#Contraband Sauce

[jubilee40]

~Prison Boyfriend Random Thought~

Satoru Gojo: “What did you make me, princess.”

Reader: “Um I made spaghetti with meat sauce. I'm sorry the guards mixed everything together to look for contraband.”

(I had spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner🤣)

[nichestartrekkie0-0]

How do Aenar respond to normal human food? (Spicy wings, bubbly soda, etc etc etc)

Yes!! I love this question!!! Thank you!

None of this is canon at all btw- more under the cut!

Ok, so it's canon that salt tastes spicy to Andorians. (Or, at least I think it is?) I thought it'd be funny for it to be the opposite for Aenar aka hot sauce tastes like salt, and salt tastes like nothing.

So Hemmer/Aenar can chow down on ghost pepper sauce and handle it just fine. Ghost peppers would just be really salty- and kinda gross.

As for sugar and soda, they love both. However, they're hard to find in the Northern Wastes. I headcanon that there's no commercial imports into the Aenar capitol (I have an economy set up that relies on exports (Specifically of minerals) to fund any international ventures, (Aka separation of internal and external economy) so the Aenar don't use money really, neither Federation credits or otherwise) So, soda is totally contraband, as are cigarettes and coffee. (Which is like gold there)

side note: bubbly soda is crazy to them. Hemmer spat it out the first time he had it at the academy he was so surprised. Sugary drinks are common, but drinks with bubbles are still a little out there.

Hemmer is the plug for his family when it comes to sour belts and melon soda! He really likes human food (esp. candy). (although getting him to admit that is nigh impossible)

Mint though, they hate it. Mint tastes like soap to them, the same as how cilantro tastes like soap to some humans.

Oh, and Andorian soda uses a botanical the Aenar hate as it tastes like bleach- it's a headcanon that the Speaker spit it out the first time she had it at a political dinner and almost had to fight an Ushaan.

However, as for meat (Wings), the Aenar have a religious thing around men touching meat. Blood is considered unclean (religiously and morally) so anyone touching blood is a big no-no... save for fish. Somehow, fish blood is just fine- for both men and others. Killing animals also has to be done in a humane way (Or I guess 'Aenaran way' haha) So, technically Hemmer would be a pescatarian off-world.

Not that he follows that all the time lol- I mean, KFC has to exist in 2240-50's right?

The Aenar usually grill/roast their food, so anything fried wouldn't really catch their fancy. They'd get sick of it pretty quick. They stick with the classics- (meat, fish, veggies, fruit, rice,) pretty consistently. Most dishes are pretty simple. The only thing they really splurge on is sugar.

I mean, cotton candy, right?

As for spicy stuff, it tastes like salt to them...which means if you're ever invited to an Aenar's house...bring tissues and a gallon of milk. Godspeed if you have a low spice tolerance.

Thankfully, most Aenar desserts and drinks don't have capsaicin/ spices in it.

Most. RIP.

[moodymisty]

Five Times You Flirted With Wrecker, and The Time He Flirted Back - Ch1

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >

Author's Note: Totally not inspired by the Wrecker simps that came out of the woodwork I had the pleasure of chatting with. Hope you guys enjoy it <3 Five chapters of fluff, and the sixth being a steamy pile of sauce to top it off. All the chapters are pretty much done, so it'll be an easy ride to the end. This chapter is the shortest one, with scenebuilding and some fluff of course. Enjoy! <3

This has been a really fun formatting experiment, if you want more, feel free to say.

Summary: Of course out of all the clones in the galaxy to fall head over heels in love with, you pick the one that just thinks you're doing a flip.

Relationships: Wrecker/Fem!Reader

Story-wide Warnings: Eventual NSFW, Fluff, Shy!Reader, Friends to lovers, Awkward flirting, Pining, one instance of a drunk clone being a little pushy but nothing extreme, Reader is too shy and Wrecker is too oblivious, Reader is vaguely one or twice described as being ‘nerdy’ but no details, Size difference, Vaginal sex, Unprotected sex,

Word count: 1791

Ao3 Link

The food the base gives you isn’t good, per say; But it’s good enough. Far better than whatever the clones are regulated to eat per their training and tight dietary restrictions, as you watch Hunter sat across from you finish the last of his designated portions. He’s the final person to finish eating, having managed to sneak their meals out to the Marauder and eat, instead of having to deal with the cluttered chaos of the cantina.

You were also allowed out here in the hanger, versus the cantina that they should be eating in being an area of the base secluded only to the clones.

You know it’s a thing that could technically get them in trouble, disobeying the rules like this; Then again they don’t seem all that apposed to doing so quite often. They also don’t seem apposed to you joining them either, even though you’re technically someone who could write them up for this behavior. In fact, they’ve not been very quiet at all about telling you many different things that could get them in their fair share of trouble from multiple branches of command; From sneaking in contraband to disobeying direct orders from a superior officer.

Or regs, as they like to call them.

Over time they've also given you that same nasty habit of calling them regs as well, which you now constantly have to stifle whenever you speak to anyone that wasn’t one of the Batch.

You don’t mind all that much; It’s a side effect of spending time with them that you consider well worth it. The other GAR civilian workers, medics and the like, are usually too busy or find you a bit too odd to spend time around, so their company is more than appreciated. Now whenever you're on base, it's not long before you're flanked by at least one set of black and red plastoid armor.

Hunter had once joked that it was an apology for making you guilty by association, after experiencing multiple instances of regs giving you the stink eye; Prompted by being around with them in any positive way.

But it's usually Wrecker who tags along with you everywhere however, as much as you might not want him to.

Not at all because you don’t like him. It’s actually the exact opposite, as he tends to make your heart race in your chest so much it feels like it’s trying to break out of your ribcage as if it's a prison.

You don’t exactly know when these feelings started, but you don’t quite remember a time where you didn’t feel this way whenever Wrecker was close. Every time your eyes lock with his you can feel the way your chest gets tight, and there's absolutely no cure for it.

Maybe it's his bright personality; Maybe it's his own brand of gogetitness or his 'on the fly' thinking and endless explosive knowhow, but Wrecker has a remarkable ability to turn you into a mess of fumbled words and nonsensical motions of your hands, attempting to scurry away from the situation and whoever else is involved before you say something stupid.

