Murder Is A Money Game Concept Art/ Character Masterpost (Up To Ch. 13)
Hi There! It's me, the author of Murder Is A Money Game on AO3. There's a lot of characters, but thank Primus for my wonderful Co-Author/Writer/Generally Insane Auteur, @f1shbowl. There's no words to describe the perfection of the art, but hopefully over the past like 2 months of the fic you've seen my incoherent screams of love 🤗
So, I decided to make a bit of a Major character and Concept art Masterpost, with a few little drawn scenes in between, because all of it is Peak. Now, onto the beautiful art!!! Characters will be here in order of appearance <3
First: A Scene.
The opening scene of a detective fic wouldn't be very good if it wasn't the murder, now would it? Alpha Trion dies, and so a grand plan begins to unfold... You don't get to know who the murderer is yet though...
Next: Prowl's Morning
We open with Prowl on his morning, a wonderful little interaction with his cousin to follow, and soon the rot of murder shall touch him, too. He is a calculating mech, one who would prefer nothing but the cold lines of logic to analyse, but has had to adapt to life with other mechs, like his cousin;
Another: Smokescreen, Prowl's cousin and Business Partner.
Here, he's thinking of Prowl's, well, Habit. You know. He's an obsessive gambler, a concerned family member, and a competent detective, but nothing compared to Prowl
A Scene: Prowl and Smokescreen argue over Union harm statistics and business financials.
I really love this one and the Alpha Trion death, simply perfection and the framing is everything, the two colors the only ones there, RAH. So good.
Here, a mech: The Chief of Enforcers, Ironhide
He's a calm and considering mech, one much like Jack Crawford from Hannibal. He does whatever he can to help the mechs of Iacon city, but he can't do everything, and sometimes he has to turn to previous employees, Prowl and Smokescreen.
Jazz, the musician.
He's a war vet, a competent hacker, and claims to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Is he telling the truth? His friends certainly think so...
Orion Pax: A minor Major Character
He's tired, the death of his archival mentor Alpha Trion and working with his friend D-16 to further the efforts of the Union have taken their toll on his frame, gears grinding as he travels under the city to find its' hidden power. His friend is accused of murdering his mentor, and all the evidence appears to point in that direction too...
Bismuth: A cousin of Prowl and Smokescreen
An OC of @f1shbowl's, this pesky little speedster wants nothing more than to impress Prowl with his work in Ironhide's Enforcers. Maybe his impulsive streak can help him, or will it lead to his downfall?
A Mech of no Renown: Drift
He is known only to Ratchet, the medic in the Kaon region of Iacon City. He comes to the medic's clinic every night with bleeding wounds and a struggling frame, trying to survive on the streets. What is his purpose? Why does Ratchet hide him?
Scene: Jazz sings while Prowl pretends to recharge
Freed from overt custody by Orion's legal prowess, Jazz sings instead of attempting to recharge, not noticing his Temporary Probation Officer Prowl on the other hotel balcony. They talk, and they argue, and they learn about one another. The lights of Iacon reflect their feelings.
A Union Officer: Soundwave
A mech who is both dedicated to the Union, its leader, D-16, and his cassettes, the telepath knows of Prowl's secret. He tries to help Orion with his research, but even with the help of Senator Shockwave, cannot parse the important texts...
Jazz's friend: Blaster
A loyal mech who babies his cassettes Rewind and Eject, he tries to come to Jazz's rescue only to find him supposedly safe. He wants to help wherever he can, but the politics and Rot of Iacon are no place for a musician.
Scene: Jazz Remembers
The war weighs heavy on the helm of the mechs in it, the death of Zeta Prime a secondary concern to a mech who lost half his limbs and his eyesight, hiding his optics from the world once the outside tried to get in. His gaping wounds are barely patched over, and another world tries to peek through.
THATS ALL!!! Ch.13 of Murder Is A Money Game will hopefully have a scene or two that is much more fun to draw, since all this art only goes up to about Ch.8, which makes sense. These past 5 chapters have been real talking heavy, which isn't at all the kind of introspective artsy scenes I love to write, but there's only so much I can do lol. The plot goes on!!
Anyway, once again, humongous thanks to cowriter and artist @f1shbowl, you know the art is peak, I know it, so go show that and follow! Both of us if you feel like it.
