book-buying credit to her favorite bookshop in the city. It was capped at around three hundred books, which they seemed to think would be more than she could read in a year. Five hundred books’ worth would have been a safer bet, he knew.

***

Chapter 58

🌸

She had a vague sense of Cassian and Mor and Azriel nearby, of Feyre and Rhys and Lucien, of Elain and Varian and Helion. Of Kallias and Viviane, also swollen with child and glowing with joy and strength. Nesta smiled in greeting and left them blinking, but she forgot them within a moment because the stars, the stars, the stars …

***

Chapter 61

🌸

A hand slid into Nesta’s, and she found Elain there, shaking and wide-eyed. Nesta squeezed her sister’s fingers. Together, they approached the other side of the bed.

And when Elain began praying to the Fae’s foreign gods, to their Mother, Nesta bowed her head, too.

***

“Go into her mind to take the pain away,” Madja said to Rhys, who blinked in confirmation, then cursed, as if scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. Cassian looked across the bed, to where Elain was holding Feyre’s other hand, and Nesta held Elain’s.

***

But Death hovered nearby. Nesta felt it, saw it, a shadow thicker and more permanent than any of Azriel’s. Elain sobbed, squeezing Feyre’s hand, pleading with her to hold on, and Nesta stood in the midst of it, Death swirling around her, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing to be done as Feyre’s breathing thinned, as Madja began shouting at her to fight it—

***

Death lurked near Feyre and her mate, a beast waiting to pounce, to devour them both. Nesta pulled her hand free of Elain’s. Stepped back.

***

Chapter 76

🌸

The room was a tableau of frozen movement, of shocked and horrified faces twisted toward her, toward Feyre and all that blood. Nesta walked through it. Past Rhys’s screaming, straining body, his face the portrait of despair and terror and pain; past grave-faced Azriel; past Cassian, gritting his teeth as he held Rhys back. Past Amren, whose gray eyes were fixed on where Nesta had been, pure dread and something like awe in her face.

Past Mor and that too-small bundle in her arms, Elain at her side, frozen in her crying.

***

Chapter 77

🌸

But none of the others were present on a warm day a few weeks later, when Nesta joined Feyre and Elain for a walk outside the city. Even a glance at the sky revealed no sign of Cassian, who had been keeping Nesta up until dawn with his lovemaking and had become utterly obnoxious about calling her mate any chance he got, except at their continuing morning training with the priestesses.

***

Nesta had stared and stared at her portrait, hung between one of Feyre and one of Elain, and hadn’t realized she was crying until Feyre had held her tightly.

***

Her heart thundered, and she kept a step back as Feyre knelt before the grave marker, showing Nyx to the stone. “Your grandson, Father,” she whispered, voice thick. And then Feyre bowed her head, speaking too low for Nesta or Elain, standing at Nesta’s side, to hear.

After a few minutes, Feyre rose, letting her tears run, as holding the babe kept her hands occupied. Elain went forward, whispered a few things to their father’s grave, and then both sisters looked to Nesta, smiling tentatively.

***

She found Feyre and Elain waiting halfway down the hill, Nyx now dozing peacefully in Elain’s arms. Her sisters beamed, beckoning her to join.

And Nesta smiled back, her steps light as she hurried down the hill to meet them.

***

Chapter 80

[base0h]

can I have a shy yet a very good drawer GN!Reader who still hasn’t confessed their feelings X Law, Sanji, and Zoro?

Much platonic love And a happi day/night to you! ✨😀

a/n - awww this is so cute anon 💜💜 much love to you as well :)

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, none

- Zoro is on the shyer side as well, so you both can enjoy some pretty comfortable silences (he’s sleeping)

- he won’t ever admit it.. but he really likes it when you just sit by him while he trains just to keep him some company

- he wouldn’t enjoy anyone else but you, you’re like a little anchor for him to remind him that someone’s always there for him

- you’re an artist, he knows that VERY well. He’s peeked at a couple of your sketches of chopper and Robin, let’s just say he’s very impatiently waiting for his

- pls you ended up sketching Sanji first and he saw that and almost crumpled it up

- didn’t want to ruin or waste your beautiful talent tho

- one day, when he was training, you saw him lifting his weights per usual, swinging his katana, as well as squat jumping and all that

- he looked- unusually perfect today (not that he didn’t before) but- his expression, as well as his figure was almost picturesque

- you started sketching almost immediately, not even knowing your hand could move that fast. You were scribbling so intensely that the lead broke several times, much to your disdain

- “Y/n can you hand me the towel.”

- ….

- “Hello?????”

- he ended up walking over there while you were entranced in your drawing, finally finishing a rough sketch of the quite beautiful “model” zoro

- he saw it and had trouble keeping his jaw from dropping

- he walked back in front of you, surprising you when he threw an eraser at your forehead to snap you out of it

- “Look, this pose is better right?”

- you closed your sketchbook almost immediately.

- oh shit, he saw it

- “make sure my biceps look big please.”

- “I’M NOT A FREELANCER.”

- Law is a man of very few words, and when he speaks they’re almost always very negative or pessimistic

- but he can never seem to say anything negative about you or else I’d beat his ass

- he knows you’re an artist, and that you mainly just like to draw in your alone time, it’s a nice private activity

- mans a stalker

- will literally find the perfect window to your room just to take a peek at your drawings

- why are they all of Bepo and not him

- EVEN SHACHI GOT A DRAWING? TF?

- stormed off like a little baby 💀

- as you can see, he doesn’t get jealous easily

- he hasn’t confessed to you, but it was extremely obvious to the entire crew…

- you two always had tea together in the morning, sat together in down time, went over plans, and even talked normally together (which he literally never does)

- but- you’re lowkey oblivious asf so you don’t pick up the cues 🥰

- you two were drinking tea together, bright and early as he read the newspaper, and you took out your sketchbook

- the rays of sun coming through the tinted windows of the polar tang lit up his tan, cool toned skin perfectly

- he didn’t have his hat on to cover any of his scraggly features. The bags under his eyes, his intense gray eyes, sharp jawline, goatee, everything about him was accentuated in the light

- you started to draw this very bigass crush of yours in the most detailed way possible

- the silence was almost too peaceful for Law, part of him wanted to initiate a normal conversation, maybe- “how are you today?” But the poor guy was too nervous to talk around you

- he peeked over your shoulder to see you furiously adding details to his drawing

- damn he looked good- did he look like that????

- man thought he was so ugly 💀

- hey maybe let’s give y/n a compliment right? That’s the normal thing to do!

- he had a tint of pink on his cheeks, and couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Why are my eye bags so big.”

- law 💀

- GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY THAT - law having and existential crisis

- Corazon be disappointed up in heaven 💀

- “because you have ginormous eyebags???”

- …

- watch him wear concealer now 😭😭😭

a/n - I loved this an ungodly amount lmao

[goddessofwisdom18]

Feyre sketch dump :)

Details/explanations!!

I think a really underrated aspect of Feyre's character is her scent. We all know Rhysand smells like citrus and the sea and the night court smells like jasmine, but Feyre is mentioned to smell like pear and lilac! I wanted to tribute that here, so the flowers on her outfit in the first piece are lilacs and the flowers in her earrings are pear blossoms. I also thought I'd imagine what her fragrance would be like if there was a celebrity-sponsored fragrance industry in Velaris like there is in the real world, and added in linseed since that's an oil that's often used in painting. (Does it actually smell nice or mix well with pear or lilac? .... We won't discuss that here.)

Anyway the other two pieces are Feyre in the cabin and Feyre in some nice tartan, in acknowledgment of her time in the Spring Court, which I would imagine is pretty Scottish given its high lord's name :')

I love this one <3 I imagine Feyre's current painting style to be like this; I think when she first starts painting she'd be more folk artsy (in the style of pieces like this), then tries out more semi-realistic styles in the Rainbow. I know a lot of people think that because of Feyre's lack of proper art education or practice she wouldn't be very good, but I *highly disagree*; there are plenty of folk artists out there, both now and throughout history who have never been educated, who are completely self taught, and who only paint when they could, in between work and survival, who are still good because they have natural talent. Just look at the difference between historical folk artists like Grandma Moses and the art of your average high school art student who may not have raw talent; while neither are properly educated, and this can be seen in their composition and coloring styles, those folk artists with raw talent still bring a specific eye to their work that your average person couldn't. Anyway rant over LOL JUSTICE FOR FEYRE'S SKILL LEVEL!!!! I BELIEVE IT'S HIGH!!