You have a crush, and it is bad.

It's hair twirling, giggling, kicking your heels in the air while you daydream of him bad, and you have absolutely zero way to tell if Wrecker feels even marginally the same.

It didn't help that there was a little voice in the back of your head that keeps telling you he doesn't, and that you're looking so desperately for hints that are just Wrecker’s overflowing amount of friendliness. It's not too out of the realm of reality, at least in the fighting ground of your own mind.

You're a GAR volunteer with a penchant for oddballs and a nerdy disposition, while Wrecker is a dynamo who’s physical strength is only toppled by the sound of his voice. He can craft something that could take an arm off out of only random materials around the scrap heap, meanwhile you're trying to find a partner for holochess. Sure he may have his head in the clouds sometimes, but it's part of what you find so endlessly endearing about him.

Your personalities couldn't be more opposite, would he even fall in love with someone like you?

It doesn’t help your situation that the idea of confessing that you like him only to get turned down would turn you into a puddle of mush right on the floor in front of his boots, so you've currently been settling for a safer but all the more agonizing silence.

It's not been working; As the more time you spend with him the harder and harder it is to not fall more for him, and keep biting your tongue.

You remember going through the effort of smuggling him some sweets once, and even though you knew he wanted to snarf them all down he still shared them with you, despite you having brought them all just for him. You could more than easily get your stomach’s fill when not on the base. But the memory of him holding out a little piece, dwarfed by the size of his hand while you're distracted by the small smudge of sweet staining his bottom li-

"Hey, you good?"

Wrecker's voice suddenly pulls you from your thoughts, looking over to see him leaning over the armrest of his seat, pressing a hand against the side against of the seat you're in. If he leaned anymore forward you'd probably be in his shadow, watching as his eyes glance up and down your form.

You must’ve zoned out staring down at your empty plate, your eyes traveling up his arm before finally meeting his face, giving him a nod and a nervous grimace.

"Oh! Yeah I'm good; Sorry, I was just thinking about something." He's smiling at you, leaning back and taking his hand away from your seat so he isn't so much in your personal space. Not that you minded at all.

Hunter’s sitting across from you in the seat behind the pilot’s seat, where Tech is, while Wrecker sits in the co-pilot’s seat. Crosshair has decided to stand, leaning against the wall just outside of the main group, but close enough that he’s still technically a part of it all.

"Hopefully our last mission didn't leave you with too much to clean up," Hunter gives you a tiny smile, clearly referencing the deployment they’d only just recently returned from. It had been about three standard weeks; No longer than usual, but enough that it had been beginning to get boring around here without them.

"No more than usual; Mandatory write-ups for disobeying superior officers and negligent use of explosives, as well as damaging GAR property without proper authorization and using illegally modified blasters. All multiple counts, of course."

It’s not even the worst list of offenses you’ve gotten with ‘Clone Force 99’ on it, in hindsight. Maybe you’d invest in a high score counter for the troopers, one day. Surely the 501st troopers stationed here would get a kick out of it.

"Granted, you guys get a decent bit of leeway since you get things done and don't ask any questions, so most of it is just going to be ignored anyways." Wrecker leans back in his seat hard enough that it creaks, crossing his left leg over his right thigh.

"You'd think they would stop writing us up if they were gonna keep forgiving all of it," Wrecker has a confident smirk on his face, even more so when you smile back at him and respond. "Everyone has to follow the rules. At least somewhat." 

If someone looked closer on the matter they might consider you somewhat biased, however.

Just as you both finish speaking, Tech all the sudden pulls his nose from his datapad and looks across to Wrecker; Making him turn his gaze from you. Good, because you always quickly run out of words to say while his full attention was on you.

“Wrecker,” Most the Batch looks over at Tech, who’s extended out an index finger in the direction of nothing in particular but towards the back of the ship. “We need some more crates of ammunition from the armory loaded onto the Marauder before we deploy next, if you will.” Wrecker nods, leaning forward enough that his elbows press into his thighs.

“No problem! I'll go get 'em in a bit.”

Those crates are huge, you think; Looking over at him just as Tech is telling him not to forget again.

You don't usually go into the storage areas; Though you have seen those ammunition crates a few times, and know that on you, they reach high enough that you’d have pretty big trouble moving one. Let alone multiple.

“Can you really lift all that? Those crates are massive...” Turning to look down at you beside him, Wrecker’s smile is wide as can be while he tenses his own forearm, making a fist.

“Yeah! That stuff’s easy. Just gotta know how to lift it, that’s the key.” You knew that he was inhumanly strong, however it seems every day you become a little bit more impressed at just how strong he really is.

You remember once he'd given you a giant hug and lifted you off the ground, trapping your arms against your side. It was impossible to remember what he'd even been hugging you for- probably just a hello, he was always overly friendly with you- but you remember Hunter yelling at him to not manhandle you while your legs dangled useless.

Needless to say, that display of such casual strength had left you, impressed.

However when it comes to Wrecker, you being impressed quickly changes into daydreaming about things far too inappropriate to be in your head during the daytime. You manage to avoid going down that path this time, though largely because you blurt out the first words that come into your head; Which also serves to be your undoing.

“Wow, when the Kaminoans wanted you to be strong they really meant it, heh...” Just as the words slip out of your mouth you wish more than anything you could just eat them up again; Hating how they sound so wispy and in awe of him.

Ok, that was way too obvious… I need to dial it down.

Wrecker thankfully however seems completely oblivious to how infatuated your flirty little sentence had sounded, which fills you with endless relief. He keeps talking, leaning closer to you over the armrest of his seat and ignoring all of his brothers.

To the side however almost out of view, you catch Crosshair rolling his eyes at you out of the corner of your own.

[pythonmelon]

Bloody Terrible: Chapter 1

I've been writing a lot more lately and am genuinely, earnestly making headway on a few projects including: This Thing, a supernatural fantasy crime thriller starring vampires and sad teens and stepdads and weird magical folk, taking place in an alternate 1992 Chicago. Enjoy chapter one as a preview!

