#if i need to hunt down an employee i can I've done it before

[altruistic-meme]

was gonna buy my printer at the end of November as a treat for myself for doing nanowrimo but then I had the thought that like.

if I could print out a paper, then I could hang it in my fridge and keep track of my word counts throughout the month on the paper.

but that would require the printer BEFORE nanowrimo. so I'm gonna see if i can't buy one after work. Hdjajfjd

[m0nsterqzzz]

Cat's Out of the Bag La Rue

pairing: Clarisse La Rue x reader

summary: Valentines Day rolls around, and what kind of girlfriend would Clarisse be if she didnt get you the only present you've been wanting?

a/n: i wrote like 5 fucking valentines day fics yesterday (one with natasha, one with wanda, one with clarisse, one with carol danvers, and one with katniss everdeen) yet this is the only one im posting and i kinda hate it. literally the shortest oneshot i've ever written. also, I'm literally a dog person writing about cats. what has life come to?

is this the worst thing i've ever written? yes. do i hate every other piece of written recently cuz im in writers block and haven't updated in like 3 weeks? also yes. im so done yall.

With a baseball cap covering her head, tucking her curls against her head and being the best disguise she could come up with, Clarisse’s eyes dart all around the cab. It zooms through the streets of New York, making the child of Are’s slightly concerned for her and her siblings safety as they get honked out. The man driving seems like he’s barely paying attention to the road, but in the end it doesn’t really matter as long as they get to their destination. 

There are three children in the yellow car; Clarisse, her half brother Mark, and her half sister Ruby. They were the only ones who she could convince to come with her to town, past the safe bounds of camp half blood where nothing but their weapons can stop monsters from hunting and hurting them.

It’d be a lie to say Clarisse isn’t nervous, but she pushes the feeling down as she grips her spear tighter in her left hand. 

This is for you. She’s going into town and risking getting in trouble for the end result of seeing her favorite smile. Your smile. Her partner of one year. It may not seem like a very long time to some people, but you guys are demigods. It’s surprising you made it through the year without being killed by some horrible, ugly monster.

The car stops and the guy counts the large amount of money Mark hands him before telling them to get out of his cab. It may have annoyed the teenagers on any other day, but it doesn’t bother them too much since today is a special day.

“Why are we here?” Ruby asks, eyes scanning the area around them as if sure something is going to jump out at them. In the blonde haired girl's defense, it’s very possible something will.

Clarisse gestures to the small building in front of them. It’s run down and in desperate need of a paint job, but it doesn’t matter. That’s not what grabs the child of Ares attention. It’s the small animals chilling in their little spots inside the store. That’s what she’s here for.

The sign above the small colorful store reads, “Mike’s Animals”. Boring name, but gets the point across. She can already see the little animal she came here for when they walk through the door, the loud bell ringing from the action of opening it but no employee comes to help them. Clarisse lets her siblings stare in awe at the other animals for a few months before shoving towards a section near the back. The kitten section. You had been showing her a website on your phone a few days ago, one with a different selection of the small animals. The website was for Mike’s Animals, but you explained that even though you’d really like a cat, pets aren’t allowed in Camp Half Blood. It’s a rule.

Well you wanna know what Clarisse says about that? Screw rules. What her person want’s, her person gets.

So if the police ever come around, asking you why Clarisse shoved a black and white kitten into her brother's coat pocket and then made a run for it while the store manager chased after them, that’s what you have to say.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You're laying on your bed reading a book when your girlfriend walks in, a large box covered by a piece of fabric under one arm and a bouquet of flowers in her free hand. She ignores your siblings' gazes as she walks towards your space, setting down the box with a type of gentleness nobody in camp but you gets to see and then holding out the flowers.

They’re your favorite, clearly straight out of the flower fields by the slight glow they give off. They’re wrapped in a brown type of paper with a pink bow clearly down by one of the Aphrodite kids to hold it all together.

“Hey my love.” She starts. “These are for you.” You take the plants with a large grin on your face, bringing them closer to your face to smell the amazing natural scent coming from them. Something moves inside the box she sat on your bed, making you hold in a scream as you jump closer to your girlfriend and farther away from it. “What the hell is moving in that Clarisse?!” You ask, your siblings' attention all over you guys now.

Clarisse just laughs, but she seems slightly nervous as she puts the crate in your lap. “Just look. I hope you like it.” She continues to nervously ramble as you remove the cloth from the top of the box, letting out a small gasp when you see the small animal looking back at you with wide, curious blue eyes.

Your girlfriend stares as you gently pick him up, him instantly curling into your hold with a soft pur as you hold him close to your chest. “You um…you like him?” She asks with a small smile.

“Of course I do! He’s adorable, Risse!” She lets out a relieved sigh, laying down next to you as your siblings surround the bed trying to get a look at the animal. “You know Chiron will never let you keep that right?” One of your brothers asks with a laugh, and you frown as you look at your girlfriend.

She thinks about it for a moment before she says, “We’ll just hide him. He can lounge around the cabin while you’re gone, and you guys can hide him somewhere during cabin checks. Chiron will never know.”

Your siblings eventually leave you alone, going back to their acticicus as your two favorite beings cuddle up to you. Clarisse cuddles up next to your side, and the kitten on your stomach. “I really like you Oreo.” you whisper to the animal, making your girlfriend laugh. “Oreo? That’s the most original thing you could think of right?”

“Okay if you're so great at naming things, what should we name him?”

She goes quiet for a few seconds before mumbling in defeat, “I like Oreo.”

You guys enjoy the silence that surrounds just you guys as you pet Oreo, but then a small laugh comes from you when Clarisse gently grabs the cat and pulls him off your chest so she can lay her head there. “He’s been here for half an hour and you're already jealous?” “He was getting way too touchy. Mine.” She teases and then fakes an annoyed groan when he crawls onto her back and lays down, stretching himself out just to prove a point.

“Will you be my Valentine, my love?” She asks as she places her chin on your chest to look up at you. There's a certain softness in her eyes that you and only you get to see. In fact, it’s very, very rare you ever see the side everyone else talks about when they talk about Clarisse towards you. “You guys just don’t know her like I do.” You tell them. Not like they believe you, half of the camp still believing you somehow put a spell on her.

“Only if you’ll be mine.” You whisper back as if it’s a secret.

“Oh…this is awkward. I already agreed to be like ten other girls date.” Her voice is teasing as she tries and fails not to giggle.

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hm.” You fake being offended as you cross your arms over your chest and look away. She laughs, and the sound practically forces a smile on your face.

“I’m kidding. Only you, angel. I’m yours. Always.” 

“And I’m yours, Clarisse La Rue.” 

“Always?” 

“And forever.”

There’s a knock on your cabin door, and you figure it’s another camper until a voice calls from the other side of the door, “Clarisse? I know you're in there. Your siblings told me where you went. Cat’s out of the bag La Rue.” Chiron says. Very terrible choice of words. She groans into your stomach, rolling off of you and successfully getting Oreo to jump off her back and onto the bed.

“Those little snitches.” She snarls as she gets up to open the door, making you instantly miss her warmth.

You place the cat under your sweater, giggling and then shoving his face back under when he crawls to put his head through the neck hole. Once she knows he’s covered, Clarisse opens the door. Chirons eyes fall to you, and it’s only then do you think about the fact that there is a giant Oreo shaped lump in your sweater.

All your siblings fall silent as they watch to see what’s gonna happen.

“Mac and cheese day am I right?” You try to joke with a nervous chuckle, but he doesn’t laugh. He just runs a hand over his face and then stares at you. “You know what? I don’t care. You find a way to feed him that isn’t taking resources from us, you make sure he doesn’t do any damage to the furniture, and you keep track of him at all times, you can keep him.”

You grin at him, letting the small animal out of your sweater who in turn lowly hisses at the sight of Chiron.

He groans, walking off as he mumbles something about needing a very long vacation. There's only so much of your girlfriend bending the rules to get you presents he can handle before he was bound to just accept it.

The cinatar leaves, your girlfriend flipping him off when he can’t see. He yells over his shoulder, “I know what you’re doing Clarisse! Stop it or no dessert!” 

She stops flipping him off. Next to you, chocolate cake is what she lives for.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

That night, as you sit with Clarisse at the bonfire, she listens to you complain about how much you miss Oreo. Usually, you’d be too busy roasting marshmallows and cuddling with her to think about anything else, but your girlfriend doesn’t do anything other than smile, happy she made you so happy.

“So how’d you get him anyway? You don’t have that kind of money and there’s no way Chiron gave it to you.” You say, and she freezes in her spot on a log, slightly tightening her arms that are wrapped around your waist as she avoids your eyes.

“I stole him.” Her voice is slightly quieter than usual, and she says this in the most casual tone she can muster.

“CLARISSE LA RUE!”

[givemea-dam-break]

May I request a fem reader x Anthony lockwood where reader is a super talented fittes agent who constantly trades barbs with lockwood but he soon realises that she fancies him so he ends up teasing her during missions by doing small stuff like pulling her close and calling here babe when no-one is around

a/n: ahhhhhh this is such a cute idea, yes of course!!! i hope you like it <3 buckle in because this is a long one - which could constitute for a part 2 if anyone wants one lol

warnings: language fem reader (few pronouns used)

part 2

"Don't you get tired of me saving your ass? This is the third time I've done it this week alone."

Anthony Lockwood leans against the partially splintered doorframe of the house he and his team were working on a case in, arms crossed over his chest and smiling proudly as if he wasn't on his back in ghost-lock mere minutes ago. His hair is slightly ruffled, cheeks flushed, but that cocky grin is there despite it all.

"Sometimes I just need reminding that there are scarier things than ghosts," he says.

Bristling a little, you raise an eyebrow at him. "Is that why I see you looking in mirrors so often? I'd chalked it up to narcissism, but, hey, if it's for a reality check instead, who am I to judge?"

His eyes roll, and he makes a sound that's half-scoff and half-laugh. "We would've been fine without your help, just so you know."

"Mm-hmm." You look around the salt-covered kitchen and the tiles that were pried off the wall - by you - that uncovered a hole in the wall containing the source. "So George was looking for the source in the bathroom just because? And Lucy was fighting the second ghost that she herself told me you guys didn't know about? Not to mention you being ghost-locked. To each their own, I suppose."

"At least I looked good doing it. Your uniform is the most boring thing I've ever seen."

"Oh, so you're a fashion expert now?" you ask, placing a hand on your hip. "No offence, Lockwood, but I'd stick to ghost-hunting. You're at least half-decent at that."

Kipps appears down the hallway, pointing to the front door before disappearing, followed by the rest of your team. He's slowly slid out of the role of being the one to provoke Anthony Lockwood, leaving the pleasure solely to you. Not that you're complaining. There's something so enjoyable about riling him up.

Plastering on a too-sweet smile, you say, "It was great seeing you, Lockwood. I'll have fun saving your life again soon."

