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bunny-lily · 3 months

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Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy.

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down.

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing.

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor.

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs.

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now.

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played.

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore.

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone.

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh.

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain.

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys?

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position.

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in.

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus.

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager.

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere.

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #fem reader #I'm going light on the tags fn #is this considered light lmao #fluff #jjk fluff

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saytrrose · 2 months

Note

Hey rose do u have a discord server?

I do, for my tumblr peepers and it’s open for anyone who is interested however do note that’s it’s 18+ only and we require ID upon entry to be verified.

WAYYY too many minors and scammers trying to get in yk, so @bunny-j3st3r and I have that good system in place. I mention that in case you may not be comfortable sharing a picture of your ID to prove your age- it’s okay, lots of ppl don’t.

If you still wanna join tho you still need to send ID but all you gotta do is really show us the age like if you are not comfy with your photo- DW!! just scribble it out or smth 🥺🥺❗️❗️

#yeah fr fr #it’s just the best way to actually make sure it stays 18+

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mosylufanfic · 2 years

Text

By Any Other Name

Because I’m basically obligated to do a rock star AU at some point, right?

Send me a prompt for Nano!

By Any Other Name

Jyn liked this time of day in the Kyber, the grubby little bar she co-owned with her best friend. Early afternoon was a dip where the hardcore drinkers and the lunch crowd had all cleared out or been cut off, and the after-work crowd wasn't in yet. She used the time to catch up on paperwork and put on her favorite music.

"You like this song?"

The voice came from the end of the bar, where their one customer of the moment was drinking a draft beer and scribbling on what looked like staff paper. A starving songwriter, she concluded, a dime a dozen in LA.

"It's all right," she said, because it had only taken her the first shift as a bartender to realize that some guys would take a statement as innocuous as "this is my favorite song right now" and translate it to "please, take my body at your earliest convenience."

"It's just, you're singing along."

Had she been? Damn. Bodhi referred to her singing voice as the unholy love child of a rusty gate and a cat in heat. "Sorry."

He laughed. "No, it's fine." He had a nice smile, wide and bright, with dimples. Cute.

Also a dime a dozen in LA.

She shrugged and hit the buttons on her laptop to save her most current schedule. "It's catchy," she said. "I guess I do sing along when it comes on the radio."

The song ended and another began, with no deejays jabbering in between. And it was the next song on the artist's newest album.

He raised a brow.

"Fine! The whole album's on my favorite playlist at the moment. It's good. All right? That what you wanted to know?"

He lifted both hands in a peaceable gesture, laughing again. "I’m not trying to interrogate you. That's just my favorite song from the album. The one you were singing along to."

“Yeah? Even though it's not the one that's the big hit or whatever?”

"That one's good too," he acknowledged. "But 'Built on Hope' is just - I like it better."

"Yeah."

He held out a hand. "Joreth."

She shook it briefly. "Liana," she said, giving him the name she went by behind the bar, to deter creepers and scammers.

"Liana, that's pretty. What is that, a flower?"

"It's a sort of vine," she said - also her usual answer. "A strangling vine. It kills trees."

He laughed. "Killed any trees today?"

"Sadly, no, but the day is young."

At the other end of the bar, Bodhi cleared his throat, loudly. She glanced at him, saw he was doing the bottle count, and figured he'd just had a frog in his throat.

"He's playing tonight, you know," Joreth said, pointing upward at the speaker. "Cassian Andor."

"Yeah, I heard. I've got to work. Plus tickets are an arm and a leg."

"Surely no more than a hand."

She grinned. "Whatever body part I'd have to give up, it'd be too much. Anyway, those big stadium shows aren't for me. All lights and screaming and shit." She shuddered. "Gives me a migraine."

He tipped his beer toward her. "I'm with you there. He's got another one tomorrow. An acoustic set at a little club."

That was more her speed. But she eyed him suspiciously. "What are you, his manager?"

He laughed again. The way his eyes crinkled was not something you often saw in LA, where wrinkles were the horror of half the town and the bane of the other half. "Something like that," he said.

Bodhi cleared his throat again, louder.

"Spit or swallow, Bodes," she called out to him, and turned back to the guy at the bar. "Well, if I'd known, maybe I would have scrounged up whatever favors I needed to go. But it's probably too late now."

“You never know.”

The door opened and a tall skinny man in a suit that cost more than her car came in.

"ID," Jyn said automatically.

He eyed her. "I assure you I am of age, and anyway, I'm not here to imbibe." He marched up to Joreth. "You," he said balefully.

"Hi, Kay," Joreth said.

"You are late."

"I told you I was going to work on songs today."

"I thought you meant in your hotel room like a reasonable human being, not in some grimy dive bar."

"Hey," Bodhi and Jyn said in concert.

"It's not grimy," Joreth said. "It's very nice. Good beer." He drank the last of it and set his pint glass down.

Bodhi, who was in charge of ordering, looked mollified. Jyn narrowed her eyes at Kay.

Kay ignored her. "Come along."

"Hang on." Joreth swiped a line across the middle of his sheet music, wrote a quick string of notes, and a phrase, and then folded the papers into a leather portfolio and got up. "See you around," he said to Jyn, and left with his - friend? Minder? Captor?

Bodhi sidled up. "Do you remember," he said, "how as your lifelong best friend, I'm contractually obligated to let you know when you're being a human disaster?"

"What was disastrous about that?" Jyn asked, opening up her schedule, then remembering she'd finished it. Although if Shara couldn't get babysitting again - "We were talking about music."

"You were talking about Cassian Andor."

"Is this a don't-talk-about-dudes-with-other-dudes thing? Because if bringing up a pop star is a violation, that's awfully damn fragile."

Bodhi threw his hands in the air. "You were talking about Cassian Andor with Cassian Andor!"

"What?"

"And he was into you!"

"His name was Joreth,” she mumbled, still stuck on talking about Cassian Andor with Cassian Andor.

"Sure," Bodhi said. "And yours is Liana."

"But he - " She waved her hand in front of her face. "He had a beard. And a ball cap."

"Right, right, yeah, I forgot. Multi-platinum pop stars are physically incapable of growing facial hair, and putting on a ball cap when they might not want to be recognized."

She goggled into the near distance. "Oh my god, I'm a disaster."

"Well, I tried," Bodhi said.

She shoved him. "By coughing? What happened to sending me a text?"

"Your phone's dead. Again."

She picked it up and found it dark. "Oh, yeah."

He shook his head. "Seriously, there's no helping you."

The bar phone rang and Jyn reached for it. "The Kyber."

"May I speak to Liana?"

"Speaking."

"I represent Cassian Andor. He'd like to invite you to be his special guest at Club Yavin tomorrow night."

Jyn hung up.

"Scammer?" Bodhi said.

The phone rang again. "I assume we got disconnected," the person on other end said disdainfully. Now she could identify the voice of the tall skinny guy. "As I was saying, Cassian Andor would like you to join - "

"Yes, I heard you the first time," she said. "Is this a joke?"

"No joke, I assure you," said the rather bored voice. "Cassian is presently sitting across from me in the limo, making faces and gesturing wildly - "

"Kay!" said a strangled voice.

"It is very distracting. Are you coming or not? If you leave him in suspense, he might have an aneurysm, and he has to play a show in five hours."

A groan loud enough for the phone to pick it up.

"Let me talk to him," Jyn said.