Fried Mackerel Sandwich

Monday Brunch special: Crunchy fried mackerel, thin sliced red onion, sunny side up egg, sweet mayo sauce, shaved carrot and cabbage on a baguette

Lieutenant Beuller looked over the mess, flicking a cigarette butt into the gutter with two thick, calloused fingers. Rain beat down, helping the fire department with their job- the building was a lost cause, but at least it hadn't spread.

"What a shit show." He muttered, moving alongside a fellow health officer- one of the field Scales- watching as a handful of survivors were shuffled into vans and ambulances, cast in Six AM sunrise glow. "What's it looking like?" Beat. "And can they shut those alarms off?"

"They're working on it." The younger man let out a deep, disappointed sigh. "But it looks like this was one of the modifier dens."

So they'd have magical contraband coming out their ears; they'd have to call the wizards. "But what happened in there?"

"Something, sir. We're still working it out- we can look around properly when the Salamanders clear us to enter."

"What's it look like so far?"

"A lot of bodies. Infighting is the guess, but there's possible signs of vampire interference."

"How's that?" He quirked dense peppery grey eyebrows. Infighting, sure.

"The usual signs on a few corpses, one of the guys we're taking to the hospital. Either way, it’s gonna make a hell of a story." So it would be an even bigger pain in the ass, and the reporters probably would be swarming in any minute. A thick underbelly of organized crime got a lot of bottom feeders, and god forbid they ever sleep.

Beuller adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, using its safety as cover to light another cigarette, pocketing the lighter again. "Get it sorted. I want those guys in shock blankets, assessed for residual magic or brainwashing and comfy enough to be singing like canaries by the time I get back. I'm going to ask a couple locals if they saw anything- before some snot with a mic wants a statement. Someone had to be up for their paper route or something."

He started to stroll to the front of the apartments next door, past a barrier keeping gawkers in sleepwear safe and at bay, trying to look a little more serene. The officer he'd been speaking to let his walkie buzz, picking it up, nodding once, before muttering something and raising a hand. "And, uh, Lieutenant Beuller- sir?"

"What is it Hatchet?" He halted, scowling again.

"Pachis just put in his resignation, apparently."

◊◊◊◊

Muriel Rampersand stared out through the shades of his secondary office, fingering open the slats to get a better view, squinting radioactive yellow eyes into the harsh sunlight. It was too early. He was tired. There was blood splattered across his nice white jacket, in the tangle of his silver hair. He smelled like ash, wet footprints tracked across the office carpet where he had entered.

He nearly hunched under the ceiling, the tips of short black horns brushing occasionally against mineral fiber tile. He needed this raised a few inches. Another problem for another day.

The lights were out, wide oak desk cast only in those bars of orange that leaked in with otherwise cold, ambient early daylight. No need to let anyone know he was here, not yet. The receptionist could put together the pieces. Muriel picked up the chunky cellphone he'd slammed onto the counter upon entry, mindlessly dialing Darcy and waiting on him to pick up.

"It’s Muriel." He spoke quietly, trying not to sound as wet and exhausted as he felt. His tone hardened slightly, setting his teeth. "I'm not down yet. But I think our little problem isn't either. I don't care what price we have to set;" He could probably throw five bucks at the problem and make it disappear, considering goodwill was in such little supply for Mr. Forba. "I want that old man dead."

◊◊◊◊

"Do you have your resume? One page, right? I left a messenger bag for you on the table."

"Yes, mom." Renee nodded, flipping through a few dot matrix copies of a very sparse resume- Seventeen. Highschool early graduate. No jobs, no qualifications. Soccer for two years. Member of the Future Leader's club. A few AP classes. Auto shop star. She tucked them into her bag, opening the refrigerator and picking up the plate with a few slices of cucumber topped with a dollop of cream cheese and a single pepperoni, tucking one into her mouth. "Thanks for making breakfast, too."

"Of course." Ginger nodded, relaxing slightly into her early morning train seat on the other end of the line. "I wanted to make sure you got something before I left. There's some frozen dinners. And stuff for soup, if you want to grab a rotisserie chicken with the dinner budget. I'll be home in a few days."

"Uh-huh. I'll take my applications to the Carter building, like you said. And Tito's." Renee smoothed out her pencil skirt a little uncomfortably. She felt like a little mini-version of her mother, caramel-colored panty hose and all.

"Fine, and Tito's.” Her mother sounded a tad exasperated, almost amused. “But I don't think you'll really fit in. If all else fails, there's still my office downtown-"

"No!-" The teen cut herself off, looking down and realizing she had a white-knuckle grip on the thick phone cord. "It's just- I don't want your name to do all the work. And the Tito's guys know me, I was there all the time with dad."

'I know, but-"

Ginger had to concede when her daughter was right. "Okay. But if you get an offer from anywhere in the carter building, please take it."

"Of course, mom." Renee put on a melancholy smile and a softer tone, trying not to sound too worked up. "Promise. Next time you see me, I'll be a working woman."

"That's the attitude!" She laughed as her mom belted over the phone. "Be good, Nene. And don't take a no personally, if it happens. And tell Tyson hello for me, he might stop in for dinner or TV one night. No wild parties."

"Yes mama- I've got to run, talk to you soon."

Renee sat the phone down, finishing off her cucumber breakfast and going to find the peanut butter cup stash she kept hidden behind the breadbox, taking one for the road. This was her first day playing the game of adulthood, and she was in it to win.

◊◊◊◊

"Tostones Huevos rancheros." Tyson Pachis looked over the diner menu, pulling from his mug of watered down black coffee. "And, uh- a waffle. With whipped cream." He tapped nervously at the laminate menu before handing it back.

The waitress quirked an eyebrow at him momentarily before moving on, scribbling down his order. Could have been a stranger order. Could have been a stranger man. Instead it was a nervous looking middle-aged dad-type in a Scales sweatshirt and baseball cap, fingers drumming the countertop.

Tyson was affixed on the corner TV. The radio in his office got shit signal and he had run out for breakfast the moment breaking news turned around to a fire in the sub-basement of a local office building. Magic venting, illegal body mod spell production, suspected monster attacks, bodies. He had expedited his frankly very late resignation call from the landline and come straight to the nearest cafe with a tv to watch the story develop.

