#but archaeology? second and i want it so bad!!! it's so shitty how all i want is not sustainable

[seesiderendezvous]

🎓

[variousqueerthings]

The Karate Kid/Cobra Kai Star Trek AU ideas...

@phantomcomet talked about a Star Trek AU and then I went too far in writing this post imagining some roles in Star Trek. I’ve stuck to the adults from TKK/CK and maaaainly envisioned characters through the lens of Starfleet (although not only). 

Anyway, here’s some thots! Any Star Trek/CK fans add more!

First things first: I did not think of a name for the starship Miyagi’s captaining, so I’m just calling it Miyagi’s ship for now. (The Bonsai doesn’t seem like a ship name really. The Crane Kick not so much either... The Cobra totally works though... anyway, someone have some ideas?)

Miyagi: Captain of the ship (later an admiral and then retires to take care of his bonsais). Obviously has a soft spot for Daniel, whom he probably spotted doing some whiz-kid stuff on a shitty, broken down civilian ship and took onboard. You know, you probably don’t even have to mess with his backstory that much to make it fit, he grew up on a planet on the outskirts of the Federation and saw some shit and is doing good, a la similar to Kirk’s backstory. He’s experienced abandonment from the Federation, so he may work within the system, but he’s fucking with it at every turn he gets and does what he thinks is right (a la Sisko. If Kirk and Sisko had a baby? Strange thoughts, but tell me I’m wrong).

Daniel: Engineer. Low key kind of a prodigy with engines. Engineers aren’t as often officer-class (unlike science/medicine and command, which I believe always are), so I can see Daniel coming into that from a less privileged space – definitely not the Academy – and initially butting heads with Johnny (as well as a bunch of others). He’s not head of engineering, but he works for the Lead Propulsion Engineer. Also he talks to the warpcore. You know he does. All the time.

Johnny: Security Babey! Also backstory is maybe he was trying to get into a command situation onboard a different ship led by Captain Kreese and he was the golden boy, but things went South when he was pushed to doing something he didn’t feel right about, so he was demoted for something bad that he’d done on Kreese’s orders and then couldn’t let go of. And he brings that baggage aboard Miyagi’s ship.

At this point people joke about Miyagi taking on lost causes and strays…. (but never to his face).

Ali: Doctor, of course! Did everything by the book and sometimes dreams that she’d let go of her parents expectations and could go out and do something outside of Starfleet. I feel like she might’ve studied with Johnny at the Academy and for a short while been onboard Miyagi’s ship with him and Daniel, but gotten transferred into a more specialised field at some point (chasing the dream).

Kumiko: Okay there’s three different things I see for her

1. Presumably this is a galaxy-class/exploration ship (similar to the Enterprise) and so civilians are also onboard. If Kumiko isn’t with Starfleet, maybe she was using it as transport as an incredibly famous dancer and there’s a whirlwind romance that can’t last vibe.

2. if Starfleet, definitely in Command somewhere. I kind of love her for a first pilot/flight pilot.

3. Command. Even if she’s not in Starfleet I can see her having command of her own ship: Quietly competent, but steely in conviction and capability, that’s her!

Kreese: Used to be a Captain, but quietly was ousted from Starfleet during an internal investigation that showed up a lot of problems during his command and even before that. Star Trek has depicted war, and bigotry, and I think Kreese would probably have some dirty laundry there (some of which hasn’t been uncovered). Still bitter about losing his command and losing Johnny and has some personal business with Miyagi that he puts on Daniel, like in the movies.

The OG Cobras: They were all on Kreese’s ship originally, but dispersed after the incident with Johnny. I wonder if only Bobby stayed on, studying intergalactic faiths and assisting in various first communications and interchanges.

Someone help me out with Jimmy, Tommy, and Dutch. Continue on in Starfleet, yay or nay?

Yukie: I caaannot see her as Starfleet. She obviously grew up with Miyagi on that planet and I feel like she’s heavily involved in the rebuilding efforts and has been her whole life. She’s traveled to earth multiple times to petition for relief efforts, and is incredibly anti-war – there’s a whole department dedicated to her work – wait is Yukie basically some hotshot activist who condemns Federation Neo!Colonialism… I feel like… that’s poetic… also you know where Kumiko gets her calm competence from!

Sato: I mean he’s some big-shot admiral while Miyagi’s still Captain and they have History! I think Sato bought into the Federation a lot more and is consistently angry at Miyagi’s choices and wants to initially trip him up, but he just can’t. And eventually they find themselves back home and patch things up – it’s the intergenerational environmental Trauma babey. You need to go back to the source to begin to heal.

Chozen: Speaking of intergenerational trauma… I mean, he’s gone through the Academy, he’s wound up as a combat pilot/second pilot on a great ship, (in this Sato isn’t captaining a ship, he’s risen in the ranks, but he’s pulling strings), he’s going through it. Unsure of what actually would happen, but I like him for combat pilot as a counterpoint to Kumiko’s flight pilot. Poetic.

Terry: OOOOKaaaay, who the heckening is Terry Silver in this? In canon I already HC him as almost a ghost, so how does that translate here? He’s an intergalactic crime boss, he’s got 50 different stories told about him (he’s an augment like Khan, he’s worked with Borg, he’s got contacts throughout the Federation, he came from the Gamma Quadrant) – only Kreese marginally knows him and knows he used to be an ensign, but before that… even he’s not sure…

Barnes & Snake: They work for Terry… do you think he’d do a longterm con of getting his own people into Starfleet through the Academy? I feel like he would. Officer Class, except Snake probably wound up in lowgrade security, I cannot see him having the brains to move that far up the ladder. I’m inventing a whole conspiracy now…. or maybe Terry hired Barnes after he got kicked out of the Academy, hmmm...

Jessica: I want her to be Science Class, so that’s what she is. Research and Development. Social sciences and Xeno-archaeology. She makes and collects gifted pots.

Carmen: She’s a nurse. I feel like she also came through in an unconventional way, possibly studying nursing in a civilian capacity and worked on civilian ships for a few years, using it as payment for traveling with her mom and her kid. Then, eventually, ends up on the same Starship as Johnny and Daniel and Co. (and now I kinda want to see her training under Ali, but in my head Ali left before Carmen entered the picture).

Rosa: I feel like the Diaz family didn’t grow up on earth – I’m aware that this puts people of colour mainly off-earth, but I’m thinking about Star Trek’s earth-metaphor as “paradise” (DS9) while it lets all the nasty stuff happen outside, which is… very similar to “first world/third world country” rhetoric + how in Karate Kid and Cobra Kai first Miyagi and then the Diaz family are immigrants. I think Rosa Diaz would get on with Miyagi – like a type of Guinan and Picard situation, where she’s definitely a civilian, but constantly ends up on conversation with the Captain and he’s not quite sure what exactly her history is. Also I’m imagining a lil toddler-Miguel on a big starship.

Amanda: Similar to Kumiko I can see Amanda in a lot of places – administrative? Officer class? Intelligence officer/analyst? Bridge crew? Captain-in-training? What are we thinking here? Also I wonder about her past, but that’s something I do in canon as well. I kind of like the idea that she’s worked incredibly hard for what she has, putting herself through the Academy, presenting the front of someone who grew up with giving parents on the “Paradise” of earth, but actually she didn’t…

[whumpthisway]

Huck and Stephen - Provoked

OC Nonhuman Whumpee and OC Master fic

This is a series - link to 01. Masterpost here <3

A/N: This came from @newbornwhumperfly’s really good prompt: ‘excellent!!! i love daydreaming about poor huck 😩😩😩 so, we all know that huck has very low self-esteem & thinks they’ve conned stephen into a good impression of them, yeah? so does the sense of shame at their “undeserving” status ever overwhelm the pleasure huck gets from being treated kindly? like, have they “let” a situation happen where stephen would have to yell at or punish them for being the bad pet they know they are? if they did, would that plan work? 😈😈😈 - newbornwhumperfly’ Thank you for this!!! <3 <3 rly hope you like it, it ran away a bit with me and idk if it’s the tone you were looking for but yh >.< <3 This one is set to fit in sometime after Nighttime and Huck’s been living with Stephen for around a couple months. Again, please ask me for specific tags or warnings if you need them or I miss something :) Also, this one is dark in a mental way, as Huck’s in a pretty bad place, so pls read the warnings.

Content warnings: past abuse, self-harm, very very low self-esteem, panic, self-destructive behaviour

*

(Huck POV)

With a belly comfortably full of pasta, Stephen’s gentle hand rubbing between their ears, and a blanket nestled over their back as they curled up on the sofa, Huck should’ve felt content. They shifted restlessly at Stephen’s side as he watched the same archaeology programme he watched every week, and almost always with Huck’s head resting against him. They’d become part of Stephen’s carefully maintained routines, and Huck was beginning to feel permanent.

“Getting bored?” Stephen muted his show as he turned to look down at them kindly and Huck looked back at him.

“No, Master.” The restless discomfort itching under their fur didn’t feel like boredom at all.

Stephen sighed a little, and Huck didn’t even flinch. “You don’t have to call me that, Hucky.”

Huck dropped their head and shrugged. They knew. But they’d forget their place completely if they stopped.

Stephen offered them a slight smile and rubbed a finger under their chin before he turned the sound back on for his show.

Huck settled for a while, before they couldn’t help but fidget again.

“You know you don’t have to stay, lad. Go do something else if you want, hm?”

Huck hummed back. They didn’t know what they wanted and just huffed and tried to stay still. But the blanket was too warm and they kicked it off, looking down at where it landed on the floor. They ought to pick it up and fold it; Stephen liked things neat, but they didn’t move, for reasons they couldn’t explain.

Stephen glanced over too, and Huck felt his slight tension in how his hand paused in Huck’s fur. For the first time in a long while, Huck’s heart up-ticked as they waited warily for Stephen’s reaction. But Stephen just turned back to his show after a moment, listened to a man with a trimmed, white beard talk about ancient pottery.

Huck didn’t know exactly why they’d done that with the blanket, but when they deliberately pulled away from Stephen’s fingers rubbing the back of their neck, they knew what they were looking for.

Stephen’s hand hovered in the air a second after Huck moved away from him, but he only looked over at Huck once before settling his hand on his thigh.

It was stupid. Completely stupid, but anger swelled up inside Huck and they found themself growling like Stephen had deliberately stepped on their tail, not just politely respected their space.

This time, Stephen fetched the remote and switched the tele off and Huck went stiff, their growl falling silent as their throat felt like it closed up.

“What’s the matter, lad?” Stephen looked more puzzled than angry. “You don’t want me to pet you anymore?”

The thought of Stephen never running his short-nailed fingers through their fur again made Huck want to cry. But they still felt so painfully restless and irritated and frustrated and it was all directed at Stephen, though he’d done nothing to deserve it.

They couldn’t answer, so stayed sullenly silent. The light crows’ feet at the corners of Stephen’s eyes deepened as he frowned.

“Talk to me,” he coaxed. When Huck kept their jaw clamped shut, their ears pressed back, Stephen reached out slowly as if to put a hand on Huck’s back, but giving them plenty of time to pull away.

Their hackles went up and they growled again, low and upset. “Stop it!” Huck’s exclamation startled both of them and Stephen quickly took his hand back.

“I’m sorry.” Stephen pressed his lips together, but there wasn’t a hint of anger in his face. “I won’t- didn’t realise it was upsetting you.”

Huck ground their teeth together and flexed their claws, which caught on the sofa fabric. Normally, they’d very carefully extract them so as not to pull any fibres out, but this time they didn’t care. If Stephen didn’t like their behaviour maybe he should actually do something about it.

Stephen startled at the sound of Huck’s claws digging and tearing the sofa cover. They were sharper and longer these days, without Master Parry clipping them right down to the bed on a regular basis.

“Huck!”

Huck couldn’t meet Stephen’s eyes but they didn’t stop, digging their claws in further, a growl vibrating through them. Do something, they thought viciously, do something, Master.

“What’re you-” Stephen was agitated and his hands hovered uncertainly in the air. “Huck, enough, we can talk-”

Huck ripped their claws free with an awful tearing noise. “NO!” They didn’t want to talk.

Their eyes welled up with a mix of fury and fear, and they kicked off the back of the sofa, springing off the cushions to land on the tiled floor, already scrambling for purchase to run away.

They’d never have run from Master Parry, nor damaged his possessions, nor talked back, nor talked at all, once he’d ordered them not to. But Master Parry had known what they were, had known how disloyal and awful they were deep inside and he’d known how to deal with them. Stephen thought they were too good to deserve punishment, but he didn’t know, he didn’t know Huck at all.

Sobbing uncontrollably between gasps, Huck’s frantic legs carried them up the stairs, down the corridor and into the bedroom, where they skidded under the bed. They hit their back painfully against the ridge of the bed frame when they didn’t duck down quick enough, but the sting was almost a relief.

Crawling further under, the dust making them cough, they pressed themself up against the wall and cried in great, choking heaves. They didn’t deserve Stephen even a little, but they still wanted to stay so badly it made them feel sick sometimes.

Stephen left them alone for a little while, even though Huck couldn’t stop their crying, which was definitely loud enough for Stephen to find them easily. Huck tortured themself with thoughts of Stephen making phone calls to Mariann, demanding she take Huck away, that’s he’d had enough of Huck’s stupid behaviour. It’d been more than two months, Huck thought, and Stephen had made it clear when Huck arrived that he didn’t want a long-term pet. He’d been horrified by the thought.

Huck’s breathless crying had finally petered off by the time Stephen’s slow tread climbed the stairs. Huck’s breathing hitched at the familiar sound and they hunkered down further, hiding their face in their paws, ears pressed down and tail curled up close to their legs.

“Huck?” Stephen sounded tired and Huck felt guilt surge in them, amongst the mess of their feelings. Stephen had had a long day working and he’d just wanted to relax, but Huck had messed that up for him. “Lad, where’re you?”

Huck couldn’t bear to let Stephen waste time looking for their useless hide, so they whined softly, and then again louder when Stephen didn’t seem to hear.

Stephen’s footsteps approached, scuffing a little in his tartan slippers, which appeared first in Huck’s line of sight from under the bed. Stephen crouched down slowly, and Huck could picture perfectly the grimace on his face at the strain to his knees, and Huck started crying again, silently now. They were so, so bad.

“Huck?” Stephen stuck his head under the edge of the bed and Huck couldn’t help but cringe away. Stephen’s eyes couldn’t see as well in the dim light as Huck’s could, Huck knew, but he’d seen Huck’s flinch, because his face turned briefly hurt. And why wouldn’t he be? What had he ever done to hurt or threaten Huck? Nothing. He was the kindest owner, and he deserved a creature that was as good as Stephen was, not a disobedient, sullen, damaged one.