"I am capable of giving you all the information you need - "

"Cassian," she snapped. "Now."

A minor scuffle, and then the voice of Joreth - no, Cassian - came over the line. "Hi."

"This how you get your jollies?" she demanded. "By picking up strange women in bars who don't recognize you?"

"It helped," he said. "Liana, I - "

"Jyn," she said. "It's Jyn."

"Jyn," he said. "And I'm Cassian."

"Yeah. Yeah, I figured that out."

"Well, what do you think? I'll send a car so you don't have to fight traffic, and we can get dinner after. Or drinks - or - "

She pursed her lips. "I dunno. It's been a long time since I went and saw a guy play guitar in a club. I might have something else to do."

Bodhi grabbed the phone. "She's coming. You can pick her up here. What time? Great. She'll be ready." He hung up.

She punched him. "Bodes!"

"That was no time to play it cool, Jyn. You have a date with Cassian Andor, and he's totally into you." He looked thoughtful. "Also, pop star or not, he might be as much of a human disaster as you are."

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo stories #rock star AU #star wars

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dmwrites · 2 years

Text

“Joe, we need money.”

Joe, who had been trying to relax in a corner, watched Cleo rummage through their chests with a tired look.

“Cleo, this is my house. My things. You need diamonds, not me. I only need the company of my friends and a couple of good forms of media. Diamonds have little to no use to me.”

Cleo sighed. “Well, Joe, some of us want to be material girls and buy pretty things.”

“And you’d be a fool to ever mistake me as an ATM.” Joe replied. “Why don’t you just go ask some other hermits.” They leaned back against the wall, closing their eyes. “Go rob them or something, I don’t know.”

“Are you assuming that because I often speak violently and will fight if provoked, that I would steal?” Cleo, offended, put a hand to her chest as if she was stabbed. She considered her words for a moment. “Well, hold on now, you actually might be on to something for once. Thanks Joe!” Cleo ran off.

“No problem. Be gay and do crimes or whatever the kids say these days.” Joe said, falling asleep right after that.

The way to get what you want is to dress appropriately for the occasion, a lesson Cleo had learned from Scar. So she dressed in a no-nonsense suit, and held a clipboard. She was ready to get her diamonds, in the best possible way she could think of.

Cleo kicked in the front door of GigaPies. “What’s up, motherfuckers? I’m CleOSHA, and I’m here to do an inspection on your asses.”

Ren and Cub jumped up from the pie bar, startled.

“Oh, my, Cleo, I mean, I think my behind would get an excellent rating, but you’re clearly the expert here, girl!” Ren turned around and bent over.

“Ren! No! For goodness sakes, I mean I’m here to inspect your working conditions, your food! I’m OSHA! CleOSHA!” Cleo blocked Ren’s booty with her clipboard.

“Oh.” Ren sounded kind of disappointed. “Wait, inspecting this place? This pie place was dreamed up by my grandma on the back of a cocktail napkin- there’s nothing wrong with it!”

“What exactly would you be inspecting?” Cub asked, crossing his arms.

“Oh, you know, stuff like kitchen cleanliness, working conditions for the employees, checking for gas leaks… the usual.” Cleo had no idea what she was talking about, and really hoped they didn’t know either.

“Oh.” Ren sounded nervous now. “Well, there isn’t a single problem here, I can assure you. But, let’s assume there was… something. What would happen? Hypothetically.”

“I’d shut down your pie place, that’s what I’d do.” Cleo scribbled importantly on her paper- she wasn’t actually writing anything though.

“Oh, right, naturally.” Ren sounded very nervous now. “Well, there’s nothing wrong here, not a single thing! And you know this, because, well…” Ren coughed and slid half a stack of diamond blocks onto Cleo’s clipboard.

Cleo blinked at the shiny squares, then smirked. “Oh yes, I see now. This place is safe and spotless. Have a nice day, you two.” She pocketed the diamonds.

“Sure think, Cleo baby! Come back any time when you’re off the clock! And hey! I bet those filthy elves could use a little looksee.” Ren called to her.

Cleo smiled evilly. She hasn’t thought of that. She had just been content to take her diamonds and leave.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

The door to the elven cookie factory was, unfortunately, already open, so Cleo just strolled in.

“Hey Cleo.” Cub looked up from his computer at the front desk.

“Hey Cub. I- wait a second, weren’t you just-” Cleo looked back at GigaPies, then at Cub.

“Don’t think about it.” Cub cut her off.

“…Okay then. Uh, Cub, I’m here for-”

“Wait, it funnier when you’re cursing and full of badass girlboss scammer energy. Let me get Scar so he can witness this.” Cub trotted off to the back room, and she heard him talking to a cartoonishly loud man. Said man came rolling out, a huge smile firmly hoisted onto his face.

“ZombieCleo, my undead friend. That suit is quite striking on you, I must say. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m fucking CleOSHA, and I’m here to inspect your cookie factory for health and safety violations.” Cleo said, holding her clipboard tight.

“Oh, why of course!” Scar said airily. “Please, let me give you a tour!”

The place was awful. There were melted puddles of chocolate all over the floor, bugs on the cooking cookies, worker elves vanishing or turning into zombies right in front of their eyes. Scar showed all of this and more, smiling and oblivious all the way. Cleo made a mental note to never buy one of Scar’s cookies.

They ended the tour back in the main room, where Cub was still working on his computer.

“So, CleOSHA, how did I do?” Scar smoothed his robes in a self-congratulatory way.

“You fail inspection.” Cleo said.

The pleasant businessman’s smile dropped from Scar’s face at once.

“Would it pass if I was to offer you, say, a stack of diamond blocks?” Scar sounded a lot less friendly all of a sudden. Cleo cackled internally.

“Oh, I see. That does certainly change things… I think that would work wonderfully, thanks.” Cleo held out her hand, and Scar counted out sixty-four cold blocks of diamonds right into her palm. “Great doing business with you, Scar.”

“You as well, Cleo. Come back for a free Elven Surprise cookie any time you’d like.” Scar and Cub waved her off. Cleo made a note to never eat any food offered by any of the food vendors ever again, and strolled back to her place with her pockets heavy with diamonds.

#CleOSHA taken from a s8 stream I was watching of them #June 14 2022 #fic #hermitcraft #s9 #zombiecleo #long post

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facelessxchurch · 6 months

Text

Review/Rant: Official Merch Store

General Short Version

Remember how he said he would hire professional artists for the official merch store? Yeah, Landy lied bc of course he did. Pretty sure he designed this stuff himself. I mean, a too big amount of items are his doodles.

I didn't expect much, didn't even hope for merch for my favs, but I expected at least some new SP art instead of recycled art (some art is so old it's still from when the first trilogy was released) and well, text.

And no, Landy's shitty 5-second doodles of Skul and himself don't count as "art". Neither does the skull silhouette on some items. Couldn't even be arsed to add eye socks and nose smh :/

3 pages full of garbage merch. He really went for quantity over quality here.

And to add further insult to injury, the prices of the items he sells are heavily overpriced.

So yeah, this entire store is a sign of disrespect and balant insult to the fandom. I hope no one buys this.

Long Version

The Notebooks/-pads

Too much empty space. WAY too much empty space. You couldn't possibly have done this in a lazier way.

The sarcasm one is hardly even SP-related. Plus, he didn't even attempt to pretty the text up a little with typography. He didn't use the 'bold' font for "Caution" which would have been the bare minimum. This doesn't even count as trying.