You push past him through the doorway, stopping just past.

"And, before you comment on my 'boring' uniform, at least try to get your socks and tie to match. Those are two wildly different shades of blue."

--

You glare at the house towering before you, pissed that you've been sent off on messenger duty not by Fittes, but by DEPRAC. They've got vans and cars and dozens of employees to do their bidding, but old Inspector Barnes has sent you off instead. Maybe as some kind of torture.

Annoyed, you ring the doorbell and wait.

When the door swings open, you're at least grateful that it's Lucy Carlyle that opens it. While she can be quick to anger and is prone to making snide remarks - although you're no better - she's the preferable option. George has a hatred for all Fittes employees and Lockwood... You scowl at the thought of him.

"Oh, (name)," she says, frowning in confusion. "Why are you here?"

You hold the papers out. "DEPRAC lapdog, apparently. I've been sent to give all three of you these NDA letters. They need signing and sent back to DEPRAC."

Lucy takes them gingerly, eyes skirting over the writing. "This is about that case the three of us did in Greenwich?"

"The owner of the National Maritime Museum doesn't want potential customers finding out there were ghosts there, or something," you explain. "I don't know. Barnes caught me on a run earlier and asked me to deliver these."

"Deliver what?"

Scowling, you look over Lucy's shoulder where Lockwood's face has just appeared. Lucy shows him the papers, passing them over and crossing her arms as she explains what you've just said.

Lockwood frowns, looking at you as if it's your fault.

"Barnes has got you on a lead, huh?"

"You calling me a dog, Lockwood? I don't think you want to see how you'll end up after that."

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "I would never do that. You know me. Besides, you're not wearing your signature grey today, so you don't even look like a staffy."

It's at that moment that Lucy slips away, taking the papers with her.

"I'm in no mood for you today," you say. "I've not even been back to my place, so I'm all sweaty from my run and in need of a shower. Barnes has sent me here because he and his lackeys can't get off their arses. And, to top it off, my favourite café ran out of the coffee I like. So, I advise you to pack it in, or I'll be arrested for trespassing and assault."

"There will be no need for that," he promises. "Do you want to come in for that coffee you so desperately want? George is quite adept at making good coffee."

"Even if I wanted to step foot in your house, which I don't, George would probably poison my drink, so no, thanks."

For a moment, he's quiet, as if trying to think of some way to insult you. Then, he says, "I admit, I thought Barnes would've sent Kipps. Maybe even Kat. But not you."

You cross your arms, the cold air nipping your bare arms. You hadn't thought to bring a jumper with you. "Like I said to Lucy, Barnes caught me while I was on my run. I think he was going to head here himself, but decided he liked seeing your faces even less than I do and sent me on my way. Pig."

Lockwood breathes a laugh like he's hesitant to really laugh in front of you. He leans against the doorframe. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a moment? You're shivering, and it's cold out."

"I'm more than sure." You peek past him, eyeing the clutter and the hint of a collapsed pile of clothes in one of the rooms with disdain. "I need to get back anyways. The sight of you is making me feel violently ill."

"All right, all right, there's no need for that. We were having a civil conversation for a moment. At least take this." He reaches behind the door, pulling out a large grey hoodie. "It's cold, and it's a long walk back to Fittes."

With a bit of hesitation, you take the hoodie from his hands. It's warm like it's been over a radiator. "Thanks. I'll get this back to you."

"Hey, at least it matches your uniform."

"Oh, shut up. You're just proving you've got no sense of style - it's not even the same shade. And, I'm just noticing, you're still not able to match your socks and tie. You need to do some homework."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Get gone. You're making the street look untidy."

You flip him off before turning and trudging down the steps, then make your way home.

--

"That's not your jumper."

You look up from your mug of coffee tiredly. The case you'd been on the night before has left you completely drained, and having a nine am start didn't make it any better. Even the coffee hasn't perked you up.

"What?"

Kat's icy gaze studies the hoodie you wear. "Did you not hear me? I said -"

"I know what you said. But why?"

"Whose is it?"

You rub your eyes. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's Anthony Lockwood's, isn't it?" she says, practically spitting the name. "I thought you hated him."

"Like I said, none of your business."

You pull the grey jumper tighter around you. The whole morning, you've been so cold that you've resorted to wearing it. And, despite your - now, somewhat mixed - feeling for Lockwood, you find comfort in the scent of tea and toast it carries. You've not seen him in the last few days since he gave it to you, so you've not had the opportunity to return it. Might as well take advantage of it, seeing as all of your jumpers are dirty.

Kat scowls. "Give it back. Burn it. Just get rid of it."

"I'll do what I want with it," you say, shocking yourself with your defensiveness. "Just lay off. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm hungry. I'm not in the mood for this."

"You're never in the mood for anything," Kat says.

"I wonder why," you mutter quietly before taking a sip of your coffee.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. Just saying how much I appreciate your constant input."

--

"Saving you again. Who'd have thought?"

Lockwood rolls his eyes, rapier held out in front of him. "I think you enjoy it. That, or you enjoy seeing me. I'd prefer the latter because I love the attention, but either way."

You scoff, throwing a salt bomb at the ghost that has cornered you both. "I most certainly do not like seeing you. It's the worst part of my week."

"Oh, sure, love."

The nickname causes you to choke, but you keep your guard up. This ghost is relentless, and you won't let some arrogant boy cause you to falter. You're one of the best agents Fittes has, a professional in your field. You know better than to let him distract you.

In front of you, the ghost makes a faint wailing sound, though your Listening isn't strong enough to make out what it's saying. Judging from the glowing blood that pours from its neck and spills over its dress, you judge that it's a Wraith, and not a very happy one at that.

"What's our plan, then?" you ask. "We're trapped in a hallway with nothing but a basement door behind us. Lucy and George are looking for the source, I take it?"

"Lucy and George didn't take this case with me. They're on a separate one."

Scowling, you say, "Oh, well, just as well that I happened to pass by when I did then, huh? You'd be dead right now if it weren't for me."

You're about to keep talking, but Lockwood shouts, "Duck!" before tackling you to the ground. Your head narrowly misses the wall but bangs against the floor instead, and you're overtaken by a horrible chill as the ghost darts over top of you both.

All of a sudden, you're acutely aware of Lockwood on top of you, shielding you from what could've been potential ghost touch. His breath is warm on your face, and you can feel his heart racing above your own, which feels like it's going a million miles an hour. Your cheeks, despite the chill, feel awfully hot. He looks down at you, grinning and about to say something.

"Watch out!" you interrupt, kicking him off of you and grabbing his rapier. You slash it through the air, temporarily dissolving the ghost.

You push yourself off the ground, throwing another salt bomb at the Wraith. Lockwood is on his feet shortly after, and you both hurry to his iron circle by the living room door, panting and gasping for breath. The lamp in the centre flickers slightly, and the floorboards creak.

"Hell of a house you've got here," you grumble. "Who is this miserable git anyways?"

Lockwood eyes the ghost before grinning at you once more. "Lady called Angela, was killed in a burglary back in, oh, what did George say? Nineteen-forty-nine, I think. As you can see, she's very unhappy."

The Wraith wails and a liquidy choking sound becomes more apparent, which makes you squirm. Your Sight is about as good as your Listening, but it's still hard to make out the glowing features of the woman besides all of the blood and her spotty dress.

"Your Touch is good, right?"

"Best of the best."

Lockwood scoffs. "All right, no need to get cocky."

"You're one to talk."

"I was just going to ask if you could search for the source with your Touch while I cover you! You make everything so difficult."

You brush hair out of your eyes. "Yeah, me. Okay, whatever. I'll go find this source then. Which room is my best bet?"

"Living room."

Glancing into the room just beside you, you nod, waiting for your cue to go. For a brief second, Lockwood touches your arm, telling you to stay safe, and then he's launched himself at the ghost. You don't stick around to see what kind of pretentious rapier moves he's doing.

The living room is pretty empty, compared to others you've seen. The walls are plain and beige, with very few photos hung up in boring old frames. There's a two-seater sofa with the ugliest floral pattern you've ever seen and an armchair that doesn't match in the slightest. The fireplace has no wood, no ash, no nothing as if it hasn't been used for years.

You're instantly drawn to the fireplace. Crouching down to the ground, you place your hand on the bricks that make it up, closing your eyes and falling into your senses.

The room has changed. It's brighter, more colourful, happier. Sunlight streams through the window, and a woman hums as she dusts the ornaments on the wall. She's pretty, wearing a spotty blue dress, and her voice is soothing. When she passes over to the fireplace, it's almost as if she is really there next to you, replacing the burnt wood with fresh. But her fingers graze a brick inlaid in the ground, lingering for a moment too long before she moves away to replace the flowers in a vase.

Colours blur as the vision fades away and the sounds of Lockwood's fight resume. Immediately, you begin clawing at the brick you saw in the vision, grateful to find it loose already. A horrible wail indicates that you're right.

A spider crawls out of the hollow gap beneath the brick, and you reach your hand into the gap, which is filled with cobwebs. Your fingers latch onto something, but you don't stop to look at what it is before you wrap it up in the silver net you always keep in a pouch on your belt.

Seconds later, Lockwood appears in the doorway, panting and smiling. "Thanks for the help, love. You're very handy. What's the source?"

You scowl. "Don't call me that."

"What? Love? Thought you'd like it. I mean, you've still got my jumper, and Lucy says that's got to mean something."

"Be quiet. I've not had the chance to give it back. Here's the source. Look for yourself. I'm heading home, as far away from you as I can get."

"Oh, come on. Let me walk you home at least."

For a moment, you consider it, and you hate yourself for it. But part of you, a treacherous little piece of your heart, yearns for it. When was the last time someone walked you home? When was the last time someone offered to bring you in for a coffee or gave you their jumper to keep you warm? Though you hate to admit it, Anthony Lockwood is not the worst out of all the people in London.

"Fine," you mutter. "Just this once."

--

"So, tell me about yourself, love. What makes you tick?"

You look at Lockwood incredulously. "This isn't the time, you twat! There's a pack of Phantasms following us."

Lockwood glances back at the ghosts trailing you. He waves a hand nonchalantly. "Oh, they're fine. We're covered in iron and silver protection."

"I can hear them calling for us, and they're getting closer."

"Well, good thing you've got me to walk you home. Who better to keep you safe?"

You curse under your breath, wondering why you'd ever agreed more than once to let him walk you home. The first time was bearable, the second time less so. Now, the eighth, you're at your wit's end. Having the company, especially when walking in the dark so late at night, made you feel a little better, but things would definitely be splendid if he'd shut his mouth for once.

"What did I say about you calling me 'love'?"

"If I remember correctly, you said, and I quote, If you call me that again, I'm going to tear out your tongue and feed it to Kipps for breakfast. Did I get that right?"

"Yes, you did."

"Well, if it annoys you, more the reason to say it, right, love?"