I also don't think there's even such a thing as good or bad art anyway but that's not relevant rn

Last thing; I imagine the human realms to be 1400s esque (I might not have gotten the right dress style for that in this drawing, but bear with me because I was too lazy to do intensive research lol) and based in historical fabric use, while the faerie realms take a lot of inspiration from future eras and haute couture, things that would seem very bizarre to your average 15th century human! So here's little kid Feyre, before everything really went to shit (not that she was very happy before that either lol)

[silent-raven13]

Power Trip

"Got me up all night," Hobie sang to himself "All I'm singin' is love songs" He fiddle with his guitar remembering the song he listened with Miles. Some rap song from a famous rapper from the young lad's world, apparently Miles enjoys this J. Cole's music.

Meanwhile, he's here lying on his bed playing on his guitar while singing this tune. His body in a bright shade of pink, he felt flustered about what happen earlier today.

-Few hours ago-

The seventeen year old punker casually walking around Spider Society with a lit cigarette in his mouth, his dark eyes seeing all the Spider-heroes going about their day. It's a busy day like always, this time there is a good amount of Spider-heroes frantically passing by the punker trying to get on their missions.

"Pfft, poor blokes." Hobie grunts to himself at the idea these Spider-heroes are so easily brainwashed into the system. It's ridiculous. He's still surprised after everything happen with Miles and Spot, they would open their eyes with the way Miguel is controlling them.

He took his almost finished cigarette tossing it across the floor just because! Fuck the establishment!

It's such a damn how easily fooled these Spider-heroes are. He wonders why he's still- "Da-Da-dadda Da! Hm-mm MmMm," Hearing someone softly singing to themselves.

"What's dis?" He asked himself knowing that voice. He looks below the edge of the floor to find Miles sitting with legs crossed on an empty space. He had wireless earbuds on and drawing on his sketchbook being on his lap.

Hobie couldn't help himself, he uses his web shooter to launch a web to a high ceiling. Then he launch himself to swing up toward his Sunflower. He hears Miles softly singing, "Would you believe me if I said I'm in love?" The punker tilted his head as he landed on his two feet behind his crush singing about love.

Miles confidently sings, "Baby, I want you to want me!" His singing isn't good, but he does love to sing along being in tune with the song.

Hobie couldn't help but chuckle at the way the sixteen year old rocks his upper body side to side. "Haha," He playfully tap Miles' left shoulder, then he jumps from being startled at the touch.

"Ah!" Miles' Spider sense went frizzy which made the punker use his own Spider sense to calm down him. "Oh shit, man! You scared me!" He had his sketch close to his chest, "Damn, I almost threw my sketchbook!"

Hobie smirks widely, "Hah, I never knew you were a scaredy cat, Sunflower." He went to sit next to Miles' right side. "I heard you singing." Miles took one of his earbuds off to listen to his friend.

"Oh god, you didn't!" Miles' face fell into a massive frown being so embarrassed. "Fuck, I thought I was high enough so no one would hear me! Ughh, this is mad embarrassing, man." He bites his bottom plump lip which got the punker to stare very hard on those lips.

"Nah, luv. You do what you love," Hobie casually said then smirks widely, "no matter if you sound like a screeching cat!"

"UGH, you're such a dick, man!" Miles playfully slap Hobie's arm before laughing at his friend's shady comment.

The punker leans back by the soft hit having to laugh out loud, then his mid-tone magazine paper started to turn slightly pink. "Easy, luv. I'm still sore from last mission."

"Oh pfft, you can't be sore! I was the one that got on that damn bull's back!" His crush scoffs by the mention of their last mission.

The Spider Band had to fight off three massive bull anomalies, which caused Miles riding one and landing in a nasty fall. He can still feel the aches on his sides. Hobie was slammed against a wall from one bull's horns. He was luckily those nasty sharp horns didn't stab him.

"Hey, you seem like you know what you were doing, mate. Riding that bull like it wasn't your first time." Hobie flirted having to imply something very dirty that made his Sunflower's face turned bashful.

"What? Pfft, no! I'm-I-I- that was my first time riding a bull." Miles could feel his cheeks burning up. "Stop being gross!"

"What? I didn't say anything... bad." Hobie smirks widely showing off his teeth, his right eyebrow raised high, "Are you implying something else, Sunflower?"

"No!" Miles lean back seeing Hobie getting close to his face. "Stop it, Hobie."

"What? I'm just lookin', luv."

"You're in my personal space." Miles' heart pound against his chest.

Hobie gave a slight nod, "Alright. Alright. Anyway, what were you listening to?" He took Miles' right earbud to put it close to his ear to hear anything, but there was no sound.

Miles went back to sketching in his sketchbook, "Heh, I paused it, dude. I was listening to J. Cole."

"Who?"

"J. Cole! You don't know who is J. Cole?" Miles asked out loud with his doe eyes widen.

"Mate, I know Sex Pistol... that's music." Hobie added

"Oh wait, my bad... you're on a different timeline. Um, in my world there's this famous rapper named J. Cole. His stuff is pretty good." He went on his Spotify to rewind the song he was listening to, "Here." His hand went to touch Hobie's hand making the punker's body turned bright pink. The slight touch of his Sunflower felt so beautifully warm and soft.

Miles's hand lightly took his earbud from Hobie's hand then put it in the punker's right ear. The Punker nuzzle against Miles' warm hand feeling it on his cheek. the two sitting closer now. Miles gently massage the punker's cheek, "Your like a cat."

"Oh yeah?" Hobie nuzzles some more, "Like this?"

"Hahaha, yeah." Miles giggles before scooting closer to Hobie's space. This time he's being bold wanting to feel the punker, to smell that musky, cigarette and cologne on him. Miles never liked the smell of cigarettes, but with Hobie, it smelled so good on him. It comforts the sixteen year old. "Hear this." He plays the song from his Smartphone.

Hobie placed his arm around Miles' narrow shoulders pulling him close. This time he's also being bold. He wanted to smell Miles' sweet mango tropical Shea Butter, and sweet vanilla scent. He always wonder why he smell so good, so sweet and a bit woody spice to it.

"Got me up all night. All I'm singin' is love songs" The song plays making Hobie's eyes focus on Miles, who's bobbing his head at the song. "She got me up all night. Constant drinkin' and love songs..."

Miles snuggle his body close against the punker while swaying himself as he sing along, "She got me up all night..." Hobie admiring lovingly at his Sunflower's soft singing, "Down and out with these love songs..."

"She got me up all night. Drownin' out with these love songs," The song plays while Hobie made his first move to lift Miles' chin up.

"Hmm? What's up?" Miles innocently asked.

Hobie slowly got close enough to Miles' lips, so close that his lower lip gently tap against Miles' bottom lip. Then he quickly pulled away being a coward. No, he can't. Miles is his friend. "Nuthin' luv."

The young Spider-man pouts, "Oh..." He expected a kid, he felt so prepare with his eyes being closed and waiting for the magic. Damn.... Oh well, Miles lay his head on Hobie's chest while drawing.

The two sat in silence while listening to Miles' playlist. Hobie's hand covering his lower mouth still kicking himself for backing out on that kiss.

"Would you believe me if I said I'm in love?" Hobie mentally sang along to the song, he didn't think he would like it so much. Especially when his Sunflower is in his arms, "Baby, I want you to want me!"

Miles glanced up to find his crush lost in his thought, he decided to be bold. He wants that kiss! "Hobie."

"Hmm?" The punker's dark eyes snapped at the teenager Spider-man turning his body to be on his knees.

"Can you closed your eyes for a moment, please?" Miles innocently asked.

The punker did as he's told. The only person who can make him listen and follow instructions. He trusts his Sunflower. In mere darkness, he felt Miles' warm hands cupping his define jawline.

"What are you planning, Sunflower?"

"Just a little surprise... no peaking." Miles' voice rings his ears, his hands made his punker lean his head back to face toward him.

The young Spider-man took another sharp inhale. Alright, here it goes! He lean forward to plant his lips onto Hobie's full black painted lips.

The punker felt soft lips with the taste of honey, and berries. Wait, lips? His eyes snap wide open to find Miles kissing him. His whole body froze, the colors on his body quickly shifts into multiple rainbow colors, then blooming into Sunflowers and hearts images with bright pink colors. Then guitars rocking symbols pop out when he felt Miles deepening his kiss by adding a bit of tongue.

Such a sexy move. It made Hobie shudder with delight. His arms tightly wraps around his Sunflower's waist, then straight his posture to continue their kisses. His own mouth did the work too.

"Mmm!" Miles softly let out a moan.

Ohh, this new. Hobie felt his own body hot, his tongue flap against his Miles' tongue. "Mmm." He let out a low purr.

"Hmphhemph," Miles gave out a throaty chuckle, before his eyes slowly open to find Hobie's eyes meeting him. He slowly pulled away from his mouth. "Hobie, you promise!"