I TRIED to make the two with characters on it a little better by reducing the empty space, but it's really hard to polish a turd. Especially if ya don't wanna put more than 5 min in lol

Totem Bags

This store has totem bags, but they are worse than the Kickstarter one. At least the Kickstarter one had text big enough that you could read it from afar. For the text on the new ones, you'll need a magnifying glass.

Clothing

Some of the text has the same problem as the totem bags: too small to read. The only time text should be that small is if it isn't meant to be read or when it's "if you can read this you're too close" T-Shirt. This applies especially to A6.

If you have B2 you don't need B1. What happened here? Did he have an item amount quota to reach?

A3, B3 and C3 are Landy's shitty 5 second doodles again. Unless they are used to signed the cloths they don't belong on the clothes. Pay for a custom design, you cheap ass scammer!

A4 and A5, the stripe with Skul should be thicker. If it's on a shirt you shouldn't need a magnifying glass to see it. Also, the blue stripe needs more contrast, the blue is eating the black outlines of Skul. The red stripe on the blue shirt... I just really don't like that blue tone and I hate that he doubled down on it. For the website too.

C1 should have had the sold letters bc you can't read it from further away with that effect on top.

C2 at last you can read this one. Not getting any creativity points from me tho. Once again it's just text and probably took him 5 seconds to design.

Now listen, here is what I want instead. I have this zip-up hoodie from Killstar. I love and essentially I want this but in SP.

Faceless One version: The symbol on the front is the Faceless Church symbol. The back is a picture with Mev in the middle and his generals around him and it's done in the style of those stained glass windows you see in Christian churches but black and white. I don't know what I want on the sleeves. Maybe bursts of flames, symbolizing Mev's fire attacks. Or perhaps just parts of the 'Gospel of the Faceless' scribbled along on the arms in English, Latin or even Irish??? Or one arm a snake to symbolize Nef and the other a lion to symbolize Baron as his right and left hand men?

China Sorrows Version: The symbol in the front should be a crest with a scorpion on it. The back image is a drawing of China in the Art nouveau style. The arms should be a roll of paper curling down each arm with various symbols drawn on them, artfully intervening with each other.

Hats

I wouldn't say that "We don't talk about vampires" is one of the more iconic quotes of the series, but besides that not even an attempt was made at typography. Or like, a little vampire head silhouette with an open mouth and exposed fangs. or even just fangs around the text or anything at all even.

It doesn't assault my eyes, but it's also incredibly boring.

To the people saying they wanted to buy Skul's head: just go to a hat store and buy a fedora. It's gonna be better quality than whatever Landy would smack on the store for a criminal price.

Everything with his face on it

No. How full of yourself do you have to be to try and sell merch with your face on it. The quotes are awful too

The quotes on the postcards are so awfully 2012 Tumblr "quirky" I'm-not-like-other-people ^w^ edgy bullshit vibes. Wasn't cute when it came from the emo kids back then and it coming from a +50 year old man trying to be relatable to the kids these days is just sad and cringe.

Also, I'm pretty sure by sending people that greeting card is how you end relationships including familiar relationships.

Baby's first InDesign Skull

It's what it says in the title. Should have just used the iconic Skul logo instead to make it look like SP and less like random shit you can find on Etsy after reaching page 100.

Really should have just used the old school icon. Thee is a reason it's so iconic: it's easy to recognize as Skul and not random skull/skeleton number 5643489. Plus, using the old one is about the same amount of effort as making the new one.

Honestly, it should have been custom art, but the iconic SP icon would be the lesser evil by a far.

On top of hat, black text is hard to read on a red background js.

Also, what kind of chaotic evil alinged bastard uses a metal pencil case???

Prints

Ngl I always thought the "Mortail Coil" cover was one of the best of the entire series. I also really love the OG "Dark Days" cover. OG book covers as prints? Easy win! Still fucking overpriced tho. Plus the OG covers also would have looked good on clothing, way better than the shit he ended up slapping on there.

As for the collage with all of the characters in it: I always thought it looked awful. The characters were just thrown in there without much thought or care. Also hate that he used the ugly ass SoW Nef instead of the way better-looking Book 1 cover Nef.

Rainbow Ruler

This isn't even Skulduggery-themed. I feel like HarperCollins told Landy he had to put something in the store for the gays but instead of making something like a cute lil Valkyrie/Militsa pin he just smacked this into the store.

The Skulduggery Apron

The only thing that makes it SP-themed is that they smacked a sign saying "Cooking with Skulduggery" on it. Otherwise, it looks like every other skeleton apron you can get around Halloween.

Coaster

So empty and boring again. It looked way better with the moth eventho it was a "Silent of the Lambs" movie poster rip-off. Still don't know why a skull is the official Sanctuary logo. Seems kinda weird for the good guys. On a meta level: I guess literally EVERYTHING in universe has to revolve around Skulduggery.

Make the Sanctuary seal more interesting and then invert the values so the background if black and the lines are white and this could actually look decent.

Skulduggery Clock

This looks like a your-photo-here clock that you can order at every random print shop. Here are some examples from HP to show HOW a custom clock for the fans is meant to look like next to it. (Also look at this Thresh watch, it's so good I almost regret not wearing watches.)

Lunchbox and Waterbottle

Same thing as with the clock. Tho the water bottle also has too much white space.

Mouse-/Gamerpads

Recycled art again. The mousepads look weird with Val placed smack dead in the middle. Plz apply the rule of thirds and move her a little to the right.

Pillows and Bag

AGAIN WITH THOSE SHITTY DOODLES Someone tell Landy that if it takes about 5 seconds to draw it does NOT belong on merchendise!

Also, that floating "Bad Magic" Skul really doesn't work on it's own, Just... just use the damn Skul icon if you gotta be lazy.

Final Words

Overpriced lazy garbage that Landy definetely designed himself. No person with self-respect would even consider participating in this cash grab.

It's an insult to every fan, really.

How to fix this? Delete everything from the website, hire a professional artist, go for quality over quantity. A few items that sell really well are a million times better than a bunch of items that don't sell. If the shop goes well you can always expand.

Almost all of the store should have been custom art apart from a few exceptions where old promo art and book covers are used for tops and posters.

#skulduggery pleasant #sp merch #long post #well this was a waste of time #that I regret #I did not expect it to take this long #but there is just so much merch #and none of it good #rant #art rant

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snotsloth · 7 months

Text

Hey y'all,

So, as you have all probably seen, I've been participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time in like a decade and having a fantastic time. I've written more in the last 15 days than I have in a very very long time.

But some stuff has happened. Unbeknownst to me, while I was having a grand old time writing my little (irresponsibly long) Baldur's Gate fanfic, the NaNoWriMo forums were on fucking fire.

And for good reason! Apparently, for basically an entire year, moderators and staff have been stifling dissenting voices of forum members who brought up legitimate and serious concerns such as, but not limited to, official sponsors who were scammers that had been previously identified and called out in the forums, inconsistent forum moderation (including favoritism and special treatment for people they were close with), and inadequate protections for participants under the age of 18.

It got so bad that the Board of Directors had to step in and closed down the forums on Nov 12. The posted a statement, and did leave a few specific threads open to collect community comments and answer questions. You can read what they have to say on the primary statement (CW for talk of harassment, mentions of transphobia and racism, and talk of child sexual abuse) here. That thread also has a helpful list of links at the bottom of the initial post that will help you get up to speed if you wish, though it is a lot of reading and potentially traumatizing if you've dealt with issues like this before.