You shove him, and he stumbles, laughing, as you trudge along the park's path, glancing back at the phantasms following behind.

"So...?" Lockwood says, drawing near once more.

You raise your eyebrows. "So?"

"What makes you so prickly? Kat Godwin is bad, but she's quiet most of the time. You, on the other hand, spark a debate the minute you walk into a room. What is it? An incessant hatred for the world? Never had any friends growing up? Oh, I know, you had a pet that got run over when you were a child, and now you hate everyone in return?"

Glaring at him, you say, "No. To all of them."

"So what is it then?"

"I don't know." You shrug. You don't know why you feel the urge to tell him a real answer. "I've never seen anything different, I suppose. My parents didn't really... parent, when I was a kid, so now I don't know how to talk to people any other way than how I do. It's how they spoke to me, or so I've been told. Kipps put me in therapy for a while, but my therapist was a thick-skulled -"

Lockwood's laugh cuts you off, and you glance at him sidelong. There's something about the way the moonlight hits his skin; how the cold midnight air makes his cheeks rosy; how his smile seems to light up his face. It makes everything feel a little less bad.

"I don't know how to word things without sounding mean," you say, "because that's all anyone has ever been to me. Even at Fittes."

"So you don't mean to hurl verbal abuse at me every chance you get?"

"Oh, no, I absolutely do. You're the biggest idiot I've ever met, and you could really work on that narcissism of yours. It's a killer. Real no-go for a girl."

"So now you're saying you're interested in me, but my confidence is putting you off?"

The arrogance in his eyes makes you want to strangle him. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all."

But, is it? You're not sure. There's a funny feeling in your chest, but you're half convinced it's just heartburn and not something people tend to call 'crushing' or 'loving'. You're not entirely sure what either of those things feels like.

He makes to speak again, but he glances back at the group of phantasms following you and grins. "Fancy another ghost fight tonight?"

You sigh. "You really know how to get a girl excited."

--

"Love, pass me a salt bomb or five."

You glance into the hallway for any of the other agents scouting the mansion, scowling. "Don't call me that!"

"Whatever you say, love. Now, the salt bombs?"

Resisting the urge to throw them at his face, you pass Lockwood a few salt bombs begrudgingly.

Your Fittes team and Lockwood's agency have been teamed up on a case by DEPRAC, and Lockwood being the pompous ass he is paired you both together and has been teasing you incessantly. Nothing new there, except for the feeling it incites in your chest.

It can't really be described as heartburn, anymore, because it only ever happens whenever you see him or hear his name. You've found yourself growing bored and - you hate to say this - lonely without his company and quips, and find yourself to be your happiest when throwing insults at each other, though they feel a little more light-hearted now than they once did. Well, you feel as happy as you believe you can be, with as little experience of it as you've had.

You try to ignore the way your skin tingles and cheeks flush when his fingers brush yours and try even harder to pretend you don't see the shit-eating grin on his face from your reaction.

"You're insufferable, you know that right?" you ask as you pull iron chains from your bag.

"Only because you tell me every chance you get," Lockwood says. "I live to give you that privilege."

You roll your eyes. "I can stab you with my rapier, so you'd do well to remember that."

The weight of his arm rests on your shoulders, and he pulls you close to his side. You grow tense at the sudden movement and the close proximity, and hope he can't feel your racing heartbeat. It'll only give him one more thing to pick at you about. You're just unused to being held, you tell yourself.

"But you wouldn't do that, love. You've grown quite fond of me these past few months."

"Have not."

"Care to return my jumper, then? I'm in dire need of it."

Once more, your face flushes. "You told me to keep it a little longer while my morning runs are still cold."

"As a formality. You were meant to say something smart like, Like hell I will, asshat, take it back before I become infected by the bacteria you carry. Your insults are becoming boring."

"Is that so?" You narrow your eyes at him. "Well, you are an asshat, for one. For two, I'd advise you let go of me, or I fear my skin will burn off from the way your brain is overheating trying to keep a conversation with me. So, love, how about you take your arm back?"

He grins, drawing you closer until your cheeks are almost touching. "If I die from overheating, you're going down with me."

You shove him away, scowling once more, but part of you wants to laugh. This kind of banter with him has grown familiar, comforting. And, well, though you might protest it much of the time, being called 'love' gives your heart a little flutter, like it's glad it's finally getting some attention after a lifetime of being as hard and cold as stone.

Bit by bit, Lockwood has softened it up, but you'll never tell him that. He would only grow too smug.

"You know," Lockwood says, "I think you're bribing DEPRAC so that you can get put on cases with us. This is the second one in two weeks."

"Why on earth would I ever bribe DEPRAC for that? If anything, I'd bribe them to get me out of it." You lay the chains out in a neat circle and place all your things inside. "If anyone's doing it, it's you, because you're obsessed with me."

"And so what if I am, love? You're very fun to poke fun at."

Your hands falter, and you hope he hasn't noticed. "Whatever."

He grins, watching your every move. "You can admit you feel the same, you know? You're not going to face a horrible death for admitting you enjoy spending time with me."

You don't know what to say to that. Because, yes, you do enjoy spending time with him, in your little confusing way. Being around him has opened you up to new feelings you've never had the chance to really feel before, and you're grateful for it, but admitting it? It's like giving him the key to a locked door and granting him 24/7 access. It terrifies you and makes you feel vulnerable.

"Be quiet so we can get on with our surveys," you murmur. "I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Scared? Don't worry, I can hold your hand."

And he does. His hand wraps around yours, enveloping it in warmth, and you find yourself staring at it, unwilling to pull away from his touch. It seems to shock Lockwood, too, judging from his parted lips and slightly-too-wide eyes, but his hand squeezes yours gently and you feel a little piece of your heart soften.

There's a creak in the hallway, and you jerk your hand away, standing straight, face hot. But there's nothing, no one. Just you, Lockwood, and a barrage of feelings you're not sure what to do with.

[avaantares]

Wait, Zhao Yunlan's gun is actually a...?!

(I've never claimed production meta for @guardianbingo before, but after the amount of time and research I put in on this, I feel like I've earned the "Zhao Yunlan's Gun or Whip" square, haha)

SO. GUYS.

Maybe this is something fandom as a whole figured out back in 2018, but I, who didn't hear of Guardian until 2020, did not realize until now and I need to share the knowledge because when I finally noticed, I made an unholy sound.

I've tracked down where Zhao Yunlan's gun came from -- or at least, what it most likely started as. Not the in-universe dark-energy-maybe-uses-bullets-maybe-doesn't-device-that's-best-not-thought-about-too-long, but rather the actual fake-steampunk-revolver-that-is-best-not-looked-at-too-long-because-it's-awful prop.

Y'know, this disaster:

I was actually working on a different Guardian Bingo fill and needed to look something up for continuity, so I'd flipped through a couple of episodes at super high speed trying to find a scene. As luck would have it, one of my skips forward happened to land on the scene I screencapped above, when ZYL confronts Zhang Shi.

Normally we don't get this clear (or this stationary) a shot of the godawful gun prop. I'd assumed all along they had just taken a plastic gun, glued some extra bits and bobs on it to make it look fancy, and hit it with some dry brushing (fun fact: you can watch the paint flake throughout the series; check out the top of the barrel and the side of the cylinder in the above screenshot!) to make it look #steampunk like the abandoned aesthetic of 25% of the show (as I've said before, I have theories about what happened in preproduction, but that's another post). This sort of thing is exactly what I've done for cheap cosplay weapons or background props for film work that aren't going to be seen at HD detail range.

Anyway, since the detail showed up better here than in other shots, I paused the video to look at the random screws and hex bolts (why??) they'd glued on it, since I recalled that I had the aforementioned gun/whip bingo square to fill.

That's when I noticed a detail that had eluded me before: An inverted V shape at the bottom of the grip.

Only looking more closely, that's not an inverted V. It's a symbol that I've seen a whole series of variations of over the past 15+ years... every time there's a new installment of the Assassin's Creed video game series:

So I started hunting. The principal weapons in each game turned up no matches, but eventually I found a gun that looks almost exactly like ZYL's:

It's not a perfect replica, but the details are certainly all there: The stylized logo; the leaves and swirls on the grip; the feathers up the back; even the Victorian scrollwork beneath the barrel.

Now, what's really interesting is that this gun isn't actually from the AC game series. It's part of an elaborate fan project by artist David Paget that started as a class assignment back in 2014. Even though it gathered a bit of steam in the AC fandom and generated a couple of forum role-play groups, OCs and the like, nothing about this artwork was ever connected to a real Assassin's Creed title. So why would there be a physical version of a gun that was only someone's fanart?

This is where the smoking gun (*rimshot*) goes missing, because I can't prove any of this, and it's been long enough that digging through the archives of the internet to find answers is going to take way more time than I can afford to spend on a project I'm not getting paid for. But there are two likely possibilities:

Scenario A: Some employee in a toy factory somewhere in China got told, "This Assassin's Creed franchise is really big, so we need to be producing replicas from those games to sell. Work up some designs." So the employee Googles "assassin's creed gun," finds David Paget's very professional-looking art, and whips up a replica to mass-injection-mold without realizing it's not actually from a game. Later, someone on the cash-strapped Guardian production team needs a gun to mod, and finds a cheap toy revolver on clearance after several years of sitting in storage because there was little demand for a replica of a gun that was never in a game. They buy several, glue hex bolts on the cylinder for reasons unknown, and poof! Instant pseudo-steampunk!

Scenario B: Other fans were involved in the design. Someone did build a 3D model of David Paget's design that's still available on Sketchfab (screenshot below), and it's not unreasonable to assume that other fans could have thought it looked cool and built 3D printable models. Later, someone on the cash-strapped Guardian production team needs a gun to mod, and acquires the 3D print file of one of those models from the interwebs. They mod the file a bit, print some, glue hex bolts on the cylinder for reasons unknown, and poof! Instant pseudo-steampunk!

Personally, I find Scenario A far more likely than Scenario B, for two reasons: First, the hero prop looks more injection molded than 3D printed, especially given the technical state of 3D printing back in 2017-8. And second... Budget-challenged dramas do have a history of picking up bulk video game replicas and using them as cheap props. I made a post back in 2019 about the WoW Horde shields we spotted in a different drama...

Anyway, no firm answers about the source of the hero prop -- the world may never know! -- but we have now confirmed that in some alternate universe (possibly one of the first eighty?), Zhao Yunlan and/or Zhao Xinci is an Assassin.

Wait, wait, wait... *recalls mechanics of how the whole Assassin's Creed frame story is supposed to work* Uh... so... who wants to write a genetic memory explanation for the whole Kunlun -> [lots of lifetimes] -> Zhao Yunlan thing?

.

(I did actually check the catalogue of a friend of mine who makes replicas of props from various media franchises to see if he'd done a commission of the David Paget design, since a surprising number of his custom pieces actually do end up on film and television, but while he has a gorgeous replica of a revolver that actually appears in an AC game, it appears he has not done the Zhao Yunlan gun. I didn't really think it likely, since he's in the U.S., but you never know.)