He let out a soft, anxious breath. He'd been up all night, worrying about work, the new office, where and what parts of his life and reputation had been preserved. What he had been preparing for for months.

Ha, what reputation.

His rough old sneakers clattered quietly against the barstool footrest, restlessly tapping. He wanted to make himself relax- get a big meal to help as he watched the morning news reports and a sixth or seventh cup of coffee in the last so-many hours to, well, not help.

The diner was mostly quiet; on a weekday mid-morning, post-rain most people were already on the last stretch of their commute. He sighed again, clenching a fist to stop tapping at the countertop again when the waitress shot him a dirty look.

It was fine- shame about the actual staff Muriel had lost, but that was going to be lost either way. Finally, importantly, he had that weight off his back. Probably. He had to keep telling himself that.

◊◊◊◊

When did he black out?

Nostriano came to, huddled in on himself where he had apparently collapsed behind a dumpster. His body ached, clammy hands clawing at rough pavement until he was somewhat upright.

His head hung unnaturally to one side, feeling at the ragged wound where he had been stabbed, fingers coming away from the crook of his neck tacky with near-black blood. It burned there, his teeth set on edge by the effort of moving, of irritating it.

The man struggled to stand, grateful he had managed to find someplace not even pervasive mid-morning sun reached when he fell. Grateful no one had found him while he was out.

He needed to get home, to evaluate where was safe since things had gone sideways. He'd barely escaped that shitshow with his life, trying to find where his carefully calculated plan had slipped-

Where Muriel had gotten that knife. Why he didn't remember it, among other tacky antiques on the shelves of his office.

But memory of mere hours ago was fogged by smoke and pain and failure, places he didn't want to go. Not while this weak.

Pathetic.

He clawed his way up the wall until he was standing, acknowledging his ruined clothes with a quiet hiss of disgust. He needed to feed, to expedite the healing process so he could solve this little conundrum of failure. Muriel may well have someone posted at the bank, he couldn't risk turning up so injured alone in public. Nostriano felt a short shock of revilement at the idea of slinking around out of fear.

Forget the bank. What was the point of drinking blood if you didn't spill it yourself?

◊◊◊◊

Arthur Beuller prepared to step into the alley between the brunch place Joel insisted on and the tax office, cutting through the back with his fried-mackarel-and-egg sandwich in hand. These meetings had become routine, nonthreatening, and he may as well get his meals on the clock. It was barely nine, he was early for once, and his contact should be here any moment.

Nostriano's ear flicked, hearing the door hinges creak before it even began to open. He was still hunched over his victim, blood seeping into cool dark tarmac and brick. It was daylight, someone was bound to find the body abducted into a humming business's back alley relatively quickly. He had had his fill of prey, gotten some strength back- though it was not enough- and it was time to flee. The stolen coat and hat could help brave daylight fine.

His form shifted, fingers grotesquely outstretched, back arching, a quick process to allow a relatively unnoticed getaway as a bat-

Until it stalled, the alternate shape his curse afforded halting and stuttering, beginning to ache. The vampire began to pant, gasping and kicking, trying to force what was usually painless and simple as a two-step dance. He was stuck, maw hanging open, panting, still man-sized and animalistic with a blonde ruff of fur extending down his bony, near-exposed spine. He snarled, voice caught in his throat, trying desperately to backpedal as oft-malleable flesh became chorded and stiff. Panic hit him hard, eyes rolling, as things went sideways again in the moment it took for Arthur to push open the door and actually look up.

He was met with a shriek, something freakish swinging at him with claws and teeth, blood splattering against the wall next to him as it moved. He wasn't processing all of it, didn't have time to, stumbling not back the way he came but toward the alley’s mouth, daylight, a street surely teeming with witnesses.

The thing didn't give chase, anchoring claws into rock and scrambling up the building, over the roof and away with a furious series of huffs, dragging a trail of wet, stinking crimson up the wall behind it.

Arthur tripped as he made it out of the alley, falling over himself and stumbling into the man he was meant to meet- Joel Guerra. A short dwarf giant at over eight feet, he towered over Arthur’s stout just-under-five. He caught the panicked, stuttering smaller man by the back of his shirt collar, standing him back up and staring off into the alley.

"What's happening, Arty?" He looked down, usual grin punctuated by one gap tooth on the left side pulling hesitantly at his mouth. He was wearing a striped tank top, showing off the guns- full length sleeves of scalemail tattoos punctuated with pink, seafoam, and blue in the gray over broad boxer’s muscles. Young and punchy as always, but he hadn't just seen what Arthur had.

"There's some goddamned thing back there-" He shook. "Or there was. It jumped me! I coulda been monster chow-" He fixed his thick-framed square glasses, looking down at the splatter of red flung across his white polo, and the sandwich he had accidentally crushed in hand. "Aw hell."

Joel scowled, hands crammed into his pockets. He moved past Arthur, into the alley, looking at the blood and stopping at something behind the dumpster, humming softly. "You interrupted it eating, by the look of it."

Arthur's stomach turned. He immediately whirled around, digging the Scales badge out of his pocket and finding the chunky satellite walkie at his belt, calling in. "Hey, uh. We've got a crime scene at tenth. Yeah, we need someone out here asap before a crowd gathers. I think I saw the culprit too."

Joel moved back, not wanting his hands on a murder site. His own beeper buzzed, picking it up to once over and quirking one eyebrow. "I've gotta bounce, Arty. Got an appointment with some kid who wants to go pro in boxing. You know how it is."

"Hey!" Arthur prickled, panic setting at the back of his voice. He wasn't a field guy. Someone was dead less than ten feet away. "You can't just go, you're a witness!"

"Call me later." The giant began to stroll away into the slow mid-morning foot traffic, studying his pager. "Can't miss this job."

"Hey!"

◊◊◊◊

Renee arrived in city central on the bus line, dropped off at a covered station next to a news stand. The carter building loomed in the center of the block, an immense black tower of business and commerce, gilded in gold. A very large, very busy directory was mounted by the door, listing a variety of law, tax, investment, and other business offices. Very respectable places to get your career started.