I'm not going to rehash all the details here because even though I've spent a good chunk of the last two days reading up on this mess. I'm not a direct participant in any of these events and I would rather you read what happened in their own words if you're interested.

What I will say is it looks like the NaNoWriMo organization suffered from chronic under-staffing which resulted in employees working excessive hours at jobs that they lacked adequate skills, training, and support to do effectively. In an attempt to make every donation dollar count, they over-promised and under-delivered on programs and services offered by the org, and fundamental safety parameters were just never put in place.

It does appear like the Board is taking things very seriously and they are working on an action plan. However, none of those actions will be taken until at least Nov 27. So, for me, this is where my NaNoWriMo participation ends for the year. I am still working feverishly to meet my personal goal. I just won't be tagging any updates with NaNoWriMo or Nano2023. I will probably still be doing my daily word count updates because they entertain me and help keep me motivated, but it will just be tagged with generic writing and BG3 tags.

I hope that the Board of Directors is able to get things under control and that we see a new and improved NaNoWriMo organization rise in 2024. This annual challenge and the community around it has been a terrific influence in the lives of many writers. Until then, I'll just be over here, scribbling about blorbos.

#nanowrimo #nano 2023 #cw child abuse #cw csa mention

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natashas-girl · 1 year

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I still love you

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: none

A/n: based off of irl shit

Scarlett was a whirlwind. Scarlett was a summer breeze. Scarlett was the one real thing in your life.

Saying that Scarlett wasn't a force of nature in her own would be a lie. She swept you off your feet the moment that you met her, all peppered kisses and moonlight walks. Your three months of happiness were the best three months of your life.

They didn't feel quite so happy right now.

Two weeks. Two weeks ago, your phone had lit up with a text from Scarlett. Grinning happily and thinking, i wouldnt trade this feeling for anything, you unlocked your phone to see what she had sent you.

The joy in your chest dissolved immediately as you read the text.

We need to talk, the text said,

Okay, you replied, I'm free to talk right now. You had nothing left to do that day, and you had just finished with work.

You weren't going to lie to yourself and pretend that you weren't nervous. Your heart shook in your chest, your brain barely able to function.

Still, looking at the positive side of thing and denying your worst thoughts, you hurried to distract yourself.

You cleaned your kitchen. Beat every level of some dumb game. Wrote every word that you could remember of your high school graduation speech.

All while your phone was sitting beside you, with the volume turned all the way up, with you anxiously glancing at it.

It had been at least two hours already, right?

Ding.

Scrambling to grab your phone, you unlocked it to see. . .

Mom:

Hey honey, you coming over for dinner tonight?

Hastily typing back, not tonight, but thanks, you sighed and put your phone back down.

Okay. . . Deep breaths. . . Come on, what's the worst thing that could happen?

You hastily scribbled down the first thing that came to mind for each letter

Asking someone else out

Br-

No. You couldnt write that. You didnt even want to think that.

Sighing, you got back to distracting yourself.

Thirty minutes later, after scratching and biting all of your nail polish off, you had run out of things to distract yourself with.

Everything you did just reminded yourself of scarlett.

Your phone rang with a call- from Scarlett?

Nope. A scammer.

You sighed and began to binge a show.

An hour and a half later, you decided that enough was enough- you needed to text scarlett.

You were afraid to.

Terrified.

But, it could just be nothing. You could be overreacting.

Hey, are u still there? You typed.

You were about to click send when a message from her appeared.

I'm so sorry, it read, i just cant date you anymore. It's not the right time for me to have a relationship.

There was a whole other paragraph explaining why she couldnt be with you. Your eyes blurred few sentences in.

A tear slipped out.

You were shocked

Shook

Stunned

When a tear slipped out, your eyes cleared just enough for you to type a short and simple okay,

But apparently that wasn't enough for Scarlett.

Scar:

Great!

Scar:

We can still be friends though, right?

No.

You:

Yeah, i think so,

That was another lie.

#Scarlett Johansson #Scarjo #Scarlett Johansson x reader #Scarlett Johansson x reader angst #Scarjo x reader #Angst #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Marvel actors #Scarjo x reader angst #Sorry I posted this on my wattpad like a week ago lol but I forgot to post it here so it just sat in my drafts

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zeebtrolls · 5 months

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yeah…..merry christmas scribble from scammer santa. u get nothing but a kiss as a gift

#tiffey #zeebart #shitposting #homestuck oc #fantroll #fantroll art #homestuck #my ocs

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shesgabrielle · 1 year

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What makes an artist? (Clue: not this)

So I saw this yesterday, and now bouncing around my mind is how revealing those fake 'notes' are as to the psychology of fake ai scammers.

For context a guy entered an ai piece into a book cover contest, and then supplied his psd file as 'proof' it was original art and not ai generated, but was outed immediately by artists who dug through the psd and noticed things like layer names being in the format of discord username_midjourney_prompt,

subsequently, searching for his discord username, (midjourney generations happen on public and private discord servers, public generations are merely a keyword search away) only to find hundreds of generated assets matching the elements seen in the ai art piece.

Above: hundreds of generated assets, and the character seen in his final piece, in his discord midjourney generations.

But let's look at these 'notes.'

This is a fake 'sketch' layer where he painted over the ai generated piece to try and reverse engineer a sketch, a common effort by ai scammers which always looks super obvious to artists since generally a sketch is not just a more messily painted version of the final with no dimensional or structural changes whatsoever (why the concept of a progressively changing sketch is alien to these guys will be addressed momentarily)

To the side of the fake sketch, he scribbled 'download brush for hair?' Well first off if you can paint a human figure in any amount of detail you do not need to download a brush to synthesise hair, but I think this was simply word association hair + brush. Then we have a note below it, 'download smoke elements' with smoke crossed out like a 7 year old writing an essay, and replaced with 'grunge.' Needless to say, artists don't usually think in these terms of specifically of downloading elements needed, maybe searching for refs, that idea of downloading alone is very ai art thief behaviour, but to dig into the behaviour behind the faux note with 'smoke' crossed out a little more. So any person writing a digital note in an image file can simply use the eraser tool to erase an incorrectly written note, and rewrite it. He either is unaware of the eraser tool (like top 3 basic tools even microsoft paint has) or, (possibly both) it shows something in his thought patterns. When making a 'mistake,' even a fake one, he crosses out the mistake instead of trying to fix it. This is part of the root of why these people will never make art, because their base psychology is simply 'no mistakes, get it right the first time' which is precisely why the mcdonalds instant generated art is so appealing and addictive to them. And I'm sure they tried to draw once, did not instantly produce a masterpiece, and threw their pencils away in disgust at the 'blessed' 'talented' artists who they presume, have the same lack of dedication and passion as them and would not create unless it was for the same instantaneous gratification and approval they desire. They say as much themselves whenever they defend ai.

The reality: Art is not the art of making, it's the art of fixing. It's the art of adjusting something hundreds or thousands of times until it is what you want it to be. Unless you are fascinated by the process of adjusting and fixing, you will never make art of any kind. And a final note, that shitty 'palette' on the side makes no sense since, yet again, top 3 art tools in microsoft paint includes the colour dropper, so if you want to reuse a particular colour you simply use the colour dropper. This man is not even familiar with the most basic art program settings yet wants to larp as a digital artist, to the point of trying to gain acclaim by winning art contests. He has obviously vanished offline as soon as all this was revealed, I hope many more ai 'artists' are shamed off the internet in a similar way.

