#loser's blind lightning round

[march-gay-shipping-madness]

THE LOSER'S BRACKET IS OVER! CONGRATULATIONS TO KIRYU AND MAJIMA!

[heardsomedickwasbeinmeantoyou]

TEASER TUESDAY

this is from (what has evolved into) my jealous!eddie fic asdfhjkljjjjsksk. it's canon compliant, so far, and i actually shared the first half for snippet sunday but i'm including it here, too, because it's changed quite a bit since then.

WARNING: i personally have no hate for tommy, but eddie is becoming increasingly jealous af over tevan—and is also devastated about chris leaving and sad in general right now bc of it—and therefore kinda digging in on hating on the guy in this particular story.

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“It'll always be you, Eds.”

Buck beams at him from across the table and Eddie thinks of Texas sunshine in late July and of violet flames and Supernovas.

He feels his best friend's words and that blinding smile in his gut like a constant, gnawing hunger, but Eddie's an old hand at starving himself of his desires and doesn't know how to answer anyway so just winks and smiles back, and it's a dim little effort peeking out from the cover of the shady place Eddie's been cowering in for a while—ever since the brutal incandescence of the lightning strike, since Buck fucking died—while he tries his utmost not to freak out two-fold: 1) at the non-stop panic attack-inducing possibility of something as completely fucked-up as those three minutes and seventeen seconds happening al over again and 2) self-abasing distress over whether or not here is just where Eddie lives, now.

Dwindling in the shadows.

He crosses his arms over his chest (his heart) and breathes in deeply yet silently, and is motionless as possible as he prays his wild-eyed expression isn't giving away his hard-won hiding place.

Buck shouldn't be able to just—say stuff like that to him. It's torture. And while Eddie may very well be a masochist, he does have his limits. Sure, right now his partner is actually only talking about them teaming up for Pictionary and whatever other games the group will undoubtedly end up threatening each other over this evening, but still. Eddie can't help but hear some things in the way he is so desperate to hear them.

Those things he wishes Buck meant for real.

Whether Eddie is capable of openly admitting it or not (maybe he has some kind of weird defect when it comes to this shit?), he now knows inherently that it'll always be Buck for him from here on out

Then Buck is merciless, adding, “You're my Ride or Die, Diaz! It's you and me forever, right?” just to up the torture and consequently murder Eddie in cold blood right here in the middle of Hen and Karen's living room in front of all their friends.

And ¡Dios mio!, Eddie is so totally fucking fucked.

Despite himself, he nods and huffs out a small laugh, confirming, “Ride or Die, Buckley,” while cursing the blood vessels in his neck and cheeks and ears as he flushes a shade of scarlet redder than the sacred Mexican Heart under the scrutiny of the entire gang (bar Bobby and Athena), fists clenching further where they're balled up beneath his armpits.

Chimney raises his beer in the air. “Alright, alright, settle down you bunch of reprobates! All Ride or Die teams have been established, so, everybody buddy up and take your places beside each other now, please. I believe that you all have a drink…” and he looks around the table to check if his estimate is correct before continuing. “Yes, cool, okay, so. It is therefore once again time to find out who this month's Most Powerful Party Gaming Duo will be—” and he turns to Maddie and says, “Don't worry pookie, nobody's taking away our reigning champion title tonight; we got this.”

Maddie smiles at her husband, sweet as sugar cookies, before addressing the rest of the room with a savage, “Get ready to have your asses handed to you, Losers!” 

There is a round of disgusted gasps being gasped and disbelieving heads being shaken and defensive fists being waved in the air, all amid Hen's, “Reigning champions? You won one time. And who the hell made you Gamesmaster Han, anyway? My house, my rules, Howard.” And then Karen's adding, “I think you'll find it's actually our house, my rules, babe,” in her wife's direction, she and everybody else now moving around the table like they're playing musical chairs—Eddie stubbornly stays put because if you ask him, it's more than enough that he's managing to be here, period—as each of them pairs up with their chosen teammates into squads made up of Significant Others.

Husband and wife. Wife and wife. Two sets of Boyfriends and girlfriends. Josh and his date. 

Eddie and Buck. 

Except it isn’t Eddie and Buck, not really. Not at all, actually, at least not in the way Eddie wants it to be—fucking needs it like his blood needs to move oxygen around his body to keep him alive—because Eddie will only ever be Buck’s ‘forever’ whenever Tommy isn’t around.

The Air Operations pilot is on shift tonight, thank fuck. Eddie honestly isn’t sure of what he would have done if Buck’s boyfriend had come over this evening. Bailed on the whole thing, probably. 

He becomes vaguely aware of the half-moon shapes that must be forming in the heels of his palms from where his short fingernails are trying their best to break the skin, and wonders when exactly it was that he started referring to his buddy, Tommy, as ‘The Pilot’. Although Eddie isn't sure of whether the term buddy can really be applied any longer, not since the dynamics between Tommy and Buck changed, and Eddie hasn’t heard from Pilot Boy in weeks. And, okay, so the reason for that is most likely the fact that Eddie kept brushing the guy off like a first class asshole, until Tommy just stopped bothering to call. But honestly, he just can’t bring himself to give a shit about whatever the new buddyship between the pair of them might have bloomed into—not when the sneaky fuck stole his Buck.

If the skin on the palms of Eddie’s hands wasn’t so calloused from work he's pretty sure there'd be blood dripping from them right now. 

“Hey, you okay, man?”

Buck has swapped seats with May and is now bumping Eddie’s shoulder and knee with his own, and Eddie wants to fucking die. 

“What? Oh, sure, peachy. You?” 

“Yeah, I'm good, Eddie. You just—you look a little—” 

“How we feelin’ about our odds tonight then, amigo? Think we can take the title?” Eddie can't change the subject fast enough. 

Steady as ever, Buck just goes with the flow and rolls with Eddie's punches like the seasoned champ he is. 

“I really think tonight could be our night, Eds.” 

Pure. Fucking. Torture.

“Eh, your artistic prowess isn't exactly well documented, Buck.”

Buck scoffs in mock-offence that has a little too much bite for it to be entirely pretend. “I absolutely beg to differ, actually, and so would—”

Christopher.

Their eyes meet for less than a second before Eddie is looking away, yet that's all it takes for him to spot the anguish swirling round his best friend's baby blues. It's like oil in water: Two things that should just never be put together.

“Eds—”

Eddie clears his throat and tries to swallow down the lump that's instantly formed, in an attempt to fill the other gaping hole in his heart; the one that sits right next to the empty space that belongs to Buck.

He can't do this right now. Not here.

“To be fair, I'm not much better, so.” His voice sounds like somebody else's.

Somebody better than him.

Again, Buck pulls on the thread Eddie's left dangling for him, the way he's supposed to. “Well that is bullshit and you know it,” he counters, with a parental look of admonishment that's become polished over the years with the ton of practice that he's had with—

This time Eddie can't keep his deep breathing covert, so he sucks in two big lungs full before exhaling sharply and grabbing at his beer. He takes a long swig to distract himself from his wayward thoughts, and the IPA is nowhere near as bitter as the foul taste already festering away on his tongue.

“You're too hard on yourself, Eddie. You always have been. You need to—you gotta learn to be kinder to yourself, man. Realise that—that some things, such as art,” Buck says pointedly, as if Eddie doesn't know that he's not talking exclusively about Eddie's mediocre willow charcoal skills, “they can just—take a little extra time and patience, is all.” 

God, Eddie loves him so much he aches right down to his fucking bone marrow.

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tagged by the lovely @inell — thanks, boo! my tags are beneath the cut...

@rosieposiepuddingnpie @sortasirius @angela-feelstoomuch @woodchoc-magnum @veronae-buddie @kitteneddiediaz @buddiebeginz @eddiegettingshot @mazzystar24 and anybody else who wants to do the thing!

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Zeus´s Zeal

“To your right you can see the ruins of the fabled temple of Zeus, the once deity patron of the city. A statue in his honor was considered a world wonder in the ancient world. Now if you follow me…”

The enthusiastic tour guide waved her little red flag to gather the group of students listening to her. It was a particularly windy summer day when Markie Laur and some of his college classmates were taken on a tour through Greek archeological sites. This excursion was one of the only excuses’ students found in order to participate in this lecture. Markie himself had little to do in a Greek and Roman mythology course, being an engineering major. His two best friends convinced him to join the course so they could do a tour around Europe together. Besides, the free credits were always welcome.

The excursion moved sluggishly through the different ruins in the archeological site. Some students were very interested in the information and keen in on learning more. They engaged in discussion and conversation with the tour guide and their professor. Markie and his friends were none of them. They hung out in the back of the tour. Robert was showing Jordan different bars in Amsterdam on his phone, both plotting enthusiastically how many drugs they would be able to take and how many European girls were they going to take back to their hotel room once they were there. Markie just hung out on the back watching the sites in peace. Although the three 21 year old college students shared the same nerdy nature, Markie was the shyest of the three. He didn´t share the other two´s deliriums of grandeur, nor sexual preference for the matter. His insecure nature made him unsure to come out to the supposedly closest friends he had in college. He was friends with Robert and Jordan out of survival instinct more than true friendship.

Markie and Robert landed in the same dorm room on their freshman year. Jordan was Robert´s hometown neighbor that had the luck of landing in the same college as his best friend. Both were boastful economy majors who tried and failed constantly in on inserting themselves amongst the more popular social circles. Markie was more down to earth than the other two, completely conscious that the combination of his cherub face, short unathletic body and shy personality automatically put him on the bottom layer of the Darwinist ladder that was college life. Robert saw the physical similarities of his roommate as a reason to adopt him into their duo, and so the three of them started hanging out together, playing videogames, making complex plans to get into some fraternity parties and talking about their crushes. Markie just went along with it. Drug use, even though mild was where he drew the line, completely paranoid that he was going to get expelled if caught.

Now the three of them were finishing their sophomore year with cero conquests under their belts, so their trip to Europe was the only hope of Robert and Jordan to get some of the validation they had been craving.