She dug into her bag for the stack of resumes, checking once more that her home number was on each; they may not have time for her today after all. Hopefully they wouldn't. Bookkeeping or reception was fine, but it was static. Whiling away at papers and money forever, in the mind of a teenager at least.

She picked away at the tractor hole-lined edges and folded one resume in half, slipping it into a side pocket of her bag, for Tito's. That bike shop had practically been her daycare, watching her dad spend his free time outside of inter-department government liaison desk jockeying, restoring an old beetle-green vintage bike. She had learned not to get underfoot; it was the or Mrs. Bo down the street for babysitting after all, and her house smelled like lemon cleaner and moth balls. They had also had a garage cat, and that kept her occupied when the regular mechanics were busy around the water cooler.

She had absorbed the rev of engines after repair, the careful reconstruction of shrapnel after one of the monthly scrap-robot fighting league matches, the name of every tool and wrench and wire, and she knew that the garage was where she was meant to be. Maybe they wouldn't let her take on full-time technician work right away, but an apprenticeship-

She had walked into the Carter building and entered the elevator without thinking about which offices she planned on going to. She wound one thick, neat braid of black hair around her fingers in thought. May as well just hit a button and see what was there. Out of the options, law didn't sound so bad. Maybe investment. Had to be some excitement there, some technical interest in bank runs or lawsuits and buyouts. She would see what was willing to take a kid’s resume, and who didn’t bore her to death.

◊◊◊◊

Nostriano had made it, crawling and sprinting alternatively along rooftops, away from that alley to a public restroom slightly further away under the flimsy protection of his stolen coat. His body burned and fought like a wild animal, but it did return to its original shape by the time he arrived next to a black monolith eyesore of a building, taking advantage of now mid-morning quiet.

The room was cool and blessedly unoccupied, panting and staring at himself in the mirror. Nostriano had never been without a reflection in his afterlife, as mirrors had long since stopped being made with silver backing by the time he died, and water was rarely the only available surface for looking at oneself. It still didn’t always reflect good things, though. He looked haggard, miserable; The coat hung off his skinny form, his golden blonde hair flat and scraggly, blood spilled down the front of his shirt like a bib. His meal had been for naught, the botched change and effort having ripped his wound freshly open again.

One solid wave of dizziness hit him and the vampire's knees buckled, catching himself on the sink and barely halting the fall. His flats slid back on the tile, claws digging into countertop and hissing at his reflection. "Get it together Nostriano." He snarled at himself, trying to formulate a plan to get home with his dignity intact.

His expression in the mirror fell, getting his strength back enough to crawl towards the reflection and examine it more closely, chest tight. His normally rich, light brown eyes had flushed red- beyond the sign of desperate hunger. It covered the whites, the pupils, solid red like wells of blood.

He needed help.

◊◊◊◊

Only one place wanted an interview right away, and Renee found herself largely leaving her resumes with friendly front desk people in nice waiting rooms.

She had practiced with her mom for these sorts of questions and found herself reeling off practiced answers almost robotically.

"I want to start my career and somewhere I see myself staying at-"

"Passionate about organization-"

"Here's my extracurriculars"

"I graduated early with AP honors-"

The interviewer nodded, smiled, told her about how they managed investment portfolios and so-on. She was in and out of the interview in under half an hour, unsure of what else to say when their basic questions were done. The waiting rooms and lobbies of the carter building blended together in a way that felt alien as she wandered through them; not even her mother's work was so... sterile. The governor's office had history, or at least a cozy leather couch.

As she wandered back out to the front Renee jotted down the names of where she had applied. Only one resume remained, the one reserved for Tito's. She was sure she wouldn't need it.

She found herself back outside the imposing office building just under two hours after arriving, staring up at towering city blocks of mixed high-rise apartments, businesses, and more. Greenery hung off the porches and banks of high-up planted rooftop parks, and the wide sidewalks were dotted with food carts and news stands. It was sunny, early summer, and late-morning the streets were not yet abuzz with lunchgoers and break-takers. The Chicago city center was hers for the taking before she needed to catch the hourly train back to the more open residential area she had grown up in.

Oh, she was going to shop, and explore. There was an automobile museum she planned to hit, the soda fountain across the street, there had to be a place offering hair accessories or other fashionable bits and bobs nearby. If she was going to wear business formal, she was at least going to find some way to primp without it getting in the way. And there was always lunch, already very aware her lightweight breakfast was wearing off.

But first-

Renee located a nearby public restroom, withdrawing a more comfortable pair of faded shorts and a polo from her bag and entering before she glanced up and found herself stopped short.

At the sinks, outside of the solid-walled private bathrooms, was a very haggard looking man. He was barely holding himself up by the counter, face and sharp goatee wet from washing and blonde hair hanging in a curtain over his forehead. His coat hung askew but he quickly adjusted it as she entered, unnaturally red gaze unsteady but still piercing as it fixed on her.

His hunched form looked like it was about to fall in on itself, largely obscured by the oversized clothing. He started to move forward, expression somewhere between an animal's grimace and absolute horror.

She didn't really think before she went to catch him, seeing, mostly, an older man in clear need even as the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

"You-" He snatched at her arm, teeth gritted. "Are going to help me.”

[finn-brooks]

CLOSED STARTER for @diegomartinezz where: aurora bay hospital

Finn had come out of this storm with everything intact. No damage to his apartment in the form of shattered windows or dented walls from fallen trees (and honestly palm are impressively tall so it astounds him nothing fell over the roof of Ocean Crest) and his car… works. Miraculously. No water damage, which why would there be with no flooding by them? He is seriously considering letting Jameson help him out with it, but for now he found himself lucky enough to get it running so that he could find his way to the hospital.

Not for himself - thankfully, his medication is on track and he's not dealing with any symptoms - but to pay a visit to Diego. "Hey there, old man." He stands grinning in the doorway to the room Diego is in with a tea in a to-go cup in his right hand, and a plastic back hanging from his left. "Wasn't sure what sort of diet they had you one in here. Ice chips or gross hospital apple sauce and crackers-" Whatever they give to a concussion patient. "If Cheez-Its are considered contraband, we'll just tell the nurses they're mine."