“I’m a bit lost about what that was all about,” Stephen said quietly, in that soothing tone he’d used right after Huck had first arrived, “but let’s talk about it, okay?”

Huck sniffled and pressed their forehead to the floor, hiding. They were beginning to shiver as the rush of emotion and adrenaline burnt off and left them cold and exhausted.

“Huck, please come out.” Stephen sniffed, the dust clearly getting to him. “I’d rather cut off my own thumb than hurt you, and it’ll take more than a torn sofa to change that, love.”

Huck swallowed thickly. “You should, Master,” they whispered.

Stephen was silent for a long pause. “I should what? Cut off my own-”

“No!” Huck yelped. The thought was awful and they didn’t know why Stephen had brought it up. “Hurt me, you should hurt me, Master.”

Stephen eased into a more comfortable position on the hard floor. “Why should I?” Huck squeezed their eyes shut. Wasn’t it obvious? “Huck? Why’d you think I should-”

Huck interrupted him again, just like the shitty pet they were. “I’m bad.”

“Huck,” Stephen said softly, “you’re not bad.”

“Yes I am!” Huck yelled, loud and sudden enough to make Stephen blink and lean marginally backwards. Huck gulped and ducked their head.

“What’s bad about you?”

Huck cried harder. “Everything,” they gasped. “You should- get a- a better pet, Master.”

They thought of another creature living in Stephen’s house, a sweet, pretty one that smiled a lot and never cringed from Stephen or woke him up with nightmares or cried all over his jumper. And where would Huck be? They deserved to go to a Master that’d discipline them, but they felt so sick at the thought they choked.

“I don’t want a different… companion. I like you.”

“You- you- you,” Huck couldn’t get their words out and swallowed thickly.

“Take your time, lad.”

Huck rubbed their paw over their eyes. “You only say that because you’ve, you’ve never had a good pet, Master.”

Stephen paused and Huck tensed, expecting Stephen to finally realise that Huck wasn’t worth his time or his care.

“Huck, I care for you very much, lad. I wouldn’t trade you for any other creature or human, not now and not when we’re both old and creaky.” Stephen tried weakly to smile.

Huck’s heart squeezed. “You should have a better pet, Master.”

“Who says I should? Can’t I choose who I want to spend my time with myself?”

Huck tensed. Stephen was right; Huck’d been telling their master that his choices were wrong. They’d been trying to do what was best for him, but that was no excuse for trying to give their master orders.

“I’m sorry, Master,” they whimpered.

Stephen shifted a little on the hard floor where he was still crouched down, frowning gently at Huck.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Huck heaved a sob.

“I argued with you,” they choked out, trying so hard to make Stephen understand. “I told you what to do! I tore up the sofa! I wouldn’t let you pet me and I ran away and I cried like a weak, stupid-” They banged their forehead hard against the floor, “awful-” Their head thumped the floor again.

“Huck!” Stephen barked, before his hand shot out and reached under the bed, stretching out towards Huck’s shoulder. “Stop it!”

Huck didn’t. Stephen wouldn’t make them be a better pet, so they’d do it themself.

“Huck!” Stephen sounded sharp and desperate. “Stop right now!”

Before Huck could do it again, Stephen’s hand found their arm and he pulled them, hard, out from under the bed.

Huck yelped, more shock than pain, though Stephen’s grip was rough. They were tugged out into the brighter light of the bedroom and then Stephen wrapped both arms around them and held them tight, one hand cradling the back of their head.

“Don’t do that, don’t ever do that.” Huck was shaking badly enough that it took a moment for them to realise that Stephen was trembling too. He was holding them close, like they might try to run away again. “Why’d you do that?” Stephen had his forehead pressed to Huck’s shoulder and Huck felt his tears seeping into their fur. They were too shocked to feel properly guilty, but it’d come.

“I don’t deserve a good Master,” Huck whispered. Their head was throbbing badly and they closed their eyes, going limp against Stephen.

“Yes you do.” Stephen rocked them gently. “You deserve every good thing. You’ve been through hell and- and those asshole owners of yours,” Huck tensed, “they told you it was your fault that they treated you like shit. But Huck, it was their fault, okay? No-one should treat anyone like you were treated, y’understand? You’re a good lad, a good person. You’ve always been good.”

Huck curled their tail around Stephen’s foot and couldn’t help but melt into the comfort Stephen offered so freely, even though they shouldn’t. They weren’t a person.

“Sometimes,” Huck whispered, “I watched Master Parry get into his car, out of the window. And- and- I wished that he’d die. I wished that another car would hit his car and he’d just-” They were crying again, waiting for Stephen’s disgust. They were always just waiting for it, for the moment he’d turn away from them, but it never happened. No matter what happened, Stephen never did. And he didn’t now either.

“He beat and abused you, lad, from what Mariann’s said. You wishing him to go away… there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re allowed to be angry at him.”

Huck shook their head. “I’m just a bad pet, Master. A good pet would never, ever think like that.”

Stephen eased away from them, but only far enough that he could meet their eyes. He rubbed their back for a long moment, looking thoughtful.

“Huck… can you, can you accept that I don’t think you’re bad? That I think you’re good just as you are? Maybe you don’t believe it, but just, believe me when I say you make my life better?”

A better pet would make you even happier, Huck thought.

But they knew what Stephen meant, and they did believe that Stephen thought that. He was too just too kind.

So they nodded silently and Stephen smiled a little.

“Alright. We’ll talk about this more in the future, okay? And just, promise me if you feel like- hitting yourself again, tell me, lad, please?”

Huck chewed their lip, before nodding again. They deserved punishment, but Stephen was right; he got to decide whether or not Huck got punished, not Huck. And if Stephen wanted to spoil them, then Huck should let him, however uneasy it made them feel. Their feelings didn’t matter after all, only what made Stephen happy.

*

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Anddd, if you like my work, here’s my ko-fi page :)

[bladekindeyewear]

Bloggin’ thru new Homestuck^2 bonus, The Influencers part 2.  Kinda got my gears ground during part 1, but that largely wasn’t this sideplot’s fault, so I should still be able to enjoy it.

Reminder, bonus update blogging is always light on detail because I don’t wanna spoil all the paid content, but I’ll give the gist of my reactions and go into anything plot or character related that helps understand the main story, as well as giving you a real top-down view of “what happens” so you know what it’s about and whether or not to invest in looking yourself.  (And I don’t necessarily have to give you anything that isn’t main-plot-relevant.)

So where are they going to follow the main party?  They shouldn’t need to record the funeral I’d assume, because that already would have been televised (and awful for Jane’s PR)...  *click*

9/28/2020 - The Influencers, Part 2

TEACHER: Time’s a-ticking. TEACHER: The next plot point is yours to change, if you want it. Don’t you feel it calling to you?

Yeah, just hanging a lampshade on this whole parallel sideplot I guess.

> (==>)

Whatever it is, Imode feels it. A tiny string of relevance spooling out from their belly. They want to follow it.

That’s pretty Lighty and/or Seery.  I’ve used that terminology to describe the pull of Light and its “relevance” connotations even since the only fanfic I’ve ever written, back in 2011 during Homestuck’s run, and it’s obvious enough terminology that I think Rose later mentioned it somewhere like in the Epilogues.  Are these three kids perhaps going to get a fourth, and become their own session by the end of this like Harry, Vrissy, Tavros and Yiffy might?

They can’t stop picturing their friend, Harry Anderson, arrested or tortured or worse. They’re not sure what there is to be done to stop this chain of events, but they’re sure as shit gonna find out.

(”They” is almost certainly referring to Imode here, not all three, since Imode uses they/them.)

Alright, self-aggrandizing used for good.  Show off the sort of thing that Vriska could have accomplished if she actually used her talents for her team for once.  (Besides, like, the similar thing she did just recently by making a scene.)

> (==>)

Imode is the first to choose pursuing this path over bootlicking, and the others are sure to follow.

> (==>)

Yup, Avril and Silas follow.  (Had to be reminded of ALL of their names, it’s been months since their single named appearance.)

> (==>)

Crockercopters overhead but none taking note yet, just ominous setdressing

> (==>)

IMODE: lemme take a ⏱️ to 😮‍💨 before we figure out where to go next. AVRIL: wait don't you know? IMODE: Huh? AVRIL: we were following YOU this whole time.

Oh, that answers the first question I asked.  They have NO clue where they’re going.  Let’s see if they luck out and find the clock tower.

IMODE: You 👂 what he said about the next step 📞 to us, same as i did. Don't you feel it pulling at you?

Literal pull? Powers? Future player?  --All baseless speculation of course.

SILAS: Woah are you seein’ this.

Vriska’s probably putting on her very public display now.  (This is a bonus so I’m skipping lots of banter and arguing.)

> (==>)

Oh, they just saw John flying up to the clock tower in his outfit.  And catching sight of him fly is rare celebrity gossip stuff so of course it’d stand out to them, apparently.  (Only one of them is athletic apparently, the other two are groaning at the prospect of more running.)

> (==>)

Avril always enjoys running, but there’s something else thumping along to the rhythm of the thuds of his feet and beat of his heart. He’d thought Imode was nuts for feeling it just a minute prior, but now he’s realized he isn’t deadweight, that he hasn’t fucked up someone’s life irrevocably, and it pushes him faster and faster as he tears ass toward the belltower.

(Did we know Avril was he/him before this?  Probably but if so I forgot.)

Okay, since we’re getting glimpses into each of their headspaces narratively that BOTH have had some oblique aspect references, I have to at least OPERATE on a guessy assumption that there’s a sort of classpect-for-each-of-them thing going here.

I’ve quoted both those whole paragraphs here... so what do I see?  This is going to be a bit tougher because I don’t care as much to remember these characters...

Imode had some Lighty-or-Seery language, and then could not stop picturing bad things happening to Harry, wanting to avert that chain of events.  So something of a Seer or Mage would make sense.  But given how easily Lighty stuff and the Understanding classes (or at least what we think those are) can be conflated, Mage of Light seems a bit of a premature jump.  Heck, I’m only saying Mage because a Seer of Light already occupies a starring role, and because her first act on that feeling was to jump after it herself and tell the others:

IMODE: Stay here and 👢👅 your way into fame if that's what you really want. IMODE: I’m ✈️. Follow me if you’re not 🐔💩.

--leading by example rather than directing the others into battle.  Only half-caring if they followed, willing to pursue it herself if necessary.  So, potentially more “Active”.

As for Avril... the word “heart” is mentioned there, sure, but the full context is “there’s something else thumping along to the rhythm of the thuds of his feet and beat of his heart”.  I’m inclined to think that the rhythm/beat references, especially the even footsteps and heartbeats hitting like a metronome, might be more tied to Time?  But if so, I don’t see anything class-related.  (Could also be Blood, and him thinking of what he owes in the last sentences could be reinforcing that?  Big question marks for now.)

> (==>)

Door to the belltower’s locked.  The kids figure John’s forgotten that his son can’t fly.

AVRIL: this is it, this is the thing we can help with! #feelinit #vibes IMODE: OK I'm excited that you believe me now, but what are you gonna even do? IMODE: use your big all-star 💪 to break down the 🚪?

--so they think they can “resolve a missing plot point” by getting the way into the clock tower open?  Is this going to be a theme or running joke of the Influencers sideplot, showing plotholes resolved in bonus content like how we finally saw how Gamzee’s body was relocated last time?  When I was explicitly mad about that?  (This seems like a much smaller one though.)

Apparently in HS^2 proper they remarked that the door SHOULD be locked, but Vriska just opened it anyway and wasn’t surprised it was unlocked, which she would’ve ascribed to her luck -- how the universe just makes way for her.  (And we’re literally seeing HOW the “universe” “made way” for her this way, through these Influencer kids.  Even though Vriska could have broken down the door in a second and it’s practically meaningless.)

> (==>)

Avril just has the key!

AVRIL: so like my photoshoots are like, #modernfashion #myworkout #urbexp IMODE: Yea, your 📸 are why we’re all in this mess. We know. Get to it. AVRIL: fair. ok well this is the urban exploration part. AVRIL: a lot of the public infrastructure buildings in the kingdom have the same weird, shitty deadbolts on them. AVRIL: its like they were mass-produced for ease of access or something. AVRIL: none of the deep crockergov stuff, but a lot of the kingdom maintenance buildings. AVRIL: so once you swipe one key, you got access to it all. AVRIL: that’s how i get a lot of my hard-to-get shots #tradesecrets #tellnoone

Hhhmmmmm.  So what does this tell us about his potential role?  Getting places you’re not supposed to is associated with the Thief, Rogue, Bard, and sometimes Knight classes... as well as the Time/Space aspects, or the Void and Breath aspects.  A Thief or Rogue of Time could do the trick, and fit with the rhythm paragraph earlier... whereas Space doesn’t have the same rhythm associations even if it is “places” he’s getting into for these shots.  And photography, snapshots still in time, is something Dave was also explicitly into.  Plus, this exploit he’s showcasing is specifically for older buildings, playing into history/archaeology from an urban perspective.

So, Time is looking like a safer and safer bet for him.

> (==>)

lock click

> (==>)

long-hair swoop, cheer

SILAS: Yeah, I’m tickled a near-disproportionate amount by the unlockin’ of a door, so I’m inclined to believe you were onto somethin’.

Still no real hints about Silas, yet.

AVRIL: ok so. we did it, right? #missioncomplete AVRIL: feels a little anticlimactic #tbh IMODE: idk, I think so? whatever I was feeling doesn't seem so immediate anymore. IMODE: I wonder if-

Okay, that’s some near-confirmation that Imode was LITERALLY FEELING the plot or some such.  We’ll probably end the Influencers sidestory eventually with at least solid GUESSES blatantly obvious for their potential Hero Roles or the like.

> (==>)

Ah, Vriska and the kids are coming-- and we get the Silas paragraph(s)!  Silas is green-themed with green text, and a session with a Time player has a good chance of having a Space player too, so let’s see if...

Silas doesn’t know what being spotted by the other kids might mean, metaphysically or logistically or legally. She’s not particularly pressed by that sort of thing. But this is a day that’s come with more introspecting than she’s used to having to endure in a year, so she's ready to get moving before it becomes an issue.

As Harry Anderson, Vrissy, Vriska, and Tavros proceed to have this conversation, Silas pushes to catch up with Avril’s pace. She’s not sure where they’re headed, and has no clue what all this means for her. She knows the step she’s taken isn’t one she’ll be able to backtrack from, but she’ll figure that out tomorrow. For now, one foot in front of the other.

That...