[invisibleraven]

doing geocaching for Rulie?

"Do you have plans for today?" Reggie asked as they enjoyed breakfast.

"Laundry?" Julie replied. "Otherwise no, why?"

"I have a date planned and didn't want you to leave anything behind," Reggie replied.

"I'm down," Julie replied, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. "You know you are way more important than anything else to me."

"The sentiment is mutual darlin'," Reggie said with a wink. "Dress comfy with good shoes."

That piqued Julie's curiosity but they had enough dates where they went on a hike or horse riding, she was used to not needing to gussy up for every date.

Soon enough they were both dressed and heading out. "SO where are we headed?" she asked.

"It's a multi stop date," Reggie confessed. "I heard about this thing called geocaching? It's like a treasure hunt kinda and thought it might be fun."

"Oh yeah, I've done that with Carlos a few times," Julie said. "It was always a good time."

"Perfect," Reggie said. He handed over his phone, showing her the first clue. "You're on navigation."

Their first stop was at a local park, the box stashed in a large hole in a tree. Julie took a small pride pin and left a pack of crayons from the bag of small doodads Reggie had brought along.

Then they went to a locale coffee shop, finding the cache in a bush outside. Inside were a bunch of gift cards for the store, and Julie decided to buy another in exchange, while getting them both cool drinks as a refresher against the warm day.

The mini golf course had the cache in the mouth of the dinosaur where Reggie picked out a cool bookmark and left a keychain for Silver Lake. The tar pits had them exchanging a bubble wand for a nice looking print postcard.

"There's only one more," Julie commented. "Shme, this has been a lot of fun."

"We can always do it again some day if you want," Reggie replied.

"The last stop is Eats & Beats," Julie stated. "We should totally get a pastry afterwards, a nice reward."

"You're reading my mind."

Eats & Beats were curiously empty, but given it was the middle of the afternoon, Julie didn't really question it-every business had a lull period. The employee directed them to the stage, where a box was sitting on the piano. A box that had Julie's name written on it.

"Reggie?" she asked him, but he just smiled and urged her to open it. She did so with trembling hands, gasping as inside the cache was a small box-the one someone would use to house a ring. She lifted it up and turned to ask Reggie what was going on-only to find him kneeling before her.

He gave her a watery smile, gently easing the box from her hands, and taking her left in his own. "Julie...I set up this little treasure hunt for a fun day, but I knew I wanted to have this be the last stop. Because you-you're the greatest treasure ever."

"You're supposed to leave something behind though," Julie sniffled, smiling the whole time.

"You're right," Reggie agreed. "I'm leaving behind loneliness, and a life without you."

"Me too."

Reggie beamed, opening the box, and Julie's breath caught in her throat. There was a beautiful ring-one she had seen many times before sitting on MeeMaw's finger. One she knew that Reggie had been promised when he found the great love of his life.

"So darlin', what do you say? You wanna hitch your wagon to mine and be my wife?"

Julie extended her hand and nodded-too overwhelmed to speak. Watched as Reggie slid the ring on, then scooped her up to kiss her, spinning them around. The both of them laughing as they broke apart.

That's when Julie heard the applause, looking around to see their family and friends come from backstage, all swarming to con gratulate them.

"You were all in on this?"

"Yeah, Reg asked us to set up the caches," Luke replied.

"And I filmed the whole speech," her papi stated, waving his camera.

"We rented this place out," Alex said. "And your aunt brought snacks alongside the food they have here so we could have an impromptu engagement party."

"You planned all this?" she asked Reggie.

"I wanted it to be special and unique-just like us," he replied with a shrug.

"It was perfect," Julie stated, pulling him in for yet another kiss, and knew that above anything, Reggie was the real treasure in all this-one she wouldn't be giving up for anything.

[infamousbrad]

I don't often get C-PTSD flashbacks from reading ProPublica news articles. I'm going to have to spend some time breathing deliberately and/or take a sleeping pill and go back to bed.

I'm autistic. Job hunting was hell for me at the best of times because I've never met a Human Resources employee who wasn't bigoted against the mentally ill. "You're perfectly qualified for the job, but I just don't think you'd be a good fit." So every job hunt I've ever had, even in boom times, has taken me a year or more to find someone who knew me, personally or professionally from a previous job, who had an opening and could pull rank on H.R. to get me in. And every job ended the same way: I got transferred to a disability-hostile manager ("it's not fair to everyone else if I treat you differently") and almost immediately fired. So threatening to fire me is only one step down from threatening to try to kill me.

And I've been threatened with being fired way more times than I've actually been fired. I'm a naturally scrupulous person, especially when safety issues are involved because I can't not worry, but also I know I'm really bad at telling when the people around me think the rules matter and when they don't (and worse at caring about their feelings about it being okay to break the rules this time). And I have long-since lost track of how many times I've been confronted with the choice:

Either commit a crime that puts people in danger ...

Or else we'll fire you, and you'll have to explain to every human resources department you apply at that you were fired for disobeying an order.

God, I hate this species. "I don't care if it's unsafe or illegal, I need it done." "Everybody cheats, if you don't cheat you can't make money." "We've gotten away with it before, it'll be fine." And "if other people die, they die; it's more important to get the job done." Fuck fuck fuck, I hate it. 'Cause it's real cheap of them to say when they're not going to be the one who gets hurt, isn't it? It's not like their families are going to get killed when (not if) a train derails, so who cares?

Some outlet I read (I think it was the WaPo?) did a long series about whistleblowing a little while back and concluded that most of us won't even say we want more whistleblowers, and most of the people who say they do don't mean it, certainly not when it comes to their own misdeeds. In one of the articles in the series, they cited moral foundations theory and suggested that that's because almost half of us rank "loyalty" above most or all other virtues. As in yes honesty and safety are virtues, but loyalty to your employer, your team, whatever is a more important virtue.

Fuck that. If I've let myself get peer pressured or tricked or bullied into doing something (or worse, ordering something) illegal and unsafe, I want subordinates who'll call me on my bullshit, hold me accountable. I need backup, everybody needs backup! Retaliate against whistleblowers? Fuck that noise; if I were in a position to hire, I'd offer extra to hire people who'd blown the whistle on misconduct to the point where they got fired for it -- I may not be able to trust them to "have my back" (which I don't even want when I'm in the wrong!) but I can trust them to tell the truth and protect others.

Obviously this means I've never worked in H.R. And it probably overlaps heavily with why my last real, professional employer finally told me I'd never make management. And shortly thereafter fired me. In a straight-up case of whistleblower retaliation. And then went so far as to lie to every potential employer I applied to that I was fired for "making terroristic threats," a straight-up frame-up that guaranteed that I'd never work in my industry again.

[ordinarytalk]

So I'm just finally beginning to recover from the three day paranormal weekend event thing I helped run, and I'm just writing highlights so I can reassure myself that yes, this all actually happened:

I just barely got trained in running the historical tours in time for this event. Meaning, I spent the entire week prior cramming the history of the site with more intensity than I crammed for my college finals. The tours had to be about an hour and fifteen minutes, I would be doing them all day, and I had to be prepared for questions.

Part of my cramming involved me typing out five pages of notes outlining my planned tour path, the buildings I was stopping at, and what historical highlights I was planning to talk about at each building. Because I was teaching swimming lessons until 7 or 8pm most weeknights, I didn't have time to meet with the operations manager who was helping train me, so I just sent the document to her so she could fact-check it.

The night before the event was a ghost hunt/celebrity mixer for VIP guests. They oversold the VIP tickets so we had way way more guests than was originally planned for. The operations manager was told at the last minute that they needed seven history tours to be run simultaneously that night because the guests had been promised history tours, and the tours needed to all be done at around the same time. We had two history guides, me and another guy.

The ops manager ended up printing out my notes and handing them out to other employees and saying "just improvise, sorry, and thank you." We pulled it off flawlessly.

After the tours, I was supposed to be giving the paranormal guide staff members their breaks throughout the night. I got yanked to be a celebrity handler instead because we were short on people. I did not want to be a celebrity handler. I am very awkward around new people at the best of times, and I don't know anything about celebrities.

Celebrity and her crew turned out to be super friendly. I still felt awkward as hell, but then they started asking me about history and that unlocked my hyperfixation powers and I started getting excited and rambling cool facts about every room we walked into. Eventually I realized they were filming me. Success?

The paranormal investigations during the whole weekend were like the least successful/least active ones I have ever seen here. I think if I was dead and several hundred people were stomping all over my house and trying to talk to me, I'd shut up and go somewhere else too.

Ended 3am. Woke up 8am. Dying.

Me and the other history guide alternated giving tours all day Saturday. Apparently I did good? Some people cried and one group applauded me.

So sleep deprived I straight up passed out in the grass for ten minutes after two of my tours.

Can a person die from hydrating solely with Monster energy drinks, asking for a friend

Monster energy drinks did nothing, started laughing loudly at nothing at one point and then took another lawn nap when coworkers started looking at me

Another VIP mixer/history tour/ghost hunt that night!

The celebrity & crew from last night specifically requested me to lead them around for the ghost hunt tonight because they liked me? Success???

We were still very short on people and we really needed me to do breaks so I only was supposed to be with the celeb team for 30 minutes but it got stretched to 45 because they asked me about history again, whoops

I am still being filmed. I am still not sure what I am being filmed for. Success???????

Had to do all the breaks speedwalking, while being rained on. The last person was almost dying by the time I got to them. I almost pass out again as soon as I sit down in their chair, I've been standing almost all day aside from the lawn naps.

Destination Fear left snack and drink shrapnel everywhere at where their meet & greet table had been. Someone there really likes cheez-its.

2am bedtime. Feet are looking a little swollen and gnarly and I'm walking like a chicken on hot coals.

Sunday! Everyone on crew looks like the walking dead.

I actually had a little over an hour free before the history tours start and I was able to look at vendors! I bought a dracula pin and a movie monster crop top that doesn't fit.

More history tours. We're getting more sunshine today so I ask to borrow one of the hats from merch because I will get a migraine if direct sunlight hits the top of my head for more than two minutes.

Smaller tour groups, everyone's a little more tired.

One of the other employees tells me how she had to babysit the Destination Fear crew when they filmed here. Apparently they kept on trying to go places they weren't supposed to.

The Destination Fear meet and greet line from yesterday is still there, and it's still terrifying.

The guys from Mountain Monsters are like the best guys ever. They are never not having a good time. They're like if my Uncle Gerry and Uncle Rance decided to make a cryptid-hunting show together. At one point, during the other guide's history tour, one of 'em suddenly busted out of a nearby porta potty yelling "WHOO-EE! I tore that porta john UP!!" and everybody on the tour just lost their shit. I might need to watch their show now.