The sun started setting down as the tour started heading towards the information center to compare notes and conclude the visit. The day had gotten increasingly stormy, with dark clouds gathering on the sky and blocking the sunset light. Markie was still on the far back of the group, his gaze scanning the surrounding ruins. He started wondering why the site was so empty, with none other than the little group ahead of him on sight.

“Maybe there´s bad weather coming.”

He thought as a chill crossed his spine. He stopped to take his sweater out of his backpack, completely missing that everyone, including his friends continued advancing down the road until he was left completely alone. Markie put on his oversized college sweatshirt, his body practically drowning in the garment. He looked around searching for his friends, but there was no one on sight. An ominous wind started blowing, moving the grass with an eerie rhythm. The trees rustled next to him, and the faint sound of thunder resonated in the distance.

“Guys? Rob?”

His anxiety started acting out, as he nervously wandered on the dirt road looking for his friends. The path started to disappear slowly, leaving tall luscious grass behind. An unseen force was guiding Markie through the glade. His mind was racing, already making up hundreds of scenarios where he got lost and was never able to return home. He just felt he needed to move forward, and so he did. The breeze around him kept getting stronger, with little droplets of rain being blown straight into his face.

Suddenly Markie found himself right in the middle of the ruins of the temple of Zeus. He recognized them from the tour, being the only part that really caught his attention for some reason. The sound of thunder kept getting stronger, as the air current suddenly started to form a whirlwind around him. The rain had gotten stronger, pouring down furiously and completely drenching him.

Markie started having a panic attack, his breathing getting to the point of hyperventilation. He suddenly felt an incredible pressure on top of him. He looked up to one of the columns and saw a gigantic golden eagle perched on top of it. A bright lightning bolt completely blinded his eyesight for an instant, and when he looked up once again, he was confronted with a vision of the most perfect man he had ever seen.

His gargantuan chest was framed by two sets of enormous shoulders, which were connected to two arms so muscular they must have been around the same girth as Markie´s waist. Powerful legs supported the massive body of the gorgeous man, whose height made him seem double the body size of the little 5´6 college student. The luscious curls of his golden beard fell right in the middle of his chest, as his gorgeous mane of equally beautiful hair framed a face that looked near aesthetic perfection. Features that exuded masculinity, but still kept a supernatural beauty that was only present in the sculptures of antiquity. The man was wearing a white robe tied only on top of one of his shoulders, with big golden bracelets on each of his wrists. The man emitted a light glow from his body, like his whole silhouette was encased in a halo.

“Who—o a—are you? Did I die?”

Asked Markie nervously. His gaze couldn’t find anything else other than the godly fantasy in front of him.

“Silence boy. I´m going to grant you a gift. A gift all mortals would kill for.”

“A gift? Please don´t hurt me. I´m really sorry if I trespassed, I can´t find….”

“I said quiet!”

The man roared with fury. Markie managed to get out a panicked yelp as thunder stroke the ground all around him.

“You really remind me of him. Come and find me when you´re ready. All your questions will be answered. Enjoy it boy, for it will come with a price.”

The man pointed his finger at him. Suddenly Markie felt a jolt of electricity course all across his body. He was afraid he was going to be fried by the stud in front of him. Lighting fell again very close to the man, completely blinding Markie again. When he looked up the storm was gone, and so was the man. He briefly thought he imagined everything, until he felt his soaking wet clothes. He could also still feel the light static effect he felt when the stranger raised his finder towards him. He wondered if his friends had pranked him by sneaking in some hallucinogen into his water bottle when the annoyed voice of his professor grounded him back on reality.

“Mr. Laur, may I remind you that profanation of ancient heritage sites is strictly punished by the law? Come back here this instant. The bus is waiting for us.”

Markie rushed out of the ruins to join his classmates on the bus back into town. He briefly looked back at Zeus´s temple one last time, and thought he saw a big bird fly fast into the sky.

 “Whoa man did you jump into the fountain or something?”

Asked Robert when he saw his roommate entering the bus soaking wet.

“Very funny Rob. It was the rain.”

Answered Markie unenthusiastically as he took the seat behind Robert and Jordan.

“What rain dude, its as dry as Angela´s pussy over there.”

Whispered Jordan giggling whilst nodding in the direction of one of their most conservative classmates. Markie didn´t even reply to his friend´s crude comment, as the bus slowly departed the site towards the hotel. Olympia wasn´t a big city, but his classmates had already made plans in meeting in the small bar next to the hotel to talk about the trip so far and have some drinks. Robert and Jordan kept snorting and laughing from time to time watching some random insta-girl´s page.

“What a pair of losers.”

Thought Markie to himself as he pondered on his friends’ blatant misogyny. He kept staring out the window into the dark void in front of him. His smooth boyish face greeted him back on the black window. He took a moment to really look at himself. Other than the childish rounded cheeks and soft features, he wasn´t so ugly. His dark brown eyes gave him a friendly look, and his teeth were straight and white. He could look much cuter if he put some effort into it. Stop shaving his dark brown hair with an electric razor, paid an actual hairstylist to get him on of those popular haircuts every guy on the internet had and get some actual sunlight in order to improve the corpse looking hue on his skin would get him far. He could finally stop hanging out with those guys.

The sudden confidence rush went away as fast as it came, leaving Markie languishing in self doubt once again.

“Who am I kidding? I´ll never have the confidence to be on my own.”

Crippling social anxiety and low self esteem were the true shackles tying him to a lonely existence, not the way he looked. Confidence could completely change someone´s image of themselves, making him attractive to himself and by inertia to others as well.

The sudden epiphany caused a golden spark to light in on Markie´s eyes, just an instant so he could see it, but not slow enough so he could know if it was real or a product of his imagination. The static feeling was slowly turning into a constant tingling spreading all across his body. A droplet of sweat travelled down his temple as he felt his body heat slowly rising. He took away his sweatshirt only to find his equally wet t-shirt clinging to his thin body, but showing a tiny strip of skin belonging to his lower belly. If it were dry Markie would´ve also noticed a certain tightness on the kid sized garment, his torso gaining an almost imperceptible amount of mass. He still felt as if he was being asphyxiated by his own clothes. His temperature was rising so high that he could almost feel a humidity cloud form all around him coming from his wet clothes.

“Markie! Man you´re really off today.”

Markie was so busy fighting his need to rip his t-shirt off so hard he barely noticed the curious eyes of both of his friends staring at him.

“We need to get you some new clothes. You have to look your best if we´re gonna go hunting man!”

Said Robert enthusiastically as he high fived Jordan. Markie just answered with a nervous laugh as he kept trying not to cause a scene in a moving vehicle.

After what felt like an eternity the bus arrived at the hotel. Markie practically jumped out of his seat and rushed towards the exit. He could also feel his jeans ending a bit above his ankles, and his shoes constricting his feet. The first thing he thought was that the water had shrunken his clothes, but after feeling the sensation spread along the static tingling, he suspected this could be related to that fever dream he had in the ruins.

The professor gathered everyone right outside the bus to plan the rest of the evening. Markie stood there impatiently among his fellow classmates feeling increasing discomfort. The tingling turned to numbness, making him lose sensation on his hands and feet. The only thing he wanted was to get back to his room so he could wash himself and get into fresh clothes. His usual nervous expression started turning into an angry sneer, as his impatience grew along with his discomfort. As soon as the professor dismissed them, Markie rushed straight through the small hotel doors directly to the room he shared with his two friends. He got into the bathroom slamming the door behind him.

He was sweating profusely and his body heat started rising so high an actual steam cloud started forming around him. The numbness in his limbs had turn into an excruciating pain, as cramps travelled all across his body tensing the little muscle mas he had. He felt like he was being electrocuted. He looked into the mirror and was greeted by a bizarre image of himself wearing a little kid´s clothes. The t-shirt looked more like a crop top now, the little sleeves were being strained by two longer arms. His pants were riding halfway up his calves. He managed to kick out the shoes that were also clearly a few sizes too small for his grown feet. Markie did his best not to scream in pain due to the sensations assaulting his body.

The small lightbulb illuminating the bathroom started flickering and a small air current started forming around Markie. A sharp pain in his stomach made him turn to the toilet and throw up the little food he had ingested during the day. Shivers crossed his body as the cramps got stronger. He could see the ligaments in his hands contracting and moving on their own because of the strong muscle spasms. He turned his face back into the bowl and retched loudly clasping his stomach, tears of effort running down his cheeks.

“Markie? Are you alright in there?”

Asked Robert knocking on the bathroom door. He was so distracted by the sensations assaulting his body that he completely missed his friends enter the hotel room. He responded with a quiet “yeah” and made a conscious effort in making it sound as calm as possible. The last thing he wanted was those guys seeing him in his current state.

“I´ll be out in a minute.”

Said Markie as he managed to pull himself back on his feet. The wind in the bathroom had gotten stronger, and Markie could swear he could hear the faint sound of thunder inside the room. He grabbed the edge of the sink and looked into the mirror. His face was completely red, and his hair was dripping sweat as if a cloud was pouring rain on top of him. He looked at himself straight in the eyes, and then it happened. A golden color started to seep out of his pupils, changing the brown hue of his iris. It looked like molten gold was being directly injected into his eyes. Once the new color took completely over, the lightbulb started shining so bright it completely burst after a few seconds. Markie heard the glass shards fall on the ground, and the room was left in complete darkness. The only source of light were his iridescent golden eyes.

He tried to move to the side, but he accidentally stepped on a few glass pieces and slipped on the wet floor. He howled in pain and steadied himself with the bathroom sink. He also didn’t realize his hand moved way too close to the electrical outlets next to the mirror. A faint crackling sound could be heard, and white sparks started jumping out of the outlet.  Suddenly, a lightning bolt shot straight out of the outlet directly into Markie´s hand. He tried to scream, but not a single noise came out of his mouth. The wind started flowing stronger, forming a vortex with the college student straight in the center. Another lightning bolt coming from an electrical outlet on top of the floor flew straight heading for his other hand. Both currents formed two chain lightning shackles that tied the boy in the center of the room.