I mean there’s a lot of talk of time-FRAMES, from a lazy perspective, but just-pushing-forward-in-the-here-and-now is reasonably Spacey? ...hm.  I was excited for the Silas paragraph(s) but I don’t see any immediately-apparent pattern meant for us to discern classpect info here.  Maybe a female Page example (since we could use one), propelled along by events without knowing what’s going on at first, too early in her journey to have taken more than her first step up the gradual incline of her long-term potential?

I really don’t know I guess.

Anyway, that’s the end of the bonus upd8!  See ya in a while.

[mst3kproject]

Curse of Bigfoot

This is a very bad mummy movie from the 60’s which was re-edited and re-released as an unbelievably bad bigfoot movie in the 70’s.  It would belong on the Satellite of Love even if it didn’t have a small part for Jackie Neyman Jones.  Remember her? Debbie from Manos: the Hands of Fate?  Yeah, as far as I know she’s the only member of the cast ever to do any non-Manos-related film work for the entire rest of her life and it was this.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the American Southwest, Primitive Man was terrorized by Even More Primitive Man.  In modern times, a Bigfootology professor is giving a guest lecture to a class of students.  First he shows them a clip of a movie just as bad as the one we’re watching, then we get an inaccurate history of bigfoot, including the tale of two idiots in a pickup truck who get a big, hairy ass-whooping.  Then, half an hour into the movie, we finally get to what’s supposed to be the main plot.  A professor of archaeology takes some of his students into the wilderness to help excavate an ‘ancient Indian campsite’, but along with the expected potsherds and prayer sticks, they find a tomb containing a mummy from a lost prehistoric civilization.  It comes to life and shambles off into the forest to kill people, because it’s a movie and mummies do that.

This movie does not waste time.  It starts sucking right out of the gate.  Almost everything that’s going to be wrong with it is introduced in the first ten minutes, as if the movie wants to prepare us for the ordeal ahead.

The opening sequence is an incredibly drawn-out scene of a woman getting up in the middle of the night to calm her barking dog, only to be killed by a zombie that wanders out of the woods.  This scene is around six times longer than it needed to be. We almost have to watch every moment of the dog drinking a bowl of milk she pours for it.  The woman’s voice was dubbed in post, and neither the voice nor the physical acting is any good.  The sequence is supposed to take place in the middle of the night, but was clearly filmed at high noon, reaching Attack of the The Eye Creatures levels of not giving a shit in having the sun appear in several shots, standing in for the moon!  The actual attack happens off screen, because the film-makers could not afford effects.

Then this part ends, and we realize that what we just saw was supposed to be a clip from a horror film that the professor was showing his students.  This provides a fleeting moment of hope, as we think perhaps its overwhelming badness was intended as parody. No such luck.  We then move into the two loggers getting stalked and killed by bigfoot.  The monster costume is different, but this piece is identical in anti-quality to the zombie scene.  The film-makers were just morons, and these mistakes continue throughout the entire ninety-minute run time.

It’s actually astonishing that the movie is so consistent in its incompetence, because we are in fact watching two different films here. Curse of Bigfoot has a backstory similar to that of They Saved Hitler’s Brain, in that somebody in the fifties made a short movie and somebody else, years later, added useless filler to expand it into something they could show in a late-night TV slot. They Saved Hitler’s Brain feels very bifurcated, the new material being both narratively and stylistically different from Madmen of Mandoras.  But if you didn’t know that Curse of Bigfoot was twenty minutes of extra film sewn onto a 1963 movie called Teenagers Battle the Thing, you might not immediately notice.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while you’ll probably remember that I thought Madmen of Mandoras was a significantly better movie than They Saved Hitler’s Brain (even if it still was definitely not a good movie) – the added footage was distracting and pointless.  These two films, however, I would say are about equally awful.  The footage added to Curse of Bigfoot is still pointless, but it looks exactly like what was originally shot for Teenagers Battle the Thing, the only noticeable difference being a slight change in the film stock! Both are depressingly earth-toned movies in which it takes for-fucking-ever for anything to happen, with night scenes shot in the blazing daylight, and lines dubbed in by bad voice actors over bad physical performances. Both feature shitty monster suits and every possible cost-cutting measure.

This leads me to wonder whether Curse of Bigfoot might be terrible on purpose.  The people tasked with turning Teenagers Battle the Thing into a full-length movie got a couple of the actors back to play their older selves in the added footage.  Making stuff match was clearly on their minds.  Could they have actually thought things like, “we’d better use the wrong filter for this, or it won’t be as bad as the day-for-night in the original footage!” or “we need to pad this attack a bit, to match the pace!”?  If so… I don’t know whether to be impressed, or just to crawl under the bed and cry.

On the other hand, Curse of Bigfoot does at least try to do one thing better than Teenagers Battle the Thing – it wants to have something to say.  It spells this thesis out for us in the opening narration and in the professor’s speech about horror movies: our society has forgotten about monsters.

We in the twenty-first century don’t spent much time thinking about monsters unless we happen to be film-makers, political commentators, or maybe paleontologists trying to figure out what the fuck this bugger is.  It wasn’t so long ago, however, that they were very real to many people.  Archaeological evidence suggests that people in New England believed in vampires as recently as the 1820s.  Nowadays, monsters have been taking out of the ‘scary’ category and placed in the ‘fun’ one, and so when people report things like bigfoot or a sea serpent, we don’t take them very seriously.

Bigfoot, sea monsters, and vampires don’t really exist, obviously, but in losing our fear of monsters we may have lost a proper respect for nature.  Every so often the newspapers in my city carry a story of some tourist who tried to get a better selfie with a grizzly bear and got mauled.  We are so used to thinking that we have tamed nature, that there are no monsters left, that we don’t recognize danger when we’re confronted with it.  This certainly seems to be a theme of the stories we’re presented with in Curse of Bigfoot: it never occurs to the woman in the opening that her barking dog may be trying to warn her of danger, or to the two loggers that the mysterious figure in the woods might mean them harm.

The party of archaeology students certainly don’t think they’re heading into any danger, despite the fact that they repeatedly do dangerous things.  A group of them climb to the top of a cliff to see where a fallen stone came from, and never worry about falling.  When they pry open the tomb entrance, the strange smoke that wafts out might be considered a warning sign, but they ignore it.  They head right into this dark hole without any worries about rodents, rattlesnakes, or cave collapses.  When one character warns the others that the mummy has just moved, they laugh it off. A couple go for a walk through the dark woods at night to get to a vending machine, without a second thought.

Lest you think I’m in any way praising this movie, I’m not – I just like my reviews to be at least a certain length, so sometimes I really dig for material.  This was a dig on the level of saying The Incredible Melting Man is about how we treat the elderly.  My high school English teacher might buy it, but I doubt anyone else would.

One thing I do wonder is why they chose to reframe this as a bigfoot movie.  The footage from Teenagers Battle the Thing makes it very clear that this is a mummy movie, although they couldn’t afford any of the genre’s traditional accessories.  Instead of a museum and a treasure, we get one cabin in the woods and… that’s all. When the characters talk about the situation, they always describe the monster as a mummy, and even when they theorize that it’s the product of a lost civilization, the idea that it may not be human never crosses their minds.  It is not particularly tall.  It is not remarkably hairy.  It looks nothing like the bigfoot the two loggers saw, although it does somewhat resemble the zombie from the opening.  Why the man telling the story decided this being must be bigfoot is an absolute mystery.

The only thing I can come up with as an explanation is that bigfoot movies were popular in the 1970s.  Having seen a number of these, I can’t say I find them particularly inspiring.

Curse of Bigfoot is almost incomprehensibly boring, to the point where I’m not sure MST3K could have done much with it if they had featured it.  In the opening sequence it takes forever for the woman to be attacked and then we don’t see it.  In the logger sequence it takes forever for the guy to be attacked and then we don’t see it.  And in the main plot it takes forever for��anyone to be attacked and then we don’t see it! The only attack we see is when the mummy attacks the sheriff at the climax and that really, really wasn’t worth the wait.

Congratulations, Jackie Neyman Jones – you managed to be in a movie worse than Manos.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging:  @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @biancaros3, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld, @chocolatecrackle.

This chapter was a mess for so long, so big thanks to @wholockgal for helping me try to whip her into shape, and @lenfaz for always listening to my writing-related whining.

Emma

The next person who emails me asking for an extension on an assignment they’ve had ALL SEMESTER to do, I’m straight up murdering. ES

I think that’s what they call premeditation, Swan. KJ

There are 33 emails in my inbox right now asking for last minute extensions. 33! Justifiable homicide. ES

33? You’re quite right. Not a jury in the land would convict you. KJ

… This is the part where you chime in with your own work horror story, so I can see I’m being irrational. ES

Is it? As you wish. I just thought seriously about poisoning our illiterate sub-editor with expired milk I found in the darkest recesses of the break room fridge. All because she used a Daily Mail-worthy pun as a headline for one of my articles. And I might’ve done, if the work experience kid hadn’t just used up the last of it for his Ovaltine. KJ

Oh god. Is he okay? ES

For the moment. Looking a bit green around the gills though. I’ve a bet going with the Pictures Editor he won’t make it til lunchtime. KJ

Okay, so not exactly what I was going for, and yet, I feel strangely less like a monster. You, on the other hand, might want to get that kid to a doctor. And/or book yourself in for a refresher for that workplace sensitivity training seminar. ES

According to Liam, there isn’t an opening for six months. Believe me, he checked. KJ

Of course he did. So... 6 hours til happy hour at the Jingles. You in? ES

Oh? Are you buying? KJ

The first round, sure. But only if you promise me it’ll be an early night. I have 203 final assessments to grade. I DO NOT have time to be hungover. ES

Your proposal is acceptable. KJ

Emma saw the poster on the last official teaching day before Reading Week, tacked to the pinboard outside her office. Poorly formatted, and clearly the work of someone with little to no design ability, it nevertheless managed to stop her in her tracks.

End of Academic Year Staff Party

LASER TAG

School of Classics, Archaeology & History VS School of Social & Political Science

Has it ever rankled to be told we produce “Mickey Mouse” degrees? Have you ever been made to feel that your knowledge of Classic Greek literature was “too highbrow” to be relevant in today’s job market? Ever run afoul of Tracy from Social Anthro in the Library Cafe?

Here’s your chance to get your own back! Sign ups below.

Emma could feel something building in her gut. Something unpleasant and inevitable. Something like picturing herself strapped into a cheap plastic breastplate sometime in the near future.

Killian was going to have a field day.

Or, she thought he might, if she could just dig herself out from under the pile of term papers she needed to grade long enough to set up a meet with him.

It figured that all of the empty space in Emma’s schedule would evaporate just as soon as the weather turned. Living under so many layers for so long, Emma had almost forgotten the sun was supposed to have any real warming ability at all. But suddenly, just as the semester was drawing to a close, it re-appeared with a vengeance, and the city was utterly transformed.

Gone were the puffer jackets and tights, the Gore-Tex and the ugly sweaters Emma had long considered to be the unofficial national uniform. Instead the sidewalks became filled with pasty-limbed people displaying their newly liberated flesh with the kind of exhibitionist zeal Emma hadn’t seen since her first Spring Break trip to Florida.

She nearly tripped over a few as they lay sunning themselves out on the Meadows, oblivious to her sweaty, breathless approach. Not to mention the ten or so pubs she had to avoid on her walk home from work, the pavements outside bursting with mismatched outdoor furniture someone had scrounged up in a hurry. All of them packed with sun-worshippers in the most reptilian tradition, and none of them alone.

Who were these people? Emma wondered. Drinking Magners mid-afternoon and stripped down to the barest essentials, always an audience for their bawdy jokes. Where had they all materialized from? Didn’t they have jobs to go to?

In contrast, Emma’s apartment remained completely ignorant of the change in seasons, still cold as a morgue. Her south-facing windows not only had a great view of the brick wall opposite, but they also brought in precisely zero natural light.

It really was a shitty apartment.

And if she had to spend any more time cooped up in it, alone, wrapped in three sweaters while she read circuitous papers in defence of Andrew Jackson, she was going to go crazy.

She had to get out.

She discovered it by accident, really, one day last November when she’d been caught in a surprise hailstorm, and looking for somewhere warm and dry to scarf down the rest of her Greggs donut. Her office-mate had office hours, and the University library stacks were always too crowded with clueless undergrads or amorous couples looking for privacy.

But the City Library? There were whole floors where the only ones around were harmless old biddies working on their genealogies, and their peripheral vision wasn’t the greatest. It was the perfect place to devour a forbidden pastry, or wait out a hailstorm or two. Or run into the very Englishman you’d been meaning to text back.

Emma liked the Reference Library best. It looked kind the kind of thing a fairy tale Beast might gift to a reluctant new house guest to win her over: floor-to-ceiling shelves lining every wall, supported by cast iron balustrades reachable by spiral staircases, an imposing geometric dome that looked like it came right out of Versailles. For the nerds, original card indicies. And for the displaced American history lecturer: plentiful desk space, wi-fi and always somewhere to charge your phone.

Emma had always considered the place to be kind of her little secret. No matter the time of year or weather, it was never too crowded. But there was no mistaking the leather-clad figure sat alone in the second row, feet up on the desk, nose buried in a thin paperback.

He didn’t register her proximity as Emma made her approach, even as she bent down to get a better look at what had him so engrossed.

‘‘Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing’?” Emma read aloud, perversely gratified to see him lurch forward in his seat, caught unawares. She clicked her tongue as she took the seat next door. “If you’re considering taking up a career as a spy, you might want to make yourself slightly harder to sneak up on. Just a tip.”

He set the book down on the desk, shooting her a somewhat annoyed glance. “Well this is a turn up for the books. It’s been so long between texts I thought maybe you’d done in one of your students, and were lost to the ravages of the criminal justice system forever.”

Emma made a face.

“No? Well, small mercies I suppose. And fancy seeing you here. I didn’t really pick you for a fan of French Renaissance architecture, Swan. Or was there some other marvel you’d come to admire?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in the kind of over-the-top way that would put a silent film ingénue to shame.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry to deflate that massive ego of yours, but I’m not stalking you. I’m just here for the free wi-fi. How was I supposed to know you’d be here… studying spycraft?”

“So just a happy coincidence then?” He held her gaze for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Well then, as to the book, believe me, Swan, I have zero aspirations towards the Security Services. Callum, however…”

At that, a young woman a few rows down glanced up from her MacBook to give them the evil eye, and Killian ducked his head, slipping a piece of paper from out between the pages of the book, marked with an indecipherable jumble of numbers written in a childish blue scrawl.

“He’s off penguins for the minute,” he continued, his voice now little more than a hushed whisper. “Now it’s codes. Ciphers. Secret communiqués. Which wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if the lad hadn’t refused to communicate in any other way...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration plain.