He felt so embarrassed.

Hobie lick his lips knowing his lipstick is a mess by the way Miles' lips were stained. "I wanted to see you, luv."

"Hmph!" Miles huffs.

"Don't be like that, darling. You kiss so beautifully."

"You're just trying to get another from me." Miles pouts at his crush.

Hobie snuggles against his Sunflower, "And? Why would that be bad?" He made Miles look at him, "Hmm?"

"It's not."

"Then? I would like another, luv."

Miles giggles before lifting his crush's face to lean in another kiss, his phone rang out loud. "Oh shit, I... I gotta go. I have to be home before my mom gets back. Maybe next time." He give Hobie a quick peck on the lips before gathering his sketchbook and backpack to rush off.

Hobie's body still pink from the kiss as he watched his Sunflower opening a portal to go back home.

-present-

"He got me open all night" Hobie sang out loud as he sat outside on the roof of his boat house, "All I'm singin' is love songs..." He stood daze thinking about that kiss. That delicious, addictive kiss.

[nanami-simp]

Some You Should Head North tidbits

Nanami and Gojo started dating a year before Nanami became a sorcerer again.

They're the type of couple who understand each other with looks alone.

Before Nanami left, Thursday was their date night. It's the one day both of them went out of the house with each other. To the best of their ability of course. Gojo still had to run off sometimes.

Gojo is an excellent cook (ofc since he's good at everything) so if he's free he cooks. But he hates doing the dishes. So it's Nanami doing that chore.

Their relationship was not particularly put out there. But the sorcerer sphere is small so it wasn't long before everyone knew.

They rarely had fights. Their biggest discussion was who gets what chore when they moved in together.

Nanami is actually very affectionate but not in public. PDA is always initiated by Gojo.

Yuuji has a huge sweet tooth because of Nanami's bakery. Swipes a cookie from the bakery everyday.

Sukuna while not being the most extroverted still needs to get out of the house often. He actually doesn't mind following Yuuji to school that much. It gives him time to be by himself out of the house.

Hanako (the cat) likes Sukuna more (sorry Yuuji 😔)

Sukuna loves metal music but hates using headphones and earphones cause they bother his ears. After alot of discussions (yelling) between the Sukuna and Yuuji, very soft screaming and heavy metal can be heard from the corner of the living room when Sukuna listens to music.

Every single day, Nanami does the dishes and Sukuna sits on the counter playing on his switch. That's the time they usually talk and Yuuji gets a bit of privacy.

Yuuji plays the drum and is actually really good at it! He sucks at guitar though.

Sukuna and Yuuji get along much better and they care but they still argue alot. It is a lot of screaming before they reach conclusions and compromise. Lots of them just smacking the other and it turning into full on brawls. No cursed energy is ever used though.

Nanami's starting to grey just a little. But he colours his hair too often to notice.

Sukuna often cooks lunch on their days off. It's mostly old-ish recipe but Nanami recently gifted him a recipe book so he's learning new stuff.

Sukuna reads. A l o t. He has nothing to do when Yuuji's in school so he borrows alot of Nanami's books.

He also is good at art. So sometimes he just whips out a cool sketch whereas Yuuji can't draw for shit.

Same with handwriting. Sukuna has very pretty handwriting while Yuuji has chicken scratch.

Yuuji has alot of friends but he still struggles to actually connect with anyone.

Nanami's bakery cafe is very popular with college kids in particular and much to everyone's dismay, Hanako is not allowed to be in the cafe itself.

Yuuji is extremely popular in his highschool. He also picks alot of fights (cause he can't stand people hurting others) much to Nanami's dismay.

Due to Nanami's bakery, alot of sorcery studies and sparring has been taken over by Sukuna who is surprisingly a good teacher.

Ino doesn't know where Nanami is but he did know that he was leaving.

Yuuji's planning to either take up classes to be a Firefighter or an EMT. Nanami's still pushing slightly on college.

I have alot more thoughts but this is getting a little too long lol

[the-fiction-witch]

The Mademoiselle P1

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader (KINDA)

Rating SMUT

Requested: Hey, I don't know if you take requests atm, but what if y/n was a showgirl and Jack Dawkins heard of her around from people or something? :)

I finished up the day heading to my room for the night immediately shutting my door and heading to my bed, but I saw a small pile on my bed and a note.

'You're mail came today, Jack X Hetty' 

I completely forgot I had even been waiting for anything, I suppose that's just one of those things where everything takes forever. I sat on my bed and went through it sorting everything, where there wasn't much a book I had given up waiting for, a correspondence from a London doctor I asked about something, and a couple of letters from my navy friends. I set the letters on my table to look over later, and stripped off climbing into bed. I tried to get some sleep but my curiosity was rampant so I grabbed the letters from the table and laid in bed looking through them. It took me a while given my reading but I got through each one by one. I finished with a letter from Peter.

Peter and I were once bunkmates, he was a few years older than me I was only thirteen and he was nineteen, the two of us very much formed a bond through the shit, blood and sea waves, he works at a shipping warehouse in Gibraltar now and we often send letters back and forth to keep up to date with each other. It would be nice to see him but letters will have to do for now. 

I read the letter, reading about his news, his wife, his work all the usual stuff we talked about, I smiled at it and set the letter on the side to write a reply when I next got a chance, But I felt the envelope was still fairly heavy so I tipped out the contents and saw a few postcards tumble out, one had writing on the back. 

'I recall your affinity for her Dawkins ;)' 

I smirked a little already knowing what they were. Peter had a thing about 'French Postcards' he said he 'collected them' which I think was an excuse, and given we shared a space during the uhhh... Long nights at sea, Yeah I kinda got into it too. I don't know there's something so... innocent about them like I know I shouldn't have them but I still like having them, and he knew of my affection towards... a certain showgirl often featured in these postcards, so if ever he came across one of her he'd get it for me, and now saves them up to send to me with his letters. 

I set the envelope on the table and slinked myself down onto my pillow tucking the covers up, as I picked up the postcards flipping them over. The first Was a sweet picture a drawing done in the typical style, three ladies by the beach in small bathing suits enjoying the sand and sea,  I recognized her Y/E/C eyes and Y/H/C Hair depicted in her usual way. And the caption at the bottom of the card is laced with intricate filigree.

The Ladies ponder taking a dip or getting dirty. 

I flipped to the next card immediately again I recognised her drawing, sat at a vanity in black stockings and a little nightie barely covering her and combed her sweet hair, the end of the picture at her knees, a man drawn peeking through her changing screen with the caption.

The Mademoiselle's nosy visitor. 

I admit my eyes lingered on her exposed shoulder and thighs longer than I like to admit, before flicking to the next one this one was mostly empty it was again a drawing of y/n in her little boots, stockings, har and gloves holding a bedsheet to conceal herself but a mirror had been sketched behind her revealing her bare ass, the end of the picture at her knees, and the caption. 

Yes, your sheet looks lovely Mademoiselle.

Already my eyes lingered on her and I bit my lip a little looking at her, I flicked to the next one and almost immediately had to shift my hips a little I knew I was already getting hard just looking at them, this one was her again in the arms of a man, she wore a beautiful blue ballgown the top of which had fallen to expose her bare breasts as the man she danced with dipped her forcing her to arch her back to better expose her breasts,

Suddenly every man at the Cotillionwants to dance with The Mademoiselle. 

I couldn't help my hand moving down to take my shaft softly giving myself a little soft rub as I looked at the perky nipples she had in the drawing, I slowly made my hand move faster until I swapped to the last postcard a very perfect drawing of her stood with only a thin sheet around her revealing almost all of her her violin in hand playing it gently, the end of the picture at her knees, I couldn't help looking at every inch of her my hand moving on its own desperate just from looking at these -

"Uuuummmmmm!" I groaned from the back of my throat as I hit my wall sending my seed across my sheets, I laid my head back on my pillow fully and gasped desperately trying to... THINK through my post-orgasm brain fog, having dropped the cards on my chest in such excitement once my head was back on straight I took the cards and added them to the small box under my bed with the rest of them adding them to the box one by one, until I got to the last one and I couldn't help but smirk laid against my pillow looking at her "Hmm... Très Vilaine Mademoiselle" ( Translation: 'hmm... Very Naughty Mademoiselle') before I gave her a kiss and an eskimo kiss before putting the card away in the box so I could get to bed. 

I yawned a little while doing some bandages, my mind elsewhere as it often was.

"When do you think I'll be out of here doc?" he asked,

"Ohh shouldn't be too long, couple of days while we monitor infection." 

"You think I'll be out by the sixteenth?"

