#htfafp

thanks for the tag, @theink-stainedfolk! let's grab a line from how to fail a field practicum!

Cadnos nodded. “Good. Davenport sees the spell rhythm. Piers sees the physical fault. Both matter. Anyone who tells you maintenance is either-or is trying to sell you a repair bill.” He turned the battery with a brass-handled probe. The ticking skipped, sped up, then settled into something worse. “Theory,” he said, “says this battery should not explode.” A tiny spark crawled down the side of the casing and snapped against the table ward. “Applied work is what lets you keep your eyebrows.” No one laughed.

tagging @pertinax--loculos - @author-a-holmes - @kitcatling - open tag!

good morning~ welcome to magical maintenance and fieldwork~ aka cadnos's daily stress test~

Cadnos scowled at his students as he always did. “Slates in lab-safe mode,” he called over the racket of his students unpacking their toolkits. “We are two months into the semester; I should not still need to remind you of this. Withers, put that hair into a ponytail unless you like being on fire.”

“This is fascism,” Withers muttered as he reached up to pull his lengthy blonde hair behind his head.

“No,” Cadnos said with the exhausted patience of a man who has aged ten years in the past three, “this is basic laboratory safety.” He stood behind his desk, arms folded over his chest, and waited while the class settled down. His stern steel eyes flicked from Zeph to Adiro to Parker to Brody.

Zeph craned her neck, trying to see past him to the box on the desk. It was a decently sized box, about the size of a cat carrier. On the side in large letters were fun little warnings like DO NOT CHARGE UNATTENDED and STORE BETWEEN 40°F AND 80°F FOR OPTIMUM RESULTS. “Is it a battery?” she muttered to her screwdriver as she set it on the desk between a dull pencil and a socket wrench. “It has to be, doesn't it? I don't think we're advanced enough for-”

“Professor, Davenport's talking to her screwdriver again!”

If Zeph was still capable of blushing, she would have a face as red as the chipped paint of her pocketknife.

Brody smirked. “Sounds like she might have a...screw loose.”

“Boooo-” Jason called from his slouched seat in the back of the room.

Cadnos didn't hesitate. “Brody, you'll be cleaning the lab between morning and night classes.”

Brody slapped his hands on the table, sparks flying out of his wide-brimmed hat. His static mouse familiar squeaked and scuttled under his rune-etched toolkit, whiskers sparking with anxious electricity. “What?! Why?!”

Cadnos's tone never wavered. “No puns or dad jokes in my lab. Says so on page 3 of the syllabus.”

Withers leaned over to Brody. “See? Fascism.”

“Don't talk to me,” Brody muttered, burying his face in the crook of his elbow.

thanks for the tag, @drchenquill! this took a while for me to figure out. my brain is soup this week. but i think i got it!

Scandals can't stop field maintenance.

thank you, @winterandwords!! have a snippet from how to fail a field practicum!

She thumbed her slate awake as she crossed the walkway toward the Yard and opened her schedule.  Magical Maintenance and Fieldwork, Wardworks Building, Lab 3.  Tool checkout:  pending.  Unread message:  Mom.  She dismissed the last notification without looking at it. The slate immediately replaced it with a weather alert.  B1 shimmer advisory possible after midnight.  Sensitive transformed persons may experience pressure symptoms. "Absolutely not,” Zeph snorted, shoving her slate back into her pocket.  “I have class.”

TAGGING: @pertinax--loculos - @the-flowing-river - @akindofmagictoo - open tag! no pressure, of course~

✨ WIP INTRO: GEAR AND FANG ✨

Genre: cozy-chaotic urban fantasy mystery Vibes: magical trade school, civic bureaucracy, slow-burn rivals-to-lovers, cursed infrastructure, found family, supernatural labor rights, and two emotionally constipated night creatures trying to out-snark their own feelings

Welcome to Veyr, a modern magical city where:

fae pharmacies sell remedies that actually work

werewolves have full-moon accommodation paperwork

ghosts can file housing complaints

magical trade students learn curse cleanup for credit

corporations sell “inclusive” ward kits that absolutely are not as inclusive as advertised

every public safety system has at least one form, three warnings, and a lawyer hiding somewhere in the walls

The story follows Zephyr Davenport, a newly turned vampire artificer trying very hard not to become a scandal again, and Jason Piers, a werewolf mechanic student with anger issues, abandonment issues, and the emotional openness of a locked toolbox.

They are classmates at Veyr Applied Technical Institute, nicknamed the Vat, where students learn the practical magical skills that keep the city functioning.

Zeph wants to keep her head down, pass her classes, and rebuild the future she lost after a university ritual scandal ended with her turned into a vampire.

Jason wants to prove he belongs, prove he is not dangerous, and absolutely not admit he has a crush on the mouthy vampire girl who keeps correcting his work.

Then a routine field practicum goes violently wrong when a Wonderwide SafeThreshold ward kit misclassifies transformed students as threats.

Obviously, this becomes Zeph’s problem.

Even more obviously, Jason is involved.

Book 1 working title: HOW TO FAIL A FIELD PRACTICUM

Featuring: 🛠️ vampire artificer with anxiety and a grudge 🐺 werewolf mechanic who flirts by being a problem 🌿 cheerful plant-person roommate who sleeps in a dorm-approved soil berth 👻 ghost curse-cleanup instructor with OSHA horror stories 🍲 blood-iron noodles as emotional support 📋 magical bureaucracy ⚙️ cursed tech 💜 slow-burn “we are NOT friends” nonsense 🏙️ a city full of magic, labor laws, bad corporate products, and extremely weird public transit

Tagging as: #gear and fang #how to fail a field practicum #htfafp

Taglist: @moss-covered-cat - @ashen-crest -

Say hello to Adiro, don't even worry about the nepotism!