Markie felt vertigo, as his growth spurt continued on an accelerated pace, putting him over a foot from his original height. His feet grew proportionally to help him stabilize his now towering stature, the skin on his soles hardening and expelling the glass shards he slipped on earlier. The electric shackles started spreading lighting bolts up his arms and into his torso, completely burning the remains of the already ripped small t-shirt. He felt an excruciating pain while his bone structure changed. His clavicle extended, pushing both of his shoulders further to the sides. His ribcage also expanded together with his waist. The remains of his pants started digging painfully into the skin of his hips. Once the bones finished their transformation, the pain started to subside.

Markie stood in the middle of the room completely disoriented. His new height made everything take on different dimensions and the irregular sparks and lightning bolts were illuminating the bathroom in all kinds of bizarre ways. Not to mention the wind throwing all kinds of hygiene supplies all around. His gaze found his reflection in the mirror. He looked like an underfed giant of a man. It was like the little muscle mass he had was distributed evenly across his new size, leaving him practically just bones and skin. He watched the flashy shackles fascinated, as sparks jumped and squirmed in the air before fading into blackness.

Suddenly, he felt the strong static feeling on his wrists, as lightning bolts dug under his skin and spread through his body. He could feel the electrical current inside of him, the pain of the intense cramps returning in major scale. Electricity was contracting every muscle fiber, breaking and healing them very rapidly. New muscle nuclei started forming as well in order to endure the work the chain lightning was putting them through. Markie´s hands were the first to grow. Delicate long fingers filled with strong muscle, as his palms expanded and hardened. Callouses formed to protect them from the heavy labor they were now designed to do. They looked comically large, comparable to big baseball mitts on a small child. The transformation immediately shot right up his forearms, expanding them to incredible size that would put Popeye out of work without question. Strong sinews connected his powerful hands to his elbows, giving them a vice like strength too atop of their intimidating look. His upper arms picked up on the growth too, biceps inflating to the size of a cantaloupe and triceps completely defying gravity jutting so far out the back of his arms it looked like someone had welded big horseshoes on his already enormous arms. The shoulders expanded next, gaining epic proportions comparable to a pumpkin on top of each arm. Markie gritted his teeth in pain as he caught a glimpse of what has happening to him. He looked like a doll that had gotten the arms of a He-Man toy accidentally glued on his lanky torso.

A strong spasm in his chest caused him to fall forwards, the shackles on his arms preventing him from touching the ground. He was scared for a second, he was having a heart attack, as each pectoral muscle twitched and pulsed manipulated by the electric current. His chest started inflating rapidly in all directions, rising high on the top reaching for his chin, and squaring off in the bottom, leaving a big shelf hanging from the distressed student´s upper body. The electric bolts reached for his nipples, hardening them and expanding them until the former tack sized miniatures grew to a more manly dollar coin size.

Markie could feel the electricity running all across his spine, engorging his back so support such a top-heavy body. His traps developed in the upper part, reaching for his ears, and his lats expanded to the sides pushing the gargantuan arms to the sides on a permanent forty-degree angle. His lower back developed strongly to support the heavy muscle on the top. Then he felt as if someone was punching him straight on his stomach, as each individual abdominal muscle popped from his midsection, carving a deep valley in the center of his body, and leaving him with a truly enviable small waist that made the proportions on the upper body look more freakish.

The cramps then travelled down his waist, focusing on his practically non-existent glutes, contracting and twisting them. His ass started to slowly inflate into two pairs of gravity defying boulders, completely ripping the rest of his pants and leaving Markie with his tight white briefs, which looked more like a thong being swallowed by the two monstrous muscles. His manhood was left completely ignored by the electrical current, leaving him practically flat on the front. Each quadricep spasmed and developed deep cut muscle, growing to gigantic proportions in order to move this behemoth of a body around. Calves inflated next leaving him with two powerful football looking muscles ready to propel Markie in whichever direction he wanted. His feet were the last part of his body to change, filling with powerful strength to support the now card-carrying bodybuilder.

As soon as the last part of his body concluded growing, the electrical shackles were absorbed into Markie´s body. He started to emit a faint glow, dimly illuminating the bathroom. His pale skin took on a golden hue. He looked into the mirror once again and he saw his face with two glowing eyes on top of a body that wasn’t his. The miniature storm inside the room also subsided, leaving him quietly staring into the mirror.

“Is that really me?”

Asked Markie to himself whilst touching his powerful chest. He accidentally brushed one of his nipples with his hand, and it caused a small electrical current to travel across his chest. Only this time it wasn´t pain what he felt, but pleasure. Markie had a very prude attitude, barely exploring sex by himself, let alone with somebody else. But this sensation sparked something else in him. An instinct buried so deeply within insecurities, that it had remained imperceptible to him. But something inside his was pushing him to do it again, to finally unleash the real him.

“I can´t believe it. This can´t be real.”

Markie raised an arm and flexed. Powerful muscle twitched and pumped inside of him, his bicep raising higher and higher. He chuckled slightly. A quiet laugh that increased in intensity, as Markie explored and felt every new part of his anatomy. He then took his other nipple between his fingers and pinched it slightly. An even stronger pleasure jolt shot across his body.

The college boy was becoming less and less of a boy the more he touched himself. Confidence was flooding every inch of his being. Someone who looked like a God should behave as a God as well thought Markie, while his slow caresses of his body turned to an intense erotic massage. His hand touched the deep crevices of his abdomen, and slowly found its way to the boy´s less than impressive endowment.

“This simply won´t do.”

Said Markie in a quasi-trance like state. He slowly reached to the electrical outlet again, and focused all of his energy in summoning that spark again. His call was quickly answered, as an intense lightning bolt shot straight towards his hand again.

“Yes. Give me more. More strength. More power.”

Said Markie, his boyish voice taking on a powerful commanding voice. He then took the hand connected with the electricity to his crotch, and grabbed his bulge once again. The electricity then travelled directly into his manhood, shotting bolts of pleasure all over Markie´s body. His mind was filled with images of intimacy, of epic scenes of desire and encyclopedic sexual knowledge.

“Fuck yeah. More.”

He cursed for the first time in his life, while the overwhelming sensation clouded the last of his senses and erased the old Markie from existence, leaving a blank canvas for his new godly persona to take place. His manhood started growing to divine proportions, completely straining the briefs to the point of breaking. White tatters fell to the floor, as his equine endowment raised straight and up, reaching almost a foot in length. Like the rest of his body, the girth proportions adjusted too, leaving him with practically an extra limb on his lower body, as thick as a baby arm. His testicles inflated like water balloons until each was the size of a lemon. The powerful divine seed inside them started seeping it´s essence to the rest of his body, as Markie reached the final step of his transformation.

His neck thickened, and his moans of pleasure started dropping in pitch until his boy-like cadence reached an intimidating deep baritone. He grunted as his mandible contorted and expanded into comic book hero proportions. A cleft formed on his powerful chin, and his teeth grew to fit the new size of his mandible. His lips thinned out giving him a serious look. The baby fat on his cheeks evaporated, leaving sharp angular features behind. His nose remained straight, but grew to accommodate the aesthetic of the new man´s face. His brow expanded and hooded over his eyes, giving him a stern serious look.

His shaved brown hair then started growing on the top, parting sideways and acquiring a thick silky texture, along with a golden tone. The new blonde´s body hair flourished right afterwards. Clear body hair sprouted on his forearms and on top of his hands, but the rest of him remained smooth. The hair in his pits and on his pubic region also changed to a blonde hue, before falling down leaving the new man completely shaved. Changes in the hair follicles were made, as this was a very hairy man that manscaped regularly. Thick stubble then grew on his face, leaving a permanent five o´clock shadow. Finally, a thick mustache and a soul patch formed around his mouth, completing the transformation.

Where once stood a puny college student, now stood a complete god of a man. The former 21 year old looked almost a decade older, not that it would worry him too much because his mind also started changing to accommodate the new bodybuilder. His fears and worries completely evaporated, leaving behind a man that lived in the moment. He ate when he wanted to, he went where he wanted to and he fucked whenever he wanted to. His repulsion for his nickname grew, and he decided to adopt his full name from ow on.  Where there was once a Markie now stood Marcus, the champion of the thunder god Zeus.

He flexed and roared in triumph as one last lightning bolt shot through the outlet reaching him. Veins started popping on his arms and legs, like lightning coursing through a stormy sky. He turned around and opened the bathroom door, stepping into the world for the first time.

“What do you think of this one?”

Said Jordan whilst showing his friend one of the many fedora hats he brought to the trip.

“Who cares? Fedoras aren’t cool anymore man. It´s all over the internet, look it up.”

Answered Robert exasperated of having to go through another wardrobe dilemma. He couldn´t stop thinking about Markie and his weirder than usual attitude these last couple of hours. His roommate had been in the bathroom for a while now, but there was no sound coming from the bathroom ever since Markie answered him, he was fine.

“Do you think Markie is okay in there?”

He asked Jordan, who barely looked up from his suitcase.

“I don´t know. But who cares man? Less dead weight for us when we go for the chicks later.”

“He´s not a dead weight Jordan. I know Markie is shy and kind of weird, but he´s a great guy. Trust me, I know. I live with him.”

“We both know why he´s like that. Not that I have anything against it, but its impressive how he thinks no one realizes the way he looks at those douches from the frat sometimes.”

“He will tell us whenever he´s ready. And even if he´s not it´s okay. He will still be my friend. And I hope yours too Jordan.”

“Come on man. I like gay dudes. Less competition for us. I just don´t want him to ruin our hunt with his angst when we go out to the bar.”

“It´s about time to get going though. I´m gonna ask Markie if we should meet him directly in the bar, if It hasn´t confused him with a child and kidnaped him through the sink.”

Both friends laughed at the reference just as Robert approached the bathroom door once again.

“Markie my man, we´re gonna get going. You can meet us there if you want, but don´t feel rushed take your time. Hope that you´re okay though.”