[rialitysworld]

i urgently need someone from the netherlands because my roommate brought home from work this special type of ketchup that has peanuts in it. it doesn't taste like ketchup though. anyways, this is the best SAUCE in the history of sauces ever. i can eat anything with it, it fits especially well with my veggie nuggets and i'm positively obsessed. and i have never been that obsessed with a sauce. BUT this ambrosia nectar exists only in the netherlands and i checked on amazon to see if it's on there. there is no way in hell i'm paying 20 euros for a sauce, even for that one. also ofc i am indeed the kind of person would take the train to the netherlands just to buy a stupid sauce but it would be way easier if someone could send the contraband to me

[sayorkunau]

I said this to my department earlier and I had to tell them that I was ashamed and I feel like I need to shame myself here for all the folks experiencing such dangerously hot weather.

As it's been cold the past two days (low 80sF, lol yes that's cold to me), I've been craving Autumn, and also the thing. THE THING THATS SO AUTUMN:

Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Since I no longer work at starbies I don't have access to contraband pumpkin sauce anymore and now I am slightly sad.

[smoreboi]

Cheap add water pancake mix gave me wrong ratio😔. Contraband waffles with too much water😔😔. They still taste good, they’re kinda like a wet sponge in texture but like,, it’s all good. Thinner taste so they’re not as sweet, which is lovely because I had some extra garlic-sour cream-ish sauce (idk what it was really, kinda tasted like that) from some empanadas I got at a market booth a few days ago, tasted very good with them!

[dickgoblinpi]

today is my gf's and my 1st anniversary. yesterday we saw the menu together & snacked on contraband even knowing the usher guy could see us with their damn night vision. today i did these items on my to-do list while it was at the gym, and when it got home we ate "the tastiest baked potatoes" it has ever had (high praise from the irish) then watched x-files while cuddling in bed. i ran out of meds so im in withdrawal but i only cried 1.5 times

to make tasty baked potatoes, i rub the skins with oil, salt, black pepper and cayenne, oven at around 180-200 til theyre Done (1-1.5hrs), halve, fork a little salted butter in there while they're hot, grate a good amount of cheese on (red leicester was what i had to hand), then top with tuna for me, tuNo for it which is bland to the point of grossness on its own so i add a little each of soy sauce, lime juice, ground garlic, salt, white and black pepper, and worcestershire, combined with mayo, spring onion, cherry tomatoes and sweetcorn, crack a lil more black pepper over and then (hobbit eating sounds). i like to save a little filling for when i reach empty potato skin stage then fill the skin and eat it like a delicious boat

happy anniversary to us 😊

[sweetiepie08]

Obi Wan: Captain Rex, I’m about to tell you something, but I need you to keep it strictly confidential.

Rex: General Skywalker is married to Senator Amidala.

Obi Wan: WHAT?!?!?!

Rex: Sorry sir. I’ve been holding onto too many secrets and I needed to unload one to make room. But since you and the General are so close, I figured you might already know that one. Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?

[feathersforclones]

Enabler of Contraband

"We shouldn't have said that. We really shouldn't have said that!" Mesmer murmured softly as his eyes tried to follow his hectic General all over the marketplace. It wasn't as easy as he hoped, because his General is smaller than the average human and so even smaller than the desert dwellers on this planet. Beside him his brother Kin was nodding. The only thing both of them could do even more. Their General had chucked his packs at them, told them to wait for him and then ran off to the first stall in his sight. And all of that only because Mesmer had praised the local spices in the food and how they pleasantly burned in his mouth, tingling on his tongue.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"And you really eat that? Isn't that too spicy?" The small General stood on his tiptoes and critically eyed the filled bread in Mesmers hands. The Clone nodded heavily, taking another bite from his food. The burning sensation spread through his mouth, tingling along his tongue and he moaned lowly at the taste. "It is tasty, more tasty than everything we get at the messhall! The food on the ships are just bland and don't taste like anything. This, this is good."

Beside Mesmer, Kin was nearly done with his own filled bread, drops of a reddish liquid dropping from his lips and back into the bread he had left. Both Clones had nearly pounced on the foodstall when the small group had wandered along the marketplace, stomachs rumbling loudly. And the Genreral was even nice enough to buy food for everyone. 

Now the General was still eyeing the dripping bread, his nose twitching as even the smell was piercing his sensible senses. 

"So, you like it?" Mesmer nodded. "And the food in the messhall is bland to you?" Kin nodded. "So more spices for personal use would be prefered?" Both clones nodded, Kin chewed his last piece of bread. "Mhmm...." The General stood back and ruffled his feathered hair, his eyes drifting over the stalls and goods.

"I know what to do. Here, Kin, take my bread. I am not hungry anymore." He shoved his own filled bread, without the red sauce, in the Clones empty hands. "Stay here. I will be back shortly." and with that last sentence the small Federling shoved into the throng of people mendering about, soon lost between bodies.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Here you go, Sweetling. An assortment of spices with little labels for you. I even packed you a few seeds for when you want to plant some of them yourself.” Grandmother Bahra, a dark skinned woman with more wrinkles in her face than stars visible in the nightsky, slowly pushed the bag over the counter.

“Thank you. This will help my Flockmates! You know, they love to eat spicy and the normally served food was to bland.” Korbinians fingers flicked over every purchase he made, counting them and organizing them at the same time.

“Ah! So you bought this for your brothers? This is awfully nice of you, Sweetling.” She smiled a nearly toothless smile at the Federling, her golden hued eyes gleaming warmth at him.

“I... I only want what is best for them.” Korbinian ducked his head, one hand ruffling his hair and feathers.

“... Wait one moment Sweetling, let old Bahra get you something else.” Against Korbinians protests the old woman bend over even more, her bones creaking loudly. Her wrinkled hands groped under her stall table and the Federling could hear some sort of crinkling noise over the old womans short breath.

“Ah! There it is. I knew my daughter had them somewhere around here. Take this, Sweetling. These are my recipes. I have them all in my head, so I think they will help you more now.” She held a bundle of weathered papyrus out to him, slightly teared apart or with smudges of dirt, but Korbinian took them like they were a most priced artifact of some kind.