By the sound of it, things might have been a little tense at the breakfast table lately.  

Emma whistled through her teeth, though she fought to match his soft tones. “Wow. I think when I was eight years old, all I cared about was ponies.”

He glanced up at her then, the unspoken ‘Is that so?’ making her cheeks color. Even when he said nothing at all, Killian still found ways to make her regret every casual remark, every tiny breadcrumb she unwittingly left behind of the childhood she’d tried so hard to forget.

“Let me see that,” Emma said hotly, snatching the coded message from where it lay before him, leaning forward to examine it.

Then without thinking too much about it, she plucked the red pen from her hair that she’d been using to keep her bun in place, and set about making a series of tiny scribbles.

Killian, his book apparently forgotten, leaned over to study her work. “Know a thing or two about ciphers, do we, lass?”

Emma shrugged. “A bit. It came free with my John Jay obsession. But Callum’s what? Eight, right? So it’s probably not anything too difficult…”

The numbers could mean he was using a book as the key. Each number corresponding to a page and paragraph in the book where the desired word lay. Jay had been a fan of that particular method. He’d favored a dictionary as his key, usually. But the numbers Callum had written…

Emma drew up the matrix, smiling to herself as the childish meaning behind the code slowly became clear. She twisted the paper back in Killian’s direction with a victorious flourish.

“Lachie... is... a…” she translated. “Well, you can see for yourself.”

Killian’s eyes widened looking from the paper, back to Emma, his mouth agape. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before. By anyone. Certainly not by someone who’d never been on the receiving end of one of her blow jobs. It was a single stray thought that stuck uncomfortably in her thoughts, and had her barreling on in a hurry to fill the awkward pause.

“It’s a six-sided Polybius square,” Emma explained, keeping her eyes trained to the piece of paper. “I’m pretty sure I read somewhere POWs in Vietnam used a variant of it to communicate between their cells. But Callum’s numbers only go up to 6, so I… what?”

He was staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a cough, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“You okay?”

He shook his head. “Of course. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Emma asked warily.

Looking kind of like he’d rather the ground rose up and swallowed him instead, Killian sighed and met Emma’s eye, shooting her a look that was so direct she was tempted to scoot her chair back to give them some space. “I was just thinking that Dr Swan is quite a good look on you.”

Emma opened her mouth, to what? Scoff? Say thank you? Luckily, she never had to find out, the silence punctuated by a series of conspicuous buzzing noises.

Emma heard MacBook Girl’s muttered curse. As if she wasn’t just dicking around on Facebook, like everyone else.

“Forgive me,” Killian murmured, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket and fishing out the device. Whatever he read on that screen, his face immediately pulled into a tight frown and he rose out of his chair all at once.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, growing concerned.

“Hmmm.”

It was not the most convincing sound Emma had ever heard.

As if somehow sensing Emma’s frustration, he raised his gaze from the phone to look at her, his expression softening a fraction around the eyes. “Apologies, Swan,” he said with a pained smile. “It appears I’m needed elsewhere.”

He hovered a moment, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I need to head back to the office first. Would you like to walk with me? Or is the lure of free wi-fi too good an inducement to pass up?”

Emma glanced down at her watch, which showed the time to be little past noon. She’d been planning on enjoying the silence of solitude of the library a little more. Make a dent in her grading somewhere with decent heating and what passed for natural light.

But given the look on his face right now, and the way he was clenching his jaw, the fact that he’d even asked meant he probably really, really needed the distraction. And Emma might be pretty selfish on her best days, but she wasn’t cruel. And it just so happened, she had a particular distraction in mind.

“Sure,” she said, letting some of her weight fall onto his proffered prosthetic, as she rose from her chair.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

Yeah, he was a fan of the laser tag idea.

His mood wasn’t buoyant exactly, as they wended their way along Castle Terrace, dodging Chinese tour groups who were arriving by the busload, selfie sticks at the ready. But the idea of Emma making a humiliating spectacle of herself certainly seemed to hold some kind of appeal for him.

He was no longer actively brooding.

“I can just picture it now; Emma Swan: Jungle Warrior.”

Emma snorted. Then she opened her mouth to refute this, and then closed it again, considering her track record.

Killian considered her shrewdly. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of competitive. The last time I did something like this, it got kind of… ugly.”

“Define ugly.”

“We went paintballing for David’s birthday one year and August ended up in the ER with a dislocated knee.”

Killian winced.

“He says he can still feel it when it rains. Of course, he’s a novelist, so he’s kind of known for being needlessly dramatic so...”

Encouraged by the prospect of mayhem, the usual mischievous sparkle was returning to Killian’s eyes. “I think this competitive side is something I’ve got to see for myself.”

“Too bad you’re not invited, then, huh?”

“I could be…?” Oh no. No way. Was he really pulling puppy dog eyes right now?

“No way. Not happening. You can put those eyes away. It’s a work event. The administration are already on my case about this whole thing enough as it is.”

“And if I talk them ‘round?”

“You’re not going to get the administration to change their minds about me with a winsome smile and pretty boy charm.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Emma just rolled her eyes, and nudged him into the path of an oncoming tour group.

When I got back to the library I realized you left your book, btw. I returned it. Figured you didn’t need it anymore? ES

Indeed I don’t. In cracking his code, I believe you’ve exhausted Callum’s sudden passion for cryptography. At least, for now. Elsa would like to express her eternal gratitude. KJ

Wow. Look at me, extinguishing a young boy’s thirst for learning. Clearly I’ve got this whole teacher thing on lockdown. ES

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I saw him googling nebulas on the iPad earlier. I dare say another obsession is in the offing. One that might drive his mother a little less insane. KJ

Well, that’s something. ES

Okay, so clearly the administration was into winsome smiles and pretty boy charm, because the next thing Emma knew, she was seated on a university-chartered bus headed out into the hinterland, her columnist stretched out of the seat beside her.

Because that was a super normal thing to bring along to a work event.

Emma found it easiest to ignore the curious looks of her bus-mates by picturing how she was going to wipe the floor with each and every one of them when they got to where they were going.

For the most part, the reluctant recruits they’d manage to scrape together from the School of Social & Political Science did not inspire awe. Emma was pretty sure she could take them. Between Tracy from Social Anthro with her scoliosis, and Glen from British Politics with his spare tire, they seemed a pretty ragtag bunch, not suited to roughing it in the great outdoors.

There was only one among them who looked like a contender, the bearded guy in the army surplus jacket dozing at the back of the bus.

His possible narcolepsy aside, he at least seemed to be in decent shape, if the cut of jaw was any indication. As if he could feel her gaze on him, his eyes blinked open, and Emma turned back to Killian, who’d suddenly trailed off mid-sentence.

“And you didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Emma cringed inwardly. “Sorry. I was just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh?” He enquired, his tone lightening. “And how do they measure up, in your estimation?”

Emma shrugged. “I think it’s in the bag. Our combined youth-”

“Your fighting spirit-” Killian interrupted.

“And the fact the history department won against the Divinity School last year...  ,” Emma continued, ignoring him.

“What about Rambo over there?” Killian asked, raising his chin to indicate the same guy Emma had been caught checking out before. “He looks like he might present a challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, refusing to follow his gaze. “We’ll see.”

If Emma thought she might be able to somehow avoid this handsome stranger, maybe she should have remembered that she was cursed. Because when they nominated team captains, somehow it was him that Emma found herself facing off against.

The two of them stood awkwardly, forced to wait while some teenaged employee scrounged around in the pockets of his cargo pants for a coin to flip to determine territory.

And he was handsome, there was no getting around it. Nice hair, just on the manageable side of curly. Admittedly impressive biceps peeking out from underneath an ill-fitting plastic breastplate. Not to mention the warm, friendly smile as he held out a hand.

“Best of luck,” he said.

Oh, and an accent. A very nice accent.   

“And to you,” Emma said graciously, accepting the handshake. She might have been naturally competitive, but there was no need to be rude.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before,” he mentioned casually, even as his hand still clasped over hers. “I’m Graham Humbert, International Relations.”

The way he said it, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip, she wondered if he was flirting with her. She wondered if she wanted him to be.

“Emma Swan,” she replied, letting her hand fall back down to her side, palm tingling. “American History.”

Killian

Killian Jones was no stranger to using his masculine wiles to his advantage. Though he’d been something of an awkward youth, his university years had been their own sort of education, quite aside from his unfinished philosophy degree.

Now, as a mediocre journalist with few moral scruples, he employed charm and flattery as tools of the trade. What better way to put an interview subject at ease? Or finesse that long-guarded secret from someone’s lips?

True, Saorsa was hardly The Guardian. He wasn’t uncovering government corruption at it’s highest levels or netting himself any Pulitzers. Though he did manage to stir up a hornet’s nest in Parliament that one time, after he got a MSP to admit to an extra-marital affair. Necessary to the public interest it was not, but it never did the circulation numbers any harm.

It was these skills he thought might help secure him a spot on the team bus to Lugton Bogs, the aptly named quagmire that was home to Edinburgh’s premier, and only, outdoor laser tag centre. Or at the very least, might improve Emma’s standing with the university after a rocky start.

Killian’s first port of call? The Press and Public Relations department, tucked away in cobbled alley near Sandy Bell’s. And from the rising stink of it, mostly treated as an open latrine by some of the male patrons of said watering hole after one too many libations at the weekend.

The inside was decidedly more pleasant, sheltered from the stench by double glazed windows and a heavy steel door. The office itself was attractive enough, a hive of industry playing to the soundtrack of ringing telephones. He stopped to ask the way to the right office, and was directed up to the first floor, where cubicles gave way to actual offices.

It was a promising start, he thought. That is, until he seated himself in a rather uncomfortable chair outside his target office, and had gotten a good look at the nameplate velcroed to the door.

That Killian’s quarry turned out to be a male was regrettable, and a waste of Killian’s talents.  That Killian’s quarry turned out to be none other than Robert Gold, native Glaswegian and former husband of one Belle French, Killian thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to do the honourable thing and fall on his sword.

He’d never been stupid enough to name Belle directly, but realistically, how many Australian librarians in Edinburgh could there be? And here was the very man Killian had publicly outed just a few short months ago, as a man who’d chosen his pill addiction over his marriage.

This was the man he had sought?

Killian was already halfway to his feet, ready to skive off their meeting with great urgency, when the door opened and out stepped a slight, silver-haired man, leaning heavily on a cane.

Tink hadn’t been lying when she’d said he’d been older.

“Killian Jones, is it?” he asked, looking bored.

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Killian’s first temptation was still to flee, but seeing as he was half-standing in plain sight, it seemed that ship had long sailed.

Instead he straightened, and held out a hand, trying to keep his voice quiver-free. “Aye, Killian Jones. I believe you’re the man to see about getting oneself included on an employee outing?”

For all his vices, Robert Gold did have one thing to his credit; he did not seem to be a Saorsa subscriber. Indeed, Killian’s name did not seem to bring about any flash of recognition. Nor, to Killian’s immense relief, a sudden zeal to sue for libel.

Though now Killian knew what to look for, he very much doubted the man would have much legal grounds. From the sweat soaking through his dress shirt, to the sallow complexion, to the pupils round as saucers, there was no way Robert Gold wasn’t in the throes of some chemical cocktail. The single life clearly wasn’t working for him.

He did, however, seem for the moment to be all-business.

“Laser tag?” he enquired.

Not sure if he was asking for an explanation, or merely a confirmation, Killian hesitated. “Something of an annual tradition from what I understand. Pitting department against department, all in the name of friendly competition.”

Gold nodded, absently.

“And this…” He peered down to examine the form in front of him. “... Emma Swan. You’re writing a column about her personal life?”

“It’s more an exploration on the nature of adult friendships. How difficult it is to make meaningful connections when you find yourself separated from your familiar networks. Emma is merely a vehicle I’m using to…” Killian fumbled for a suitable word. “...illustrate the point.”

“Hmmm.”

With any luck, that “Hmmm” meant that Gold found the idea tedious, and never wanted to hear about it again. Still, Killian wondered how long it would take him to convince their IT guy to “accidentally” corrupt the link to February’s column online.

“And you feel it would be helpful to you if you ‘tagged along’ on this outing?”

Truthfully, now he’d gotten Ruby to confirm Emma’s ER story, he mostly just wanted to watch her in action. But something told him Gold wouldn’t be particularly sympathetic to his plight.

“I think it would lend my words a certain credibility, if I was actually present for the events, certainly.”

Gold looked thoughtful, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. Or perhaps he was just meaning to add his next date with his dealer to his personal calendar. At any rate, he didn’t make Killian wait too long.

“There’s a number of forms to fill out,” the Glaswegian declared airily, pulling a stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “And some insurance concerns. I imagine your employer can email through proof of that?”

Could they? Killian certainly hoped so.

“Aye, of course.”

“Of course, we don’t ask for copy approval ahead of time, we’re not totalitarian savages. But you should be aware that we are always looking for ways to promote the university as a diverse, innovative and enjoyable workplace. Sometimes this means entering partnerships with members of the fourth estate, and sometimes that means breaking off such arrangements, if we feel our aims are not in concert. If you understand my meaning?”

Don’t burn any bridges. Duly noted.

At Killian’s nod of acquiescence, Gold clapped his hands together. “Well then, dearie, it looks like we have ourselves a deal. Blue pen, or black?”

And you thought it couldn’t be done. KJ

You didn’t. ES

I did. KJ

Please tell me you’re joking? ES

Alas, the cramp I’m nursing after signing near a dozen documents in triplicate says otherwise. I am UoE approved, and ready to watch Emma Swan go full berserker. KJ

I hate you. ES

I know. KJ

“Players must keep two hands on the phaser at all time to activate it. This is a safety feature which prevents the phaser being held at an arm’s length,” Killian read the tiny warning sticker on the side of his gun aloud.

Well, wasn’t that just fantastic.

Killian looked around for some teenaged, zero-hour contract flunky he could flag down, but after the initial hubbub of the coin toss, they’d all but vanished. The stand of trees stood all but empty now, except for the handful of middle-aged academics in green vests, wheezing as they made their way over the rise.

Sod it.

His gun might be fucking useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he came here to do: Watch Emma Swan kick arse and take names.

She really was in fine form. She might have been surprised by her appointment to team captain, but Killian wasn’t. She was the only one among them who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, and objectively speaking, she looked good doing it.

And as the reluctantly appointed leader, she was the one leading the charge to the enemy compound, organising her little band using military tactics she’d probably lifted straight from Che Guevara. This was exactly why people shouldn’t cross history professors.