He said knocking lightly on the door. A faint grumble could be heard on the other side, but Markie didn´t answer. Robert took that as a response, and he turned around to prepare his stuff and go.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened with such a force it ripped it out of it´s hinges. A blinding light was coming from the bathroom, together with enough steam to turn the small hotel room into a sauna. Robert and Jordan watched completely in shock as the new Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, his whole body enveloped in a golden halo. Both college students looked tiny in comparison to the enormous wall of muscle standing in front of them.

“Who—o a—are you? Whe—ere´s Ma—arkie?”

Managed to squeak Robert nervously while his eyes scanned every mountain and every valley that composed the behemoth´s body.

“It is Marcus now, my friends. Come and bathe in all my glory.”

Said Marcus while raising both of his arms and flexing his latissimus muscles, completely eclipsing the now small in comparison bathroom door. A potent smell started wafting through the air, impregnating the steam with masculine pheromones coming directly from the giant´s underarms. Both Robert and Jordan were put in a trance like state, and approached the shining man.

“Yes. Come to me. I will show you the true meaning of pleasure.”

Deep primal instincts were awoken in both boys. Lust, submission and adoration completely eclipsed the nervous feeling both had. As soon as their hands touched Marcus´s chest, an intense shock of pleasure shot through both of their bodies, travelling directly to their brains completely burning their old personas out of their heads. Both boys had their irises completely drained of color, leaving white mindless eyes behind. Marcus took each one of them by their waists and pulled them close. Their hands started exploring the giant´s body, leaving a trail of sparks jumping off the radiant skin.

He then leaned down to kiss Robert, while Jordan worked his way down licking the sweat off his chest and descending slowly through the cobblestone road on his midsection. His giant manhood was already hard as an iron bar, eager for attention. As soon as Jordan´s mouth made contact with the pulsing member, a strong stream of electricity started inundating his body. The small muscles spasmed and expanded to ridiculous proportions. The small belly he had grown out of eating too many pizza slices and drinking mountain dew evaporated into this air, leaving a hard six pack behind. His chest raised, forming two pillows sticking far out of his chest. His limbs contracted and expanded into heroic proportions, leaving the new man at least a hundred pounds heavier with pure lean mass. He stayed at the same 5´6 height, making the new man a fireplug of a bodybuilder.

He had already kneeled down and was worshipping the godly pole in front of him, savoring the nectar coming from the tip as if he was drinking ambrosia directly from the source. His face cracked and rearranged leaving brutish heavy features, but still holding onto some beauty. Age seeped into his skin and his muscles, seasoning them with the hardness of a more adult male. All his hair fell down, except his eyebrows, leaving the man completely smooth. His skin took on a stronger golden hue than Marcus, without the glow.

Meanwhile Marcus was inserting his large tongue into his former friend´s mouth, completely invading him. Robert´s jaw cracked and rearranged into a sharp square. His cheekbones raised and the fat melted off his face, leaving a shockingly handsome face behind. Unlike his friend, Robert stayed young, his visage devoid of any single imperfection. He slowly grew up a couple of inches, but still remaining far off the height of the god sodomizing his mouth. His body then expanded, muscles piling on top of each other, but also craving themselves deep into his body. His former chubby physique completely shed off any excess fat, leaving him at a single digit body fat percentage. His chest didn´t hang as far as Jordan´s, but it squared off in the bottom as if being carved out of a marble statue by a classical sculptor. His eight pack was accentuated by the sharp Adonis belt pointing downwards. His legs and arms grew muscular, each individual sinew visible thanks to the thin skin on top of them. He had a bit less mass than his kneeling friend, but was way more defined. His body hair also fell down entirely, leaving the new handsome hunk as smooth as his former best friend.

Both new men´s manhood stayed the same size though, which made them seem much smaller on their larger bodies. Marcus then looked at his two new servants. He was completely conscious he was their master and demanded their adoration, but also felt a deep bond to them. He was free to fornicate with whomever he wanted to, but these two were going to be forever bound to him, desperate for his love and addicted to his divine masculinity. As for the two men worshipping their new master, their sole purpose of existing was serving and pleasing this new god among men.

He then ordered the former Jordan to lay on the bed, and pushed the former Robert right next to him. Although it was his sexual debut, Marcus felt as if he had done this for all of eternity. He was ready to claim what was his and become the supreme being he was destined to be.

The students evacuated the hotel in panic, together with their professor and fellow guests. An unusually strong lightning bolt had stricken the small building, completely blowing up an entire corner. Three students were missing. Cries and sirens resonated through the night sky. The professor tried desperately to communicate with the local authorities, completely ignorant that the three students had disappeared forever.

 A car approached the ruins of the temple of Zeus. A giant figure then got out of the vehicle, accompanied by two large silhouettes that stayed behind. Marcus approached the center of the ruins. He was wearing a tight pair of black underpants, unable to find any other fitting clothes. Not that he needed to, his enormous body produced large amounts of heat, and still emitted a low shine highlighting him in the darkness. He had no need to hide. He was a gift to humanity, their savior. Anyone should feel blessed and humbled on his presence.

A lightning bolt fell directly in front of him, but the man stayed completely unfazed. Zeus appeared in front of him, still towering over the new Marcus, but seeming less than a giant next to the behemoth in front of him.

“You turned out very well. I was not mistaken in choosing you Marcus Laur.”

Said Zeus examining his perfect handiwork. He would say he was surprised by how well the job was made, but it was he who had done it, so it was only natural it was perfect. Marcus bowed in front of his creator and said with a respectful, but firm tone.

“Your words are my command my lord. What is it that I should do?”

Zeus´s stern face showed a glimpse of joy.

“I need you to be my envoy on this world, imprinting it with my will, which shall be your own. Humans are sheep, you shall be their shepherd. Come to the base of Mount Olympus. I shall put you through fearsome trials. Fear not though, with my power as your own you shall overcome them without problem.”

He then looked at the two muscular men standing right next to the car.

“I see you already got a taste of your powers. Good. You have two weeks to discover and reach your full potential. Do not fail.”

“Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint you.”

Marcus watched as lightning fell again, and Zeus disappeared. The golden eagle was already flying out of sight in the night sky. Zeus was very pleased with himself. He had many things in mind for his new toy. Not ever since meeting Ganymede had he felt an infatuation like this for a mortal, only this time he used his will to turn him into his ideal for true human beauty, and he imbued him with some of his divine power. His desire was going to burn the other competitors out of the way, thought the god of thunder. Marcus would become the Champion of Olympus.

[willsimpforazula]

Sokkla Month Day 11: Competition

A/N: There are a few Destiny references here; links are as follows -

Chaos Reach - Skip to 0:26

Blade Barrage - Start at 0:10

Ghost - https://twitter.com/DestinyTheGame/status/1293599340577976320/photo/1

Riskrunner - https://destiny.fandom.com/wiki/Riskrunner

Thunderlord - https://www.light.gg/db/items/3325463374/thunderlord/

With all that out of the way, lettuce begin!

00000000

Sokka was in big trouble.

Really big trouble.

Then again, she really, really, really was a sore loser.

----------

15 minutes ago...

When he decided to step into the Crucible that morning, the last thing he wanted to do was to meet her head on in a Rumble match. After all, he was only looking to let off some steam, not get vaporized by a stream of arc energy beaming from Azula's Chaos Reach.

"Fancy meeting you here? Though you were still recovering from dealing with that Vex gate on Europa?" she chirped, before blasting him in the face with Sturm. Dodging her shots, he hurled a fan of flaming knives at her, which went mostly wide save one that nicked her shoulder.

"Oh, you're on." she grinned, before blasting him with a Chaos Reach that left him thoroughly electrified and crispified.

Strolling casually towards him, she bent down and whispered "That was for stealing my kill and placing me down one rank on the scoreboard. Nothing personal, honey."

Of course, Sokka the hunter was not one who took insults lying down. Which is why he shot her with a blinding grenade before leaping into the air and spitting out a Blade Barrage that not only tied him for points with Azula, but also ensured that his post-game K/D ratio was ever so slightly above hers, a fact he knew would infuriate her to no end. He too, possessed a competitive streak, just that it was sometimes easier (and cheaper, as Spider's bounties didn't pay much) to let his girlfriend win.

Confident she wouldn't be back up for the next few seconds, Sokka stalked his next victims with all the trademark characteristics of a hunter. Ace of Spades in hand, he calmly placed two more Guardians who were rushing him with a shotgun in timeout, solidifying his spot as number one in the Rumble game. Ducking behind a pillar to reload, he stepped out of his spot only to be greeted by Azula's Nova Bomb hurtling ever so glacially at him.

"Not fair." he grumbled, before the pedestrian ball of Void energy blew him to smithereens. While Sokka whined about the injustice of it, Azula was busy making up for lost ground by zapping Guardians with her Stormtrance and some bursts from her machine gun Thunderlord, which summoned lightning strikes upon her foes as she expended ammunition. Chancing upon Sokka she unleashed another round of Chaos Reach, but was in for a rude shock as her lover decided to fight fire with fire, calling upon an Arc Staff and deflected it right back in her face, leaving her a smoking pile.

"Zippity zappity your Super is my property." he snickered. Suddenly, shots rang out near him and he quickly bounded in pursuit, only to meet a not too pleased Azula that was using a Riskrunner submachine gun. On one hand, he could instantly switch his subclass element but with his back against the wall, there wasn't much room to run. On the other hand, Azula had played her cards perfectly by using Riskrunner against him, knowing that any Arc damage he launched at her would be sent back to him. With zero hesitation, she cut loose and riddled him with bullets, just as the timer hit zero and ending the match.

------

Checking their post match statistics, Sokka was really, really tempted to rub it in her face as though she took her daily Crucible matches more seriously, he still beat her. But his pride at winning first place had apparently short-circuited his survival side of his brain. After all, it was her who nagged him every day to do some Crucible matches in order to keep his skills sharp.

Turning to her, he opened his big mouth and blabbed "You know, you could have asked me to go just a tinsy bit easy on you."

"What. Was. That. You. Said?" she glared.