Everything shut down by 5pm, but I stayed until 7pm to help with teardown. I offered to buy the hat from merch I'd been wearing but was told I could just keep it, so I got a hat now.

If there's one thing this incredibly busy week was successful at doing, it was stopping me from thinking about my birthday, because I keep thinking about all the stuff I was supposed to have done by this age, and all the stuff I'll never get to do or have because it's too late, and crying.

My birthday literally just happened as I was typing this. Still trying not to think about it.

[glassballdinosaurs]

You've Got To Be Kidding Me

I've spent most of this year working my way from the ground up as a barista to a manager and I'm constantly being told I'm not doing enough and now the till is short and it's my fault my fault my fault. Literally every friend I have has told me to bail and take a week-month off before going back to job hunting. What sucks is that I feel like a fucking /failure/. But simultaneously, I'm the ONLY EVENING MANAGER. Of ///course/// I can't possibly get everything done and I broke down in front of my boss when she asked if I wanted to step down/that there's still a bunch of stuff I'm doing wrong/communication problems. Like??? Could I be doing better? Absolutely. I, in tears, said it would be helpful to have another evening manager and I was told that won't happen. For the record, I work for a company that owns 3 coffee shops: I work at location 'P', and the other two locations are 'E' and 'C'. I'm in the group chat for managers and it's all E and C stuff and if I ever ask for help, I'm ignored. Because company 'P' is a different one that 'E' and 'C' and someone from E/C will open at P (grabbing a till and turning the lights on) before going back to E/C. But when I ask for another manager to be hired strictly for P, because, again, I'M THE ONLY DESIGNATED MANAGER AT THIS LOCATION. But one of the managers from C is hitting the stockroom for P 4 times a week, but I'm not so therefore I'm slacking off?? We have a bug problem. You want to know who has spent hours cleaning just to have morning crew play around on their phones? ME. Oh, and despite the fact I'm scheduled 10:30am at the earliest, it's still my fault if the morning crew doesn't take lunches (I'M LITERALLY NOT THERE) and is on their phones. Oh! And I have to mince my words but no matter what someone's upset and won't just /tell/ me but rather my boss. Look, I want to know why my coworkers are upset but I'm so tired of my boss being the one and going "this is what I've heard and I'm not here so..." I'm not saying my coworkers are wrong or that they shouldn't bring up issues to the boss, but /folks/ I'm one person. The only manager and I'll be honest, maybe I sound mean when I'm just direct but like, I'm working on it/trying not to say anything other than, "is there anything I can do to help?", "I have to count the safe but if you need me please grab me!", and various other 'hi i'm here! How can I help?' but if I don't smile or if my tone is the teeniest bit tense, /bam/ I'm instantly reported to my boss as rude.

Maybe I am just a shitty employee who works 40-50 hr work weeks and is told that I'm "mean". I wanna do better but simultaneously I'm so burnt out and just want to quit. I fantasize about it. But of course, my dad would rather I step down than quit/be fired all while expecting me to go about hunting. Folks, I have nothing left to give. I am the textbook definition of burnout.

[evertidings]

a's adhd.

so i've gotten a couple of asks regarding A's adhd recently and thought i'd finally sit down and address them. i want to preface this by saying that i am neurotypical and despite having done research for A's adhd, in am no way an expert, so bare with me while i try my best to articulate my thoughts.

their character.

i will admit that A wasn’t initially written to be neurodivergent. since i find it easier to flesh out characters through writing, i tend to scrap plans and dive straight in. this means that many of my character’s personality traits or backstories were created as i went along. even plot elements. i bring this up because as i wrote chapter one, i realized that i’d subconsciously written A as an adhd-coded character. when i realized that, i did some research on the types of adhd and symptoms to try and see whether or not it fit what i’d previously written.

i guess this also explains whether A was inspired by someone i know in real life. if you couldn’t guess, the answer is no. i do know a couple of people with adhd and have met quite a few before, but there is no one actively in my life that i can say i took from. most of my characters are inspired from favourite tropes of mine or by characters i’ve read in fiction in the past and loved, so the answer was likely going to be no anyway.

iaos and a’s experience with adhd.

in terms of iaos, they’re extremely accommodating to A’s adhd. they’re not the only employee who is neurodivergent and they won’t be the last, so if A needs anything specific then iaos will happily fulfill the request.

in terms of their experience, i mentioned in chapter one they do take medication but it’s not necessary for every day. A tends to take them before stakeouts or longer shifts, but most of the time they can get away without. at work, because they find it difficult to stay in one place for a long time, they spend little time at their desk and move around the department. in the rare occasion that they are there, they have fidget toys so they can keep their hands busy.

telling the hunter.

i don’t have a specific way that A tells the hunter about their adhd. in my mind, i think it depends on your relationship with them and the playthrough.

A isn’t shy about their adhd and is very open about it, so if the hunter asked then they’ll answer without hesitation. otherwise, they might drop it in a conversation if it comes up or explain it to the hunter when they catch them fidgeting with items on their desk. things like that. there’s no pulling the hunter aside and making some big announcement. they just don’t think it’s necessary.

chapter one.

as many of you have read, before the hunt with Rylan, the hunter asks A whether they’ve taken their meds. as it has been pointed out to me recently that it could be worded better, the upcoming twine demo has taken that part out and mentions A’s adhd in the hunter’s thoughts instead. had i known that this was a harmful way of putting it, i would have never written it. i hope this version is more positive for neurodivergent people but if it comes off in the wrong tone again, please let me know and i will happily change it.

—

as a final note, A’s adhd is something that is very special to me—both because of what it means to their character and also the representation they add to the community. i hope this information helps showcase my process behind this aspect of them a little more. if anyone has any additional questions or feedback feel free to send in an ask <3

[mx-julien]

how do the ninja repair their suits after they get damaged?

they get into so many fights that usually don't show in their clothing (S2 and Hunted are the exceptions I can think of) and we know that they wash their uniforms (see: The Pink Ninja of S1), so i don't see why they wouldn't know how to sew. however, it'd take a lot of time out of their day, so they might have a person they could go to for repairs.

their outfit changes from season to season, though, can be for a Plot Reason (ex. Rebooted, Posessed, and I'm not counting Prime Empire b/c that's not real clothing it's just computer code), or will sometimes remain unexplained

*cue soft jazz music and link to Ao3*

Afternoon sun comes through the shop window. Each aluminum pin Suni places shines and dances little lights across the wall. The AC unit to her left moves the gray fabric so it shimmers, making the folds in the shoulder of the gi ripple. It's about quarter 'til closing time, so she's indulging herself and took out her latest project. A bit rushed, maybe, but she rarely gets customers at this hour.

The bell rings. Of course it does.

"Good Evening, Ms. Anup," Mr. Jones hesitates on the threshold before walking up to the counter, "I've come to pick up my suits. Very sorry for the late hour, my husband and I returned from abroad a bit later than expected."

"No harm done," Suni straightens up, "I'll go grab your things - they're in the back."

Suni turns on her heel and heads to the back room. It smells mustier than she cares for, but she can only clean so often when she's the only employee. Her grandmom would've helped, but she wasn't around long enough to know that most of the city was being regularly repaired, anyways. It isn't a good excuse, but her shop's still standing, so business is fine.

The cabinets were designed by her brother, and she had put them up herself. Mr. Jones' garments were on the highest bar. She gets them down and smooths her hand over the lapels of his freshly pressed blazer. He had brought three pairs of pants and four shirts in for tailoring, as well. Something about a "kind-of promotion" meant that he was running around more, so he needed them brought in a bit. Don't ask her why he couldn't just switch out of a suit. Some people were just particular and that was what kept her lights on.

The recent attacks had been knocking everything out of wack. Even punctual Mr. Jones, who walks in with an apology and leaves with some of the most expensive pieces in the shop.

Speaking of which, she realizes, she'd just left her project with him in the front room. Hopefully, since only one part was out there, it probably isn't even that notable. Probably.

Walking to the front, Suni lets the gears turn in her head turn as she rationalizes her bad decision.

She's definitely be wrong about the whole "it's more normal" justification because Mr. Jones quickly turns his head away from her dress form as she comes back to the counter. At about 6 feet tall, she doesn't need to crane her neck down to look at him, which she appreciates right now since seconds ago she barely avoided a collision with the doorframe and also she might need to confront him if he tries to say anything about the garment. It's a reflex every time someone's left alone with it, since she made that mistake once and will probably never hear the end of it.

Six cuckoos bring in the new hour as she hands over the clothes on their hangers. Mr. Jones starts telling her an amusing story about a bus and some knockoff D&D game that he ran into while he was away.

When he's done, she notices that her cheeks hurt from laughter as she clicks the register drawer back into place. She has his change in her hand and turns to him, only only to see him staring at the project. Well, the innocuous top half of it.

"Here you go, Mr. Jones."

His head jerks back to her, "Can I ask what this is?" cocking his head in the direction of the dress form.

He accepts the change as Suni fixes her gaze on him. He's standing like a tin soldier, anticipating her response and planning his own. I guess you just get like that in government work. Again, thank goodness it only slightly resembles armor at the moment. She doesn't want to wake up to agents banging on her door, or a warrant of sorts.

"It's to do with this one group of modern dance students. They're all in college and commission me to do their costumes."

"College students?" His eyebrows don't seem to believe her.

"Yup."

"They have some specific tastes." His eyes trace the outline of the half-pinned gi with light blue embroidery and protection symbols.

"Yeah," she rearranges some recipts, "but they pay well and don't give me a ton of instructions usually, so I don't mind." She's attempting to keep get tone nonchalant.

He's looking at her kind of like how you might at a kid whose trying to sneak up on their parent in the grocery store: amused and not going to say anything.

"Those are some lucky kids." He steps towards the door, his polished shoes reflecting more light than her window, when he opens the door and turns halfway back to her. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Eventually, he pulls himself together, "Have a good afternoon, Ms. Anup."

"You too, Mr. Jones."

She waits until his car pulls out of the strip mall before pulling out her Borg phone and dialing the only contact with a wave emoji in the name. While she waits for the phone to dial, she grumbles, "Nya, I swear to the First Master, you owe me so much coffee after this."

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Ok can i do 21 and 38. With new person just moved there. An catches whoever you want it to be please?

I hope you'll like this!

-----

David was definitely grumpy when he rejoined the group again. Max had called him away, stating he needed to talk business. Every once in a while he'd do that, often giving them another bullshit rule they needed to follow. 'For their own safety' Max would often say- meaning it would limit their freedom, often for Max his benefit.

"So, what did Max want?" Marko looked at him as he leant on the railing. The others fell quiet, knowing that David would be easily angered thar evening,

"Max has got a new girl in the store. Just the usual no food rule."

"Bummer," Paul sighed. He'd always had a thing for Max his employees - enjoying the act Max tried to warn them for the boys. He liked to lure them away, get them to trust him, only to kill them in the end. It was a satisfying, fucked up little game he liked to play.