Pretty please if you wanna, do join the Murder Is A Money Game Discord Server, just cause we have little fic moment previews, art streams, and you know about the fic updating first.
Thank you so much for looking! Ch.13 WILL BE OUT SOON!!!!!!!
Realized I'm a doofus and forgot 2 characters lol. STILL, here they are- Dw, they're only a little bit important <3
The Brothers, Verdigris and Cobalt (respectively)
Two brothers abandoned in their youth to the hard life of Kaon, struggling up the chain of command for one to become Senator Cobalt and his assistant, Verdigris. What are they doing in the shadows of the Council?
Oh there's more. I'm salivating, I'm going insane, I was staring at the line-art for Swindle while writing ch. 14 I'm just going insane. But first, NEW COBALT ART!!!
He's the same tricky bugger as always, a tragic backstory and all. But mostly, he's concerned with what the Enforcer's under his control are investigating...
The Capitalist: Swindle
A mech that delights in his work, Swindle will forever hold sway over the world of Iacon so long as it is subservient to money. He wishes for nothing but more money and power, and it's hard to say he believes much. What he does believe in for certain however, is a high profit margin.
Because I'm an idiot I decided to look back on my old Yuri Blade Runner inspired original work and now I'm realizing how much MIAMG could improve the story if I shared just a little bit of the cool stuff and in other words I started on Chapter 19 of MIAMG and let's hope i get it done soon 😭
[if I couldn’t find a sona I just borrowed the vibes from your tumblr/discord pfps and Frankensteined something together- if you don’t see yourself- trUst, you’re in there xD]
*breAthes*
People that I couldn’t function without but literally RAN OUT OF SPACE TO PUT ANYWHERE 🫵😭🫶
OH MY GOD ITS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU SO MUCH GHOSTY GODDAMN
Its been a full year for me since like a year and 3 days ago...Its kinda crazy to be there in a group with some of the coolest cats around.... waow <3<3<3
ALSO I ACTUALLY KNOW WHO ALL THE CHARACTERS REPRESENT RAHHHHHHHHH IM SOBBING I JUST WOKE UP
A little one shot for @glitchgh0sty’s decepticon au!
It’s a great comic with a tense plot, interesting thorough world building and excellent art.
————————————————————————
Time to Respond to Inquiries: +17.83%
Physical Reaction Times: -14.12%
Frequency of Conversation Initiation: -26.34%
The tactician stared down at the numbers.
His Ghost agent’s performance was lagging. This was normal. On average every previous Ghost Soldier degraded in performance overtime. However they never lasted long enough for the degradation to notably impact his calculations, so Prowl never felt the need to address the phenomenon.
It was a self solving problem.
He drummed his digits against the desk in a series of sharp metal clacks.
This would not be a problem death was allowed to solve this time.
Initializing Sync. . .
Pausing Sync. . .
He cleared his vents, allowing the sound to be picked up over the comms he’d just opened, “Knock Knock?”
He waited.
“Prowler! What a surprise! Gimme a click to spruce up the place and then come on in.” Jazz responded jovially.
Time to Respond to Inquiries: +98.77%
Nearly a one hundred percent increase.
Prow tightened his servos, then released.
Initializing Sync. . .
Sync Complete.
Immediately, Prowl was struck by a wave of vertigo as he own senses were overwritten with those of his ghost soldier, who had evidently opted to be lying down for this check in.
Through new optics, Prowl saw the ceiling of Jazz’s quarters. He felt that the other mech had his servos folded behind his head, legs crossed on the berth as he gently bobbed his ped in time with some music playing in the room.
Out of alignment, the tactician got as close as possible to matching Jazz’s current posture, which subsequently meant sitting on the floor.
“Hello Jazz. I have noticed several discrepancies in your performance lately that are at odds with your previous performances. Were you aware of this decline?” He cut straight to the point, and evidently through Jazz’s thoughts as he stopped bouncing his ped.
Prowl waited.
“No, no I hadn’t. Guess there’s gotta be low points in every career huh?” He responded slowly.
It was true, the latest mission had been one of the most dangerous and least successful to date. Unsurprising, given they’d crossed paths with the Primes inner circle, but even with such a small margin of success, Tacnet could not turn away from the potential boon the fight would bring.
The outcome only barely justified the decision.