"Oh absolutely, why somewhere to be?"

"Well yeah, uhhh haven't you heard?" he whispered

"About?"

"The Mademoiselle," he said and I froze up "She's got a show in Melbourne but she's stopping in Port Victoria." 

"She is!" I jumped a little louder than I should have done,

"Half the Port's going to see her, see if she'll give us a show before she goes off again."

"Really... Hu" I nodded trying not to get excited "You'll be out by then I'm sure." I told him heading out of the ward trying not to jump or blush with excitement... 

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil Village: A needlessly detailed hour-by-hour timeline

Say what you like about Ethan Winters, that man can get a heck of a lot done in a day. Roughly the complete events of Resident Evil Village, just for a start – the timeline’s actually pretty clear on that front. Ethan stumbles into the village just before dawn on February 9, and fights his final boss battle with Miranda at just about the same time on February 10, the following day.

Look, he’s got a daughter to rescue, okay, he’ll sleep when he’s dead (almost literally, in fact – that period just before dawn after Miranda rips his heart out is all the shut-eye he gets).

Exactly what time everything happens within that day is a little less obvious – so naturally, it’s only after I’ve already posted a whole fic that kind of hinges on building a semi-complete timeline of every memorable injury Ethan receives that I went back to the game and realised, oh shit, there actually are specific times of day spelled out all over the place! There are clocks in some buildings, diary entries complete with date and time – and it (mostly) all stacks up!

I mean, up to a point – somewhere in Donna’s house, things get weird. But I don’t think that part will really surprise anyone.

And since I’ve already spent way too long piecing together disparate clues for my timeline posts about the ages of the four lords and when the Mia/Miranda switcheroo happened in the days leading up to the game, what the hell – let’s take it one level finer, and look at the hour-to-hour events of the game itself.

Our first major source is the in-game diary, which you can access via the maps page. I wouldn't take this thing too literally – I really doubt Ethan’s actually sitting down every so often to write about his day and sketch detailed pictures of whatever shit he’s just seen – it’s more here just to summarise recent events for any player who accidentally skipped some cutscenes or wants a quick refresher.

Times in the diary aren’t very precise, just ‘dawn’, ‘early morning’, etc, but they map out a rough series of events.

Dawn (or probably some time before dawn): Ethan wakes up after the truck crash in the forest Early Morning: Ethan reaches the village, encounters the old hag, etc Morning: Ethan reaches Luiza’s house, is put on trial by Miranda, escapes and reaches the castle Noon: Ethan escapes the castle and the Duke sends him on his quest Afternoon: Ethan defeats Donna and Moreau, and battles through the stronghold. Evening: Ethan sets off for Heisenberg’s factory, meets Chris, battles Heisenberg, etc Dawn: Final battle with Miranda

I’d have called it the middle of the night by the time Ethan finally battles Heisenberg, but the slight timeskip to dawn does make sense, since Ethan spends some time dead in the gap there. Also, damn, that was one busy afternoon! (Especially if you’re me, and squeezing all the optional bosses and side-areas into your schedule.) But maybe we can take it that not much actual time passes in Donna’s house – who knows how long hallucinations take in real time?

Anyway, those are the broad strokes, let’s get to finer detail: clocks!

The first clocks you’ll see in the game show up in the Winters’ home, both putting the time of day at 7:34 PM. Time for dinner, and to put the baby to bed.

There are no clocks available when Ethan wakes up in the snow in the dark, but the sun rises while he’s in the first hut you encounter just outside the village. The Internet would lead me to believe that sunrise in Romania in February is around 7:15 AM, so nearly 12 hours have gone by since our opening scene. So either that was a very long drive, or Ethan spent a lot of hours wandering in the woods in the dark, or he was "unconscious" for a long while after the truck rolled over (but then, I already got to share a few of my own theories about that one in that fic I mentioned above, so I get to feel validated there. *g*)

Note that Miranda also holds her ceremony to divide Rose into four crystalline pieces at dawn. The lycan attack on the village seems to have started before dawn even breaks (and I can only assume it's over by the time Eugen staggers home, presumably in too much of a funk to even notice, because there's no mention of it in his diary. But shhh, don't think too hard about that one).

As Ethan arrives on the outskirts of the village and sees his first view of the castle, an attentive gamer will hear a clock strike 8 times, so it's 8AM. Given the sun's just peaking over the mountains, that would about fit too.

There are no clocks that I’ve found in the village proper, probably so the devs don’t have to worry about updating them as the day progresses (though the light and position of the sun certainly changes through the day). But once you make it into the castle, there are clocks everywhere.

Most are either the large grandfather model…

…or the small, mantelpiece model.

There are also a couple of really small ones of a third model, which you can find in castle saferooms.

And they all tell roughly the same time, which is… er, 10:00? 10:05? 10:30?

Seriously, look at these things: the minute hands are pointing to the 5 (or 12 on the mantlepiece model, suggesting someone hasn’t synchronised their clocks perfectly), but the hour hands are consistently stuck midway between 10 and 11, which suggests it should be 10:30. But maybe this is just the devs' way of hedging their bets about the fact time passes while Ethan's in the castle. Or maybe this is just what happens when you eat the guy who comes in to do clock repairs before he’s even finished.

Still, let’s take this basically at face value: Ethan enters the castle around 10AM, and is out again by around noon (as per the diary).

Our next time-of-day indicator isn’t a clock, but the diary left by Chris’ team on the computer that shows up in the church.

So, sounds like the team legitimately arrived while Ethan was in the castle, around 11:35 AM. Presumably, Ethan isn’t supposed to be able to find the computer until after 1:10 PM (time of the latest entry). And while I'm here, I just have to point to that "Found evidence of EW" line ‒ found what evidence? A bunch of broken crates and dead lycans? A wallet dropped while frantically reloading his gun? Two severed fingers? We'll never know.

Also, for those keeping track: it is 100% canon that in the time Ethan needs to take out both Donna and Moreau, clear out the stronghold, battle his way through the factory, and defeat Sturm, all Chris has managed to do is futz around the factory for a bit, mess around with an old tank, and not-quite-finish planting explosives. Pff, loser. (Okay, I tell a lie ‒ he also shows up in the reservoir, so maybe he just procrastinated and hung out with his friends for a few hours instead of actually getting to the one job he promised everyone he was actually going to do. C'mon, we've all done it.)

Moving on, there are more clocks waiting for us in Donna’s domain, but here’s where things get… weird.

To begin with, the first clock you can find (ticking loudly by the stairs) thinks it’s 6 o’clock. Whether this is AM or PM, neither makes any sense here. But the fact it’s ticking suggests it’s working, and the time doesn’t change after Donna is dead and her hallucination-flowers are all wilted, so… I don’t know, maybe Donna and Angie just don’t live in the same mental time zone as the rest of us. Or maybe the devs just didn’t bother changing clock.asset from its default setting.

Downstairs, in the basement, you can find another clock in the workroom, and it’s not 6:00 down here, but 9:21. Again, the time doesn’t change as events progress.

More interesting is a smaller clock you might spot on a table in the hall on your way down, next to a lantern and a bowl of rotten fruit, which shows yet another different time.

What makes this little elaborate-portico-model clock interesting, though, is that it’s an asset from RE7 – cap below comes from the Baker house.

And like every clock in RE7, the one in Donna's house shows 10:15. The attentive player may even remember this, since in RE7 that time was part of a puzzle.

It’s not the only call-back you’ll find to RE7 down here – the ringing phone is other one I caught, very reminiscent of Zoe’s calls from RE7. The phone's actually not a reused asset, though – the RE8 version has an old-fashioned rotary dial, where the RE7 phones had buttons, making them substantially more modern.

I was thinking there were more RE7 assets down in this section – the torn floral wallpaper in a run-down corridor definitely has RE7-vibes, and the horror potential of sending Ethan back through a literal scene from his nightmares goes without saying. But I couldn’t find anything specific that was reused. Even the fuse-box puzzles use completely different assets.

Which all begs the question, are we supposed to notice that clock as an intentional callback on Ethan’s Hallucinatory Journey? Or is it just a casually reused asset without greater meaning?

In all honesty, I would not have noticed the portico-clock came from RE7 if I hadn’t seen it pointed out in a Reddit thread somewhere – and if we are supposed to notice it, it’s not the model I’d have chosen. The large grandfather clocks from RE7 are far more memorable (and, impressively, distinct from both the large-grandfather-clock models found in RE8). The portico clock is used in a couple of different places, but isn't super-memorable, and is easily missed.

You can find it there in the Daughter’s DLC as well (prequel set before the events of the game), though there it and all other clocks have been dutifully adjusted to show a different time (7:22PM).