"Let's just go, knowing Max the poor thing will end up on his menu within a couple of months anyway." Dwayne walked off, the others following him. David stayed behind, sighing. He took a while, before he caught up with the others.

The rest of the night went as usual, them causing chaos wherever they went, hunting on whoever they'd picked as their pray. Soon the conversation with Max was pushed into the back of their minds.

When the boardwalk would almost close, they decided to head back. They walked towards their bike, only for Dwayne to be run over by someone.

"Watch where you're going."

"I- I am so sorry. I thought I heard something and I got scared and - did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine."

Dwayne kept on walking, only to be stopped once again. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I am."

He didn't feel like talking, not with this random person that just bumped into him. Sure, they smelled nice- they were lucky he had just fed. He ignored them, walking towards his bike, following the others.

That night, he couldn't help but feel somewhat bad. He was the last one to fall asleep, hanging upside down, as the thought of you floated around in his mind. You'd only been worried - and he'd been an ass. He couldn't forget your face, your smell. Only know he realised what it reminded him off. Home. He growled quietly, realising what you were to him, realising how he'd treated you.

The next evening he went to look for you again, sighing when he realised it was you who worked in Max his store. As he followed the boys inside, he went to you immediately.

"I want to apologise for last night."

"It's fine."

"It's not. I've been -"

"It's nothing, really." You looked at him, a small smile on your lips.

"If you say so," he sighed, "Anyways, I was wondering when you were off?"

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"Like I said, I've been an asshole."

You chuckled, telling him when you'd be off. The two of you kept talking for a while, telling each other where you were from, telling him about the move. It was a fun conversation - cut short by Max who demanded you to go back to work, and told the boys to leave.

When you were done, Dwayne was already waiting for you outside. The two of you walked down the beach. Shyly you'd slipped your hand into his, smiling at how perfect they seemed to fit together. You had listened to his voice, not really processing what he'd been saying.

"What?" You asked, realising he'd asked you something.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

You were quiet, a small smile on your lips. "I guess so. Never had any reason not to."

"Good," Dwayne grinned, looking at you as he leant down to kiss you. "Cause you're mine."

"W-what?"

Dwayne chuckled, looking back at you. "See you tomorrow, Princex!"

With that he disappeared, leaving you behind.

[writr4luvrs]

[♡]

Request: Rhys and reader reunite years after break up

Note: This is just part one, I really enjoyed writing this btw.

Look what your doing to me - BANKS, Francis and the Lights

Rhys Strongfork/Reader

Part |

After Helios fell from the sky, you and other refugee Hyperion employees were left on Pandora to become a community, bandits, or end up being some wild creatures meal. You didn't know Rhys until you found out he was the cause for Helios' fall and some no name that managed and help plan to fight a vault guardian and collect the treasures it protected. Easily, you were impressed and with confidence, you were able to talk to him. He spoke about rebuilding the Atlas brand, helping Hyperion refugees, and get the hell off Pandora, that was enough for you.

While Rhys rebuilt Atlas, you took the time to learn to use various weaponry, hunt the ruthless bandits and creatures of Pandora, and despite losing some of its citizens, the Hyperion refugee camp was improving. And with busy schedules and months passing, you and the business man got to spend what quiet moments you could with each other. "Y'know..." you begin, strolling to sit by Rhys one night as he cautiously poked a low fire. "All the big talk of Atlas and all, I hadn't thought a pair of business slacks would be able to build a community like this."

"Thanks, you know, I didnt think even Hyperion workers would last this long, usually caring about the dust on their snake skin shoes or worried about the lack of gel in their hair. But its good." You laughed at him, he was a complete dork. "What?" he scowls at you, small smile on his face. "What's funny?"

"Usually Hyperion are big talkers with lack of strategy and more and of fucking over their friends." You air quote 'friends.'

"Did you doubt me?"

"I did, ambition is nice until the person doesnt know what they're doing."

"I- haha, know everything, I know what I'm doing. Everything...that I'm...doing, I mean." You snicker at him.

"There's the Hyperion cockiness."

"Seriously, Hyperion was the worst,"

"Absolutely."

"But they," he referred to the refugees. "Are better than they let on and has great potential that Hyperion didnt let them explore and show. Atlas is gonna be bigger than that." You nod, yeah, he was much cuter than you initially thought.

"Deep."

"Yeah." he chuckles.

"You're exactly what they need, a chance is all anyone ask... don't let that get to your head."

"Pfft...it's not like I'm Jack...or...whatever. "

"You've got the handsome bit down."

"Haha, yeah..." he smiles. "Oh!" he blinks, his smile becoming shy in realization. "And you've got the killing skills and attractiveness and good looking and I dont...know how to flirt, wow, is it, um... Yeah. I'll stop talking."

"Yeah," you peck him on the cheek before standing to leave. "Keep at it, Handsome Rhys."

"Oh, god. Don't call me that."

In time, Rhys had actually done it. He was able to influence sponsors to help the manufacturer, to help get a ship built and was able to blast off Pandora. You accompanied him to various Eden planets, Atlas was gainingtraction and workers, and best of all customers. Rhys was getting more paperwork than he could handle, becoming more busy and eventually sent a request for a vault hunter Zer0 to aid him. He was becoming an influencer himself, working his ass off. The sweet messages he'd send you, the dates the two of you would go on, the rants you two would have had almost seen to vanished. You missed being around him and having chats instead of being told that he had to talk later, which was understandable the first few weeks only for it to be routine and soon ending up with no reply. He spoke highly of you and you were flattered but it soon felt like nothing when you rarely had the chance to see him. You felt years of commiting to him were being thrown away.

You began show up to his office on Promethea. "I have a call to take." "I have to go to a meeting." "Too much work to do."

"Are you even listening to me, Rhys?" you accidentally raised your voice, Zer0, of course, his best bro couldn't even give you two alone time.

"Look, I'm sorry, I really am-"

"But I just don't have time!" You finished for him. "I have to go to the Eos solar system and blah blah blah Greek names of whatever bullshit business deals. You never make time, let alone a echo, Rhys! I know work is important but I have been patient- and for hell sake Zer0 can you please get out?!" Understandably, Zer0 did leave.

Rhys shut down the holograms and placed his echo away. "You dont even make time for me anymore, do you even see what you're doing to me?" You sit yourself in a chair.

"No, I- I know." He walks from behind his desk to be closer to you. He wanted to hug and hold you but it's almost like he didnt know anymore, instead he kneels on the floor. "I'm sorry, I should've realized what I was doing, I'm sorry. I want us to work, I really do."

"I've tried so much, Rhys."

"Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. I love you okay, I'm going to be better and put more effort into us. I promise... I-"

"Rhys..." You knew he meant it, he wasn't a liar. "That's why this is so hard..." You were trying so hard not cry but your voice only became raspy and your face more heated.

"What?" You paused.

"We're done." You simply say before standing, the stood with you, trying to protest but you already had escaped into the elevator.

[toast-the-unknowing]

HI! I wanted to say that I really love your writing and I get really excited to see notifications that you've posted new work! And I was just curious if you worked in an office of some kind, and if so how do you find the time/motivation to sit in front of the computer and write personal work. It's just something I've been struggling with myself, and I wanted to ask if you had any similar experiences. If the answer is no, then no worries :) Thanks again!

Oh, that's a tough one, Anon.

I do currently work in an office -- as An Adult I've had an array of jobs, all of them either retail or customer service or "office assistant in a field I don't care about." And I’m sure that every job has the power to take away from your creative work, just as a simple matter of resources -- time and energy spent working can't be spent writing -- but there's something extra challenging about jobs you don't like, jobs you're doing just because you have to. They take so much out of you.

Motivation is one of my personal crosses to bear. I don't have it. I consistently struggle to find the motivation to do basic life tasks. So I don't know that I have answers for you, but I definitely have sympathy.

I also have, like, so many more words than I thought, so they’re going behind a cut.

When motivation is in short supply, the stuff that has to happen or you will literally die comes first. That's okay. It gets to come first. If I put on clothing and show up for work and eat some kind of food at some point, I got through the day. That's an accomplishment. And sometimes doing that uses up all my motivation for the day. Sometimes I can't even get up that much motivation, let alone do anything else. That sucks, but it happens.

But it doesn't happen every single day.

Some days have more motivation than others. Some seconds have more motivation than others. Why can I do the thing in this one second when for weeks it's been blocked like a grayed-out option on a computer menu? I don't know. But I could. Motivation is weird like that. You never know when it will show up, so you have to give yourself opportunities.

You know your office better than I do -- is the culture "get the work done on time and we don't care what you do" or "YOU MUST PERFORM 'PERFECT EMPLOYEE' AT ALL TIMES"? What's the layout of your desk? Can people read over your shoulder? How nosy are your bosses/coworkers? How strict are the internet controls your IT department uses? How busy are you? What are your own particular psychological quirks and philosophical attitudes? What's your anxiety look like?

It may be that "work on my writing while on the clock" is not an option for you. I get that; in the time I've been an office worker, I've been all over the place, from "my own writing is what I spend the majority of my time on while I'm at work" to "I won't even touch my writing on a company computer." Right now is closer toward the latter. But, if writing at work is an option for you, now, don't lose out because your current project is saved to a .docx file on your home desktop. Make it so that if you had to, you could write under literally ANY circumstance. I carry a Chromebook with me everywhere. Before that I carried a composition notebook and a pen at all times. I know people who write fics in draft emails or the notes app on their phone.

When time and motivation are scarce, you have to build in the opportunity anywhere that you are able to. Those might not be the same opportunities that work for other people. I've heard established writers say things to newer writers like "if you don't have the time during the day, just wake up earlier," and that's so discouraging and heartbreaking for me to hear. "Wake up earlier" isn't an option for me. "Wake up on time" is barely an option for me. Getting out of bed is a bottleneck for all of my motivation issues to all run into each other at the same time. But "work on the bus" does work for me. Not every single day. Maybe one day I'm tired. Maybe the bus is really full. Maybe the person I'm sitting next to looks like my mother and that makes it weird to write about boys kissing. Maybe the one fic I really really really want to work on that day is porn, and no I'm not going to do that on the bus/at work/on my lunch break. Maybe I pull out my Chromebook and open it and look at my fic with every intention of working on it and just.....nothing happens, for forty minutes, and then I'm embarrassed and put it away. That's fine. Because if I do write something on one of those commutes or lunch breaks or "just gotta kill time" evenings even once, then it was worth it. If I give myself lots of opportunities, then even if I don't take most of them, I still get stuff done I wouldn't otherwise.

Little bits COUNT. If all you manage to write is "in this scene the characters argue" THAT COUNTS. You wrote a thing. Because the next time you write, that can become "in this scene the characters argue about money and Adam storms off". And then the next time it can be "the characters argue about money and Adam storms off and Blue says something really cutting to Gansey and Gansey is crushed." And then, and then, and then.