Expending the last of his lung capacity, Killian caught up with Emma’s splinter group, just in time to hear the electronic sound effect that signalled a direct hit to the man to his left.

“Six o’ clock,” Killian bellowed, diving for the cover of the nearest tree stump. Emma was already there, pinned down by two more red-vests advancing from the other side.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his useless arm.

To his delight, she actually seemed to be enjoying this, her face aflush with activity, her grin wide. She turned his way, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear. “Give us the the tools, and we will finish the job.”

Churchill. She was quoting fucking Churchill.

But as she heard her compatriots fall to enemy fire, he could see the enthusiasm in her eyes visibly dim with each electronic squeal. If they stayed here too long, Rambo and the lasses from Gender Studies were going to pick them off, one by one.

Someone had to do something, and quickly.

And that someone might as well be the eejit with the gun that didn’t bloody work.

Nudging Emma’s shoulder, he pointed to a pile of boulders a little way off. “You make for those, and I’ll cover you.”

Emma looked from the pile, back to Killian. “Are you crazy? That’s like twenty yards. There’s no way we’ll both make it.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” Killian said, rising from his hiding place, and giving her no choice but to follow his lead.

“Aargh,” she cried, scrambling to her feet, rifle at the ready. “You know I hate you, right?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said, swinging to face his aggressors head-on. “I know.”

It wasn’t a drawn-out death.

To Killian’s satisfaction, a few of them had turned and fled when they saw him stand up. But Rambo, the bearded leader of the opposition seemed clue-ier than his friends. He saw the diversion for what it was. And as Emma darted out from behind the stump, he set his sights accordingly. Might have gotten her too, if Killian hadn’t stepped into the line of fire.

“You do know the purpose of the game is not to get hit, right?” Rambo called after him.

But instead of replying, Killian merely slung his rifle up onto his shoulder and headed back to the holding area, humming a song under his breath.

In the end, Emma decimated them, as he knew she would. All but Rambo, that cocksure son of a bitch. He had military training, of that Killian was certain. Or at least a stint in the cadets. He was a little too at ease, in Killian’s view.

Still, Emma managed to hold her own, waiting the bastard out until the clock ran down.

A draw.

He thought he might shout Emma a drink for this. Something tall and refreshing. But as she emerged from the stand of trees, still aglow with near-victory, he saw she wasn’t alone. Rambo strode along beside her, the two of them getting on suspiciously well for people who’d just been trying to “kill” one another.

Killian shrank back, letting himself fall back into a crowd of archaeology professors, comparing aches and pains. They certainly weren’t of the Indiana Jones mould.

He wouldn’t say he watched them. He merely observed them, like any other dispassionate member of the fourth estate. And how could he not notice his subject’s pleasure at this man’s company? The way her gaze dropped downward as they shook hands, a rare show of shyness.

Emma liked him. Rambo. Whatever his name was. Even a blind man could see it.

As far as the project was concerned, this was good news. Emma Swan, single and ready to mingle? Hell, it was a boon. Not to say one’s social life never suffered from embarking on a new relationship, but it was a damned sight better than Emma staying home every night with her marking and her Netflix.

So why did the sight of Emma typing her number into the man’s phone suddenly make Killian feel queasy? This was a good thing.

He should be happy for her.

Getting home took a little longer than anticipated. Not least because he stopped by the Jingles on the way and emptied out their stores of Captain Morgan.

“Maybe you should call it a night, eh?” the bar man suggested, just around the time Killian’s vision started going blurry.

Recalling Liam’s last lecture about “unnecessary expenses” he walked the rest of the way home, taking a somewhat circuitous route through a few back gardens.

He struggled with the lock, frustrated to find his keys kept slipping from his hand. He almost had it when the door suddenly fell in, and Killian with it.

“What the-”

Who else but Liam stood over him, arms crossed in that same look of quiet disappointment he’d been wearing for years.

“Good night was it?” his brother asked coolly, reaching forward to help him up.

“Geroff me, you judgy git,” Killian scowled, rising to his feet perfectly well on his own, with nary a wobble. “Would ‘ave been fine, you hadn’t opened the door like that.”

Liam stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “If you insist.” And then after a moment, “Why do you look like you’ve been at the Somme?”  

Killian looked down at himself, to the best approximation of combat clothes his wardrobe had to offer, now caked in mud to the knee, and streaked with dirt elsewhere.

“Laser tag,” Killian replied. “S’for work.”

“Hmm,” Liam hummed. “Let me guess, you weren’t on the winning side?”

If you wanted to get technical about it, it had been a draw. But deep down, Killian couldn’t kid himself on that front. 

Whichever side he’d been on had definitely been the losing one.

And how were drinks with Rambo? KJ

Graham. His name is Graham. ES

So it is. Does that sharp rebuke mean that in addition to guerrilla warfare, the man also excels at scintillating conversation over cocktails? KJ

Has anyone ever told you you’re a shameless gossip? ES

Once or twice. Though I much prefer the term “indomitable busybody.” That’s my favourite. KJ

Gee, I wonder why. And for your information, it wasn’t terrible. ES

Coming from you, Swan, that’s almost a ringing endorsement. KJ

23  25-32-33-45  51-33-43  42-33-33-25    42-22-11-42  12-26-11-41-42   16-33-36  31-15. ES

23’31  41-43-36-15  23 22-11-44-15  32-33  23-14-15-11  45-22-11-42  5-33-43  31-15-11-32. KJ

Whatever you say, buddy. Good night, Killian. ES

Good night, Emma. KJ

[pongpalace]

74! “You’re a dork, just like your father.” But can it be one parent saying it to their own kid and talking about the other parent? Doesn't have to be but that got into my head and I think it's cute

Similarities in Sight  [ao3]

mostly fluff, all about Nursey and his parents. completely unbeta’d

Derek can’t find his glasses.

He was literally just wearing them, but then he needed to rub a stray eyelash out of his eye, and he knows better than anyone how that was an impossible task to do through one’s glasses without smudging them so he took them off and put them… somewhere. Shit.

“Dammit,” Derek says, sitting up and putting the book he was reading to the side carefully. It’s a hardcover and definitely heavy enough to crack his glasses if he’s not careful.

Everything is fuzzy without his glasses. He’s not like, blind or anything—he can usually read and scroll his phone without his glasses on—it’s when he has to look further that he has problems seeing more than shapes. He’s nearsighted. Or farsighted, whatever. Derek can’t remember which one means he can’t see distances but knowing which it is that isn’t going to help him find his glasses, anyways. From his blurry glance around his room from his spot in the nest of blankets he’s built instead of turning off the air conditioning his moms left on when they left, his glasses aren’t anywhere on his bed that he can see.

Derek groans because he’s gonna have to get up and look for his glasses now and he’s self aware enough to know how clumsy he is when he can see, so he’s really not looking forward to the stubbed toes he’s probably going to get because what is depth perception without glasses or contacts anyways?

He gets up, untangling himself from the first blanket as carefully as possible, just in case. If his glasses ended up on the blanket, Derek doesn’t want to accidentally fling them across the room. It wouldn’t be the first time, but this is the longest Derek has had one pair of glasses and he doesn’t want to break his six month streak. Nothing falls out so Derek runs his hands over the rest of the blankets, leaning forward and squinting just in case his hands miss something, but no luck. His glasses aren’t in the blankets.

He spreads out his search, rolling back onto the bed so he can stretch out to feel along the whole top bit, from the foot of the bed to the headboard. He’s careful, like super careful that doesn’t sit on his glasses if they slide under him when the bed dips under his weight. Derek checks the entire bed like that, squinting and spreading his arms out like he’s making a snowman on his stomach, but he doesn’t feel or see anything.

“Where the fuck?” Derek really regrets rubbing his eyes now. It was like two seconds and didn’t even feel that good in retrospect of now having to look for his glasses. He considers opening his book and dealing with the glasses problem later, but Derek knows then he’ll definitely break his glasses when they magically appear under his ass. It’s just his luck really. Derek pushes himself to his knees and again steps off his bed carefully, wondering if maybe the glasses fell on the ground without his noticing. He plants his left foot and then slides his right around the hardwood to feel around for them, hoping to kick rather than step on his glasses if they’re down here.  

He’s still sliding his foot around, debating whether it’s worth it to go put contacts in to look for his glasses when the door downstairs opens and Derek hears his moms come in from grocery shopping.

“MA!” He shouts down, glad that he doesn’t need to brave the walk to the bathroom now. He hasn’t run into anything yet, but really, it’s only a matter of time. “MA, I NEED HELP! OR MOM, I’M NOT PICKY!”

He can’t hear exactly what Ma says to Mom, but they both laugh so Derek knows he’s gonna get chirped later, because they’re his moms and he learned how to hold his own on the ice from them. He’ll take it though if it means he can stop squinting. Luckily he hears someone come up the stairs. Derek is half-heartedly kicking around when someone knocks on his door frame.

“What’s the matter love?” Ma asks. Derek swings around to face her, almost slipping on the hardwood in his socks. He knows it’s her despite not being able to really make out her face because she always wears bright scarfs, whereas Mom is probably in one of Dad’s old flannels.

“I can’t find my glasses,” Derek says. He’s not expecting the bark of laughter that Ma lets out, and actually jumps a little bit, kicking his toe into the leg of the bed frame.

“Ma,” he complains.

Ma shakes her head and instead of coming in to help him look, shouts over her shoulder, “Adelia, Derek can’t find his glasses!”

Derek raises his eyebrows, hoping that Ma has her glasses on so she can see his unimpressed look. He squints and then remembers he can walk so he takes the couple steps he needs to cross his room.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, when he’s close enough to see that Ma’s eyes are crinkling in a way that means she’s chewing on a joke before she decides to share it. Mom gets to the top of the stairs before Ma answers.

“Ma’s making fun of me Mom,” Derek tells Mom. She pauses, and Derek wonders what her expression is because he hears her sigh and Ma laughs out loud again. Mom mutters to herself in Spanish. She hip checks Ma out of the way so she can get into Derek’s room and grabs his chin.

“Derek, you’re a dork,” Mom says. She’s close enough that Derek can see her expression and she also is biting back a laugh. “Just like your father, I swear. Your glasses are on your head.” She reaches a hand up to pull the glasses that Derek now remembers he pushed up into his hair while he rubbed his eyes down onto his face. The world comes back into focus and he can see Ma grinning widely.

“Ah,” Derek says. “Found them.”

“You and your father would both lose your heads if they weren’t attached,” Ma continues. She shakes Derek’s chin before pulling his face down further so she can kiss his forehead.

“Way to pick on Dad when he’s not here to defend himself,” Derek says, rubbing his chin when Mom lets go. The comparison to his dad is fair though, he knows that. He had to get his shitty eyesight and love of heavy books from somewhere.

“He knows,” Mom shrugs, and Derek guess Dad probably does. His mom and dad might have divorced before Derek was born, but they’re still close enough friends that Derek’s pretty sure they have weekly coffee meet-ups to gossip about Derek and his sister. And chirp each other apparently.

“Thanks for laughing at me, Ma,” Derek says, spinning to go back to his bed. He slips again and would have fallen if not for Ma reaching out to balance him.

“Just like your father, love,” Ma replies, laughing.

“I’m telling him you said that,” Derek says. He’s not sure how the walk back to his bed is more difficult now that he can see but it is. He can see his moms’ amused expressions from the bed now as he gets comfy in his nest again.

“He won’t mind,” Mom says. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Derek knows; his dad is pretty cool, despite looking like every professor stereotype. He teaches archaeology at NYU, and brought Derek into “audit” his lectures when Derek was too young to go to school yet during the days that Farah was at school and Ma and Mom had their own jobs to go to. Derek knows his dad is one of the reasons he wants to stay in academia for as long as he can.

“Still both dorks though,” Mom continues. Derek sticks his tongue in response, but has to laugh when Ma and Mom remind him to bring his glasses down for dinner. 

They do promise to order Thai though, so Derek knows he’s lucky to have all his parents.  

[pengiesama]

A Reasonable Amount of Trouble (Fic, Sorey/Mikleo, Detective AU, Chapter 1/?)

Title: A Reasonable Amount of Trouble, Chapter 1/? Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo Summary: Sorey is an experienced member of the supernatural detective division, the Shepherds, but is a fresh face to the city squad when an unexpected transfer lands him in Lastonbell. Things tend to get complicated when you realize that hot hookup from the bar last night is now your new partner on the force. (Detective AU)

Link: AO3

This was a commission from @shamingcows, who requested fic from her fantastic Detective AU!

Check out my commission info here.

Read on Tumblr!

--

Lastonbell wasn’t a bad assignment.

A major metro center, it was a city known for the arts, theater, and music – and all the accompanying drama that came with it. A writer, wretched with rejection letters, going hellion in the streets; a seraph, strung out on the torrid emotions of starving artists, going missing and turning up a week later rampaging through the commercial district wearing scales. Organized crime rings, trafficking drugs and bodies both, occasionally facing off against each other in the streets.

Sure, it didn’t have the glitz and glamour of Pendrago. But Sorey had gotten too comfortable with the detective beat in Ladylake, and welcomed the change of scenery – but mostly he welcomed the change in local attractions and historical points of interest. When he wasn’t being wined and dined (more like boozed and burgered) by his local friends as part of his farewell festivities, he was scrolling through Lastonbell food and travel blogs and devouring every book about the city’s lengthy history he could get his hands on. These research efforts had a predictable effect on Sorey’s packing efforts, and on the eve of his big move, he had to sheepishly call in a favor to Rose to enlist her help in getting the remainder of his apartment into boxes.

(“I helped you and Alisha move into your place,” Sorey pointed out in response to Rose’s endless griping, over the sounds of packing tape and clattering plates.

“I bought you pizza and beer!” Rose countered. “That debt was paid in full! Man, how many books do you have!? You owe me a night bar-crawling in Lastonbell for this. While I wear a crown. And you’re carrying me on one of those fancy back carriage thingies.”

“Palanquin,” Sorey informed her.

“Gesundheit,” Rose blessed him.)

Now that he was in Lastonbell, there was the matter of getting his apartment out of the boxes. Sorey flopped down heavily on one of the few open spots on his couch, and brought out his phone. He’d had a long day, and maybe it was time for him to make use of his extensive city research to check out some of the local bars.

He scrolled through some of the blog posts he had bookmarked, and landed on a name – The Katz Pajamas. It looked way…louder than the bars he tended to frequent. And definitely had a certain vibe to it. A certain vibe that Sorey, stressed and lonely in this big new city, could maybe appreciate tonight.