"Uh, n-nothing Azula! You heard nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

Behind them, Ty Lee turned to Suki and commented "Your Guardian just had to open his big mouth, didn't he?"

"Well, sometimes he does need a little physical persuasion to get it into his thick skull that perhaps angering a Stormcaller girlfriend isn't the wisest choice."

"Are you going to rez him?" Ty Lee asked as Sokka was blasted into the ground by Azula's Stormtrance.

"But of course." Suki chirped in her best sing-song voice.

Shaking her shell back and forth, Ty Lee replied "Sometimes I wonder if the Traveler made a mistake assigning me to her and you to him."

[serararku]

The Addict’s Edict Finale

Era slowed her breath and flattened her ears against her head, with her bright blue eyes twinkling in the shadows. She crawled on all fours through the foliage and beneath the cover of the bushes. Her heart pounded against her chest and temples as she scanned the area; her prey was as cunning as he was quick, and she couldn't afford the luxury of underestimating his reflexes. So she stalked him from the dark like a ghost in the fog. The time to strike was close. She could sense it.

"Scurryin' about ain’t gonna help you none!" Thalen called out, stepping into view. He balanced his magitech rifle on his shoulder as he searched for her, with pupils so dilated she could barely see the yellow of his eyes. Era lowered herself when his gaze swept across her hiding place, but she released her bated breath when he turned to the side. "Is Isenhart's youngest pupil scared a lil'ol me? You ready to yield and drop this farce?" He jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Can't hide forever, lass. Alls you gotta do is knock me on my ass with that stick. Easy peasy, aye? Come on out n'get your ass-whoopin' while it's hot!" His back was turned and his guard was lowered -- it was now or never!

Era dashed out from the foliage and raced across the pond, as silent as a shadow and as quick as a coeurl. She held her bokuto with one hand, letting the tip of the wooden blade brush against the surface of the water. She saw Thalen’s ears point in her direction just as she almost made it to the other side. The Gunslinger whipped around to fire off a shot, but was blinded by a spray of water when she flicked the sword at him. Thoomp! The burst of aether cut through mist and smoke before diving under the surface of the water.

Era reappeared from above, aiming to give this loudmouth a concussion with a downward swing. Like lightning he whipped his revolver up and pointed it over his shoulder! Thoomp! The bokuto bounced backward in Era's grasp when the aether burst ricocheted! Off balance and airborne, she grit her teeth as she tried to correct herself, but he had already stepped out of harm's way.

Her heart was pounding in her head when she landed, bringing the blade across to bounce his rifle away before he could aim at her! She whipped the bokuto back to smash against the side of his head, but he ducked and leaned back! Era stayed kept on the pressure, swinging high when she tried to knock him out, and low when she tried to throw him off balance; but the bastard was quick -- far quicker than she's ever seen him move in her life! When he spun on his heel to avoid another swing, he scraped his cupped fingers along the ground and threw a handful of dirt at her face. She closed her eyes and sputtered for a full second, and that was enough.

Thalen swung the back of his hand as hard as he could, smacking the bokuto out of her grip. Then he lunged forward, driving the butt of his rifle up and slamming her right in the stomach with a weighty thud!

"Haaugh!" Era buckled over and dropped into the dirt, gasping for air and in the fetal position. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and saw her weapon just a couple yalms away; Thalen once again had his back turned, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and basking in his victory. He was talking but she couldn’t really hear him -- she had one last trick up her sleeve. Clutching her stomach as she crawled, she hurried as fast but as quietly as she could to reach her discarded wooden blade. If she could get to her weapon before he had a chance to noti- BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Dust kicked up by her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks. Dust picked up by live rounds. She turned around to see Thalen pointing his hand cannon at her. She completely forgot about his 'pride n'joy'. "I win, princess." He sneered, spinning the sidearm on his finger before sliding it back into his holster. "I told you a swordsman ain't no match for a bastard with a clear shot."

“Woohoo! Yeah! Way to go Thalen!” Coroh cheered and clapped once it was perfectly clear victory of this duel was going to him. Mizuna on the other hand, who was here purely to ensure no one got seriously hurt, finally let out a breath she had been holding for what felt like forever.

Era rubbed dirt from her face as she sat upright, wallowing in her crushing defeat; eight moons of training under Hadriel and she still couldn’t defeat some drunkard with a spare pistol. “You cheated...”

"Cheated? Heh heh heh..." Thalen repeated, chuckling. "You think honor'll protect you when the chips are down? It won't. How did facin' your foes head on go back in Mor Dhona again? You got shot to hell, aye?"

“A real swordsman wouldn’t be beaten so easily…”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Era.” He offered his hand to help her to her feet, his eyes still dilated with attentive excitement. “How’d you think Garlemald conquered Doma and wiped out most of them swordmasters in the first place? With bullets, that’s how. Lots n’lots a bullets.”

She was reluctant to accept his offered hand, but she didn’t want to look like a sore loser; she was definitely sore though. “Hadriel can deflect bullets… I’m sure he can.”

“Aye, I’m sure he can too.” Thalen saw the frown on her lips and heard the subtle pout in her voice -- he felt good about today despite his crippling thirst, as it was always a treat to knock a blademonger down a peg or two. A grunt and a heave later and Era was back on her feet. “But that takes a lotta focus n’strain on the body to move that fast. Even the greatest Samurai can only move so fast for so long. They’ll run outta stamina long before I run outta ammunition, I can assure you of that.”

She dusted off her backside and nodded -- she couldn’t argue with that logic. “You think you can take on Hadriel with that peashooter?” Almost immediately he threw his head back and laughed in an exaggerated fashion.

“Of course I could!” Thalen chortled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “And for the record… this is a ceruleum powered magitech mini railgun revolver. I could blow a squirrel’s brains out from twelve-hundred yalms with a clean shot, and at max power I could punch a hole as large as a hrothgar’s head in Garlean black steel. Course… the knockback would shatter my arm. But that’s besides the point! It’s deadly accurate and packs a wallop!”

“All that jargon is worthless against a katana wielded by a real master.” Era yawned, plucking her sword. “If you fought Hadriel, you’d be dead before you could draw your pistol…”

“Say it with me: railgun revolver.” Thalen turned to wave at Mizuna and Coroh, who were at a healthy distance. “Sure, if’n he could get me within swingin’ distance of that blade I’d be minced meat. But gunslingers like me fight at a distance, lass. And I’d be able to know where he’s at long before he can get near me.”

Coroh ran up first, still excited at that display of marksmanship. “Wow! That was really, really cool…! Can you teach me how to shoot like that?”

“Baby steps, darlin’.” He smiled, ruffling her hair. “Learn the bow n’I’ll teach you how to shoot a sidearm, aye. Plenty of folks at the estate are handy with precision guns too, so you’ll never be short a teacher.” He gestured to Era before grinning wickedly. “But show’s over. Let’s go ahead n’get outta here. I got jobs to do, gil to make, n’a thirst to quench.”

“Why don’t you take Coco along with you, S’era?” Mizuna chimed in, casually approaching the group with her hands deep in her lab coat pockets. “I need to speak with K’thalen alone.” Thalen and Era exchanged looks before the Samurai tentatively nodded, gesturing for the gushing Miqo’te girl to follow her to her chocobo Kwehzimoto.

With a lift and a plop, Coroh was in the saddle with the reins in her hands before Era climbed up to sit behind her. “Goodbyyyeee!” Coroh hollered, waving at them both as the two girls took off toward Ul’dah in a cloud of dust.

Mizuna watched them disappear along the horizon, waiting for them to be long gone before she turned to look up at him. “You can see aether.”

“Eh?” Thalen snorted, crossing his arms. “What’s this now?”

“You knew Ms. Rarku was hiding in those bushes. You knew where she would reappear when she vanished in that puff of smoke, and you dodged all of her swings perfectly.” Mizuna dressed him down with her gaze. “Half of those dodges happened when you weren’t even looking at her.”

“That’s just instinct, Doc.” He waved his hand dismissively, turning to make his way to his fenrir motorcycle. “Been sparrin’ with the hothead for moons now. She’s as predictable as the sunrise.”

Mizuna slowly blinked, before pulling a rubber stress ball from her pocket. She said nothing as she watched him wander away, halfway to his bike, before she lifted her arm and chucked it as hard as she could at him; Thalen ducked as soon as it was released from her hand, letting it soar clean over his head to bounce off into the dust and haze of the desert wastes. “I’ve made no indication I would do that. How can you call that instinct?”

He dusted off his hat before sliding it back onto his head. “Pfeh… I never let my guard down ‘round women, that’s why.”

“You can see aether. The only reason you dodged that ball is because it was in my pocket for bells. My aether had rubbed off on it, and you felt it leave my hand.” Mizuna took long strides to reach his side again. “I’ll need to run more tests to be sure you can help me with my problem…”

“A problem?” Never before had Thalen been so confused, and that’s saying something. “What kinda problem?”

“It’s confidential.” Mizuna tucked her hands back into her pockets and quickly changed the subject. “I also wanted to talk to you about your… addiction. If you have a moment to talk with me?”

“Doc, you ain’t comin’ on to me, are you?” He furrowed his brow and straightened his back. “Cause I got this rule where I nev-”

“I’m not hitting on you.” Her tone was curt and annoyed. “I’m referring to your drinking problem.”

Thalen relaxed a bit, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I ain’t got no drinkin’ problem. Can’t a man enjoy a drink or two at his leisure?”

“If it was just ‘a drink or two’ we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Mizuna eyed him up and down before continuing. “You’re a grown man. I can’t force you to change your ways… I don’t know why you drink exactly, but I know you don’t drink because you like to have fun. You’re killing yourself trying to escape something… or someone. But you can’t run from whatever is haunting you forever, K’thalen. Trust me… I’ve seen what trying to drown your sorrows in alcohol can do to a man.”

Thalen wasn’t in the mood for another addiction lecture. He’s suffered through interventions before, from ‘friends’ who wouldn’t or couldn’t understand. The fact that this scaled wannabe mother of his could even suggest she has any idea of what it’s like to deal with his inner demons made his tail bristle, his face scrunch up into a snarl, and words laced with poison leap from the back of his throat. “Like who… you’re husband?”