#ai art #Ai #Aiart #Generated art #Art thieves #Ai bros #Midjourney

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noodyl-blasstal · 2 years

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Scamming me, scamming you: chapter 4

Well, it had to all come tumbling down at some point...

Read below or on A03 Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3

Kravitz was spiralling. He was spiralling with a plate full of the best sesame noodles he’d ever eaten, but he was spiralling. That had not gone well. It had definitely not gone well. He was fairly sure that even Sloane, who usually told him things weren’t as bad as he imagined, would acknowledge that as a disaster.

However, it had helped establish some facts for Kravitz to scribble down: 1) Kravitz was Bad At People (known.) 2) Taako was the most attractive person in the world (known.) 3) Taako could cook lovely food and was also really nice about it (confirmed.) 4) Taako was funny and kind hearted (assumed, confirmed.) 5) Taako said Kravitz’s ass looked great in a suit (intention???????) 6) Taako had definitely said Kravitz’s ass looked great in a suit and flirted with him (supposition.)

Hypothesis: ?????????????????

Google said that you could compliment friends’ arses in a platonic way, so did it mean Taako was actually interested in him? Probably not, (see established fact 1). Maybe Taako was just being nice to make it less awkward? Yes, okay, he’d called him Krav, and no one gave him nicknames. No one thought he was fun enough to give nicknames to. But Taako had… Taako had said it was just about syllables though, and that made sense, it was convenient, not affectionate…

T hadn’t done it for convenience though, had he? He had just given him a name for fun… T was throwing affection about for free (well, until he bled Kravitz’s bank account dry anyway.) So, theoretically, if Kravitz just kept emailing T he could get used to it… He could adjust to someone being nice at him and being nice back and that would all just seem normal and fine. Maybe if he also went to one dinner with him? Just to practice, practice being cool and chill and absolutely capable of going on a date with someone. That would probably really help. Then Taako would come by work with food again and Kravitz would be suave at him instead of a panicky mess. That seemed reasonable.

Today had been awkward, that was undeniable, but it meant he had already gotten the apology for Candlenights out of the way. It was always going to be awkward speaking to Taako for the first time since then, of course it was. The way he acted was completely normal and perfectly understandable. Next time, next time, Kravitz would be able to deal with Taako flirting and touching his hand and being nice to him and giving him nicknames because he’d be prepared. He’d do one practice, just one practice dinner, and then he was going to get Taako’s number from Lup and just casually ask him out. Kravitz could do that. He was going to start practicing right now.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Hey T, are you free Friday night?

Krav xxx

There. Just like that. Once he ticked this off he could do it for Taako too. He’d pay for one dinner, get scammed one time on purpose, but really the scammer wouldn’t realise that they were actually just helping him pick up a life skill. It was an investment. If anything, Kravitz would owe them for their time, so it was right to pay for dinner anyway. Before he could get too deep into the ethics of forcing someone to teach him without them actually being aware of doing it, his phone buzzed.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: For you Krav? Absolutely! I thought you would have asked earlier, I was worried I upset you. T xxx

Oh no, Kravitz should definitely not have left the phone in the drawer for so long… Balls. He didn’t want to hurt him… Not that he should feel guilty. It was that he needed to keep him on the hook! Of course he didn’t feel guilty, this guy was just trying to take his money! Kravitz didn’t have to worry about his feelings, this was why it was going to go so well. There was nothing to be worried about because it wasn’t real.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Sorry T, I was busy earlier and then I got in my head. I’d really love to take you out. Now, you’re the chef, so do you want to choose where, or do you trust me?

Krav xxx

There. That was better, he’d apologised, he’d explained what was going on, and it didn’t matter anyway because T was just interested in his money. This was getting ridiculous. Between T and Taako he was struggling with any coherent thought today. Maybe he could just go home early. Lup and Barry hadn’t been in his office when he’d come to help look for Lup’s pen and they still hadn’t reappeared.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Question Body: Not that I don’t trust you, but, I know the perfect place - you’ll like it. I’ll send you over the address. What time works? I’ll be off work mid-afternoon, so I’ll just need time to get beautiful for you. T xxx

Kravitz smiled stupidly at his phone for a moment before shaking himself out of it. That’s it. He was going home. It wasn’t like T had thought of a nice spot that Kravitz would like, he was probably in cahoots with the restaurant or something. In fact, it was probably some kind of money laundering scheme, they were all working together. This place would become his favourite restaurant and BAM suddenly he was funding the drugs trade. Good job he was onto them. He’d make sure to not enjoy the food, and he definitely wouldn’t enjoy interacting with T.

___________________________

Friday arrived sooner than Kravitz anticipated. After a never-ending feeling of guilt about Taako’s visit he’d decided to write a formal note thanking Taako for the food (and, after the third draft realised that there was no good way to write “sorry for being really weird at you” so just stuck with the thanks). Lup brought back a box of the most heavenly brownie Kravitz had ever tried in return. Clearly Taako was the perfect man, too perfect for Kravitz, what was he even thinking? Maybe he should just give up and accept that he was going to have to date T forever. At least he could apparently hold a conversation with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad? He was a good conversationalist, and as long as Kravitz dropped a little bit of money here and there it should be enough to keep him on the hook… Yeah, no, that line of thinking was bad. Just one practice date then he could at least try and ask Taako out with his new confidence skills. If it went wrong it was okay, he could just leave the country under dark of night and go to Europe or something. He did a great French accent. Easy.

Kravitz was early. He wanted to make sure he was there first and had the high ground. He wanted to be able to see T arrive. He'd deliberated on what to wear for a long time, he wasn’t convinced that his suit was exactly appropriate for a scuzzy looking pasta place, but Google said it was important to look good on a date. If the suit was good enough for Taako then T would probably like it. Not that it mattered. Obviously. But if this was a practice date then he needed to be good at it, and part of that was looking good. Kravitz didn’t make a habit of failing tests, and he had absolutely decided that this was A Test. If he passed he could graduate to non-scam relationships.

Once he got inside and gave his name he was directed to a table in the window. Maybe this place was less scuzzy than anticipated actually… the outside had looked grim, but inside there were beautiful wooden beams and vines and twinkly lights across the ceiling. Each table had a small glowing candle and they were nicely spaced to give an element of privacy. That’d be all the mob money probably, plenty of cash to make it look good, and you didn’t want anyone overhearing your crime plans did you? Of course the tables were well spaced.

He settled in and ordered a fruit juice medley the server recommended. Hopefully T would actually show. Kravitz hadn’t considered that outcome until now, but it raised a fluttery anxious feeling in his chest. Getting stood up was not going to help with any personal growth. But maybe this wasn’t about a free dinner, maybe T’s car would break down on the way to their date and he’d need money for repairs? He might fall down the stairs and need money for medical bills. Or he’d get kidnapped and be on the run, needing money for motels along the way. Bugger… Well, at least Kravitz would get a nice meal out of it, alone or otherwise. He remembered that he was not supposed to like the crime connections meal. Fuck.