What's much stranger is that there are actually two of these clocks in Ethan’s home back at the start of the game. And they read 10:15 there too, even though the main wall clocks read 7:34.

Heck, I even found this damn thing down in the Umbrella facility in the remake of RE2, still reading 10:15.

So… yeah, I’m gonna have to go with ‘clumsily reused asset’ for all appearances of this clock in RE8. And having now spent way too long down the mad rabbit-hole that is the clocks of House Beneviento, I'm forced to conclude: nothing means anything, everything is just here to fuck with me, and for all I know Ethan stumbles out of this place before he ever went in, IDEK.

It doesn't help that post-House Beneviento, I found no clocks anywhere, nor any more documents citing time-of-day. None in Moreau’s Reservoir, none in Heisenberg’s Factory (which doesn’t mean there aren’t any I didn’t catch, but I was definitely looking for them).

The sun’s pretty clearly setting by the time Ethan reaches the factory, and it’s set by the time you fight Heisenberg. What time of night it is while Chris is doing his mad run through the village is anyone’s guess, but presumably a bunch of hours go by somewhere, since the whole night has passed before our showdown. But then, as already established, Chris is a guy who can canonically burn most of his afternoon lost in one factory (granted, the place is one hell of a maze), so maybe he does the same down in the village.

The important thing is that the Duke’s here to get Ethan to his appointment with Miranda at dawn ‒ cue ending sequence and credits.

So, for those keeping track, here's the 'complete' hour-by-hour timeline for Resident Evil Village, as close as we can track it.

February 8 7:34 PM: Opening scene. Chris burst into the Winters' home, kills "Mia" and kidnaps Ethan and Rose.

February 9 Pre-dawn: Ethan wakes up next to the crashed truck. Lycan attack on the village begins. Dawn (around 7:15 AM): Miranda holds her ceremony to crystalise Rose and divide her into four pieces

8:00 AM: Ethan reaches the outskirts of the village, explores, encounters the the lycans and the old hag, etc Morning: Ethan reaches Luiza’s house, is put on trial by Miranda, escapes and reaches the castle 10:00 AM (approx): Ethan reaches the castle 11:35 AM: Chris' team arrives on site 12:10 PM: Chris' team infiltrates the village Noon (approx): Ethan defeats Dimitrescu and escapes the castle, and the Duke sends him on his quest 01:10 PM: Chris' team establish their base in the church and split up to investigate separately Afternoon: Ethan defeats Donna and Moreau, and battles through the stronghold Evening: Ethan sets off for Heisenberg’s factory, meets Chris, battles Heisenberg, etc Night: Chris fights his way through the village and discovers Mia in Miranda's lab

February 10 Pre-dawn: Ethan wakes up in the Duke's wagon Dawn (around 7:15 AM): Final battle with Miranda

So... yeah. Up to early afternoon on the 9th, the timeline here is surprisingly detailed. And considering what a chaotic fairy-tale mind-fuck of a game this thing is, that's actually pretty impressive. But beyond Donna's House of Extreme Mindfuckery, Ethan has lost all track of what's going on in his life, and I think we can all forgive him for that.

And now I will never be able to walk past a clock in an RE game without getting the urge to take a screenshot again.

[letsgetdowntobismith]

How did you even get into the sword making business?

Oh wow my first ask!! 😁 👍and actually a rather sweet story so get comfortable cause we’re going on a trip down memory lane kiddo 🙏

So growin up my parents where STRICT people, I’m talkin: 7 o’clock bed time, all work must be done before I can draw and eat, always wearing gods awful dresses with those frilly sleeves and fuckin ruffle on the skirt bottom, no going outside past 5 (and even then I had rarely left the house), no playin with the other kids as my parents always had some neighbourhood issue with their parents and the way they where raising them to be (as she puts it) ‘brutes’ , to put it simply I was kinda lonely, parents trying to turn me into a little madam so I’d ’attract a man better’ I couldn’t do ‘boyish’ things essentially. They say that they were protecting me from corruption. Pathetic excuse to get me to change who I was for what they wanted me to be. The only thing I could do so I didn’t die of boredom was draw using a sketching pad and some shitty old dried out markers my parents had found most likey on the street, and even THEN what I was actually allowed to draw was very restricting, no blasphemy, no inappropriate drawings, the only thing that I was allowed to draw where patterns. I cant make this shit up, I assume my parents thought they were patterns for a dress but I didn’t like that, I wanted them to be used for a greater purpose. I wanted to have a greater purpose.

I had a neighbour who never really showed themselves or went outside to interact with others, I guess looking back now we had a lot more in common than I thought but anyway, during the day time I would cautiously look outside my window considering I wasn’t really allowed outside much. At the time I didn’t fully comprehend what everything was in their home front, there were some tables, a couple mallets on the walls and a large stone furnace with a couple of different sized metal slabs (of course I know now these were called anvils), really nothing interesting but at night would be a different story. My room window was facing his house, as I would sleep at night id see spark past my window, sound of metal grinding and screeching and smoke would fill my room. I was always so scared of the shadows it would cast in my room, I didn’t know what the hell it all was. Parents told me our neighbour was ‘a brute’ ‘a corrupted person who would bring harm and violence to this world’ ‘up to no good’ and the list goes on. I grew to fear my the next door neighbour, I hated what they did and how my parents said they would harm people; so I would spend my nights watching the shadows on the walls whilst cowering under the bed sheets listening to the whistling and clanking from the window, though, despite the terror I felt watching the room fill with bright sparks there was always something so mesmerising about it.

I still don’t know what had come over me that one night, perhaps it was the lack of food that day, or the amount of sleepless nights I had suffered OR maybe even curiosity to help my mind relax but as I had gone to bed that night, and the noises and lights began I had decided to look out of my window for once during the night time. What followed was the moment I realised the world is not defined by my parents word.

A strix, with pale blue skin, top of their head adorned with different symbols running downwards leading onto their face, long ears pointed downwards with metal hoops hanging from random parts and as they turned to face the direction of my window their eyes, pitch black sclera with a glowing orange iris. Taking their blistered and stained hand reaching into a bucket of bubbling water and pulling out a spike before throwing it back into the fire and grabbing a mallet off the nearest wall, the once dull scenery of this workshop now shined and dazzled with bright colours of red and amber as the strix whilsted its familiar tune I’ve heard many times before, only this time it felt more comforting than scary. Every move they made was done with such grace, taking out the glowing hot metal from the ovens and smashing them repeatedly with a hammer watching as all the sparks fly out. The metal was then moulded and crafted into a long swords with fancy swirls around the handle. A new found wave of inspiration washed over me (till this day I’m not sure why but Michael’s guess was I had finally seen something new and it was exciting) as I ran to get my sketch book and pen, immediately copying the outline of the sword before drawing detailing on the swords blade.

I had awoken the next morning to my dad shouting, crying bloody murder but not from inside the house, from out side my window. Confused by this I walked over to the sound and there was my dad, MY notepad in hand, holding it up against the face of that strix from last night. “Look what you’ve done with your violent ways, exposing my child to such weapons” he should have known this was bound to happen, I mean seriously my room was right above his workshop!! But I suppose that he thought after scaring me so much I would be too afraid to do investigate what the strix was up to at night. My dad ripped the paper with the sword on it and slapped it onto the strix chest, they took the paper and started to analyse the drawing I watched as their now pitch black eyes study the paper a faint smile going across their face. I don’t think my dad was aware that I was listening because when he had walked in he told me the neighbour was going to hurt me and kill me with their weapons if they ever saw me by that window again. I knew that was a lie.

I wasn’t scared falling asleep that night, I felt nothing really. I awaited for the sparks, whistling and screeching but none of that came. Confused I once again walked up to the window now peering out at the glowing workshop with the strix sat ontop of one of the anvils eyes fixated on the drawing in their hand. “Did you draw this?” They said, such a gravelly and corse voice but one laced with intrigue and happiness. Now looking up at my window with their new glowing orange iris’s back. I didn’t know what to say really, all the terrible thoughts I had about this person because of my parents words had been completely false. “My names Orpheus, you are Runica aren’t you?” All I could do was nod my head. “That’s a lovely name, say, this is a quiet design you made.” Again I didn’t respond “Would you like to see it come to life?” They sat up from the anvil and walked over to a wooden barrel with a couple of handles sticking out and proceeds to pull out the sword that I had watched being made the night before, placing it on the anvil with my drawing beside it, unravelling a leather kit inside filled with different small chiseling tools each with a unique ending to them. Now grabbing the end of the sword Orpheus’s hand begins to glow orange as the sword begins to copy heating up the metal. Without thinking I walk closer to the window, opening it up all the way and begin sitting in the window ledge watching their every move. They tie their messy brown apron around their waist “this” Orpheus said placing their hand on the metal square “Is an anvil, I use it aswell as some other tools to be able the morph and shape it into what I desire” they reach over and grab a mallet off the table next to them “This here is a called a cross -peen hammer, you may want to take note of that, and its job is to shape the metal and this will help us get the basic blade and flatness of the sword, do you follow?” I nod my head along as I observe and listen intently to their voice. The way they spoke with such passion really changed my perspective on things, things my parents had told me about them. They aren’t doing this because they wish to bring harm, they do this because it’s art. That night I had spend my evening asking many questions, learning all different types of mallets/tongs/anvils and their purposes, whilst watching them make my drawing a reality upon that sword until the sun peered over the hills signalling morning.