Taking in the context of the situation and Jazz’s words, Prowl attempted to formulate a response that would restore his confidence.
“You did very well today Jazz. No other agent managed to kill quite as many Autobots as you had. Reports show you were responsible for taking out one of their highest ranked scouts as well. Good work.” Prowl tacked on at the end.
Instead of joking, or even responding at all, Jazz remained completely still.
His chassis suddenly lurched as his ventilations half turned on before being quickly shut again.
“Jazz?” Prowl asked, suddenly feeling- feeling something weird in the moment.
Jazz coughed and cleared his vents loudly, waving Prowl off, “Sorry, sorry. Still had some dust up in there from the, the uh, the bombs I set off. Earlier.”
“Do you need to go back to the medbay?”
Prowl recalled Jazz being somewhat injured after the battle. One knee joint had nearly been sheered off and Knock Out had said- wait a click. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the medbay right now?!”
“It’s fine Prowler. It’s patched, it’s sore, and it doesn’t really make a difference if I’m laying in a berth there or here. I prefer here.” Jazz said with uncharacteristic exhaustion.
Exhaustion. . .
He pulled up a basic medical docket from the servers, quickly scanning through the list of symptoms of chronic exhaustion.
Reduced reaction speeds, listlessness, drop in mental acuity. .
“Are you recharging sufficiently Jazz?” Prowl asked to confirm.
“Uh, yeah I was gonna turn in soon.” The other mech shrugged on the berth.
The berth he was not recharging on. That he’d have had plenty of time to have already been recharging on when Prowl called.
“Why are you lying to me.” Prowl announced, asking himself out loud.
On the berth, Jazz suddenly sat upright, vocalizer getting stuck on the first glyph and failing to make a proper response.
Glitching systems. Another symptom.
“Don’t move.” Narrowing his optics, Prowl lowered the pain blockers between them.
Immediately, he felt sore. Dings and dents littered his frame, the knee Jazz had been bouncing stung from the casual motion and should absolutely be kept stationary, but worst of all was the pain coming from his back.
Prowl was accustomed to the feeling of chronic pain.
But this burn reached beyond the surface to deep within his back. Burned like an open wound. Yet it felt cold at the same time, air reaching internals not meant to be exposed at all. Jazz’s frame was overheating to compensate, causing a dull ache behind his optics and twinging in every joint.
Primus. No wonder his performance was falling behind.
“You’re still experiencing pain from the augmentations?” Prowl asked, voice going higher towards the end.
“Woah, hey!” Jazz waved his servos in his line of sight. “Those are my sore spots, you go get your own.”
“I have my own I-“ He struggled against the draw to argue instead of solve.
Prowl had roughly 70% of his background processing power taken up by various logistical calculations needed for daily running of the Decepticon army. He shunted and offloaded as much as could be left unobserved into the servers proper, which was actually most of it, and freed up more of his bandwidth for the current problem in front of him.
Analysis: Jazz is suffering from extreme fatigue 94%, caused by physical distress 87%.
According to various physiological studies, repeated exposure to high stress environments, such as a battlefield, can also cause mental fatigue and disrupt normal recharge and defrag cycles.
Jazz’s current condition may be compounded by emotional distress as well as physical 76%.
Pain medications can assist in reducing overall soreness. However, Ghost agents must remain sober at all times. Additionally, Jazz has shown a pattern of aversion to medical centers.
Majority of current injuries should be sufficiently repaired to not cause pain in 2-3 cycles.
Exception: The augments.
Hypothesis: The augments cause discomfort in three major ways.
One, the exposure of internal components is both physically and psychologically distressing.
Two, while extended, the panel augments feed in an extra stream of sensory data, which Jazz, as a doorwingless grounder, does not have the software to process comfortably.
Three, Shockwave set them so their resting position is “open” to better align with his own doorwing positioning. This has resulted in the doorwings always being left “on” and shutting them against his platting takes active physical and mental effort from Jazz.
Highest Priority Issue: Keep augments shut down for recharge cycle.
The tactician stared at the numbers rushing by, hundreds of hypothetical solutions matched against one another for dominance. He picked the one that would allow for active observation.
“Lay down.”
Jazz, who’d been rubbing his face, startled slightly. “Wha?”
“Preferably on your side. I am. . testing a possible application of the nerve sync, utilizing an emergent phenomenon discovered previously.” He said, awkwardly shuffling to lay on the floor.