T was due any minute and Kravitz was starting to worry. His fingers were conducting music under the table and his knee jiggled as he stared out of the window, He couldn’t tell if he was anxious or trepidatious. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet T, frankly, Kravitz was interested to see if he was anything like the man he was pretending to be, but Kravitz wasn’t sure he’d be able to pretend he didn’t know what was going on. Kravitz was just beginning to spiral (what if he blacked out and tried to citizens arrest T?) when the sight of the last person he wanted to see right now shook him out of it. Taako was walking quickly along the street. Kravitz quickly flipped the menu up, hoping it might make him invisible. He knew there was a reason he hated window seats. Kravitz peered round the corner of the menu to catch another glance, he might not want to be seen on a date with someone else before asking Taako out, but looking at him was always a treat. He must have passed by already though, there was no sign of him outside.

“Krav!” Taako’s voice sounded over the quiet chatter in the restaurant. Oh no. Why would Taako be here of all places? Kravitz really really didn’t want to have to explain this.

“Hello Taako.” His voice cracked slightly, but it was okay, this was okay. He’d just have a quick chat and then T would be there and it would be fine. Taako would just think he was a guy who actually did things and knew people, that was good! T was technically a colleague, Kravitz was absolutely going to get at least a conference paper out of this, so it wouldn’t be a lie to tell Taako that he was meeting someone he was working on a project with.

“It’s nice to see you.” There, that sounded warmer. It was true as well, no matter how awkward this was, it was nice to see him. Kravitz stood up, not entirely sure why, but it seemed rude to sit while Taako stood.

Taako wrapped his arms around him in an enthusiastic hug and kissed his cheek softly. “I’ve really been looking forward to this.” He said, untangling himself and moving to take off his coat. Kravitz froze. Holding Taako was nice, very nice. Before he’d even got the chance to appreciate it he’d slipped away and left that whisper of a kiss on his cheek too? He wanted to grab him and pull him back in. But, what had he been looking forward to? Hugging him? Running into him?

“It’s really lovely to see you Taako. I, well, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’m meeting someone.” Kravitz said, voice deep with regret. He didn’t want to be meeting someone else, he wanted to have a nice meal with Taako and get the other side of the stories Lup told him, see if he could work out how to get wrapped in those arms again… But he’d made a commitment. Even if T hadn’t shown up yet, it would probably scare him off to see someone else there, maybe he’d think it was a sting? Then he’d stop emailing Kravitz and he’d prey on someone else instead. Kravitz had to stick to the plan, no matter how tempting it was to ask Taako to stay instead.

Taako let out a short laugh. “Good one, Stud. Now, what do you fancy? I’ve had my eye on the cappelletti, but there’s something else pretty tasty here too.” Taako let his eyes linger over Kravitz. Kravitz was too busy to feel any kind of way about it because a series of very important realisations were crashing into him at once.

“You call me Krav…” Kravtiz said quietly. “And you’re a chef.”

Taako frowned slightly. “Yeah, we’ve covered that, Krav. Quite early on, if I remember.”

“You’re saving for a food truck?” He asked, still hopeful that hypothesis wasn’t right.

Taako nodded. “Yeah, flaming cereal bowls. You just need to teach me your art.”

Kravitz was going to be sick. That confirmed it. How could he be so brazen about this? “So you’re doing email scams to try and get the money together?” Kravitz said indignantly. Taako pretended to look confused. It was almost believable. So that was how he was going to play it, was it? “You’re going to take advantage of lonely people, of people who think you’re just nice and kind and beautiful and want to spend time with them, and use them to pay for your truck?” He paused to take a breath. “If this was real I would have just helped pay for your truck.” Kravitz’s voice wobbled dangerously. He absolutely could not cry in front of Taako right now. “I have to go.” Kravitz stood abruptly and began to walk for the door, then froze awkwardly. He hadn’t paid for his drink. He couldn’t just leave without paying… Taako clearly didn’t have the money, his scam wasn’t exactly going well. There was no dignified option, so he held his head high, avoiding making eye contact, and marched back to lay some money on the table.

“Krav, are you okay?” Taako wasn’t supposed to ask questions about Kravitz’s wellbeing. He was supposed to be reconsidering his life choices, not out of his seat and preparing to follow Kravitz. He definitely shouldn’t look like he was about to cry. That was what Kravitz was doing right now. “Krav, what’s going on right now?” Oh, so he was going to pretend he was completely innocent and didn’t know what Kravitz was talking about? Maybe Kravitz would just do the same then.

“I don’t know, T. What is going on right now?” Kravitz spat, then turned on his heel and walked as hard and fast as possible, weaving down back streets so Taako couldn’t follow him.

#Kravitz! Please; please just use your logic brain; I know it's in there #Can you scam a scammer; you know; ethically?#Noodyl Writes #TAZ Balance #Taz Fic #Taakitz #Pasta crimes #fanfic

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alanaartdream · 1 year

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I’m getting plagued by bots on both my instagram and here on tumblr so

I’m just asking if you want to follow and like my stuff please for heavens sake make one post on your tumblr or instagram that doesn’t make you look like a bot

Like draw something and post it (it doesn’t have to be great just scribble something and say it’s your attempt at drawing something)

Or better yet take a photo of a book your reading or one of your pets and talk about that in the post

Or if you don’t have that take a photo of tv or computer of some show you’re enjoying watching or game your playing and talk about that

Because the bots are using edited stock images of ladies or steal photos/ images to try to play off they’re not a bot but the thing is they don’t talk about the image no they link them to porn sites or links to scams and being as I don’t want links to all that I have to block and report any account that looks like a bot run account to avoid that

So I am very sorry if I’ve blocked an innocent account by mistake but I just cannot let these bot accounts follow my blog or it’ll be full of bots and scammers

Also hope you enjoy video while I was trying to draw with my cats being troublesome in the background… also I’m quite proud of my bookshelves 💕

Also I just wish these scammers and bots would just leave me alone already they’re not cool transformers bot so they’re not allowed here

#my cats #my drawings #my bookshelf #my books #drawing #tumblr bots #how do you get these bots to leave you alone #bots #alanaartdream #cats

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thekimspoblog · 11 months

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"Sheepdog" (AKA the Kim Wexler Pregnancy fic) Chapter 1

This story takes place at some ambiguous point after the events of Season 5. At the time of publishing, Season 6 hasn't aired. So if you're not caught up, spoilers abound.

Also, Rhea Seehorn, on the rare chance you're reading this... don't. This was written by a lonely crazy person, and posted to a website notorious for being full of perverts. Some celebs get a kick out of reading the bizarre situations their fans would put them through. But if not... turn back now you've been warned.

Close up on the passenger's side of a black BMW. The tinted window rolls down. Kim leans out and holds a pair of binoculars up to her eyes. She surveys the parking lot of the gas station, then pans over to focus on the endless desert that stretches out behind the convenience store.

Jimmy leans over, squinting a bit to try to follow her line of sight. He asks, “Do you think we’re being watched?”

Still preoccupied with looking around, she hesitates to answer, “No… But remind me again what we’re doing out here?”

Jimmy turns around to fish something out of the slightly disheveled stack of papers he has crammed between the driver’s seat and the car door. “This!” he hands a neatly creased Hallmark greeting card to her, “I got this in the mail two days ago”.

Kim sets the binoculars in her lap and opens the card. Inside, the card is printed with an illegibly loopy bible verse scrawled at the top. And underneath there is an illustration done in a somewhat tastefully abstract style: on the left-hand side, there is a meadow full of flowers with a single lamb grazing amongst them. On the right-hand side, there is a mountain towering over the field, and at the peak, a wolf is howling. But that’s not all. In black pen, someone has scribbled a very crude cartoon of what looks like a dog standing guard in between the lamb and the wolf. And underneath in the same black pen, the anonymous sender had neatly written an address. The address of the gas station they were currently staking out.