The hallway pressure popped. Zeph’s fangs ached. Somewhere behind her, a first-year’s slate chirped in protest. Jason’s eyes narrowed before the young man even stepped through. Adiro Cadnos emerged with a soft jingle of chimes, one hand still resting on the gold-black cuff at his wrist. He paused just long enough to brush lint from the sleeve of his maroon sweater and check the cuff’s tiny readout, as if bending space were less important than keeping his interface calibrated. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding especially sorry. “Did that catch anyone’s slate? The stabilizer has been sulking all week.” “You opened a portal across a hallway,” Jason said. Adiro glanced over his shoulder at the six yards of tile he had skipped. “Seven and a half yards, actually.” “That’s worse.” “It’s precise.” Zeph reached again for the threshold key in Jason’s hand, but Adiro's attention had already fixed on it. His expression brightened, and for one dangerous second he looked genuinely interested instead of merely expensive. “Oh, that’s a Marrowgate folding threshold key. Pre-standardization, unless I’m wrong.” Zeph stopped reaching. “You know threshold keys?” “I know pretty tools.” Adiro smiled at her, easy and polished. “And illegal ones.” “It’s diagnostic equipment,” Zeph said. Jason snorted. Adiro tilted his head. “And what, pray tell, would you be diagnosing?” He turned to Cadnos. “Dear Uncle, does your curriculum include pre-standardized wards?” “My curriculum is none of your business, Adiro.” Cadnos turned back to the classroom. “Come in if you're coming. Leave if you're not. But you will not stand outside my classroom and distract my students.” Adiro swept into the classroom after him. Jason shoved the threshold key into Zeph's hand and muttered, “I better not get paired up with you in practical application again.” Zeph rolled her eyes and slipped the threshold key into one of her many pockets. “Me too, fuzzball,” she muttered under her breath. “Me too.”

thanks for the tag, @oh-no-another-idea ! Time for my own characters to take control of How To Fail a Field Practicum. In Chapter one. I need a drink.

I'm tagging @theflowingriver - @willtheweaver - @author-a-holmes - and open tag! SUSTAIN ME WITH YOUR SNIPPETS~

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Seris pointed at her. “Do not start a feud with an appliance before class.” With a final warning stare that sent a shiver down Zeph's spine, she snatched the anatomy textbook and stomped toward the stairs.

Bryndis took that as permission to resume her morning. She dragged her familiar training bag into the kitchen table and dug through it, setting seemingly random objects on the table. Bite gloves. Clicker charm. A leather leash with a silver buckle and teeth marks.

Zeph picked up the leash and ran her thumb over the deep indents. “Looks like someone has a personal vendetta against leather.”

“That leash is a survivor. Give it.”

She tossed the leash back on the table, took another bite of rice, and regretted it immediately as congealed blood-iron paste clung to her teeth.

Bryndis pulled out a container of mealworms and shook it gently. The leaves in her hair shifted from sleepy blue-green to an entirely too casual forest green.

Zeph paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Doing foliage at me.”

Bryndis blinked with insulting innocence and tucked the mealworms into her familiar-training bag. “I’m only packing.”

“You’re packing judgment.”

“Mealworms, actually.” She snapped the container shut. “What’s your first class?”

“Magical Maintenance and Fieldwork.”

“Oh, fun.”

“That color means it isn’t fun.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re making leaves.”

Bryndis’s mouth twitched. “I was just thinking about the practicum roster.”

Zeph set her fork down very carefully. “I am not discussing Jason Piers with you.”

“You always say his full name like it has a body count.”

“Because Jason Piers is an aggressive, emotionally constipated asshole with permanently grease-stained hands.”

Bryndis’s grin widened. “So you noticed his hands.”

Zeph stood so fast her chair scraped the floor. “I’m leaving.”

“For class?”

“For legal reasons.”

“Tell Jason he still has to return my favorite mug!” Bryndis called after her.

Zeph stopped in the doorway. “Why does Jason Piers have your mug?”

Bryndis only smiled.

“No,” Zeph said. “Absolutely not. I refuse to become curious about that.”

Zeph snorted as she dragged a step stool to the fridge. “Ah yes. Exactly how it's named in the scientific journals. Sleepy plant mode.”

“Hey, I'm allowed to call my biological functions whatever I want!” The dryad opened a plastic tub by the glazed window. The fertilizer packet rustled in her knobby wooden fingers. "Besides, you name every inanimate object within twenty feet. I refuse to believe you don't call your period your “moon cycle” or some shit.”

Zeph strained her arm to reach the little cracked basket on top of the fridge. “Do I look like a werewolf to you? Also, vampires don't technically get periods.”

Bryndis stopped stirring her fertilizer into her decaf coffee and frowned at her. “Yes, you do. You literally spent half of last week in your bed moaning about cramps and crying because of your stupid chocolate allergy.”

“First of all, my chocolate allergy is a crime.” Zeph hooked the basket with her fingers. “Secondly, that was a post-turning endocrine echo.”

“A period.”

“A medically distinct inconvenience.”

Bryndis snorted into her mug. “You memorized that dumb pamphlet, didn't you?.”

Zeph froze in the middle of squeezing the blood-iron supplement into her rice bowl. The rust colored paste oozed between the mushrooms. “You know about my pamphlets?”

“I know about a lot of things.” Bryndis leaned over, studied the rice bowl, and grimaced. “It looks like engine grease.”

“Engine grease wishes it had this many nutrients.”

“Is it supposed to smell like pennies?”