His tangerine colored eyes twinkled at the old woman in front of him, grinning with her. Softly he packed the papers away and patted the bag of his purchases. He had nearly spent more than half the monthly allowance he had on only spices.

But he was sure his Flockmates would love it.

And maybe they would love it even more, when he would gift them with bottles of self made hot sauce or spices for them to take to their brothers.

[cyareclones]

new oc! what!

his name is bud and he’s never really there ok. always lost in the sauce. mullet-haver (derogatory).

he was reassigned to a certain wayward battalion after being reprimanded for smuggling contraband into base, constantly. so now he spends his days on a planet that doesn’t receive much action and just vibes w his fellow reject vode.

[kiseiakhun]

What if we threw MiaTim in to the HalKyle JayConnor DickRoy mess. Just to see what happens

"Oh, call him a soggy wet turnip sack of do-gooder hypocrisy and bad fashion choices again, that'll really show him."

Kyle mouths along to Tim, and then shoots Jason a confused look. "When did you start swearing like a brady bunch villain?"

"You've never read those books, have you?" Jason shakes his head. "Whatever. I'm not about to swear in front of the kid."

Across from him, Lian cheerfully tries to stick an entire stalk of celery in her mouth. "My fashion choices were good," Dick complains as he tries to stop her from choking yourself. "You guys just aren't on my level."

"I don't know," Roy says. "Some of your choices..."

The table watches as Lian's cheeks bulge out horizontally, like a hamster. She shoots a victorious look at Dick, while Dick just looks at Roy and says one word.

"Purple."

Roy sinks low in his seat.

Tim passes Mia a contraband pack of sour gummies under the table, while everyone else is distracted watching Lian try to chew the ranch-drenched piece of celery without making a mess. "I still think the condom helmet was worse," he says.

"Yeah," Mia nods. "The helmet you wore when you kidnapped me was much better."

Jason groans. "Can you stop bringing that up? I said I was sorry."

Thoughtfully, Roy eyes the breadsticks in front of him. "I bet I can do what she's doing."

Lian makes a muffled, indignant noise that roughly translates to "no way, I'm better than you."

"Don't forget to chew your food, honey," Roy adds. "We don't want you to choke."

Dick snatches the basket of breadsticks away and places them in front of Connor. "Don't even try it."

"Can you let me go now?" Jason pauses to eat a piece of bread that Connor feeds him. "This is fun and all, but it's really hard to eat when I can't use my arms."

Kyle glares, and makes the shackles around his wrist bigger for good measure. "I should just gag you."

Jason whistles loudly. "Got yourself a freak, huh?"

Hal opens his mouth. Oliver shoves a cannelloni in his mouth, smearing tomato sauce along his cheek. "Not in front of the kids."

[vamp1rate]

I love Jakes so much like he’s acts like he’s not as invested in the house as everyone else but this dude will drop everything to help the rest of them on anything case or personal. he tells everyone to shut up and listen to the magic of Charlie’s sauce story. he labels his mugs with his initials. he cries when he has to shave his hair. this is a man who loves to tell people they’re being dumbasses and then say I told you so when they fuck up and then helps them fix things anyways. he got on a boat to sail contraband across a National border to help Johnny out with a dumbass plan, risking his life and career, and complained the whole time but did it anyways. what’s not to love.

[reddus-sideblog]

Pathfinder Update

Today’s session was a little slow, everyone kinda talked a lot, and here’s the rundown, after the cut

So, we planned out our departure from Idle Crag, Tisiphone, Kii, Nik, and young Valka would acquire the artefact, the “Stormbreaker”, that Captain Lora’a Valka used to control the weather around his ship (a part of his prolific nature as a renowned pirate), that had been taken from his ship by the Port Authority of Idle Crag Meanwhile, Ivan, our new “companion” and his men, would set off fire works to cover our “work” if things got messy, while Captain Valka would get his crew to get the ship ready to sail. So hopefully we’d get the Stormbreaker outta the Port Authority contraband warehouse and be setting sail right away.

Captain Valka also entreated Nik to help him reacquire some of his lost merchandise (drugs), so that he could save face with his trade partner Prince Hekate. Prince Hekate is the one partially sponsoring Valka’s potion shop in Bostadt, using it as a front to move his merchandise (drugs). Finding this out Kii said “It would seem Prince Hekate has his fingers in a lot of pies”. Both Valka brothers blushed, as their dealings with the Prince were not simply business, and you know how catboys are.

As this was the last time we’d be on dry land for some time, the group made some last minute preparations. Tisi took Valka aside and talked with him a bit as they went to the Valka Tinctures carriage, to grab a few things. While alone with Lora’sae Miss Tisiphone remarked how while his brother was easy on the eyes (Lora’sae took this as a roundabout way of Tisiphone hitting on him, because he is the most conceited catfolk ever) he truly was scum, and for all of Lora’sae’s faults, he was probably a lot better than all of his other brothers.

Lora’sae explains to Tisiphone that the names of his brothers are sequential, and that his people have rather little regard for the males of their families (with him and his brother’s names being the name of their mother combined with a number, Lora’a, Lora’to, Lora’li, and Lora’sae being one, two, three, and four of Lora Valka, literally). Tis was a bit taken aback by the catfolk’s culture, remarking how it was so cruel, and Valka didn’t disagree. Tisiphone told him in turn that her and her sisters were named after spirits of righteous vengeance from some old myth (Valka thought it was quite appropriate given the nature of the Eriny sisters).

Tisiphone also remarked how, for the time being, they were allies, but come the lot of them returning to dry land she might reconsider their, so far, congenial relationship with young Valka’s brother as she was quite sure Lora’a had a price on his head. Lora’sae was rather perturbed by this, and tried to convince Tisiphone that his brother really wasn’t all that bad, which only made Tisi reply that she’d be keeping a closer eye on him. At any rate Tisiphone took the last shoulder cannon that was leftover along with her Twin Orb.