“I- Yeah okay.”
A bit tenderly, Jazz carefully laid down on his side without catching his back panels on the padding.
He remained quiet, evidently that last joke he’d cracked used up the last of his reserves. Motionless, Jazz lay tense, ventilations purposefully even.
Getting into position, Prowls servos hovered in the air, “I am going to attempt contact now.”
It was strange, the sensation of touch across the sync. They’d only had a few prior experiences of this phenomenon, all of them being fleeting moments of contact.
The nerve connection was only supposed to be surveillance. Only supposed to transmit sensory data from the Ghost Soldier to Prowl.
And yet.
He felt his own servo, coming to rest on Jazz’s shoulder. Jazz jolted initially, his ventilations running near silent, but through his Ghosts own audials Prowl could faintly hear how they ran high and tight.
However, Jazz remained still and the contact did not fade ephemeral like a breeze. But settled like a soft weight.
Contact successful.
Optics mostly concealed by a visor, Prowl could still feel that they were wide and still. Watching closely.
He smoothed his servo over the crest of his Ghosts shoulder, traveling onwards until it bumped the top hinge of a sensory panel.
Near silently, Jazz sucked in a hiss.
Contact burned, but in a different way. Tolerable.
Prowl pushed down slowly. The burn grew in heat, but not sharpness. The ache of a limb returning from a stress position.
“Is this helping?” Prowl spoke softly for a reason he couldn’t place.
When the panel finally lay flat and flush, Jazz wordlessly nodded for Prowl to continue.
He repeated the motion on the other side, having to scoot slightly closer to accommodate the necessary angle. When both panels finally off-lined, still overly warm from use, Jazz let out a staggering vent, sinking into the berth.
Prowl held position, like a general at a war front.
Neither of them moved to break the silence at first. Like they were in a private bubble of time at risk of popping should either make the wrong move.
As the seconds turned to minutes, Prowl realized he. . . hadn’t really considered how long he would need to be doing this.
“D’you-“ Jazz asked haltingly, pulling Prowl from his internal calculations.
“Do you really think that scout didn’t survive?” He added quietly, “Don’t have to sugar coat it.”
Prowl ran the numbers, frowning a bit at the results.
As requested, Prowl gave his honest answer, “Unfortunately, the Autobots CMO was spotted nearby, and that particular minibot has been notoriously difficult to offline in the past. I’m sorry, but it’s highly likely he survived.”
Nodding silently along, the Ghost soldier seemed to take it in stride, until suddenly Jazz’s vents stuttered again, catching and choking up repeatedly. Before Prowl could jump to calling a medic, Jazz had curled in on himself and for the first time Prowl realized the mechs shaking was from a fit of emotional distress.
Oh you really bungled it this time Prowl.
Tightening his grip, because physical reassurance was supposed to be helpful, Prowl quickly tried to salvage this, “But maybe he didn’t! You are very deadly! And even if he didn’t die it’s very possible he’s still permanently debilitated from-“
A servo pressed over his lower face. “Stop. Just- let’s just stop talking for a while.”
Shamefully, Prowl nodded in acquiescence and Jazz removed his servo.
The mech in his arms was still shaking slightly, but instead of clamping it down entirely, it seemed Jazz was allowing the reaction to run its course.
Jazz had shut off his optics, so Prowl couldn’t see, but he could feel the phantom pressure of a helm pressing just below his throat.
Irresistibly, time ticked by. His mind tethered to this spot, Prowl could not disappear into his work, and was left to idle inside his own mind.
He couldn’t. Idle that was. To be in constant motion was his only and preferred state of existence. He could not think of the Decepticon Army in this circumstance, as all he had access to was Jazz.
So he thought about Jazz.
Like a chain slipping gears, his thoughts skipped until they caught and began turning slowly forward.
What to do about Jazz?
Inevitably, statistically, Jazz would be killed in the line of duty. Ghost Agents did not retire, they were used until they were used up.
Unconsciously, Prowls thumb moved in a small arch back and forth.
The agent in his arms flicked their visor on briefly, giving Prowl a moment of visual feed, before Jazz chose to offline it again. The thumb continued unawares.