Jimmy taps on the cartoon dog with urgency. “You see that?! When I was a kid, scammers were constantly coming into my dad’s store and taking advantage of him. One of them, I’ll never forget, looked me in the eye and told me there were only wolves and sheep in this world. Now thirty years later, I get an anonymous letter, in a whole other state mind you, telling me there are also dogs that guard the sheep. That’s not a coincidence”

Kim furrows her brow “I think you’re reaching. Jimmy, this barely even looks like a dog”

“Kim! I never told anyone else about that conversation. You’re the first”

“So what? You think this one con-artist, decades later, sent you a cryptic letter telling you to meet him at the edge of Albuquerque. To what? Say he’s learned the error of his ways?”

“Well I don’t know! If you’re so smart, tell me what you think it means?”

“Assuming you didn’t just get someone else’s mail by accident? … It sounds like a trap”

“It’s not a trap”

“Seriously?! Whoever sent this, they got us to wait at a remote location, in a car hiding three-hundred-thousand-dollars in unlaundered cash, a bloody shovel, and a gun with BOTH our prints on it. And you don’t think this could be a trap?” She shook her head and peered out the window again. “If the Salamancas are behind this, there are any number of ways this could go pear-shaped”

“Nah. This isn’t the Salamanca’s MO. If it was them, they would have already swarmed us. Besides, even if no one meets us here, I’ve got a plan”

Kim unbuckled her seatbelt “Tell me after I come back with a slushie. We don’t know how long this will take, and it’s hot today. Do you want anything?”

“Wait! Don’t go in there! I haven’t told you the plan yet!”

She slumped back in her seat “Which is?”

“My thinking is, this card was warning us about some heist or large-scale hustle that’s about to go down here. Now we’re like the sheepdogs. We assess the situation, identify any shady characters, figure out what they’re pulling, we turn it around on them, and save some poor honest cashier from having his hard-earned money stolen. Save the day, and we walk away with whatever we’re able to con the con-artists out of, burning a hole in our pockets”

Kim scoffed, “That’s it? Hope a grifter shows up and just intercept him? Yeah I’m going to buy some snacks. If that happens, I think I can handle it on my own. You wait out here and keep watch”

“Well yeah but…” Jimmy whined.

“But what?”

“But… I kind of wanted to do it. Seeing as how it’s MY tragic backstory and all?”

She shook her head and chuckled, “It will be fine. Be right back”

“You know there are no blue fruits!” Jimmy called after her as Kim got out of the BMW, “Not even blueberries. That blue raspberry in there? It’s probably dyed with aluminum”

Kim smiled at him, “Mmm. And it tastes SO GOOD”

After waiting a beat, Jimmy picked up the binoculars and watched his wife walk towards the automatic doors. He focused on admiring how well those black slacks fit her. Two-thirds of the way across the parking lot, she suddenly whipped around and glared at him, her hands on her hips. Her arched eyebrow shot him a look that said, “I can see what you’re doing. Are you serious?”

The edge of his mouth curled into a smirk. He couldn’t help it. He was just one man after all.

Once his partner in crime had disappeared into the store, something shiny glinted in the peripheral of the binoculars. Something was beckoning to him near the dumpsters which looked out over the dunes. Was it a chip bag? A lost hubcap? A sparkling new dime? Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t worth the effort to investigate. But a combination of boredom and curiosity soon found him ambling towards the dilapidated concrete patio at the edge of this rest stop.

At first, the source of the flash was nowhere to be seen. But after a couple of seconds of looking around, Jimmy’s eyes landed on something peeking out from the shadow of the receptacles. He picked it up and started to dust it off on the side of his pants. It was a flat piece of silver colored metal. The shape had been cut into the outline of a wolf, with its head low and its front leg raised, as if it was intently pointing towards something. Maybe it fell off a wind vane? Consumed with studying the piece of debris, he absentmindedly continued to shuffle back out of the shadow of the building again. When the first rays of the sun landed on the metal fragment, it illuminated an insignia stamped onto the heart of the wolf; a small circle with a wasp in the center. Like a vampire handling a cross, his eyes grew wide at how instantaneously the steel went from cool to burning his fingers, and he dropped it, only for it to make a horrible clatter as it bounced again and again against the pavement. He smoothed his hands on his shirt while cursing under his breath.

He anxiously surveyed the parking lot. There was no clear view of the store’s entrance from this side of the building. But at least he was able to see if any other cars were pulling in or out from the highway. So far, it was still just his BMW and three cars at the far end of the lot, which it was safe to assume belonged to the employees. He reached into his jacket pocket and began to light a cigarette. He looked at his watch out of habit, but then remembered he had never bothered to wind it. He turned around again to look out over the desert, but then he froze.

A coyote was close. Very close. He stayed perfectly still, still wondering how the animal could have come out of seemingly nowhere. Fear relaxed a little back into curiosity when it became clear the dog wasn’t interested in hurting him. In fact it almost appeared injured; the way it dragged its body low against the ground seemed mewling and unnatural. But just as he was about to feel pity for the creature, it pounced, catching a tiny green/brown lizard in its teeth. It snapped and slurped savagely until the limbs of its prey stopped twitching in protest. And then seconds later, it was gone without a trace.

The enigmatic beast continued to pay him no mind as it stalked over to the dumpster and wrestled a half-empty plastic bottle of water out of the trash. The plastic crinkled first, but eventually yielded to the dog’s sharp fangs, and the contents spilled out into a puddle with a loud “POP!”

“It probably would have been a nice thing to do, if I had bought a bottle of water and poured it out into a bowl for the old girl” he thought as he watched the stray feverishly lap up the spill.

He hadn’t made a single sound to provoke it, but suddenly the coyote’s head snapped up and her eyes locked with Jimmy’s. They weren’t threatening. They weren’t begging. The wild animal just stared at him with almost human intelligence. It was as if at any moment, the teeth could separate and a full soliloquy would come out. Every fiber of its being was determined to impart something onto him. But what?

Then a single thought materialized in Saul’s mind; “Something’s gone wrong inside the convenience store”

__________________________________

Compared to the heat outside, the inside of the gas station felt like a freezer. It was a welcome change at first, but now Kim couldn’t help but keep wandering back to the countertop, where the heat lamps glowed on rotating racks of hot dogs and soft pretzels. Both of which smelled a little too greasy and sour for comfort. “The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde” by George Fame and the Blues Flames was playing over the tinny-sounding retail speakers. Seemingly the only other person in this desolate storefront was the cashier, who kept looking up from his magazine irritably to check if she was actually planning to buy anything. Then she saw it. A person, either a woman or a short man, was obscured head to toe in a dark red cloak, and was slowly gliding from one aisle to the next. It was far too late for this to be a Halloween costume. Too early for Mardi Gras. She wracked her brain trying to remember if she had heard mention of any other festival taking place locally.