 --

 Sorey didn’t usually go for casual encounters, much less one-night stands. Even if someone checked all his boxes for physical attraction, he just generally wasn’t interested in anonymous sex with someone he barely knew. There was also the matter of common ground – normal “pickup talk” conversation bored Sorey to tears, and he wasn’t naïve enough to think that most people (or even some people, or a few people) would be interested in what archaeology journals he was reading, or wanted to rant with him about that badly-researched documentary he caught on Netflix the night before.

But there was always an exception to be had, wasn’t there? Especially as a stranger in a strange land.

Which sums up how Sorey wound up with his cock buried hilt-deep inside a guy he picked up at the bar.

His name was Mikleo, and he was a regular at the club, had great taste in books, and was absolutely stunning. He was tall; almost a head taller than Sorey, who was no slouch himself. He had a slim build; light enough for Sorey to pick up and throw onto his bed with ease, with slender wrists just the right size for Sorey’s hands to wrap around. He had legs for days; they were previously showcased in a pair of tight jeans, and were currently wrapped around Sorey’s waist. His eyes were a deep and fascinating violet, his hair was long and wavy white, frosted with pale aquamarine streaks, and – Sorey noted, as he slid a hand through it, prompting Mikleo to damn near purr at the feeling – was just about the softest thing he’d ever felt. Sorey had never gotten with a seraph before, and with how this encounter was going, he wondered why the hell that was.

The second he stepped into the club and had his eyes adjust to the low light, he’d spotted Mikleo at the bar, chatting with the bartender like an old friend. Dumbstruck with how gorgeous he looked in the colored lights and running on fumes and exhausted idiot courage after his long day of moving, Sorey slid up to him in a neighboring seat, and struck up a conversation. About five minutes in, Mikleo was laughing at Sorey’s dumb pickup lines in Ancient Avarost and buying him a drink to welcome him to the city, and Sorey realized that this was the best decision he’d made all day. About ten minutes in, as they crowed together about shitty movie adaptations of the restoration period, Sorey realized this was the best decision he’d made all week. About an hour in, as they ground on each other in the back of a taxi making its way back to Sorey’s place, Sorey realized that he really should have tried harder to unpack, and was about to hook up with a beautiful stranger amidst a maze of cardboard boxes. For his part, Mikleo almost seemed charmed by it all – or at least was too polite to do more than laugh as Sorey scooped him up and carried him bravely through the debris and into his bedroom to ravish him.

Sorey hadn’t really gotten much action since his last relationship about six months back, but managed to last longer than he thought he would with such a mind-blowingly sexy partner. From the look on Mikleo’s face as Sorey carefully pulled out of him, he’d given Mikleo a great ride as well – which was good, as Sorey wanted to at least make Mikleo’s efforts in putting up with his cardboard kingdom worthwhile. Sorey removed his condom and wrapped it in a tissue, and leaned in to kiss Mikleo deeply before he got up to clean up in the bathroom. The smile Mikleo gave to him in return just about killed his desire to leave the bed. Sorey leaned back in for another kiss.

Then another.

Then another.

In the end, Sorey wound up climbing Mikleo like a tree one more time before they collapsed into unconsciousness. The next morning, he wished he had more to offer his houseguest hottie than coffee and a muffin from the chain across the street, but Mikleo took the gift with the same good grace that he put up with Sorey’s bad jokes last night. Sorey really, really wanted to ask him to hang around while he went off to check in at his new station, but couldn’t justify asking him to; not with his apartment…the way it was. Mikleo bid him good luck and farewell, sweeping that silky hair of his over one shoulder as he bent down for a last, long kiss. Belatedly, as he creaked his way out of the taxi and into the station, his whole body aching from moving strain and from screwing Mikleo like his life depended on it, he realized that he hadn’t asked for Mikleo’s number. Sorey’s heart twisted a bit with disappointment.

It was the appeal of one-night stands, he supposed. You meet a gorgeous, brilliant guy, hump his brains out, and then never see him again. No strings. No expectations. Nothing but fun, pleasure, and the lingering memory of Mikleo’s smile burning in his brain like embers.

Sorey hung around the station for a little while, getting his new hire paperwork and greetings out of the way – he had been hoping to meet his new partner, but had been told he was taking a long weekend and would probably be next in the coming week. Sorey supposed it was a blessing in disguise. He was still more than a little cranky from exhaustion, more than a little homesick for Ladylake, and more than a little hung up on a hookup that he had no right to be hung up on. He probably wasn’t in much of a state to be making good impressions on coworkers.

As he headed out for the day, his shoulder devil whispered to him to go back to The Katz Pajamas. Great plan, that – nurse drinks for a few hours, lurk like a creep, and skulk off into the night when Mikleo inevitably didn’t show. His shoulder angel told him to go to the grocery store, pick up some real food, and spend the night and the rest of the weekend unpacking. Sorey hung his head, listened to his shoulder angel’s admonitions, and went to pick up some kitchen supplies.

Well, the joke was on his shoulder angel, because he ran into Mikleo again at the store.

Sorey fell too hard, too fast in his relationships. Thus, he was so bad at one-night stands. So horribly bad. He saw this character flaw of his and tried to keep himself under control, but oh, his heart was singing as he saw Mikleo blinking at him across the freezer section. He looked just as beautiful under the florescent grocery store lights, dressed in a comfy oversized sweater over a button-up, as he did in the neon club dressed in skintight pants and a black choker.

What, exactly, was hookup etiquette in a situation such as this? Was it jogging over to where Mikleo was looking at ice cream bars, striking up a conversation with him, and after another half-hour of wonderful conversation, inviting him back to his cardboard kingdom? Was it popping a boner in the middle of the store like a teenager when Mikleo smirked at him and picked up a 24-pack of condoms from the shelf, and tossed it into his basket next to the ice cream?

This, in fact, was probably not hookup etiquette in any sense of the word. But it netted Sorey another night with Mikleo.

And then a whole day with him, lounging in bed, eating Mikleo’s ice cream bars as they watched documentaries together, idly discussing and debating, Sorey’s head in Mikleo’s lap, trying not to purr as Mikleo pet his hair.

They didn’t leave bed that whole weekend, and Sorey got zero unpacking done, and kind of felt like his dick was going to fall off from using it to nail Mikleo in every position he could. But by god, Sorey didn’t regret a single moment of any of it. As he and Mikleo finally said their farewells to each other early Monday morning, Sorey felt like he was walking on air. Mikleo still had to get back to his place, change, and head off to work, all with Sorey’s hickies marking up his neck, but Sorey now had his number tucked safely into his phone, and a sly little suggestion from Mikleo that they could meet up again sometime if Sorey ever got bored. Sorey dreamily stared at his contact in his phone as the subway rumbled toward the station, his thoughts full of the books he wanted to loan to him, the museums he wanted to visit with him, the things he wanted to keep doing to that firm, tight little ass of his.

The whole weekend combined made it really awkward when the station chief introduced Sorey to his partner on the Shepherd detective force, the seraph specialist Mikleo.

 --

 So, he had had a one-night stand, or rather a one-weekend ice cream-and-debauchery fest, with his now-coworker. Sorey knew that dating at work was bad news, and constantly had to overhear gossip on the latest drama about office hookups in the break room at his old station in Ladylake. He’d thought he was above it all, but alas – karma was a bitch, and it was paying him back by banishing him to the realm of sexual limbo. What had seemed like a sure thing, a great way to start off his life in a new city, now seemed too awkward to even consider as they rolled out in a squad car to investigate their first case.

Sorey couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Listen. I am so sorry I didn’t mention where I was going to be working, it’s just, some people get on edge when I say I’m on the force, so I didn’t really want to--”

“It’s fine,” Mikleo said, shortly. “Just – don’t worry about it.”

Sorey managed to stay silent for a few minutes. He did not manage to not worry about it.

“It’s just, we’re going to be working together now, and I had such a great time, I really did, and I don’t want to make things awkward between us--”

“We’re here,” Mikleo informed him. He threw the car into park and unbuckled himself, trying and failing not to look at the wretched look on Sorey’s face. “…listen. I had a great time too, and I don’t blame you for anything. But let’s just focus on the case for now, okay?”

“Yeah…yeah,” Sorey agreed.

The case itself was a pretty standard one. There had been a rash of hellionizations in the area, all producing a certain kind of hellion – goblins, who had an appetite for theft and property vandalism, and also illegal street racing. As was covered in basic Shepherd training, certain types of malevolence tended to create specific breeds of hellion. Goblin hellions grew from turbulent greed and raw gluttony, and the number of cases plus the profile of the area the cases were centered in pointed toward drug-related activity. Lastonbell was a big city, and big cities had drug trafficking problems. And drug trafficking problems led to goblin street races.

“We’ve been making some arrests in the area recently,” Mikleo explained. “All straightforward purify-and-process. Some have had intel on mob activity in the area, but nothing our undercover informants haven’t already gotten us. We’re closing in on the distributors who are likely operating in the area, but we’ll have to monitor to make sure more don’t move in when we take down the current big dogs.”

Nothing Sorey hadn’t already seen in Ladylake. He knew the ins and outs of Ladylake’s streets and back alleys better though, and that made it way easier to break up these goblin races when they went down. He also hadn’t fucked his investigative partner in Ladylake. Lots of new things to consider in his new home.

A commotion interrupted that line of thought – the telltale hooting, hollering, clattering wheels, and cannonball fire of a goblin street race. At the sight of the squad car, they abruptly changed routes down an alleyway. Mikleo smirked and jumped out of the car.

“Right on time,” he said. “Hope you’re up for a chase.”

“You’re on,” Sorey replied, giving him a cheeky little grin.

Mikleo took off like a shot, his long legs and knowledge of the area giving him a solid lead on Sorey. Sorey felt his heart flutter, and not just because of the thrill of the chase. He was so, so bad at hookups.

 --

 Well, the good news was that they caught the speed demons, and the purification process went smoothly. No surprises there – a bunch of petty street punks were no match for Sorey’s knack for purification; the silver flames leaping from his blade and streaking across the ground to burn the taint from their flesh, mind, and souls. He’d been informed his partner was the sharpest shot in the precinct, and he’d lived up to the reputation already; shooting out a wheel axel from one racer, sending him careening into another, setting off a panic among the riders that allowed Sorey to commandeer one of the perps’ carts and ride it, flaming sword held high, rattling and clattering through the streets, his own mighty chariot of justice.

It got results. A crew of beat cops was helping them load the purified perps into a transport car, and a tow truck was on its way to pick up the wrecked carts. That being said, it was clear Mikleo was furious with him about the whole chariot of justice thing, and he wouldn’t even look at Sorey as he read off his report over the radio.

“A half dozen gobblecarters in the slammer in one shot,” one of the beat cops said, admiring. He offered a paw to Sorey to shake. “Not bad for a rookie! Put ‘er there, champ.”

“Hey, I graduated academy five years ago. You’re looking at a seasoned pro, here,” Sorey said. However, he knelt to accept the handshake. “This isn’t even my biggest haul.”

“You tryin’ to impress me or your boyfriend there?” laughed the cop. Mikleo continued to ignore them both. “Don’t look like he’s swayed. Maybe bring in some werewolf pelts and he’ll let you take him out on the town.”

Sorey rumpled the cop’s beret until his paws came up to swipe at him.

“’ey! Knock that off or I’ll report you to HR. Don’t think you special ops bozos get the privilege to touch this fine headgear.”

Leaving the beat cops to coordinate cleanup and transport, Mikleo and Sorey began to make their way back to where they parked the car. Sorey scratched his neck, wincing at Mikleo’s silent treatment.

“…I’ll take care of the paperwork?” Sorey offered.

“I’m sure Captain Strelka will be ecstatic to read it,” Mikleo said dryly. “‘Dear Captain, today I nearly made my partner shoot me by bowling into his line of fire, riding atop essential evidence, streaking through the streets like a flaming comet.’”

“You’re a flaming comet,” retorted Sorey. Mikleo was confused into silence, mouth twisting into a pout, one eyebrow arching. It would be a problem if his partner was this cute, and this easy to rile up. It would be a big problem.

They slid into the squad car, and Sorey yawned and stretched, priding himself on his efforts to not flop one arm around Mikleo’s shoulders.

“But it’s not a bad haul for my first day, you’ve got to admit,” Sorey said. “Can I drive?”

“Not a chance,” Mikleo said, turning on the engine without missing a beat.

Sorey’s eyes were bright with exhilaration. “I think, as my senior, you’ve gotta take it upon yourself to familiarize me with the city. I need to get the lay of the land, you know? Why don’t we go out to the belltower tonight; I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”

Mikleo scoffed. “The belltower? Sure, if you want people to think you’re a tourist.”

“Well,” Sorey drawled. “Would a Lastonbell native instead prefer to be taken out to the exhibition on Avarost-era sculpture at the Historical Art Center?”

“No, a native would more prefer to hit the bar district and then heckle the pretentious performance artists in the college town. But I on the other hand have been meaning to see that exhibit anyway.” Mikleo got them on the road to the station. “As long as it’s not too late when you’re finished with your paperwork back at the station, you can tag along, I guess. And if you can pass a city map test.”

Sorey pumped his fist. Lucky for him, he’d always been good at geography.

[sleepymarmot]

Markarth

What I expected when a suspicious looking red eyed man challenged me to a drinking contest in a Whiterun tavern: to be kidnapped by vampires or bandits

What I didn’t expect: to be teleported to a beautiful city on the edge of the map which I haven’t visited before. Thanks??

Markarth reminds me of Kirkwall a lot. A gorgeous city of white stone on the upper levels, a mining hellhole of poverty and brutality down below, all of that peppered with corruption and dark magic. (It also reminds me of Orzammar for the same reason + because it has its own dwarven city underneath. So it instantly has my heart because it's like my beloved terrible home -- almost two of them.) But it's even more effective here, because all levels are in the same map and you can gaze up and down and walk between them freely, without loading screens. And the intricate pattern of stairs is beautiful, though very hard to navigate.

Dwarven city:

I'm clearly underleveled for these Falmer. So many deaths and equipment swaps!

It's like the Deep Roads all over again: a beautiful dwarven ruin that is so big and complex and requires so much backtracking and difficult fighting that you feel you've been here forever.

Why the hell do I need to destroy the defenses I just activated?! What was the point of it then?!

I had to go back because the quest log thought I didn't pick up one of the journals (I did).

This game's arbitrary definitions of what is legal to take and what isn't continue to baffle me. Go to an archaeological site, steal a lot of artifacts and melt them down to make weapons -- completely fine in this world, apparently. Before I complete the quest, these artifacts lying around its giver him are marked "steal", afterwards they're marked "take". He gives me access to a museum where the same artifacts are all marked "steal".