It sucks to write a story one tortured sentence at a time, but it can be done, and sometimes that's the only way that it does get done. Some days all I do is turn [gansey says hi] into "Hello," Gansey said, and you know what, that counts.

Sometimes when writing has been hard or impossible for me, I've done writing adjacent tasks. Maybe the motivation isn't there, right now, to get writing done. Can you daydream about something you know you'll never write in a million years? Can you spend your commute, or the time you spend watching paper feed through the scanner, or that awkward minute in the break room when your boss is getting coffee at the same time as you -- can you spend that time thinking about a Hogwarts/ABO/vampire/fake dating/rock band/Groundhog day/all-of-the-above fic that you would never write? Because daydreaming and dicking around can be very helpful for getting your brain in gear to write. And if you daydream about the story you're actually writing, or one you'd like to write, (a) you get caught up in it needing to be GOOD ENOUGH which is anathema to free wheeling fun times, and (b) you run that risk of coming up with that PERFECT bit of dialogue that you aren't able to write down and then you forget it. If you forget that really funny bit of dialogue for the Declan/Henry soulmate alien abduction shapeshifter fic you were never going to write, well, what does it matter?

I've done this before when I've been in a place where I'm not writing, and there's something about being able to say, "okay, I didn't write anything, but I came up with five different fun little stories that I can go back to, in my brain, any time I feel like it." And I've discovered things about the characters that I do then want to use in a "real" story . Maybe you will stumble across an interesting dynamic or interaction in that OT6 West Wing crossover you were never going to write, but it's worth revisiting in something you do want to write. When you're able to.

The ways of motivation are mysterious. I don't really know why it's easier to find the motivation now than it's been at other points in my life, in other fandoms. I think part of it is momentum, from accepting "okay I'll just try to do a little bit of writing" and then the little bit happens and keeps happening and becomes a big bit. There's been so many times now where my bus pulls up to my stop and I go "ugh I have to put the laptop AWAY and GO HOME why" and I just try to race home so I can sit down on the first chair I find and keep writing.

Are there some places, or times, or situations, or writing mediums, where the motivation comes a little easier? If you don't know of any can you pay attention for those? Is there any way to capitalize on that? If super boring meeting where I don't have to do anything but I'm not allowed to skip is a great time for day dreaming about your writing, is there anyway to take your lunch/a coffee break/a really long bathroom break where you hunt & peck type into your email drafts right after that?

I tried tracking my writing once, on the suggestion of a very convincing essay by an author who promised that only good things could come from meticulously noting where the writing happened and when and how many words. The result was that my word count dropped to zero. Very easy to track! Not so great for literally any other goal I had. But I've learned a lot about my process since then, not from spreadsheets and journals but just from...paying attention, and asking myself questions, and thinking back on all the thinking about writing I do, and it's become easier to make words happen. Not a guarantee, but -- easier. So I think the most helpful thing is just to give yourself opportunities, even little ones, to write or create, and then just...pay attention. To your process and your words and your motivation and your situation, and try to work within those and not against those.

[finchbeak]

Madagascar - Day 8 - Anjajavy

Alas, I failed to stay awake for the Madagascar and Tunisia game. On the other hand, this was the best night of sleep since I arrived in Madagascar. I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it's because I've stopped the malaria pill nonsense. I'm willing to take the almost non-existent risk of contracting malaria in exchange for solid sleep.

Woke up early to stretch on my front deck with a trio of brown lemurs who took up residence on the tree in front of my cabin. Then went to grab some fruit and coffee before meeting my guide, Lucien. We spend nearly 5 hours walking through the private reserve. There are only two diurnal lemurs in this part of Madagascar (the brown lemur and the Coquerel Sifaka) so this walk was mostly about finding birds, other random animals, and seeing the staggering landscape. We also stopped along the way at several caves, a sacred tree, and the former home of the local Witch Doctor where one of the other lodge employees, Honore, played his handmade kabosy and then let me try to play it, to the delight of no one...

We also got to stop and see the lodge's conservation efforts - they are actively reforesting the reserve and are now home to 12 giant tortoises they are trying to re-introduce to the area after over 2000 years of Madagascar being without an animal to fill their ecological niche - the primary spreader of baobab seeds. One of the tortoises, John, is apparently very fond of neck scritches and when I approached he stood up and stretched his neck out far. I was happy to oblige. I had to try not to cry tears of joy - I get so stinkin' emotional when it comes to animals. Having the privilege of touching such a magnificent creature was more than a bit overwhelming. 

We also saw a rainbow milkweed locust. Go Google it. Be horrified and amazed at the same time. I had zero desire to touch him.

Lucien and I finally returned to the lodge where we were greeted with glasses of lime juice and ice cold wet towels. Sometimes bougie is nice?

I sat down in the lodge with my iPad where I have all my animal guides and logged everything we saw. Radu, one of the other guides, then came up and said I needed to meet the chef (since, apparently, I am the only faza to order the Malagasy meal every time). He has now agreed to let me in his kitchen and will teach me a Malagasy dish on Sunday. 

Whilst sitting in the lodge and reading a book on moluscs, the lodge manager, Cedric, comes up and asks how I am doing. I'm wonderful, actually. He wants to double check that my itinerary is correct. We go through it. Yes. Correct. "Are you sure?" 

Me: Umm.... Yeah. Is there a reason I shouldn't be? 

Cedric: Well, no one has ever done this itinerary before. It is a lot of walking. Are you sure you don't want to take the car? Most of our guests take the car. 

Me: Seriously? Cedric, I will be fine. Trust me.

Cedric: but it's 20 kilometers!

Me: Dude, Lucien and I walked 13 kilometers today. I could have done twice that. 20 won't be a problem. Promise.

Cedric: ....

Me: I absolve you from all liability for my very long walk.

Here's what this itinerary has done, besides scare Cedric: endeared me to all the guides at the lodge. So, when the sun was just starting to set, Illody (the lodge's vet) and Radu come grab me to go on an aye aye hunt. There are 2 aye ayes in the area. And they have the lady aye aye radial collared, so they have a general idea of where she is at. Tonight she was in her 29th nest (yes, she's built 29 nests in a year's time). We take the lodge truck as far as we can then set off on foot, quickly heading into the forest and the very sharp and very precarious tsingy. Tsingy is an ancient limestone formation that is characteristic in this area. It's fun to look at.  Not so much to touch. So says my scratched hands and slightly lacerated knee.

The Malagasy men with me are doing this in sandals. I've got my hiking shoes on and it's a struggle. I don't know how they do it.

We reach the aye aye's nest. And wait. And wait. And wait. Meanwhile, the forest is erupting with the screams and grunts and hollers of the brown lemur. They are loud little fuckers. And then... 

Movement in the trees! Shouting in Malagasy! Pretty sure swearing in Malagasy! Flashlights everywhere! 

She was there...and then she wasn't. Quick little thing, our girl. Only the tracker got a glimpse. And he said he only saw her tail.

We make our way back through the tsingy. I, miraculously, get out with only the small cut on my knee. And while I didn't get to see the aye aye, I did: get to trek through the woods and tsingy with 3 Malagasy men who were just as psyched as me to see the aye aye; see my first chameleon; and see the absolutely adorable golden brown mouse lemur, which is only found in this part of the world and is not held in captivity anywhere else.

On the ride back home I show Illody and Radu pictures of Gus, Étienne, and Mabel. I tell them all about Florida wildlife. Neither had heard of the manatee. So as soon as I had WiFi I pulled up pictures. They were astonished. And even more astonished that I can see them on the regular while paddle boarding. I forget sometimes that I live in a part of the world with incredible and diverse wildlife. I won't take that for granted going forward. Be prepared for night walks at Bungalow Bohème.

[molly2140]

Introducing Octavia Freeman 😎

Includes brief shit about my Half-Life universe.

Gordon has a twin sister, Octavia, she's approx. 4 hours younger than him if that matters haha. Their mother died during their birth (depressing as hell I know but I like the tragedy and dramatic shit), so their awesome father took it upon himself to raise his twin children the best he possibly can and give them a good life. Since Gordon can't speak, he, Octavia, and their father learned ASL in order for them all to communicate. Octavia acts as Gordon's voice and helps translate his signs for those who don't understand ASL. While growing up, Octavia becomes very defensive for Gordon, she hates when people make fun of him for not being able to speak. High school consisted of lots of fights and detentions for Octavia simply because she's defending her beloved twin. The two have a very unique bond, not only are they twins but they are best friends. Gordon has a really hard time opening up to other people, especially other girls, but he's always found it easy to confide in his sister, and Octavia is extremely supportive of him.

About a year after Gordon and Octavia graduate high school, their father falls ill and soon passes away, by then they are sharing an apartment on the university campus. Gordon is undoubtedly a genius, Octavia is quite intelligent as well, but she is studying for casual things such as photography and journalism, compared to Gordon who's clearly working for his PhD in science stuff. Soon after their father passes, Octavia finds herself taking the loss much worse than Gordon, and somewhere down the line she finds herself addicted to heroin. If Gordon wasn't home the night she finally overdosed, she would have died. During her rehabilitation and healing process, this brings the two of them closer and Gordon simply tells her that he cannot lose her, because she's the only family he has left. From that day forward, the two became even more inseparable.

Gordon and Octavia both end up at Black Mesa! Gordon obviously working in anomalous materials, whilst Octavia became the first female security guard, and she and Barney form a great friendship. Barney even tells her about his interest in Lauren, and she instantly hooks them up and everybody watches them fall in love. Octavia, like Barney, is a huge party animal, and enjoys grabbing some beers with Barney and Gordon after a long shift. Did I mention that Octavia and Barney are huge Queen fans? 😎 They will blast their music every day when they hit up the shooting range or while on lunch break. Also, Barney proposes to Lauren and Octavia was so happy when he announced it to her that she literally would not shut up about wedding plans for a whole week.

Black Mesa Incident time, yayyyy.

Octavia loses her shit when she can't find Gordon, she knew he was going in the test chamber that day, she wasn't supposed to know but he had told her anyways. She and Barney team up to fight the foreign alien creatures in order to escape Black Mesa alive. They are extremely pissed about the military simply executing any scientist or Black Mesa employee, however their highest priority is finding Gordon. Octavia and Barney get separated inside the Lambda facility, Octavia is trapped within and simply focuses on finding Gordon. She finds a portal to Zen, where she fights more of the alien creatures and soon realizes there's no way back to Earth. Suddenly the G-Man introduces himself to her, and offers her a job, she hesitates, but accepts when he tells her that he has Gordon. Together, the twins are put into stasis until their "hour has come again".

I'm not gonna get too much into the Half-Life 2 era stuff cause I'm planning on making a fan fic of it but here's some highlights and other facts about Octavia.