That day I had spent all my time in my room, drawing new patterns only this time on different weapons. Once Orpheus had given me a showcase of all the different weapons they’ve forged I was a drawing MACHINE. Sickles,syths, knuckle dusters, flails you name it I had already drawn it. Of course I had to keep this a secret from my parents as they probably would have beaten Orpheus to death with their own tools so they had given me one of their books with all the different sketches they’ve made over the years, notes on temperatures, hammer sizes and metal quantity. During the day I would design, by night fall I was a blacksmith. Orpheus had set up a ladder so I could come down undercover, get a better veiw of their workshop and let me tell ya it’s even more magical up close once you see everything for their actual size. The anvil was almost as big as me!! After days of preparing and sketching different work for Orpheus, they would take my designs and show me how to craft them but they were always adamant on ME doing it, they would sit off in the corner on their chair observing me. In a way I’m greatful for that, at the time I was a little annoyed frankly but as I’ve grow up remembering those nights of all that hard work and heavy lifting I can look back and think, I DID THAT. I believe this was their subtle way of showing me independence, I don’t have to rely on someone to tell me what to do.

Orpheus would sit off to one side and would answer any question I asked, but there was one answer that had always stuck with me. Orpheus’ worked during the night time as opposed to the day because of the light. There was something about the sun rays that would cause their eyes to hurt and strain resulting in such pain for them, however watching the red hot glow from the metal and fire was one of the only lights that Orpheus could bare witness too, the glow provided them with the ability to see light without the strain that the sun would give off. I always thought that was rather sweet, the fact that despite their difficulty they still managed to do something they loved and brought them joy, it’s the simple things that get to me honestly.

that’s what made me fall in love with blacksmithing and forging weapons, you don’t have to follow the rules, because there are none, forging is about making your ideas come to life and testing new ideas. If it works, great do it again!! If it doesn’t, melt it down and try again, you don’t have to get it right first time and you know deep down in your heart that with a couple of changes it will work you just have to keep trying. It’s art and I will never forget when I made my first dagger, it wasn’t perfect don’t get me wrong, could have been less bumpy, the leather on the handle was overlapping to much in certain parts and the soldering was um unique to say the least but I had done something for myself for once in my life, I had control over something. I kept going, I kept pushing the limits of what’s possible and always did my best; I owe Orpheus my life, gods knows what I would be doing now if I had just stayed away from the window, I wish to continue on their legacy and create all the designs they had made in that book they gave me all those years ago.

I hope they would be proud of me.

PHEW that was a long one apologies for the ramble but when I see the opportunity to talk about Orpheus I simply can’t pass it, I’ll speak of them until the day I die 👍

[saskiavalentineapologist]

sketch time

you will sit down. you will look at my horrible little women. And You Will Appreciate Them

no this is NOT going under a cut you will see the blood sweat and tears i put into belialah's demon form and you will appreciate it, me, and saskia's off the charts world class monsterfucker status

we got saskia. we're familiar with saskia--or at least you should be. go look at the art by korppipoika and give them so many notes--this post will wait. and while you're out, look at the post about the matriarchs too. and if you're not up to date on saskia and belialah, here's another one for your list. i'll be here when you get back.

up to date? excited? horny? me too!!

so we got those two. in order for the images: saskia (recent), belialah (first draft, still happy with this and haven't been able to capture this vision since)

we got their dynamic:

saskia being a bitch and belialah being, despite everything, head over heels. still can't quite nail belialah's human face, but we're learning

...it took me a long time to nail down belialah's demon form. it went through a lot of drafts---many of which i am not sharing. this one is the oldest one i'm willing to share:

i believe this is draft 3? patch notes from earlier drafts: 4 fingers instead of three, took out "humanoid" eyes, added floaty halo bits. other than that, this is what it's mostly stayed true to. chase gave me an inspo and i remixed it and made it worse because i love body horror. so we have this! extra joint between the wrist and elbow, loads and loads of eyes, sharp teeth (yum!), wings, and a broken halo plus the big horn. love her. she has spider legs below her waist--she has "skirts" that are made from her skin that she usually wears (has?) over them.

made some eensy sketches for ideas:

i tinkered on size, proportion, posture, etc. it's vague, but not exact for either of them. i want a bigger height difference and this is for me first and foremost

i settled on this body type for saskia:

no nipples so she's not naked :) this is for anatomy reference, tumblr. ANATOMY. be so nice to me ;-;

ignore the stuff at the edges, this is part of a larger project idk if i'll finish where i look at all the matriarchs and their body types. saskia is the most...well, besides ethalind, the most hourglass shape. this is the most recent drawing of her i have besides the one at the very end, this is the one i would say is most canon. hence why it is included--the last one i have doesn't quite hit right for me. still working on consistency.

as i improved my art, i wanted to take another stab at belialah. which meant figuring out her lower half.

i did these ones reeaaally recently. i looked at so many things for inspo: crabs, spiders, human pelvises, centaur speculative biology, drider speculative biology, an introspective look at how much of a monsterfucker i am, etc. until i found something i was happy with. these are within the last few days. the lil sketches at the far bottom right of the first page are what i settled on. after that, i tinkered with how she looks with skirts vs no skirts---ignore the sword, it's no longer accurate to what it actually looks like, but that's endgame shit and no spoilers :)

i'm really happy with how she's turned out and i think she's kickass and awesome and i can't wait to beat her and saskia into the ground.

and then we have:

team gaslight gatekeep girlboss :)

i drew this last night!! really happy with how my art is coming along. i hesitated on whether to draw the skirts, because i think the spider legs are so fucking cool and i know logically the skirts are there but tbh its funner drawing the spider legs than the skirts :(

i want to make it very clear: belialah is submissive in the way a guard dog is submissive, to quote a post i once tagged as gilt and lost. belialah is loyal, devoted, willing to protect--but will wait for an order before acting

btw, to make something else clear: saskia? saw the demon form first. is more attracted to the demon form than the human form. is far more willing to smash with belialah in demon form. i love my weirdest little freak of a woman <3

ok that's all bye

[hsladies]

enjoy these two very rough sketches from a spitballing au where rose pulls a reverse little mermaid (a fic which i will never actually write, despite it being such a good fucking idea)

'verse details under the cut bc it gets long and super dark, lol

cw: addiction, alcoholism

you are rose lalonde, famed and formerly fabulously wealthy author of scintillating tales of the eldritch horrors lurking just beneath the sea along the quiet, sleepy northern new england coast. your life has, pardon your french, gone completely to shit lately, though. your long-time lover, wildly successful gumshoe detective novelist and baking empire heiress, jane crocker, has recently broken up with you and cut all ties. she won't even answer your phone calls anymore, for chrissakes.

this is following your public and very messy meltdown, where you checked yourself out of rehab six weeks early for a two-month program, immediately got so wasted you scarcely recall the night at all aside from nauseatingly embarrassing flashes, and drunkenly screamed at a liquor store employee for refusing you service (due to you being so incredibly sloshed at the time) until the police had to be called. you spent the night in jail to sleep off whatever you had been drinking (absinthe, gin and absinthe- never again), and you had hoped that would be the end of that, but you have never been quite so lucky as all that. this embarrassing altercation and your subsequent arrest was filmed by another patron, and went viral- letting the entire world in on your hitherto- well-concealed, not-as-moderate-as-you-would-have-liked-to-believe drinking problem.

lately, you have been having nightmares about the sea, about the lonely and desolate stretch of beach off the coast of the dreary little fishing town you grew up in. you haven't thought about it in years, but now it haunts you every night, stormy water and cold sand and voices calling from beneath the churning waves.

in a fit of rage and despair and bad decision-making, you've booked a flight back to your home town, returned to the slowly decaying shell of the vast and stately manor you once shared with your mother- the house that was never truly a home, that you haven't visited since your mother died (fell down the stairs and cracked her head open all over the marble floor trying to reach the old landline to call for help for her particularly wretched case of alcohol poisoning, but she was already dying from cirrhosis of the liver after years and years of drinking, so you just tell people she had a nasty fall, and you aren't even lying, really, are you?)