How come this lizard can make herself dwarven armor and passersby will compliment it, but my dwarf Warden in DAO had to wear crap :(

Getting to play detective in a long quest was already cool, and now I get thrown into jail and have to investigate the problem in there and get out? That's awesome! And the plot itself is interesting too, and in this city I finally started to understand the main political conflict. I didn't expect this writing from the game that so far mostly consisted of exploration and grinding.

Welp. When two shitty factions were conspiring together I expected to take down both in the name of justice, not side with one or the other. Well, here's my first big choice in this game!

First try: I tell the thief "Madanach says hello" to see how he reacts and don't attack myself, he pulls out a knife and is killed by someone else. I follow the Forsworn, get their cool reward, watch as they wreak havoc on the city, feel bad.

Second try: Through persuasion I get a shiv and try to attack Madanach with it, though it doesn't work and I have to reload and just kill him with spells. I want to get the rest of the prisoners out, but they're hostile now. I leave alone, a Silver-Blood jerk meets me at the entrance. I kill him, because fuck him. The guards attack me and thankfully I remember that I can yield, which hasn't come up before because this is my first crime ever, murdering the most important person in the city right in the middle of the street. They offer me to pay a fine or serve jail time, I pick the latter because I'm very stingy. And now I'm stuck there. I even thought it was on purpose, because no one gets out of that mine. Finally I found the explanation: apparently the way to serve time there is to mine the ore, and I depleted all veins during the quest. I tried waiting a few days, but of course they didn't respawn that quick. I'm not even mad, this is hilarious. Oh wait, I reloaded and the option to serve time appeared. Problem solved, then. But I still want that loot... Though a guard just said to me that my name's been cleared by Thonar... who was the person I killed!

Third try: I keep trying to kill the king after getting his reward but get overwhelmed. One time I managed to kill him in the streets, but then I couldn't find Thonar's body, which was the whole point.

Fourth try: I kill Thonar very cleanly alone without witnesses, loot his body. (Thankfully, it's in the middle of the night.) I breathe out in relief and then realize that in this save I didn't get the Forsworn reward. Then a guard comes to arrest me, to my shock -- but the bounty I can pay is ridiculously low, 40 gold instead of 1000+ I got the last time. I checked, and this sum is for assault. Okay??

Damn, I wish this game would let me name saves, because I have like ten of them from this quest and it's a mess... I think I'll go with the last one. I can't take all of the Forsworn in the ruins at once, I tried several times but it's too difficult even with my best potions/poisons and equipment (yeah, I doomed myself to this by grinding crafting instead of combat skills...). I just hope that asshole is dead for real. I know this isn't a scripted ending and the game will probably have no way to acknowledge it... But still. Treasury house now has things for me to take, btw, and this confirmation that I officially sided with the Silver-Bloods makes me feel dirty. I feel this is another decision like choosing Harrowmont that I's going to haunt me... Meanwhile, Thonar's dead naked body continues to lie on the street in an undignified position. Realistically, I should not be able to get away with this, because I'd be the prime if not only suspect, but if the game lets me... 

Damn, and here I was peacefully working on my craftsmanship, thinking I'd be a lawful good who never commits crimes! Ha. Now that I've tasted the power of eliminating  a corrupt politician just because I want, I'm afraid it went to my head... I need a mod that makes the game acknowledge it, though. The Silver-Blood in the keep says "My brother tells me you've done us a service" -- I've murdered your brother before he could come home! Look, I know it's a lot of work to account for the death of every NPC, but don't make them killable then if it has no effect! I'm used to asinine binary choices in Bioware games, but when you can get rid of faction leaders through ordinary gameplay mechanics and it still doesn't count...

Well, that was a much wilder ride than I ever expected from the game. I think I've had enough of this city for now.

[the-deadly-sins-rp]

I never ever thought that I would say, I’m afraid of the life that I’ve made. - Troye Sivan, “Ease”

Availability: OPEN

Name: Kyran Veri Alias(es): Kevin Species: Born Vampire (Non-immune) Loyalty: Works mostly for Mafia families, but has no true loyalty to anyone but his brother. Object: Watch of Sloth Special Skill: [Player’s Choice] Title/job: Hunter Age: 255 Birthday: [Player’s Choice] Suggested FC: Dominic Purcell Alternative FC’s: Jesse Metcalfe Gender: Cis male Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: [Player’s Choice]

Biography: 

TW: vampire-centric violence, such as death and blood drinking

Kyran didn’t know his parents. Didn’t remember them, in any case. His brother told him that their mother had left when he was a child, and the few spotty memories he had of their father ended after what they were told was an accident on the archaeology site he was working. Kyran isn’t even sure if the memories he has of their father are truly in his own memories, or just pictures his mind created after listening to his brother’s stories.

The earliest real, tangible memories that Kyran has are of his brother. Of Cian breaking him out of one foster home or group home after another, of him stealing food. And then things other than food. Killing animals sometimes, other times offering him just a glass of blood. Kyran never asked where it came from, but he knew it tasted different. He didn’t know why until several years later, when he was more than twenty, and his own cravings got so bad one night when Cian was out, and Kyran killed a human for the first time. After that, he began helping Cian hunt, and not only for food.

He found out that Cian’s regular disappearing acts, though they never lasted for more than a couple of days, were how he was getting money to pay the rent in their shitty apartment. He was taking jobs from a few mafia families, sometimes odd dealers on the island, to collect the Artifacts that instilled fear as easily as admiration in everyone on the island. Of course, Cian said that he already knew he was immune, so he insisted on taking the lead on jobs. They were both vampires, born of the same bloodline, it only stood to reason that Kyran was immune as well. But Cian refused to let him tag along on jobs unless he was wearing a pair of black leather gloves that he always carried. So Kyran agreed, and those jobs were how they survived for decades, centuries, on Isle Cruento.

When it came to hunting, Kyran started taking the lead, more out of necessity of stopping his brother than any aptitude for it. He realized early on when they started hunting together though, that Cian made no differentiation between good people and bad. Between a criminal and the woman he was mugging in an alleyway. Kyran has stepped in more than once to stop his brother from killing someone innocent, or from killing a child. He doesn’t dwell on that time very often, having convinced himself decades ago that Cian hadn’t realized the selkie he was planning to bring home for dinner was only a teenager. The boy had been tall for his age, so that’s all it was, right? Cian wouldn’t actually kill a child if he’d known that.

Still, Kyran had begun making offers more often than not to hunt their kills. He preferred grabbing someone on one of their hired jobs, perhaps a bodyguard that had gotten in their way. Someone that had taken a misguided shot at him or his brother. Those people deserved it.

As for hired jobs, Cian tends to take the reins, and Kyran follows along. Being larger overall, with broader shoulders than his brother, most people find him to be the more intimidating of the two. It’s their own fault for underestimating Cian, though. Gordon had never made that mistake. He was a fellow hunter that had worked several jobs with the brothers over the years. So when Cian said that the three of them would be taking a job with a new hunter, Kyran didn’t think much about it. No matter who this newbie was, between the three of them, they had nothing to worry about. The new hunter called herself Magpie, an odd codename, but they all had them. Kyran went by Kevin when they were on jobs, and Cian went by Shawn. So weird codename aside, there wasn’t anything Kyran distrusted about Magpie.

Except that, about halfway through the job, it became apparent that this new hunter hadn’t given them all of the information. In the end, they had lost the Artifact, he and his brother had both been shot, and Gordon was dead. Kyran still hears Cian mumbling to himself and cursing the girl that called herself Magpie, though they hadn’t seen the hunter since she fled that night. Rumor was that she’d seeked safe haven with the government. Kyran’s pretty sure that’s why Cian hasn’t taken any more jobs from the government since then, even though they’d taken odd jobs from dirty agents in the past.

After that, they primarily took jobs from mafia families, and never worked alongside new hunters. Though Kyran has no love for the mafia families, and finds their ability to stab each other in the back, even their own bloodlines, to be abhorrent. But Cian calls the shots on taking jobs, so Kyran just stands back and follows his brother’s lead.

It was on a job for the Pride mafia that things changed, and not for the better. It was supposed to be routine, just pick up an Artifact from someone that had pissed off the family, and had been given a Ring as punishment. Their time was due, and Cian and Kyran had been watching the target for a few weeks, watching as they turned. What they hadn’t noticed though, was that their target wasn’t turning into one of the creatures of the cursed Pride Ring. It was a creature of the Sloth Watch, and while his brother was trying to find a Ring, cursing over it’s absence, Kyran recognized the Watch, a second before it started to fall into a sewer grate. What they had been told was a Pride Ring, was a Sloth Watch, on loan from a dealer, Acacia Ainsley.

It was only after he’d snatched it up at the last second that he remembered: he wasn’t wearing the gloves.

Personality:

Kyran isn’t exactly what a person would call gentle, but he isn’t cold either. Though his brother sees the brevity of life of other species and sees them as worthless for the impact they leave, Kyran finds something more interesting in those short lives. In the foolishness, recklessness and beauty of a life that lasts only a small handful of decades. He finds a certain fascination in other species that he wouldn’t dare voice aloud to Cian. Any person looking at the Veri brothers would expect Kyran to be the more violent of the two, but they couldn’t be more wrong. While Kyran has no issue with killing when he needs to feed, he gets no enjoyment out of it, as his brother seems to. He’s fiercely devoted to his family, no matter how small it is. Though he recognizes that same devotion in others, and will refuse to kill a mother or father especially with their children present, he equally despises people that show no regard for their family’s safety. Those are probably the only kills that he relishes.

Appearance:

Most people assume Kyran to be muscle of the two brothers, and Kyran is happy to play into their misguided beliefs. He wears t-shirts and jeans mostly, and an old style holster on his hip for his gun, something made at least a century ago. People comment on how vintage it is, not knowing that it was new when Cian stole it for him. He also has a collection of baseball caps, mostly souvenirs stolen from people that came to Cruento from other countries, which he wears to avoid sunburns on bright, sunny days.

He smiles more often than his brother, or at least more genuinely. He’s learned the body language of an unassuming and caring figure over the years. He’s learned the body language and subtle changes in expression to portray most assumptions that he wants people to make about him, actually. Some things don’t change over the centuries, and the effect that a warm smile or a malicious smirk has on people has remained very much the same. Whether he needs people to fear him, to believe him to be Cian’s bodyguard that they don’t want to mess with, so they’ll avoid trying to screw the brothers over on a deal, or he needs a lost child, liberated from a kidnapper by a couple of vampires, to trust him to get them back home to their parents, he can play both parts equally well.

 Connections:

Younger brother of Cian Veri

Formerly worked with “Magpie” (Aka, Magenta Nanthini)

In possession of an Artifact owned by Acacia Ainsley (Unknown to Kyran)

Inciting Incident:

Two things happened in the five seconds after Kyran snatched up the Watch of Sloth: 1) He found out that the reaction hits lot faster than he expected, and that Cian had every right to be worried about his immunity. Turns out that a vampire who in nonimmune has the worst time of any creature without immunity, the agony near unbearable even moments after he touched it. 2) When he turns the dial on the side, activating the Watch and stopping time for exactly one hour, the agony stops. All symptoms stop. Using it for a slight reprieve though, will speed up the transformation, and only kill him faster.

Three Headcanons:

[Player’s Choice]

Recommended Readings: 

Vampire lore

Cian Veri (bio)

Magenta Nanthini (bio)

Acacia Ainsley (bio)

Watch of Sloth

Jobs & Roles (Hunter)

[greenflamedwriter]

Jumanji Notes

Jumanji:

-Lance is a girl.

-Pidge is having internal struggles about being non-Binary.

-Hunk explodes by eating Cake.

-Lions have crystals and once you get them you get armour and a bayard even have dual attacks where you combine attacks together. “Holy shit- did you see that?”

“For some reason Keith and Lance’s bayards are really strong...only some are compatible...I wonder why-”

“We won’t know till we try!”

-Shiro gets irritated everytime Lance makes a quippy joke and just gets irritated with him. Then Lance gets kidnapped by Hagger and the others never realised how much they needed Lance- Hunk is stressing out Keith wants to just go in and get out and Pidge is doing whatever Shiro does get their attention to get a plan but never realised how uch they needed Lance, or even him Lance made jokes to break tension and ease moral and listened.

-Lance almost gives in to Hagger when she says he is unfit, the blue lion always goes to the odd man out- allura could pilot the lion herself if she wanted to face it- Lance feels like shit.

Shiro loses his arm in the game and both Lance and Keith are pissed. So they work together and create sword and defeat zarkon.

________________________________________________

Lance placed a hand over his chest “Oh thank fuck thats- AH!” A red bar suddenly appeared and floated in front of the others.

“The heck?”

“Thats- What?” Lance squinted “Strengths, Karate, T’ai Chi, Aikido, Danc- The fuck is dance fighting? Weakness is Venom and- Bravestone!?” Lance blinked eyes wide. That was Not there before they got sucked into the game. He could hear Hunk and Pidge snickering and scowled.

“Maybe it means Bravestone can kill me?” He tried valiantly and Pidge cleared her throat “That hippo begs to differ.”

Shiro leaned forward “What did you do?” Lance blinked “Uh I um, I placed my hand on my...chest.” He spoke slowly and the others stared. Shiro tried it himself and saw a green bar pop up.

Shiro glanced up “Strengths; Fearless, climbing, speed, boomerang, smoldering intensity. Weakness, none?”

“The fuck is smoldering intensity?” Lance grouched peeved that Shiro’s character has no weakness…

Shiro glanced down perplexed “I don’t know.” He spoke and it felt like their was drums in the distance and that-

“That’s it! Right there!”

Shiro looked up startled “What?”

“When you get all brooding like that! That’s the smolder!” Shiro glanced helplessly at Pidge who shrugged “It makes you look extra sexy for some reason.”

Shiro looked stunned then scowled “Stop teasing, what are yours?” He asked the rest of the group.

Hunk’s was yellow “Okay, weapons valet Cartography, Archaelogy, Paleontology...I don’t know any of these…” He admitted “Weakness is endurance...sounds about right....and cake? What happens if I see cake? Would I lose my mind get distracted would it kill me I don’t...huh...” Hunk seemed perplexed.

Pidge adjusted their classes. “Cartography is drawing maps, Archaeology is what is says on the tin you know the history of people, ancient architects etc, paleontology is specialising with fossil animals and plants.”

Pidge tried hers and glanced up “Strengths, zoology, speed acrobatic...weakness, ghiblits...What is a ghiblit?” Shiro pressed his lips together “I hope we don’t have to find out.”

Lance snickerd “Shiro’s the nerd here.”

“What?”

“Come on, you’ve been a total pro at this! You love video games so much that this is practically heaven. So come on captain my captain, don’t let us die in this shitty jungle.”