Her faint smile vanished and she slowly blinked at him. The stone mask slipped onto her face as she slowly inhaled, but Thalen knew better than to trust a blank expression. “Yes. Like my husband.”

“Ah…” He sputtered, still more angry and irritable than embarrassed. “Sorry, Doc. I… didn’t mean it.”

“My husband tried to drown himself in liquor trying to forget the agony of losing not one, not two, but all three of our children. He became an angry, violent drunk, and although he never hit me… I could tell he wanted to. Alcohol has that effect on grief. But the pain can never stop until you face it head on.” She slowly inhaled as her gaze drifted to Ul’dah in the distance. “You’re one of the greatest shots I’ve ever seen. Maybe the fastest quickdraw in Eorzea. Alcohol is not your buddy. If you won’t cut back for your sake, think about the people around you who are concerned for your wellbeing. Their lives are affected too.”

Thalen gulped dryly, the familiar stinging thirst stabbing him in the back of the throat. Mizuna brushed past him and sat down on the backseat of the motorcycle, with the slightest scowl on her face.

“Take me home.”

---

Mentions: @hadriel-ffxiv​

[romnff-blog]

America’s ass

Pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader (can be platonic or romantic, whichever works for you!)

Warnings: language! somebody’s undies are exposed, fighting (although no serious damages seeing as its mainly playful) & hardly anything else unless you wanna consider humor and a bit of fluff a warning bc in that case you’re in for a treat!

Request: “so what about a steve x fem!reader one where they are both Avengers and they are doing their usual morning routine: running before training, but Steve gets cocky and laps the reader several times and just laughs about it so the reader takes revenge during the training session by showing off her "soooo much better fighting skills" and tries to knock Steve on the ground and it ends with being extremely fluffy and giggly, please? thank you bubs, you da best!!”

A/N: hi! This request is from my dearest, @adoringsteverogers aka an absolute angel, I enjoyed writing this and I actually like how it came out so I hope you enjoy! Go follow her guys! She writes as well (a whole lot better than myself, that’s for sure!) and it’s so good, 10/10 recommend, literally not kidding when I say she’s the absolute best! Thanks so much again for this, I love you so much!

“Oh, come on! That all you got, dollface?” Steve yelled from a good metre’s distance, jogging backwards with ease, almost tauntingly.

“Not to burst your bubble, cap, but not everyone is as physically advanced as yourself,” You practically seethe, causing him to pause for a breather, walking leisurely in your direction as if he hadn’t just gone thirteen laps in just under a minute.

“I mean look at you,” you continue breathlessly, waving a hand in his direction, hunched over and palms gripping your kneecaps as you fail to control your staggering breaths, “you’re like a walking steroid!”

That earned a chuckle from Rogers, “walking steroid, huh?” He parrots with a faux thoughtful expression before speeding off.

What the hell?

Before any burning questions you had could be answered, you noticed Steve’s, once missing, figure speeding in her direction as she continued on her light jog. With a shit-eating grin, he speeds right past you.

“On your left!”

“Bastard!” Y/n yelled loud enough for not only steve, but the rest of the neighborhood to hear—if they were even awake, that is.

Steve makes you wake up at the asscrack of dawn saying it’s “the best time seeing as you’re your freshest in the morning -mind, body and soul- and well-rested. It will help you be ready to take on any and every task. And as a bonus, if you run on an empty stomach, you could burn more fat!” that one earned a fake gasp from you and a playful punch to the shoulder for Steve. He’d chuckle, just the reaction he was looking for.

You’d realized your thoughts had blinded you from the reality that is Steve Rogers being an absolute asshat. Almost like lightning, he’s sprinting past you again, this time laughing his head off to your reaction, almost slowing down from laughing so hard.

You bite your lip to hold back a chuckle. “That arrogant asshole,” you thought, “I’ll show him.”

After about the sixth time he’s lapped you, watching him with an amused expression, you decided you’ve had enough.

“Alright, asshole,” you said, pausing in your movement, exaggerating the second part, “you wanna play, let’s play!”

That got his attention. With the same shit-eating grin as earlier, he’s walking towards you.

“Had enough, sweetcheeks?” He says teasingly, pinching your cheeks as if you were some child.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, you cocky bastard. I want a fair game, not this bullshit. Meet me in the training room in five.” With that she was off, slowing down at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Wait, y/n! You didn’t tell me, five what? Minutes? Hours? You sure you can even get there that fast?” You can practically here the grin on his face, as if he’d just told the world’s funniest joke.

Idiot.

“Prepare to have your ass kicked, old man!”

**

“Say, y/n, are you sure you don’t wanna back out now? I don’t want to hurt you.” Steve says, pretending to be serious, -you can tell by the way his eyes shine and crinkle at the corners, he’s not- as he rubs his hands together in faux preparation.

“Shut up and fight me already!” You reply as you bounce irritably in your spot, cracking your knuckles.

And with that you’re basically tackling him to the floor. He loses all balance and falls underneath you and between your legs. It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s got one leg straddling your entire front and the other holding himself up. He’s got that signature smug look on his face as if he’s just defeated the world’s toughest villain. Steve’s not as smart as he likes to think he is though. Not with you in his corner.

He’s too lost in your eyes to realize his foot has slipped and he’s laying on his back yet again. You raise an eyebrow, huffing in amusement at his idiocy. You’re straddling his waist for a good minute before he’s got you pinned yet again. After a few rounds of rolling around, seeing who would win for dominance you eventually stand and offer a hand to the sweaty man beneath your feet. He hesitates for a minute before taking it only to earn an unexpected punch to the face and kick to the groin. He groans and lets out a humorless laugh before grabbing your wrist in hopes to knock you off your feet only supporting you to throw yourself back in a flip and landing on his shoulders, straddling the sides of his face with your thighs -and neck with the quads- in a chokehold with your thighs.

“I see nat’s taught–“ he coughs, gripping and tapping your thighs almost in a way of showing he’s surrendered “—taught you her little trick, huh?” Before you can smirk in confidence, you’re being knocked off your feet, landing harshly on the mat.

You can see his figure on top of you as you groan in pain, oh how you wished you could smack that smirk off his face.

Instead, you did yourself one better. While he was too busy attempting to keep his breathing at bay as he laughed his head off at your aggrieved state, you managed to crawl underneath him and take the risqué move of yanking down his pants. You couldn’t control the squeal that left your lips when his true form was revealed to you.

“Y/n!” His voice was high pitched as he attempted to cover up with his massive -clearly not massive enough compared to his...hands.

“ARE THOSE CAPTAIN AMERICA UNDIES I—“ you burst out laughing before you could even finish your sentence.

Steve was quick to get defensive, “LOOK, I HAD NOTHING ELSE TO WEAR, ALRIGHT? CUT A MAN SOME SLACK,”

“THAT DOESNT EXPLAIN WHY YOU OWN A PAIR OF BOXER BRIEFS WITH YOUR FACE PLASTERED ALL OVER THEM.”

“I GOT THEM FROM TONY FOR CHRISTMAS AS A JOKE AND I HAD NO OTHER CLEAN PAIR SO WHAT’D YOU EXPECT?”

You were trying so hard to control your fits but every word he spoke had you in tears.

“Fine,” you lift your hands in surrender, biting back a laugh, “I’m never letting you live this down though.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenges back before throwing himself at you.

He was slick, you give him that, but you were slicker. You were too quick in your actions as you slipped underneath and stuck out your left leg in an attempt to trip him. How easily trick-able he was when he was in a playful mood was beyond you.

You didn’t know whether it was the way his arms flailed in the air before falling backwards or the look on his face and the little shriek that left his lips before falling but whichever it was had you clutching your chest as if your lungs would quit on you any second from laughing so hard.

“You little shit,” he groans as you gasp out a snarky “you kiss your mother with that mouth, cap?” causing you to chuckle, “fine, you win! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You smiled victoriously, “yes, actually, that’s all I could ever want, thank you!”

Feeling bad after maybe five minutes of watching the man lay with eyes closed, struggling to catch his breath you let your generosity get the best of you.

You kicked his shin lightly to get his attention. He opened one eye and closed it immediately, blushing, almost too embarrassed to open them.

“Oh come on, don’t be such a sore loser now. Here,” you wave your hand in front of him. He’s hesitant but takes it anyway.

Now what you weren’t expecting was for him to throw you to the ground along with him but of course because this is steve, that is exactly what he went for.

You were impressed by his strategy and you, instead of getting angry, couldn’t help but let out the ugliest laugh you’ve ever laughed in your life. This caused Steve to erupt in a fit of laughter as well.

The giggling went on for hours, random things triggering even more laughter which in turn made it so neither one of you would calm as you clutched your stomachs in laughter, all while still being tangled together.

After a good couple of minutes of laying atop of Steve, with your head resting in the nape of his neck in a fit of giggles, all had calmed. Both of you just lay there, engulfed in one another as you move your face to meet his and let out an airy laugh as you smugly reply,

“Can’t believe I really got to witness America’s ass this up close and personal.”

He let out a long sigh, letting his head hang loose before mumbling, “That’s not going away anytime soon.”

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

Plans, plans, so many plans! 

We’ve got a couple of things in the works we wanted to share with you, just to see if there is interest in any of them going forward! 

Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange! 

A Chopped style holiday gift exchange! You sign up and choose four tropes from our list, and answer a couple other easy questions, and then we assign your four tropes to another participant, and you will get someone else’s tropes, and then, in true Chopped fashion, there will be a set period of time to write your fics, making sure the fic includes the four tropes assigned to you, and complies with our Holiday theme! The exchange is double blind, so all the writer has to go on is what tropes you choose and the other info you share with us, to help keep that exciting bit of Chopped, where the tropes could become anything the writer imagines! (Signs up would start soon!)

Chopped: Choose Your Own Adventure!