Kim kept her distance. She’d casually shuffle to one corner of the bodega, then the other, always opposite the caped figure, and always trying to steal a glimpse of any facial features peeking out from underneath the hood. She’d already picked out a bottle of iced tea, a bag of chips, and a small pack of sanitizing wipes; really she should just pay and leave already. But Jimmy could be heading in to meet her at any moment, and besides, the mystery shopper was continuing to block the exit. There was a display rack of greeting cards next to the refrigerator case of salads and sandwiches. For a brief moment, she thought she saw the same card her husband had received earlier. She stood on her tiptoes to pull it free from the precarious wire cage, but when she finally was able to look inside, the card bore a different poem, and a different illustration of a wolf howling atop a snow flecked mountain. She sighed and placed it back in an incorrect but easier to reach space on the display.

The path to the door was clear for the moment, so she started to pick up the pace as she drew closer to the checkout. But just as she reached the end of the refrigerator case, something blindsided her, catching her in the shoulder and sending her items flying. Kim didn’t lose her balance, but she watched the contents of a fruit cup hit the floor. Purple and green grapes bounced, dribbled, and rolled away in every direction, like a cascade of superballs. Disoriented, an instinct for civil politeness took over.

“Sorry!” our heroine blurted out.

She hastily scooped up the plastic bowl and what few pieces of fruit hadn’t made contact with the shoemarked linoleum. The chip bag and the packet of wipes were in reach, but the iced tea was gone. A masculine-looking hand offered the bottle back to her.

“Thanks!” she exhaled while trading the dropped objects. “Wait…”

It felt like she couldn’t raise her head fast enough. But there it was! A white grinning mask, brown eyes shining from behind the holes, and the figure was covered in a red cloak. The assassin grabbed her by the wrist and stabbed a needle into her forearm.

“Get off of me!” she yelled, whipping around to see if the disinterested cashier had even seen what was happening.

Finally she heard the man shout “Hey, what’s going on back there?!”

The mask whispered in her ear, “You’re pregnant now. Thirty-six hours”

Before she could even reply “No!” the hand let go and the creep was running away, hiking his robes up to reveal baggy black pants and sneakers.

“Lady, what happened?” the idiotic cashier said obscuring her view.

“Chase him!” Kim snapped, pushing the guy out of the way. The red assailant had managed to put yards between him and her, and the distance was growing. Heels were a bad choice for a stakeout. The monster passed through the glass doors and once it was out in the glare of the sun, it made a hard left and was out of view. She kicked her shoes off, but the stitch in her back and her side only continued to get worse. She had to stop to catch her breath.

This alone was worrying; she’d been jogging two miles at least once a week, even barefoot, she knew she could cross the length of the store without breaking a sweat. She leaned up against the wall next to the exit. Any minute, she would go back to chasing this figure. She’d tell Jimmy what happened, and they’d follow him in their car if she had to. Although if she’d been poisoned, she needed to go to the hospital… She could smell the rank grease of the hotdogs all the way over on the other side of the store. It had been bothering her this whole time but now it was hard to ignore. The cracking the links made as they rotated on the metal rods felt like it was getting louder. They were an artificial shade of pink with oily brown charcoal streaks painted on them. Where did they even get this crap?! The whole thing made her want to… Her stomach flipped, and her hand flew to cover her lips. She was going to gag. Turns out she was still able to run quickly enough to make it to the women’s bathroom.

She stood gripping the edges of the sink for a few minutes. Every time she was starting to hope it had passed, another fit of dry-heaving forced her to lean over the basin again. She rinsed her mouth out under the tap, splashed water on her face, and then stared into the mirror. The fluorescent lighting in the truckstop restroom called attention to the dark circles under her eyes. They hadn’t been there when she walked into the store. Kim looked at her cell phone. Even if there was any reception out here, something in her didn’t want to get Jimmy involved right away. She needed a moment to plan her next move alone. The cell phone increased to one flickering bar as she slowly walked out of the recessed hallway back to the aisles. She snatched a large bottle of water from the nearest fridge and took a few apprehensive, guarded sips. The shop looked empty, with not even the cashier at his post, but she was feeling paranoid now, and she had every right to be. It was hard not to notice, that the “Reproductive Health” aisle was only a few feet away, so still barefoot, she fleetly slunk past the racks of condoms and tampons, and pulled a box of “First Response” from the lower shelf, fumbling to grasp it for a split second. Equally as swiftly, she retreated to the wall next to the bathroom door. Kim exhaled nervously while reading the instructions on the back of the box; one more suspicious glance at the empty interior of the building, and then she tilted the hefty water bottle up and took a deep swig.

Her foot wouldn’t stop tapping while she sat cloistered in the toilet stall. Her whole leg was bouncing up and down. In her left hand, her phone was poised to dial Jimmy’s number, though the call wouldn’t get through. She withdrew her right hand from between her legs and stared fixated at the test stick. Two pink lines. Two. She nearly burst out laughing. She flipped her phone closed and held it to her forehead. There were better places to process all this than a dank public lavatory, so she finished up and went to wash her hands.

The minute she crossed the threshold out of the ladies room, Jimmy was all over her.

“My god! Kim! Are you okay?”

“I think I am…” she answered as she looked into his concern-ridden eyes. She still sounded shocked and uncertain herself.

“The cashier said there was some sort of attack. A man in a cape? Kim, I’m so sorry. This whole thing was such a bad idea”

“It was my idea to go in here alone. I should have realized- what are you doing?!”

Jimmy had his own phone out, and it was already dialing “I’m calling 911” he said breathlessly.

“Put that away! Are you crazy?! If you call emergency services, they’ll send police cruisers. And we CANNOT have police see us driving THAT CAR!”

“Are you SURE you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. The safest thing for us is to go home as soon as possible. We need to… recalibrate”

“You’re sure?”

“I promise!”

“911. What’s your emergency?” the man’s voice came across the speakers, cutting in and out severely.

Jimmy’s mouth was dry, but he put the phone to his ear and bleated “False alarm. Sorry” before hanging up.

She handed him the big bottle of water and they looked at eachother, afraid.

He kept his arm over her shoulder the entire time as they made their way to the sliding glass doors, and though this didn’t do much for Kim’s sense of security, she held onto him, because in truth she was starting to feel dizzy.

“Wait!” she said just before they exited the store. She broke free of his embrace and scooped up the shoes she had earlier taken off.

“We can go to the hospital. It’s really not a big deal” he was still saying to her as they stepped out into the glare of the New Mexico sun.

“I’m not against it. But we still need to stop at the house first, and switch to a vehicle that’s more not-full-of-staged-evidence”

“That part was my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking taking the BMW on an unrelated stakeout”

“Well you never know when we were going to run into Tuco. I figured it was better to have the trap set up at a moment’s notice”

“We’re going to be juggling multiple schemes at once, we really need to stay organized”

“Do we need to hire a second assistant for the under-the-table business, or do you think Franchesca could be converted to the dark side?”

“Look!” Jimmy interjected, frantically pointing out into the desert.

Kim straightened up and squinted out towards the dunes. A sandstorm was picking up, but a flashing light was cutting through the billows of dust. At the peak of an especially high hill of yellow-white sand, a masked figure draped in flowing red robes was looking down on them, its arms spread victoriously wide. He was holding a mirror, and reflecting rays of the sun into beams, which shot down onto the gas station’s parking lot. One of the unsteady beams grazed the shadowed side of the dumpster, and then it landed on the insignia of the steel wolf, which was still littering the concrete patio. The mystery person did what looked like laughing, although the sound didn’t carry, and then turned and disappeared behind the drift.

Jimmy could feel the way Kim’s shoulders tensed up, like she was poised to chase the assailant all over again. But he assured her “We need to get home”

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