Shiro rolled his eyes and stomped ahead furiated.

-Lion crystals at each spot.

Olkari- Green Lion. Sendek.

Dibazel- Blue Lion And Black Lion. Zarkon.

Balmera - Yellow Lion. Prorok

Arus- Red and Blue Lion. Hagger

All are defended by the Galra.

Once they found they’re CRYSTAL it creates an armor with a weapon and make the level up the more they level up the stronger they are. Another bar. Lance complains the ones that don’t have armour will be held back and it’s not fair but Pidge says their bars are going up they are levelling up just without armour.

They find Keith after Pidge gets her Armour and see he’s in an arena fighting for his life with only one life left.

Lance “We have to help him, come on.”

Keith is in an arena and the others pause “Help him do what?”

“Yeah man, he has it covered.”

Lance deflated “Oh come on-Shiro!”

Shiro dives in and saves Keith and Lance scowls feeling jealous of both-neither of them.

“Okay back it off mullet.” He grouched “So who the heck are you supposed to be?”

Keith raised an eyebrow “Me? Who are you?”

“The names Lance.”

Keith looked unimpressed and glanced at Shiro “And you?” “Shiro- but this game calls me bravestone.”

Keith blinked “Wait- game? Bravestone.” He looked at them all in new light “You’re players? Real people?”

Hunk glanced at Pidge “Uh yeah, we got sucked into this game.”

Keith looked stunned “Holy shit, I...I thought I was trapped here forever.”

___________________

Shiro slams Lance against the wall and he grunts eyes wide “This isn’t a game, you could’ve killed everyone here! We only have limited chances and you blindly ran in! Next time you stay at the back, and don’t do anything stupid.” Shiro shoved him once and stomped away even Pidge was shaking her head at him “Lance, for once can you just play a game with others?”

Lance was dazed staring after Shiro.

“Did you see that?”

“Hhmm?”

“Did you see how close his face got to mine?” Lance asked his face looking red.

Hunk frowned “Did you hear anything Shiro said?”

“No…” Lance sighed staring after Shiro and now Keith who didn’t look that bad from behind.

Hunk gave a suffering sigh “dear lord.”

_____________

Lance and Shiro have an argument and almost has them tossing the other off the side of the cliff. “You’re a bully Lance, you like picking on people smaller than yourself it’s not so fun now is it?”

Lance stopped walking “What?” This made Shiro stop too gearing up for a fight, Lance looked shocked but his face was red, he was probably really mad.

“I- you, when in the heck-” Lance took a breath his face still pink “When the heck did I bully you?”

Shiro growled “Don’t even try to gaslight me! Always persting me, teasing me about the gym when you knew I only had one arm, asking where I was- teasing that I never go out like the rest of the kids!” Lance now looked panicked “Hunk! Did it look like I was bullying him!?” Shiro clenched his fists and he knew Hunk would back Lance up and make him believe he was crazy.

“Uh yeah you kinda do, bud. Everyone stopped talking to you because they thought you like bullying disabled kids.” Lance looked betrayed “And you didn’t say anything!?”

“I did? Thousands of times, you were too busy staring at Shiro saying,” He clasped his hands together “Oh Shiro is so pretty, his scar looks so badass ohh~”

The three could only stare at Hunk as he looked at Lance expectantly.

Hunk was the worst.

Lance took a long breath “I am so embarrassed right now.” He stomped past Hunk disappearing into the jungle.

Shiro was still confused, “I...what was that?” Hunk shrugged “He came out to me a while ago but no matter who it is Lance can’t flirt to save his life, I kept telling him you weren’t interested but it’s like talking to a wall.”

Shiro glanced back, this...wait.

“Lance likes me?”

“Yep.”

“He...was flirting with me?”

“Yes, tragic I know, you should’ve seen how he flirted with Jenny Darling, she slapped him across the face, sorry Shiro I just couldn’t say anything because he liked you but- yeah.”

Shiro could only stare ahead as Lance kept power walking away...he had a lot to process.

Keith almost dies and Lance gives him mouth to mouth at the moment and saves him, Lance tries to flirt with Keith and Shiro see’s how bad at it he is and see’s Keith get mad.

Shiro could see Lance about to have another go, no - he couldn’t deal with this “Lance,” He stopped putting a hand around his shoulder “Can I have a second?”

“Huh, Of course Shiro.” Lance followed easily with a skip in his step. Maybe Lance still had a crush on him...no forget that.

“Lance?”

“Yeah.”

“You are really bad at flirting.”

“Wah0 I resent that- I mean I….I know…” He sighed in defeat and Shiro pressed his lips together he felt really bad for him.

He then coaches him and Lance looks proud and oh no, feelings.

Shiro see;s first hand how BAD Lance’s flirting actually is. He sits down and talks to him about Keith and why Keith thinks he hates him and both of them talk. Lance says

“Shiro- I never thought you any less, you have such a big personality and you fill up the whole room, I knew I had no chance because you were so amazing! You always tried so hard at everything, grades gym I mean did you have to clib that rope one-handed? I can barely even do it with two hands did you have to flex so hard?”

“I um- I always thought since I…” he glanced at his hand, it was a strange weapon for a game to turn his disability into his strongest weapon he sighed “When I lost my hand I...I saw the looks everyone gave me, polite pity- they walked around like I was on eggshells but after a while the [word for fanfar] faded and kids y’know, so I never realised you were genuine. I don’t think Keith does either, you flirt okay with girls alright- why are you such a mess?” Lance laughed “Well it’s normal to flirt with girls, but with guys? How is it obvious it’s flirty or just bro’s being bros or just a close friend? I go over the top just to state it but I come across as a jackass.”

It was actually kinda romantic the soft glow of the sun piercing the trees like they were tucked away in this little den of the jungle.

Lance takes a breath watching as Keith runs water out of his hair, okay the mullet was growing on him.

“Keith?”

“Hmm?”

Lance swallows “I uh, I’ve been to tell you this for a while,” His heart was pounding “I uh- I know we never got along.”

Keith scoffed “Understatment.”

Lance laughed nervously “Uh yeah so I um-” He waited and now he head Keiths attention, just- just blurt it out.

“Okay- look I like you, okay?” He was sweating buckets. And when he glanced up he could hear rushing in his ears.

Keith’s face looked shocked- not good. Then it fell, oh god not good.

“I’m sorry Lance,” no.

“I don’t feel the same.”

“That’s cool-” Lance stood up abruptly and Keith flinched.

“No Lance look I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine!” Lance bit standing up abruptly “You're not responsible for my feelings, let’s just- pretend this never happened.”

Lance left him alone and Keith’s hand fell glancing away with a scowl.

Shiro waved then his face fell when he saw Lance stomp past, barely even looking at him.

Before he could even ask Hunk came up “SHiro we have a problem.”

They have to distract the guards so Keith could get his crystal.

Lance is upset because Keith doesn’t like him (because he thinks he’s a girl and thats not true)

“Hunk pass me a water bottle.”

“Easy man we can’t run out- Lance?”

Lance empties it out completely then stomps forward then it changes to a sultry walk and Shiro almost rushes forward “What is he doing!?” Hunk grabs him just as Keith appears to see Lance walking towards the guards.

“What’s going on-”

They watch from far away as Lance begins to wobble and collapses against the other guard “Help! I...I’m so thirsty…” He gasped, clinging to one of the guards the other jumped up and grabbed a water as the other helped him sit down. Both distracted.

Shiro blinked “I uh- guess we should go.”

Shit- they were going to see Shiro- fuck.

Lance grabbed the guard who flinched expecting an attack then froze as Lance kissed him.

Lance pulled back with a smirk “Sorry I can’t resist a guy i uniform.” The Galra blinked then smirked “There’s no need to resist, have at it.”

To know he could only attract video game characters was just plain sad.

There was a commotion and Lance flinched “What was that-” Crap,

He lunged wrapping his legs around the guys throat and body slammed him to the ground, the other jumped not expecting it, his gun a way away and Lance leaped dodging a hit and swung with his own, it hurt like a motherfucker, he yelped then cried out when the other guard stood up and wrapped his arm around Lance’s neck.

Lance jumped his legs kicking out and slammed into the first guard

Lances palm thrusted up towards the others face, he then grappled landing towards the gun and shot

-one-two.

Both bodies fell and Lance stood on shaky legs, that was intense- why did Pidge make it look so easy?

He glanced up and saw Shiro looking at him his mouth gaping open. Lance scowled “I’m not that incompetent y’know.” He scowled stomping towards him, SHiro shook his head “no- you, you were amazing.”

Lance faltered “huh,”

Shiro actually looked star struck it was the first time on this trip he wasn’t looking at Lance in disdain.

“You were uh, really cool.” Lance blinked then smirked “You can’t be the cool one all the time,” He shoved at Shiro and ran ahead, long hair swishing back and forth.

And Shiro gazed ahead until a bullet ricotched beside him, oh yeah- video game, only so many lives- CONCENTRATE!

-Return to the real world and Lance feel hopeless and wants nothing to do with anything, they finished the game but his heart was so tender, Shiro was so nice but he didn’t like him and Keith- Keith was...gone, he wasn’t with them.

He trudged up the stairs “Lance? Lance where are you going-”

“I...I need to be alone, I’m sick of you guys already.” He teased almost tripping up the steps as he walked out into the hall, most students had left.

Shiro found him “Lance? Are you okay?” Lance shook his head his lip wobbling “I...he’s gone SHiro, Keith isn’t here and I dont- I don’t knew where he is or if he’s okay-” Shiro drew him in and Lance collapsed against him squeezing his eyes shut taking a shuddering breath.

“Lance, he’s okay,”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Believe me, Keith made it out with all of us.”

Lance leaned back and scrubbed at his eyes “I just- I don’t know what to do now…”

“We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.” Here Lance glanced up “What?”

“Just because we’re not playing a video game anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Lance mouth fell open then shut.

“I...are you sure? I mean in Jumanji we had to - but you want to hang out with us?” Shiro shrugged “Not like I have anyone else, Hunk and Pidge we bonded. For life.” Shiro said seriously with the smolder that Lance burst out laughing in surprise.

“Oh my god- is that ingrained? Are you going to do that forever?” Shiro pouted “I thought you liked my smolder?” Lance shoved him “Lay off it doesn’t affect me anymore.”

Lance eyes crinkled in mirth then his gaze snapped to something in the distance, black hair.

No way.

“Lance?”

Shiro turned to see what Lance was looking at and both froze.

Keith’s video game counterpart looked older- they all did, older and more scarred.

This Keith looked young, and adorable, and Lance thought maybe Keith didn’t know who he was. Lance swallowed and began to move away.

Until Keith met his eyes, and he physically flinched “Lance?” Eyes wide, Lance blinked “Keith?” He couldn’t hope, until Keith began to move towards him, Lance almost wanted to run away.

Until Keith grabbed him around the face and kissed him.

...huh?

Keith leaned back looking frantic “Lance- you- you know who I am, Jumanji? Right?” Now he looked panicked and Lance was too busy trying to process...that.

“I uh yeah I remember...what was that?” He tried then got sidetracked as the others appeared.

“Keith?”

“Keith!”

“Man you are tiny!” Shiro laughed and Keith growled “Take that back!”

It was surreal, keith kissed him. And no one seemed to care?

“So what happened?”

Keith sat down as the other students left school and it was just them outside as it closed.

“I was trapped in Jumanji two years ago, and when you guys saved me I woke up back where I was when I first got trapped in the game like no time had past, and at first I didn’t recognise you guys you were so different.”

“First of Lance was mean and Pidge- I mean Katie,”

“It’s fine, I’m starting to like Pidge.”

“Heh, I even spoke to Lance but...he didn’t remember me. I was crushed.” Lance’s eyes widened “What- huh when was this?”

“Two years ago- I thought...I thought you just wanted to forget, but then I found Shiro and asked about Jumanji and he had no clue- I stopped talking to you guys because I thought it was a dream, or it would affect the outcome, I almost lost hope until just there-”

“Dude what if I didn’t remember!?” Lance cried out and Keith shrugged “Then it would’ve been awkward.”

Just awkward huh?

Shiro chuckled “I could see how- the whole thing is a bit fantastic even I don’t believe it.” he laughed and Lance even paused at the others and realised...nothing would be the same.

And Keith kissed him like it was normal.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying why did you kiss me-”

“Why do you sound mad?” Keith growled looking defensive and Lance exploded “I was giving you so many hints dude! You- YOU were the one that said I don’t see you that way!? What the hell?” Lance was seething and no answer will be good enough nothing can explain it.

“No- just no- I don’t want to hear it. Forget it.”

“Lance where are you going-”

“What about what we’ve just been through!”

Lance whirled back around “unlike you guys I must’ve been in a different game because that wasn’t fun- I didn’t enjoy myself and I just- I want to be alone okay!”

He stomped away his eyes burning.

Shiro and Keith finds him “Lance...Lance can we talk?”

Lance looked away “I don’t have anything to say-”

“Well I do- I’m sorry but Lance you have to understand when I first met you, you looked like a girl.”

“Yeah and?”

“You didn’t say you weren’t a girl- I assumed and I- I’m gay at that point I thought maybe I should revise my label because you were different I actually liked you I’m just really not attracted to girls so in Jumanji if I’d known-”

Lance could only watch how Keith rambled, he was really nervous about this.

“But if you like Shiro instead that’s fine.”

“What- no- hold on I can’t just pick one of you that’s not fair!” His heart couldn’t take it.

Keith blinked “WHo said anything about picking? If you like me and you like Shiro then what’s not to get.”

Lance glanced at the two and Shiro wasn’t saying anything.

Lance was always trying to have at least one of them notice him, he thought maybe he just wasn’t likable, “I..this isn’t a video game you guys, it’s not that easy.”

“Yeah and we only have one life,” Shiro said wrapping one arm against Lance and pulling him close while Keith moved from the other side both boxing him in.

“So I don’t want to have regrets. Lance, I learned who you are, you were yourself in Jumanji and that was the real you, the one I fell in love you. I believed like everyone the persona you put on and I want to get to know more about you-without the life and death obstacles.” Lance laughed his hand latching out to grab Keiths.

“This is real, not that I’m dreaming in maths again?”

“No this is real- count your fingers.”

Lance laughed and shoved Keith “What?”

“Count your fingers, you have extra in your dreams.”

“What did you get that from teen wolf huh?”

“The fact that you know teen wolf makes you look just as bad-”

“Did you actually try it? The dream finger thing?”

“Yeah and it works!” Shiro chuckled watching as the sun set.

The next day Lance smirks as the look over the game “So want to play it again?”

That was answered when SHiro slammed the game into the school bin and Lance laughed “You could’ve just said.”

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