you told yourself, promised yourself you would never come back here, that you were done with this place and the family plot where your mother now rests, and yet here you are, pushing open the creaking, groaning front door.

the nightmares are worse, here. you hear the voices in the daytime, now, too- while you're wide awake and you're losing track of the days, now, when did you last sleep? you haven't been drinking, you haven't you're sure of it, you only brought a few bottles with you and you threw out everything that had been in the house after your mother's funeral had ended- you took the bottles out, and you smashed them on the front drive, and you screamed and cried and vomited and jane had to take you back inside, didn't she? jane, poor jane, who saw all of your sickest moments, all the worst of you, and who had loved you anyway until you at last succeeded in pushing her away.

and it isn't just nightmares, or voices, or losing time- you've begun sleepwalking, something you never did before, and you wake up on the beach behind the manor every night, not remembering ever falling asleep, with the water up to your waist

anyway, rose is being called into the water by some Great Old One type shit and it does a real number on her sanity and it ends with her just going bugfuck and willingly, desperately trying to swim out to sea to get to the voices promising whatever it is that creepy sea whispers promise and vanishing in the ocean to become an urban legend while jane stands on the shore and screams frantically for her to stop, come back, rose please, rose this isn't like you, rose come back

there are no happy endings, but rose becomes an octopus sea witch serving old gods which i guess is okay for her

[ackalice]

Adelaide Altadonna!

Adelaide is a 15 year old italian (as of her intro episode) bisexual and asexual living in New York City.

Random Facts!

Very optimistic (annoyingly so)

Such a night owl

Obsessed with engineering and will go on tangents if you let her

No idea how to code. She despises it because she can't understand it. You can't get her anywhere near a computer to code

Her inability to code causes some of her inventions to be disfunctional

Nicknames include: Addie, Adsie, and Ads

Has multiple sets of headphones and earbuds to listen to music with

Has a boombox but only uses it outside

Loves a mix of pop and rap (with the exception of the occasional cheesy romance song)

No problem with getting messy

Loves to sketch out blueprints but can't actually draw anatomy worth a shit

Vanilla. VANILLA ANYTHING.

Will get attached too easily and too quickly. It ran off a lot of kids in elementary school

She is obsessed with cuddles. Platonic or romantic. Doesn't matter.

On that note, touch starved.

Speaks in Italian on occasion. Full accent and everything, but she can switch between American and Italian very fluidly.

Swears in Italian. No English curse words.

Backstory!

She grew up in the city and has always loved the lifestyle. She was born to a nice couple in Queens, just a bouncing baby girl with a full head of hair and a rowdy personality.

The three of them lived happily in a small two story apartment that they had owned two years before her birth. There wasn't really anything interesting about this period of her life. Normal infancy with loving parents who did their best to give her the best life they possibly could.

One day when she was having a normal day at school, going about her day as any second grader would, she got called out. She wasn't told much other than her parents had gone away on a trip and wouldn't be back for a long while. The truth wouldn't be told to her until she was 10.

Her biological parents died of- uncertain circumstances- and she was put into the foster system at the age of 7. This era was and still is pretty blurry. Life as she knew it had been torn apart and replaced with something else. Something she didn't thrive in very well.

She never had any friends in the first place but being an orphan on top of all her "annoying" qualities just made it worse. Even in the orphanage she now lived in all of the other kids avoided her. But instead of taking pity on herself she took this as an opportunity as started to put her time into something more valuable to her than friends. Engineering. Sure, it brought on more trouble than it was worth, smuggling scrap metal and other tools into her room and eventually getting caught for it, but it made her happy. And that's all she cared about.

This little pattern of her going to school, hating every minute of it, going back to the orphanage, ignoring everyone's snide comments, and working on little projects until midnight went on for five years. And then she got adopted.

By Robert and Melissa. At first glance, they seemed lovely! Supportive of their other two children Maddie and Noah, they lived in a nice two story house in Manhattan, and they even had a family dog! Maybe her life was finally starting to turn around for the better.

The first few weeks were amazing! It felt pretty validating to be loved so much after so long. But the bubble had to pop. And oh boy did it pop.

Maddie, her adoptive younger sister by two years, came up to her and warned her about their 'mother'. Told her about her habits and emotion swings. Adelaide was confused at first, but eventually understood what she had meant.

Melissa was abusive. Blatantly. Not physically, but emotionally. She would berate the girls for the littlest mistakes they made, the smallest sarcastic comment or attempt at a joke, and their appearance. The latter was mostly directed at Adelaide because of her form. Getting pushed into a family full of twigs will do that, she guessed.

Over time, she got used to the daily routine. Waking up, getting ordered by her hungover 'mother' to go walk the dog, pick up groceries, take her siblings to school, do almost all of the chores in the house, and then go to bed well past 1 A.M. after working on another project for herself. This was easy to fall into, after all, because she didn't have school herself. Adelaide was taken out of public school right after she graduated middle school. Melissa claimed it was so she could be home schooled, but anyone who would take a second look could tell that was bullshit. Not that they would.

Her father wasn't much help in the matter either, basically being the subject of her money leech of a mother. Robert wouldn't spare the children one look much less a care in the world about what Melissa would say to them.

So this crappy life of hers went on for three more years. Everyday, putting up with her adoptive parent's crap and trying her best to support her sister and infant brother.

But around the age of 13, Adelaide picked up a habit. Not a bad one, she may not have graduated but shes not idiotic, but one for fun. Every night after her mother had either passed out or gone in for her night shift, Adelaide would sneak out her bedroom window, climb the fire escape, and hop around/ just chill out on roofs. And do whatever. Tinkering, listen to music, sketch out blueprints, sing and dance by herself. Just let go of all her worries.

Having this activity added to her calendar, she felt like she could keep going. Like maybe if she held out for a bit longer she could get out.

And then she met four mutants with a jar of mosquitoes.

[myburntwritings]

Write Up - Loop 1, Weds 12th April 2023

It's nights like this one that I wished I was a better artist, because I would absolutely be sketching the most glorious visuals.

My first loop was a bit of a mish-mash, as I wanted to try for the Persephone show, and knew I would have to run off before the end of the loop. Plus, nobody was entirely calling to me from the cast list. (Or, the problem was, everybody was calling to me.)

I entered through Troy on my first red ace in a while. But with most of my early loop favourites over in Mycenae (not to mention and Ali Agamemnon) I headed straight across the border into Mycenae. I was just coming up the pair of steps to the Mycenae doors when I had to jump aside into the railing as a Trojan Queen marched past me with a look of such determination that I got the feeling negotiations with Mycenae for stopping the siege on Troy did not go well.

Entering into Mycenae, I passed under the gates and immediately looked up the ladder, only to find the Watchman was not up there. They were also not in their hut. Not the biggest surprise, but it’s Milton, he’s usually out top of the show. I walked past the girders and suddenly stopped. Since when did Neoptolomus and Patroclus get a lamp? Nope. We found our missing Watchman, lying on his back on the girders, lamp hanging down as he peered around the empty Mycenae. His slow movements reminiscent of the soldiers moving as Watchman climbs to a vantage point to check the weather. I’ve always seen it that Milton’s Watchman is desperate to be considered a soldier, but isn’t. He wears a different uniform than the other Watchmen that separates him from the rest of the Greek army. These few moments of playing pretend while Neoptolomus and Patroclus are away are as close as he gets, and it’s a very relatable and personal level of heartbreaking in a show where most of the heartbreak is on a scale we cannot personally imagine in our lives. Most cannot realistically imagine how it feels to sacrifice ourselves to protect a city, or to watch our child be sacrificed for the will of a God. But we can all relate to the slow and drudging disappointment and pain that we are not considered the same way as others, others that we admire and adore.

But, I was not following Watchman. He went off to climb his ladder, and I waited for Will’s Neoptolomus and James’ Patroclus to start trying to beat the shit out of each other. (See, being a soldier isn’t so great, Watchman.) I didn’t follow them into the crate room after they’d been broken apart and given their orders. Instead, I stayed with Ali’s Agamemnon.

I may have had this thought before, but if I have, I don’t remember. I really like the fact that Agamemnon fights with his feelings about Iphigenia’s sacrifice on the girders. The girders are so symbolic of the war and the Greek Armies he had been made leader of, everything he has sworn to do for his brother. And yet, when he reaches the top, he can see his family in the palace. He has a perfect view of everything he has already given up for this war. It would be easy for him to go to the palace and announce the news of Iphigenia’s engagement to his wife and daughter himself, but he has been so removed from their lives these last ten years, that he instead lets their maid deliver the news. He knows he cannot be a part of their joy. He has been absent much of his daughter’s life, and yet, as he battles with himself, he can’t help but keep running up to the top of the girders to get one last glimpse of them happy.