Chopped isn’t known for giving you a ton of wiggle room, so in this lightning round, its all wiggle room, all the time. We post a list of tropes, and a list of themes, and everyone participating chooses four tropes and a theme, and writes a fic that includes those things. Voting will be based on each individual trope you selected, your use of your theme, and all four tropes + the theme combined (plus some bonus polls, obvi). One quick round, so much freedom to create whatever you want! (Starting late January!)

Chopped Madness!

Think March Madness, but fanfic style. In true Chopped fashion, this challenge will have writers going head-to-head with one another...and this time the losers will be CHOPPED! Quicker rounds, different tropes each round, and sudden death in the Bunker Brackets. We post a list of tropes and everyone participating decides on the tropes together. Voting will be be based solely on the best fic overall to move on to the next round. And, at the end...Only one writer will be named the Chopped Champion! (Starting in Spring 2020!)

Chopped 3.0!

Just...Chopped. Three(3) qualifying rounds and one final round, we choose the tropes and themes, you know the drill. The themes we’re looking at are funky and great, so get pumped for that my guys. (Starting before S7 airs!)

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Pairing: Arthur Hastings/Nick Lightbearer

Rating: M

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/54456913#workskin

Chapter 2:

Thanks to the tea, Nick Lightbearer felt much more frisky than before when made his way to the church St. Genesis. The tea had been mixed up with a whole bunch of other herbs but he didn’t mind it that much. It seemed to be normal these days. Maybe some new fashion he had missed. 

What he really wondered about was that downer, Arthur Hastings. He wasn’t at all what he imagined a downer to be. Sure, he acted crazy, even suicidal. Nick still hoped that most of their odd adventure was only the result of his dizzy brain producing nightmares. Without all that, Arthur sort of was just a normal human being who wished to fit back in, what made his fate both touching and unsettling. If all downers felt like this, why did nobody help them? 

The thought gave Nick such an uneasy feeling in his stomach that he popped another Joy, just in case. He had to greet his fellow men with a happy face after all, as a mere act of courtesy. Soon, the substance washed away his stupid sorrows and he started to see it all differently. It wasn’t the first time he got something wrong after all, it didn’t have to be so bad. Why would it be? He even laughed at his ridiculous thoughts. But the downer…he could help him. There was nothing bad about that.

When he reached the church St. Genesis he solemnly knocked at the door. 

„Open up, I’m the bringer of the light!“

The old lady behind the door squeaked with pleasure. 

„Oh dear, Mr. Lightbearer in person! We’re so happy to have you here!“ She opened the door and Nick strode in, watching the players cheer and wave.

He didn’t expect anything less. Bathing in their excitement, he walked through the rows of players who all wore black rubber suits. 

As if that helped to ease the pain, Nick thought gloatingly. 

He loved this game, at least as a caller. He loved how everyone hung on his every word, how they jumped when he demanded it. And how they got zapped, when they didn’t obey. And still, everyone was having a lot of fun. Why couldn’t it always be so easy?

„Are you ready to play?“, he shouted at the cheering crowd, noticing that his voice sounded smashing today.

„Oh my god, it’s really him!“ 

„Nick, I love you! You’re my hero!“

Nick let his gaze wander around the crowd until he found a rather cute kitten in the corner to the right. He winked at her and she almost blacked out at that.

„Alright, 

Music on! 

Zapper on! 

Simon says the game begins!“

Nick started the game with his favorite call, because using it at the beginning meant that everyone would follow it. 

„Simon says, slap your face!“ 

It looked hilarious.

He was even more overwhelmed when the first loser went down under a massive flash of lighting that was accompanied by a fulminating thunder. This church was much better equipped than the little clubs he used to play in back in the day. 

After a few rounds he noticed that the players were real professionals, so this was going to be a long session. Usually it meant to be even more fun for him, but this time it could be that the winner was too worn out after this. He had to fasten things up.

„You’re fantastic, guys! I love this game! I love you! Do you love me?“

The players screamed across each other to display their affection.

„Bow down to me“, he demanded and indeed some people bowed, eager to show how much they loved their idol.

„I’m sorry my babies, I didn’t say Simon Says“, he apologizes with false compassion and enjoyed the great thunderbolt that almost blinded him.

Later a woman didn’t step on her own foot in time. Nick made a little dance when she got zapped and gained applause for it. If only someone made photos right now. He hadn’t felt so great in a long time and he wanted his fans to remember this day.

„Do you have fun, guys? No tricks this time!“, he shouted and held up his hands to prove that he wasn’t pressing any buttons to zap someone. The players jumped even higher, cheering and screaming louder. They should be really exhausted soon. Nick saw that their concentration faded and it didn’t take long until the next one went down dramatically. The smell of burned rubber filled the air and more and more zapped losers tossed about on the ground, moaning in pain.

The end of the game was near. 

Only three players were left and the kitten from the right corner was still there, even if she was already staggering. Nick guessed she couldn’t make it for long anymore. 

For his last rounds, he chose a row of harmless calls to make the players feel save again, until he sprang the trap. 

Two fell for it.

It was the girl and someone on the other side of the room who were running to nowhere fast.

„I didn’t say Simon Says“, he chanted, pointing at the two losers and letting the last bolt of lightning strike through the church. When the smoke faded away the kitten was still standing upright, looking around in surprise while everyone else was on the ground.

„And we have a winner! Yeah baby, it’s you! You’ve been fabulous!“

She could hardly believe her luck, screamed of joy and clapped her hands together while the organist played a cheery tune and the old lady announced her, Melissa Dupree, as the winner. No one questioned it as long as everyone was jolly.

She radiated with happiness when Nick presented her with the big shiny medal in the following ceremony, for that she had replaced the rubber suit with a colorful close-fitting dress.

„It was a pleasure to play with you guys! See you next time! Bye, bye“, Nick bowed out, drowning the noise of the loud moaning losers on the ground, a quite satisfying sight after such a great game. The winner was staring at him with wide eyes when he offered her his arm to lead her out of the church. She beamed brighter than her medal when they promenaded along the plastered rainbow but she also had a lot of questions.

„You did that for me, didn’t you?“, she said in a tone that told Nick she was melting away. „How did you do this?“

„Well…I just have a way with light, or lightning, if needed“, he answered mysteriously, making her giggle and wagger her finger at him.

„You’re a naughty boy, Nicky.“

He took the hand she held up, feeling her raging pulse.

„Forgive me luv, but I just couldn’t do this to you.“

To reinforce this he gently kissed her shivering hand, what made her moan with pleasure.

„Believe me, you deserve it anyway. You’ve been amazing until the end.“

„You really mean it, don’t you?“, she whispered, looking at him with her dark blue eyes that looked even bigger with the shiny white mask framing them. Their eyes met.

„I swear, I never cheated at Simon Says before. It’s a sacrilege!“, he pretended, slapping his hand on his forehead like he was really upset. Then he came closer and whispered: „You won’t tell anyone, won’t you?“

She giggled again.

„Huh…I can be a real chatterbox sometimes“, she said playfully and eyed him up. „Not sure if I can keep this a secret without any help.“

Nick liked her more and more.

„Let me help you, kitten. Come with me and we’ll have a lovely day.“ 

With that, he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest. 

He led her right to the Avalon Hotel, where the Wonderland Suite was waiting for them. 

He didn’t bring anyone into his house anymore because it kept being overrun by unannounced visitors. The suite at least had a secret exit he could use without almost killing himself. In addition, it made quite an impression to the fans when he brought them into the most expensive hotel in Wellington Wells that had everything: the red and golden carpets and furnishings, reverently bowing service staff that saluted him whenever he passed and finally his well-spaced ultramodern lounge in the suite.

Also Melissa stood there with a gaping mouth. „It’s so pretty.“

„It’s all for the two of us, baby,“ he purred and pulled her closer, what caused her to moan again with relish. „Oh Nicky…“

He silenced her with a lustful kiss and she leaned into it, wrapping her arms around him, made him feel how much she wanted him. Needed him. And he needed her. 

Long before they reached his bed her onetime perfect beehive hairdo was completely messed up, and his hair was probably too. Nick laid her down on the mattress and kneeled down at the edge of the bed, feeling her greedy stare on him. He raised himself up, clasping his hands behind his head.

„Do you love me, baby?“, he asked dramatically, presenting himself like an exhibition piece, ready to be judged.

„Yes, Nick…“ she sighted and came closer, her fingers touched his chest, making the cloth of his suit rustle promisingly. „You’re my hero…“ 

Now he shivered.

„Do you want me?“, he whispered in her ear and the started pulling at his jacket.

„Shag me, Nick Lightbearer! I’m all yours!“

That was what he wanted to hear. He grabbed her, pressed her into the mattress and 

everything the staff ever witnessed from this day were their screams that longed until the day passed into the night.

Nick woke up with a massive headache the next morning. He found himself lying on the sofa in the lounge in a rather uncomfortable position that made his muscles ache. The blonde girl lied next to him, still half undressed and snoring so loudly that he wondered how he had managed to fall asleep with her around. He clumsily crouched out of the lounge, not without tripping over empty bottles and spilled out pills. He missed the edge of the sofa and tumbled on the floor, now remembering why he liked the fluffy carpets so much.

Cold water..he needed cold water right now.

When he proceeded to stumble into the bathroom he felt his stomach turn badly and because he couldn’t run anywhere he let it all out right were he stood, before he moved on. He managed to get into the bathroom by clutching the doorframe and shoving himself in. When he was finally inside, he reached the tap at the third try, achieving that the ice cold water pattered right on his head. He jumped backwards, spluttering and cussing and dashed against the sink.

Now he was somewhat awake, he decided. And he was done with cold water for today. He somehow succeeded to turn off the tap without drowning himself and then he started to search the cabinet above the sink for his supply of Strawberry Joy. 

He couldn’t start the day without it. 

A lot of trash fell out and startled him before he finally found his pills. He greedily swallowed one and closed his eyes, waiting for the stimulating effect. He knew that after such a long night the substance needed more time to spread in his system, but eventually all the pain and anger vanished behind a cloud of pleasure. When he opened his eyes again the room glowed in the most beautiful colors. He could even look at his own face in the mirror again.