The land outside City 17 is fairly different, White Forest still exists, however everything is more inland and not next to the coast. The only large bodies of water are rivers and lakes. Technically City 17 is somewhere in Russia or in Soviet territory because I noticed a lot of the buildings and signs there are in Russian, but let's pretend City 17 is in the US because I want Octavia and Gordon to find their home as well as the ruins of Black Mesa. :3

City 17 has a wall around it that the Combine patrol heavily, the canals still exist but there is also underground tunnels that lie below City 17. The Combine are completely clueless of the underground tunnels, therefore Alyx uses them to help transport supplies and escort citizens to other outposts.

The Combine become aware of Gordon and Octavia's return a couple months after they arrive, unlike literally within the first day in the actual game.

Gordon and Alyx do fall in love of course. :)

Barney and Octavia fall in love too. :) Not gonna spoil shit about what happens to Lauren though I'm sure you can figure it out easily.

Eli's lab is far outside City 17, further west, so instead of it being called Black Mesa East, it's now Black Mesa West. It's actually a fairly large building that is partially submerged underground and is hidden in the trees so the Combine aren't aware of it. There's a nice open area to the south of the lab where Alyx and Dog have plenty of room to play fetch.

Since the lab is partially submerged underground, kinda like some houses where the back end is underground but the front isn't, that's literally this concept. So you can basically walk onto the roof, and that's Barney and Octavia's hang-out spot. This is also the spot where they confide in each other and talk about their tragedies, for Octavia, her heroin addiction and overdose, and for Barney, what happened to Lauren.

Oh yeah they also stole a Combine helicopter and fixed up Black Mesa style. 😎

Octavia helps Barney cope with his reoccurring nightmares over Lauren and the things he's seen working undercover, oh, and about that cat.

Barney managed to save some of the old mixtapes he and Octavia made back in the day, as well as the portable cassette player, which he rigged so it doesn't need batteries. So they constantly jam out to their favorite old tunes when hanging out or going on supply runs or hunting trips.

Octavia is definitely a night owl, Gordon is as well and they both have troubles sleeping sometimes. Gordon sometimes joins Octavia on the roof at 3am to talk some energy out in hopes of going back to sleep.

The classic desert eagle is Octavia's preferred weapon, the one she used while on security at Black Mesa. She is forever grateful that Barney managed to find and keep her prized gun after the Incident, as well as Gordon's infamous crowbar. The crowbar he still swears his life on by the way, ha.

Like Alyx, Octavia is quite fit and flexible, it's obvious they're experts at parkour. ;) If you haven't noticed, Alyx has a hoodie underneath her leather jacket with the Black Mesa logo, so I decided Octavia's shirt should have the Lambda logo with a similar color concept as seen on Gordon's HEV suit.

Octavia sometimes will go undercover with Barney to try and understand what he does every day, as well as gain more Combine information. She starts doing this soon before they confide in each other and confess their newfound love for each other. They definitely feel like they're working together again like in the old days but now forming secret crushes on each other.

Okay I'm not gonna spill too many more details without spoiling everything haha. But this is Octavia, as well as a brief explanation on my Half-Life universe. I showed my finished drawing of Octavia to my boyfriend and he swears she looks like me in real life but I don't see it other than the fact we both wear glasses and we both have our hair in ponytails all the time lol. The pose was based off of Kibbitzer's reference sheets, as mentioned before, you can find Kibbitzer's sheets on DeviantArt, their Patreon, or by simply searching it in Google. So yeah, this is my OC, Octavia Freeman, I hope you guys like her because I've put a lot of thought into her character and I've never done that with my other OCs haha. But I'm really proud of it. :)

[thedaveandkimmershow]

We left our story yesterday on our way back to our suite for some peace and rest… which we got. Even the kids were seriously down for a nap. In fact, we woke up before they did.

Now, one of the items on Kimmer's and Rachel's To-Do lists is to hit a Disney outlet store 'cause 1) Kimmer's quite taken by the idea of scoring a t-shirt or something from cruises that actually didn't happen. That would be merchandise manufactured for cruises that we're to take place in 2020 but didn't since all cruise ships were grounded. And 2) Rachel's on the hunt for other and less expensive Disney gifts for friends and family.

In the end, I think none of us were really drawn to anything we saw at that store. I think Kimmer walked away with a very sweet Mulan pin and exactly half of what Rachel found was for herself.

We were in a mall, though, so we poked around for a bit. Kimmer found me a black Hurley t-shirt because yup.

I've gotta sunburn.

I think this t-shirt's called a rash guard in surfing circles. Whatever it is, it's comfy, it fits, and I'll be wearing it with my swim trunks tomorrow at Blizzard Beach 'cause I really don't need any more burn than I've already got.

New shirt in hand, we jump a Lyft to Epcot where we pick up our day in The Land pavilion. Soarin' first, wonders of the world. Then that boat ride, Living With The Land, where you learn a little about ecosystem, farming, and some pretty impressive, better sustainable,.used in the park methods for growing food.

After that, the girls head off to the Magic Kingdom where they wanna end the night whilst we head off to the food & wine festival happening around the lake. Our plan's to explore around the UK side but we immediately fall for the temptation of Canada's menus of fillet mignon and cheddar soup with pretzel bread.

Seriously, it was the first stand we passed. But it.

Was.

Yummy.

😁

After, we continued walking in the direction of France… but nothing spoke to us and all the lines in France were too long. So we head back down the lake, out if the park, to the monorail station where we meet a.lovely family of four from Georgia. They're a little anxious on behalf of their kids 'cause the Disney Magic Kingdom fireworks show could start any minute now and they won't get a shot at seeing this particular version of that show.

Unfortunately, by the time we walk through the front gates of the Magic Kingdom, the show's in full swing.

☹️

We had no such expectations, fortunately, no plans to see the fireworks or the imagery projected onto Sleeping Beauty's Castle. That was all lovely and spectacular, of course…

But we were there for dessert.

We purposefully, then, make our way along Main Street to the Ice Cream parlor, last establishment on the right before the park's hub.

Now here's the thing. Kimmer has a nut allergy that encompasses all nuts except coconuts. So desserts… are always a challenge.

Always.

So Kimmer asks the question about nuts and exposure… and it's a pretty noisy environment just then and I think I see the cashier shake her head and mouth "no". Which I take to mean that everything's been exposed to nuts

But.

Turns out the opposite's true as the manager even offers to make Kimmer's Coke Float in a separate area with newly cleaned utensils.

And yes. That absolutely sealed the deal. And it's how, for the second time this trip, Disney's managed to provide her with a delicious, no risk dessert.

You have no idea what a gift that is

Me, I ordered an ice cream sundae with warm brownie and we walked our desserts across the way.

Quick Disney Tip: these tables clear out almost immediately once the fireworks are done. So if you don't care as much about endings, you can order your ice cream and score a table right away.

Also:

If you're looking to score ice cream on your way out the park at closing, the parlour on your right, walking from the direction of Sleeping Beauty's Castle will be closed whilst the one on the left, the one we landed on, stays open. In fact a long, packed line of people forms just as soon as the show's over and everyone starts streaming to the front gates.

By the way, one of the employees there, bless her heart, was super into the music outside. She sang along with her eyes open. She sang with her eyes closed. She sang with all her heart. And when she was done, she rushed to the window to see if Tinker Bell was flying.

Which.

She.

Was.

It's important, by the way, because she always has a good night when that happens.

🙂

The four of us finished out our night with desserts and stories around a table for four right there across from Sleeping Beauty's Castle before heading home for the night.

We weren't quite done with our day, though. There was laundry to do 'cause there's a washer/dryer in our suite and it's super easy to handle.

Also, the day turned into quite a time for losing things: my water bottle that I actually left on the ride. I got it back when I was sent through the exit to the platform where they'd already found it and cheerfully handed it over

Linzy lost her water bottle too, although pretty much she simply forgot that she left it on the counter when we left for the evening.

Rachel, though, the bag in which she stashed gifts for family and friends was legitimately gone. Most likely on the Disney shuttle that took us from the Magic Kingdom to the Transportation.

We don't know what's gonna happen but Disney personnel will go through the bus at end of shift and relay anything they find with Disney City Hall. Rachel's already contacted them and we'll just have to hope for a touch of luck

We've definitely got a routine that gets us out the door by eight… so we do that again and begin our fourth day in the Animal Kingdom with a return engagement of the Na'vi River Journey, an experience that's even better the second time around because there's so much depth to what Imagineers have created.

After that, Kimmer and Rachel make their way to the Tough To Be A Bug 3D performance whilst Linzy 'n I head over to Expedition Everest 'cause we're just straight up gluttons for punishment.

On the way, we're distracted by a live presentation of Macaws, a type of New World parrots that are long-tailed and colorful.

They were magnificent. At the end, one flew straight at and over me. And then a few beats later a bunch of them followed suit.

It was all amazing and terrifying at the same time

After the roller coaster and a few photo ops, Linzy and I met up with Kimmer and Rachel. We did a quick partner swap that sent the girls out for more shopping whilst the missus 'n I shared a breakfast sandwich over the river.

We rejoined the girls I'm Dino Land where Linzy's identified a ride that was built over the Indiana Jones ride track design but with a dino narrative. The girls enjoyed it first, we followed a few minutes later, then we all took a moment at a table in the main part of Dino Land for some photo reviewing and popcorn.

Afterward, the girls head off for Africa looking for a gift for Rachel's sister whilst we hop a bus (a wonderfully empty bus) for our second visit to Blizzard Beach.

Once we had our swimwear on, we walked a little until we notice inflatable chairs floating invitingly in the Lazy River. So we race down and situate ourselves in them and they.

We're.

Wonderful.

Good grief. They're super easy to get into. There's like zero chance of flipping over when you do. And, for me at least, they also seem to facilitate naps.

About three quarters of the way around our lap, we changed to clear ones with green handles 'cause Kimmer loves green and, you know, what the heck.

About three quarters of the way around our second lap, the girls ran into is, having slipped into the river a half hour before.

After that, the four of us in the warm waters of the wave pool followed by a tuna sandwich and chips lunch whilst air drying under an intense sun while then girls, I'm thinking, scored some donuts.

The girls caught up again when we were indulging our new tradition of grape fruit hefeweizen at Freddy's Shack.

Okay one last thing:

The ride back to our condo was helmed by another charming gentleman from Venezuela. We actually got into a pretty involved conversation that ranged from working as a bank executive to being forced to leave his country to trying to starting new in this country to facing employment language and age barriers to teaching in a Spanish teaching school to transportation management to Uber to Lyft to real estate.

Then we talked family. A pair of kids. Five grandkids that he and his wife help with during the day.

But his kids?

A teacher. A NASA engineer. And then the spouse of one of his kids who's also a NASA engineer. And then the fact that he's gotten to watch four shuttle launches. Two during the day. Two at night. And those nighttime launches absolutely turn the darkness of night into the brightness of day.

And so on.

It really is something when you talk stories with people you don't know.

🙂🙂🙂