Like this, there was still an ache around the sensor panels, a dull radiating sort of pain. But at the same time it was blanketed by relief and exhaustion. It almost felt good (by comparison) and it seemed Jazz’s sensor net was out of wack enough to interpret it as pleasant soreness anyways.
Already, his internal temperature was stabilizing. Overheated panels diffused warmth into chilled internals allowing them to be wound back to normal operation.
Prowl watched the agents systems slow and lower.
One by one, Prowl lost more senses to Jazz’s defrag as visual, then audial, then smell and taste dropped off into soft oblivion. Touch remained, and Prowl finally became dimly aware of his own thumb gently rubbing the others back. The repeated motion oddly mesmerizing.
His mind drifted without a clear destination.
What to do about Jazz.
He knew he wanted to give Jazz something. He couldn’t place what.
The tactician used the best point of comparison he had, and cycled through the little, seemingly pointless and endless things Jazz did for nothing but enjoyment.
He wanted to give Jazz interesting fuel.
He wanted to give Jazz more music.
He wanted to give Jazz flowers.
He wanted to give Jazz time.
That. Maybe that one he could do. Logistically. Just a little more time.
He reached along the thin thread connecting his processor to the rest of the system, and quickly reshuffled a few nonessentials, clearing Jazz’s schedule for the next couple cycles. There were perks to being the only one who audited these things.
Sighing, Prowl lowered what little bandwidth was still traveling between himself and the servers, and recentered on Jazz.
He was deep in recharge now. Even touch had become nothing more than a forgetful impulse. For the first time in many vorns, Prowl was surrounded by utter quiet.
Tomorrow, he would- he, would- he . . .
This feels very slow suddenly.
—
Prowl was passed out on the floor. A small puddle of drool pooling near his face, overstretched doorwings twinged occasionally from resting at the unusual angle.
When Jazz had woken up, the Nerve Sync was still active, and that weight against his back still there. Systems cycling on, everything came back green or a little in the yellow as the spy filtered through the state of his frame and processor.
Frag he needed that.
A small part of himself wondered if he held still well enough, he could hide from the passage of time, and keep this feeling a little longer. Reluctantly, he sunk into the berth as heavy as he could before pulling himself out again.
Prowl was dead to the world, so despite any initial concerns, Jazz slipped away easily.
He didn’t leave immediately. Simply sat on the edge of his berth for a long, long time.
Ironhide was waiting for a check in. Prowl was still inside his frame. Autobots were dying. He was almost constantly in pain or exhausted or dreading his next mission as the Decepticons prize Ghost.
He was- he could do this. He’s Jazz, master spy and saboteur. He was so close. Something was changing and if he could hold out just a little longer, then this would flip everything. It’d be worth it. The pain and deaths and exhaustion would be worth it.
Jazz stared at nothing.
He could still do this.
Once he’d slipped into the server room, Jazz knelt next to nexus of all this torment. The Ghost ghosted a grazing servo over the exposed fuel lines of the Decepticons master tactician. Prowl snorted a little in his defrag, and the servo stilled.
He just, wanted a little more time.
————————————————————————
Isn’t a great feeling when you accidentally get exactly what your partner was secretly hoping for?
Jazz could kill him. Jazz could kill Prowl very easily at this point and the job would be done. No more ghost soldiers, Autobots have a fighting chance, and it’s one death versus the many, many others Prowl is directly responsible for.
But what if you got to flip the piece instead of just take it off the board?
Something I also don’t see frequently brought up in these kinds of stories where a spy character sneaks into the ranks of the enemy, is the fact that at some point they’re gonna have to shoot on their own people. It’s temporary and for a greater purpose, but given the role of a Ghost soldier Jazz has almost certainly killed his own allies by now.
Welp, that’s a depressing thought. Enjoy the floor naps!