Ali’s Agamemnon continued to emotionally destroy me as he carried out the sacrifice. Such adoration and affection as he greets Iphigenia at the top of the girders and kisses her forehead. His silent, face-twisting scream of anguish and pain as he pulls back the blade. Collapsing to the ground, clinging to his daughter before he slips back from the perfect vantage point to his happy family back down into the mud and grit of war, where his anguish is solidified into vengeance. Every minute taken from his time with his family, every sacrifice they have made will be thrown back on Troy in blood.

I joined their invasion, Artemis’ screams of vengeance ringing in my ears.

In the Troy town square, I followed Fania’s Hecuba away from the sacrifice of her daughter. I rarely follow Hecuba, but her devastation was so beautiful, especially when you get into Hesperides and you get the added symbolism of the petals of blood flowing out through her fingers. Giving birth to blood and death and pain. Just stunning.

I had planned on watching Jude’s Askalaphos for the second half of the loop, but he was off spying somewhere, and so instead, I watched some of Polydorus’ resurrection with little trips back into Hesperides to see if our florist had turned up. I then decided to run up to Klub to at least see a little of the blinding before returning to the square.

As I crossed the balcony and stepped through the curtains into the office, Hecuba was crouched on top of the desk, Fania cursing in rapid Greek.

There isn’t a lot of dialogue in this show, but usually I appreciate the text that I can add to meaning and emotions. I didn’t need to understand the text to add meaning and emotion with Fania. It was all in her tone, in her face, and the fact it was Greek and I couldn’t understand the cursing made it all the better. Like spells muttered in Latin sound much more mystical, curses uttered in Greek sound so much more violent and vengeful, the language of the Gods, borrowed by mortals when we have need of it.

Hecuba leapt down from the desk and went to the window, joined by Luba on one side, Cassandra on the other. Hecuba placed her hands on the glass, watching as Polymestor began to revel in his success, death dancing around him. Cassandra had her right arm stretched out in a curve, her hand on the glass. Luba had their right arm in the mirror position. Together, they became the curving horns of Moloch, ready to gauge and maim. Polymestor believed they had sated the beast, but had instead woken one far more deadly.

[louka000]

The Violet Story

It's night at May 6 2023. I sleep. Then somehow the idea of a punk purple girl OC comes to my brain, and thought it will be very cool and very cute.

It's next day. May 7 2023. Bored on the computer, I launched up Paint.net to make a very "sexy" and "violent" Mary Sue joke OC. I drew the undetailed red sketch (basically lines) and everything. I put the smug and the nosebleed. It didn't turn out well.

While not being extremely happy AND is also dissapointed with the result, I had to take the dream OC I had last night. Drawing few hours, using lots of purple and girly shit, and then comes as this:

It comes the result with the shoeless footsie jeans, purple tank top that says "ME!" (meant that she came across as punky. it's not a fucking reference to an overrated singer), purple lips and lashes (to add love) and purple heart on her hair.

I am more proud and happy with the result more than the mary sue oc. I made lots of edits of her.

I originally had to call her "Puny", but then I had to call her Betty. Scared of people making of me for using the name some other OCs have, I had to call her "Violet" on the first Violet art description. I had to still use the name "Betty", and I once made the drawing of her meeting that other Betty (the one by Betty-M) few months later.

15 days later, I uploaded her to DeviantArt. Very few faves came across, although later Violet pics (even to this day) are getting more like.

Honestly she wasn't my #1 favorite OC, as I have made more OCs that interests me.

Until November.

On November 20, before coming back from school, I got the notification on my phone: Some Thai just mention me in the description of her art of Bethany hugging Violet. I was extremely happy that the first Louka-style OCs fanart came to me. No other 2023 fanarts was made, unlike this year. The fact that it uses "Violet" makes me had to make Violet as this OC's official and actual name, though "Betty" is her real name.

Despite the fact that it features Violet, I was getting obsessed with Bethany, the hipster douchebag cutie. I made several arts of her around late 2023. She used to be my main OC.

Bethany then suddenly went on to be my 2nd favorite OC I made, with the 1 spot goes to... Violet. As my love of her unique appearance goes, I'm surprised this purple girl came to be.

Some days in months, she has become the Louka OC with the most fanarts. I counted in the fanart folder, there are 19 (other ocs have less than 4).

I was happy about the fanarts I have.

Despite me loving the initial design, I had to do a little redesign on my PPG AU with cringe and now outdated info.

Some days later, I had to announce that Violet is genderfluid now. Her female form is the most iconic, but Violet also has male and non-binary forms (male violet is shown here).

These days, Violet is my most popular OC. Violet is appreciated on Deviantart, Instagram, Twitter, Discord, and even RateYourMusic of all sites. My magnum opus. My essential OC. The To Pimp A Butterfly of LoukaPowerpuff's character. Fanarts of her have been made, which I still appreciate.

Which is even for a little cute "silly" purple PPG OC that I, the only person from Pas-de-Calais (France) you know (unless you know Louane or Norman Thavaud), made out of silliness, with the name of Jerimin19's classic OC.

[mcalhenwrites]

Now that Geckos is out, I plan to work on the side stories for a little collection of them. "Don't" and "Dancing Bones" will be edited, but I plan to post them online for free as well as put them in the story collection.

It'll likely only be an ebook, though, and it'll have a few more stories. That includes a finished version of "Late Returns" (what I've posted is only the first part of a WIP). I want to get back to Stargazers' Hill and the Warren/Henry story that isn't titled yet, but right now, Seasons has taken over my brain again. I'm editing and reposting chapters on AO3. I thought people might be upset that I was reposting it, but so far the reception has been kind. ;A; (I still feel bad somehow? But that's on me.) After publishing Geckos and having an amazing day in the next town over, the following day was... not so great. We had storms. I'm gonna be vague for location reasons, but I live in one of the towns hit by a tornado the other day. I saw a map of it, and uh, I could've seen the tornado out my bedroom window if it had hit during the day instead of at night where visibility is shit. And if I hadn't been huddled in the downstairs hallway with my cats and roommate. I was panicked about the weather all day, and that was worse because it was the anniversary of Andover 1991 (a tornado). I lived through that. Uh, very luckily I lived through that, it hit my neighborhood and was scary close to my house, to the point the sirens 50 ft away or so were drowned out by the sound of the tornado. We had no basement and no good inner rooms or closets in such a tiny house at the time. I've been through other tornadoes since then, but none were as terrifying as that one. Before the tornado and after the reminder that it was Andover 1991 aniversary... I also got an email that I didn't get a job that would've been good for my disabilities. Like, worked around it well and not been too straining on me. Plus I would've worked with animals. I'm struggling financially, so writing is the only way I'm getting any income - outside of crocheting, and I don't want to fucking do that for money. I want my hobby back. I want to make gifts. I want to make OC dolls. I want my limited physical spoons for crocheting to be for ENJOYMENT. Not so stressful it makes me fucking hate crocheting. Which... yeah, I'm kind of there again. That said, I have made a few book sales, but... Well, I'll keep trying. I've got other novels cooking. I'll double down my focus, maybe. I will sketch more. Maybe I'll reconsider using something like Patreon, which... don't love, but like. What can you love? Every site is screwing over creators in some way or another. :'( It's depressing, actually, bc I hop on facebook, and I can't see ANY posts of the people and groups I follow, but you know what I DO see? Fucking suggested pages for AI art. I really hope all the people who gentrified the tiny house movement get scammed into buying stupid fake tiny houses due to AI images and end up taking legal action eventually that helps to bring about the (hopefully inevitable) death of AI? I'm mean, but like, tiny houses and mobile homes and caravans and shit like that were houses before rich people decided they were cute and they went up to $200k-$300k. I wanted a tiny house bc I thought, "at least I might someday afford this" but nah. They took even that away. So enjoy your shitty "this is perfect for me" gushing when the fucking pillows are melted into the planks and the switches for the oven and stovetop are underneath the burners! Anyway! I should probably do more writing and take my anemic ass to bed soon. It's been... a shitty couple of days. I'm trying to be cheerful and remain optimistic and just boost Geckos, Automata... but eh. I'm also trying to survive when everything is against that. I had a suicidal thought earlier today that I should just gulp down all the pills I can get my hands on and be done with things. yay. (I won't. It was a passing thought. A desperate "oh god I can't afford to live and I should give up, I'm in my late 30s and nothing ever gets better" thought.)