So the time came for Nik Kii, Valka, and Tisiphone to get a hold of the Stormbreaker. They looked over the building, and Tisiphone and Kii took the back entrance, picking the lock while Nik and Valka made a case for coming to the contraband warehouse, saying that that BASTARD BROTHER OF HIS stole things belonging to him, and he needed to see if they were in the warehouse. Somehow this worked, and on the way in Kii made Tisiphone and herself invisible, which helped a fair bit. Valka made his way through the warehouse, picking his way through things and making his way to  the high security lockup section. At the entrance was an ornery dwarf keymaster who really didn’t believe Valka’s story, and started being even less believing when Valka couldn’t produce any documents to support his claims. Tisi, now having made her way around behind the catboy and the tiefling, cocked her rifle. Valka knew that sound, and tried a bit harder to convince the dwarf of his case before Tisiphone got impatient. Unfortunately these negotiations were taking too long and Tisi just shot the keymaster. Then Kii stabbed him, and then Valka threw a bomb at him. The dwarf keymaster was thrown off the raised platform that led into the lock up area. He was downed, but not necessarily dead. Tisiphone then spun about and emptied her carbine into one of the other guards, hitting him four times and murdering him immediately. The other guards gave up quite quickly.

Kii and Valka were a bit taken aback by Tisiphone’s ruthlessness, and Valka stabilized the dwarf while she looked about for the Stormbreaker. Nik looked about for Captain Valka’s stolen loot and merchandise. Eventually, the group found the Stormbreaker, which turns out to be a device forged in the shape of a skeleton, which is seemingly sentient? (A second for sentient magic artefacts, actually, the first being that magic book boy who escaped from the Mage’s Guild that we tried to hunt down as a bounty, which ended up falling through). And so the group ran to Captain Lora’a’s ship with the Stormbreaker in tow (he folded up into a portable shape and Nik carried him), with Ivan and his men following suit quite quickly as well.

With Stormbreaker posing like an Arch-Vile from DOOM at the prow of Captain Valka’s ship the clouds split and the wind suddenly swelled in the ship’s sails and we were swept away onto the open ocean, with a vertical column of clear sky above us, and a dark halo of a tropical storm all about us as the storm headed inland.

The trip...is taking two weeks at full speed. Halfway through this journey Tisiphone had cleaned her guns a dozen times, Nik had gotten tired of working out, Kii had gotten bored of pretending to be a pirate and had resorted to using her magic for spritely pranks, while both of the Valkas had nearly nearly run out of the Captain’s supply of booze. At this point Ivan seeks a private audience with the Captain who kicks Valka out of the cabin. Kii, ever the curious and interested sylph, makes herself invisible and flies into the cabin’s window. Ivan speaks with Captain Valka and reveals that the island they are sailing for is a former Velakan prison colony, now a Pragian prison colony. Jodd the Butcher is flying to island to free a prisoner, who would certainly sound important if a dragon rider is flying all the way there to get him. Kii, invisible still, stands up, and interrupts Ivan, drawing her rapier, questioning Ivan further on who exactly he is.

Ivan wastes no time and partially disrobes, and starts undoing his bandages to reveal that not only is he not Joshua Graham levels of crispy like we kind of all assumed, but rather that he is ACTUALLY COMPLETELY INVISIBLE. He unsheathes his sword and touches it to Kii’s blade. Captain Valka, meanwhile, is kind of checked out, and mostly finishing what little of the liquor his younger brother hadn’t yet. Ivan tells Miss Kii that she certainly isn’t the only one who can go about unseen, and they both depart.

Kii tells Tisi, Valka, and Nik what she heard and saw, and asks Tisiphone if she can talk alone with her. Tisi gathers up her gun kit and comes with her, and Kii dimension doors them up to the crow’s nest and they tell the watchman to buzz off for a little bit. Kii confides in Tisiphone, telling her that she may not exactly be the only remaining member of the Velakan noble line, there was a legitimate heir, the son of the king and queen, who disappeared soon time after the Pragian takeover. She wonders if this prisoner that the dragon rider is coming for is him, and if they’re on the wrong side of this, and what Ivan plans exactly were.

Lora’sae, meanwhile, came to see his brother once more, practically begging him not to hold out on the booze, reminding him of how annoying he was when he was intelligible and not entirely sauced. Eventually Captain Valka acquiesced, letting Lora’sae in, and revealing a second secret stash of alcohol (Lora’sae had found the first one). The Valkas got to talking about their other siblings, and apparently they were still alive, and out in the world. Lora’li was last heard of in the Western kingdoms, living his life as an “entertainer” and “exotic dancer” out, which Lora’a had heard from Prince Hekate, so, the implications of Hekate gathering “experience” with the Valkas purposely is...plausible. As for Lora’to he was last heard of leading some of the Northwards invasion that Pragia was performing out of Velakor into the Southerlands (of course a fucking Valka is responsible for that disaster...). Lora’a said, though, that he was a bit proud of Lora’sae, as he was actually doing something for the Valka Tinctures company after it’s ignominious end, wasn’t being a whore for royalty, or leading in such murderous ventures as himself or Lora’to.

“If I ever meet them (the other Valka brothers), what should I tell them about you?”

“Tell them whatever you want… It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

“I’ll tell them… you’re doing a good job.”

Young Valka tears up and the brothers hug.

Why do we keep ending on wholesome Valka brother moments?

[ofmermaidstories]

another snippet from the mermaid fic that no one asked for (but is happening, anyway):

“I got asked to a party,” You say.

Your Grandmother squints at you. “A party?” She echoes, “Not those ones the brats have down in the cove, is it?”

You shrug, unsure — though you guess Sero was right, your Grandmother did know what you were talking about.

“Who asked you?” She drills, her eyes looking sharper, “Tell me it was the cute one, with the red hair,”

“No,” You say, having no idea who she’s talking about, “Someone from the shop — Sero?”

“Not the toothy one?” She asks, horrified, and this was worse than just staying quiet, “The soy-sauce face?”

Soy-sauce face — for his common, every day features. She says it like an insult, though.

“He’s nice,” You say defensively, thinking of the chocolate bar he’d given to you, like it was some great contraband. The woman tsks.

“Well, you’re big enough and ugly enough to know what you’re doing,” She says, unflatteringly. “Just don’t end up with a baby, whatever you do — or then you’ll be trapped here, with an ungrateful brat who can’t wait to get away.”