“YOU- YOU- YOUUU- OHMIGOSH- SOMEONE, HELP- HEEELP- no, Nhandfnn*DYING TO DEATH*-/POS- okokok, I genuinely made it to the first bit of dialogue and had to CLOSE TUMBLR- SSTP,, SSTP- MY HANDS ARE SHAKING- what in the aahahhfjgkhk”
[The rest of Glitch freaking out in text and picture form below cut]
NOT THE “KNOCK KNOCK”- you lil FIEND- I can’t even, the fact that Prowl has evolved to this point in his journey and and- AHAHDJ, [if you can’t already tell- I am not the most articulate in this moment] it still amazes me that anyone would catch and retain details like this and I MIGHT JUST CRY- I’m not even 4 paragraphs in yet and I MIGHT JUST CRY-,,, Sstp- SSTP, what are you DOING-
AHHHHHHHH THE SYNC- SSTP- THE SYNC- THE SYNC SSTP- ITS PERFECT- I can’t imma just, *sits on floor with blanket and TEARS* It’s EXACTLY how I envisioned it you haveNO idea 😭😭
Bro, not- imma need a moment, *breatges*, I- I’m at loss for words- Prowl is trying to comfort him and it’s- it’s so awkwardly perfect- “NAOAO- JAAAAZZ” [I shout at the moon from atop my balcony as though this isn’t entirely my fault]
Is he? NAFJJG- SSTP, you have an absolutely BRILLIANT way at telling the audience what’s happening without telling the audience what’s happening- it is a truly impressive skill that still rattles me when I read it, I can FEEL Jazz and his repressed calculations- his quiet despair- I don’t need to see it and you don’t even need to describe it- it’s incredible
MY BOYYY- he’s SO TIRED-
OHAHDHHHHHH- I LKAGDJFKJYJ*intense keyboard smashing*, HE THINKS HE KNOOOWWWS- but he DOESNT, he’s just being NICE and doesn’t know how to DEAL with it- I live for all the missed dialogue understandings, they are my FUEL-
THEY’RE PAIN BONDING- and once AGAIN, SSTP coming in with the story details that are so specific they make me wanna curl up and disappear but also catapult through the sky via slingshot, the pain tolerance is definitely a must for Prowl’s own safety but you UNDERSTAND why he lowers it- rrafgdhgj [this is fixing to be my longest post ever- I have no regrets]
“Going higher towards the end”- sstp- you GET it, he’s LEARNING, and you GET IT.
[insert reaction images, words are no good]
“Sorry, but it’s highly likely he survived” AHAHAHDGHGJGK,, this is perfect- all of it- it hasn’t been touched on yet- but yes, Jazz has had to take down Autobots before- I apologise in advance to everyone- Ť-T🫶
…. AAAAAHHHHHHHHH,, noadkjvk- *casually adds “bungled” to daily vocabulary*
OHNOOOOOOOO- HES TRYING- JAZZ HES TRYING- BUT IN ALL THE WRONG WAYS- HOLY PRIMUS,, *sOB* HELP MEEE- IM DYIIIIING-
…
Words can’t even describe- my utter and absolute adoration for this scene
I can’t even with Prowl falling asleep on the floor- he needed that so bad- “Prowl was dead to the world” he SO needed that-
————————————————————————
Sstp- you are an evil, wonderful, evil, talented genius,, you weave ups and downs into your stories that are breathtaking and varied emotions that are only accentuated by the writing style- it manages to capture in a few lines what some movie series’s devote their entire run time to,, the flow is so real and authentic it feels like poetry but it’s so solid it’s truly “anything and”. Your characters feel real because they feel everything- the characters are dynamic not because they only feel one thing but because they feel everything in their own way,, I adore this- I NEED time to make art for this, and you need the worlds best blanket, pleasant fireplace or a warm breeze and like IDEK- HOT COCO OR TEA OR SOMETHING, I am blown away and yes- I DID nearly cry at this- stories are meant to be shared and I’m honoured that in me sharing mine you shared with me yours- this is going down in my favourites FOREVER, and I fear NO ONE IS GOING TO STOP ME-
[I have little to no idea what animal is in your pfp but GOSH DANG that aint gon stop me from drawing it]
this one is about jazz in her rabbit, i tried my best to draw the interior, tho, it was very difficult, ommmm
i hope you like it!!!!
Dude I’m going to throttle you OUUUUUAAAAAAGHHHHH LOOK AT HEEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!!!!!! Car interiors are so hard to draw but you goddamn nailed that shit!!!!!! Ouuughh VW Rabbit GTI with your red interior how I adore you… OH MY GOD THE DETAIL IN THE SIDE VIEW MIRROR TOO????
This is so so cool argh arghh I love it sm <3 ToT but you need to slow down I’m still behind on updating /j UGHWHCJSJBGE SOON THO. MAYBE. HOPEFULLY. and then these links will be at the top for all to gaze upon >:3c