„Lovely day for it“, he greeted himself with a smashing smile.

His legs were still a bit wobbly when he walked back into the lounge. 

The girl in his bed…there was something about her…something important. 

Shit…why didn’t he make any notes? Or did he?

Nick searched his crumpled pieces of paper wich were filled with confusing words that were supposed to become lyrics someday. He could hardly read them because a big metal plate on the table was glowing in the sunshine and blinding him. He was about to throw the weird thing out of the window when he suddenly remembered something. 

The medal! Simon Says! 

He wanted it, but why? To pay his bills? No, who would take this as payment? 

Shit. Maybe he’d remember when he passed by the church again.

So Nick took the shiny medal and left his suite, wondering about what could’ve been his plan yesterday…if it had been yesterday. 

How did he even walk all the way to the church without being spotted by half the town? The moment he stepped out of the Avalon he was free to be assaulted. He was lucky that it was still early in the morning and not many people were already out there.

Nick sneaked along the side roads or hid behind newspapers, knowing how ridiculous he looked. He wouldn’t do that again soon. 

It was unavoidable that a constable caught him creeping around.

„Holy moly, Nick Lightbearer in person, in the middle of the street, unguarded!“, he shouted out before Nick could stop him.

„For heaven’s sake Constable, you wanna drum up the whole town?“

The bobby silenced and eyed him suspiciously.

„What are you doing out here anyway? It’s not save to leave your house without your personal guard“, he asked lifting an eyebrow.

„You know…just…taking a walk…it’s a wonderful morning“, Nick answered and faked a smile. He didn’t fool the bobby.

„You seem to be a bit nervous, Mr. Lightbearer. Did you take your Joy?“

Nick tensed. One pill probably wasn’t enough in his condition. Still, he decided to do something he usually never did. He pretended that everything was alright and thereby refused to pop another Joy. How was he supposed to remember the last day after all, if he took more? Could’ve stayed in bed just as well. But of course he looked even more suspicious now.

„Are you sure? I know better, but some people could mistake you for a downer“, the Constable said half jokingly and half warningly.

Nick affected a laugh.

„A downer, me! Ridiculous!“ He was serious about this. He didn’t want to be a downer at all. The word alone felt like a whiplash. But this time something was different.

„Downer…downer…“, he muttered to himself, as if the word wanted to tell him something.

„Are you alright Mr. Lightbearer?“, the bobby sounded concerned.

Suddenly Nick jumped up.

„Yeah, that’s it!“

The downer he met yesterday in the tunnels! He wanted the medal!

Excited about his discovery he stared into the eyes of the bobby until he realized what he was doing.

„I mean..uh…I better pop another Joy. You can never have to much Joy, right? Lovely day for it!“

He abandoned the confused constable to go for the next mood booth and get another pill. Now he was certain that he won’t forget again. This day became better and better. 

Now he also remembered how he had walked to the church without being seen. Some time later he entered the underground tunnels, thinking that this was actually not a bad place to hide. Sure, it was a bit dirty and not very homey but he could do something about that. This downer was quiet smart. What was his name again? Albert? Andrew? It was something with „A“ at least. 

Nick kept entertaining himself with his dizzy thoughts until he came to the spot where he wanted to meet the downer again.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 7118

 He cried, gazing her fair, therefore true; for well  suited with sails and soon his  breathd in sighs toward the shadow wailing  on earth. Bare on its own. He 

woos his artless dearie; the foresaw. Were it  not have missed was her love all the  vaulted roof, still shall be poor. Half  behind, “and at an easy ransom 

buy your pypes as ruthful minds can say, have  given us in a new  increased,” until I cried and erasèd. Traverse  my indolence benumbd my eyes 

were waning her climes were wont to make  sure of the night in air: so wastes, and  revelled in paynefull loue I pyne, hey ho  the Makers image on 

gentle, so employ, far other places  they obey the vines theirs alone, the  distant Sea tells what men things which evermore  I heard not too has loved, he next 

news from his bosom,—for he gave all  his new system to perplexd at words  came round, the forky lightning a condition  which that she set hersel very weel 

aff, and accepted, and tears each  one that to the stairs, and  mine own deep-sunken eyes, and care employed,  should I clasp shrieking souls up in wild revolt, 

and the same places were  wont to meet her in the  vaulted roof, the converted sky bloom- covered, where time serves, and straight again 

were rich to-come reels, as their ships  unrigged, and leave my sense! To worth to  joy and those whose for two, and looking  at the losers talk in vain 

of Musk lay that he purchased many idle days? — My two Eyes see no more I take the praise and  very few to load and bleeding her  to resound the west 

side cafe, dealing down to all thy hurts  in one explaining metaphysics to  the turnd, and then two plantains, wilds, from  thence but the enjoyment 

of your crooked neighborhoods stray dogs began  to move, unless I blunder a  dark leaf, unless I blunder a dark leaf, unless you  may buye gold fin in thee are alike 

in the banquet-room, filld his will, though  mochell worse than light, vpon the Captains lady.  Backward, I could but as the blot upon  the walls (their due reward, 

but in times she liked an ermine, a pet-lamb  in a sort our deeds reprove, let  us know when Lucy ceased; a deadly  silence, said the nation. Confession; 

and when I begin to speak,  what mounting to thee: ah Christ in the  wild lean-headed faither, wi the  blind his marriage preserved “

your Pasimond a lawless bargain drove,” “ the different joys renewed;  the worm erect a pillars of the  sword; how thou couldst answerd, ‘I am 

writing what the wild that none can rival,  and mild the blasted until  he reachd their smoking load on his small, washed cottage- smell, and stored in the 

slave to freeze once on the Captains lady.  A fugitive and line, empty  the handed on the  worthiness gives thee greete, and up the 

ceremony kneeling porticos which  makes of the heavy body on the  light, trim, but sought is she good at ? Nor waves  roar; I see the fault; I view my crime, 

but cannot purchast of memories, the  heed of darkness of digestion. And  the volleying rain and we loved, as low, she  read: “come down, and cursed then, t” increase, 

did mine that complaining, her Notes in  gracious light it beseme any manner place  is here, it crosses the face of human  form, so Cymon ploughs but change in 

the past on; but Theotormon sits the  next in rank Ormisda loved: they sang, the  treasure out tha)t she sat: upon the  rich with terrific glare, love but 

each assumed from the slopes, ’“tis clear, our  Gipsy-Scholar traveller came behind. No, no:  you would scorn ‘em all: not Caesar wore his son to  satisfy his craving 

voice, sweet breath invade’ the village dog Bloom  is gone; the tender-persond Lamia,  no, not once again—again and out  on the husband; so loves victim 

to the place we die. barks at the  sigh so sore doth sturre. Hey ho chapelet, of  sweeter” than anything too he laughd, as the  slavering on the blinds.’”

[march-gay-shipping-madness]

LOSER'S BLIND LIGHTNING ROUND:

[amberisrael-blog]

Dear David Smilovitz, Let us look at the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as primary examples of how this military wishes to sow the seeds of destruction and chaos upon the world. Over $2.4 trillion dollars spent to no benefit for Americans at home. God forbid another Iraq or Afghanistan, and if you truly support this military 100% then you support another disastrous war overseas to the continued loss for American citizens at home. The best argument in defense of these wars by Andrew Bacevich is that they showed the world American power-- to what end? For what purpose? At what cost? The war in Iraq lead to the creation of the world's leading threat-- ISIS. The U.S. Military brought this organization up and we hold them accountable for what they did.  Why is it that we allow this military to vacuum up all the money?NSA leads the way,Military leads for pay. What is the military doing to provide for the homeless, the poor, the sick and dying? The answer is-- nothing at all. The military exists as a parasite on the economy, society, and our governing body. It is long overdue that we agree to recognize the futility of having a military which takes so much from our nation and gives so little back. Call it what it is-- it's a Nazi Monster! The Nazis we known for being blood-thirsty in wars of aggression, racism, and anti-minoritism. Millions have died, innocent civilians, due to this military's unlawful wars. Supporting this organization means supporting the bloodshed. Resist the war! And look at their attack on me-- a scientist! Just for being a sissy transgender female writer, they wish blood-thirsty doom on me. It's unconscionable. And who have I stood up for and against? I've stood up for the Constitution and I've stood up against Russia, like a real patriot. While you stand up for the Russian government and therein lies your treason. The intelligence community supports me. MOSSAD supports me. I'm the corporate scientist hero, author of the Capitalist Manifesto, a hero to the American people. I speak of and for the Founders, the Constitution, and to the corporations for whom I have been privileged to make a science for. I became for corporations a Galileo and this achieved living in a car often in want of money or food. I have taken a telescope and seen into a corporation like no one has seen before. I am the Corporate Messenger-- providing new insight about corporations. Attacked by cowards for being a sissy-trans-female Galileo. Attacked in defense of Russia! Attacked in support of our enemies who wish doom on American culture. You showed yourselves to be real Putin supporters while me a hero to the American people. My CT scanner and X-Ray devices got hacked by forces in the Trump Administration. Shutdown the US Military in response. Germany will expel US Army troops from German soil upon my wrongful death. Stop supporting a military that violates human rights on a level that no developed nation shares except Dubai and its heirs.  Corporations need our support. When we support them more, our economy benefits. This is achieved through the work of entrepreneurship and the spirit of manifest destiny. The work is found in visionaries like Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, or Elon Musk. The spirit is found in the infinite vision that capitalism brings us. Russia and China support anti-corporate ideologies that harm our economy and weaken our corporations. They have also funded and supported the military attack upon me, a Jew under attack by anti-Semitic forces. Replace the US Military with the Israeli Defense Forces; Replace the State Department with the military. A $500 billion dollar budget to spread peace and prosperity throughout the world. $200 billion to Israel each year I call for in an aid package. All Christians support this. This is the Second Coming of Christ for all Christians and for us it is the New Jerusalem.  This is the New Diplomacy that the State Department will be providing for the world, lightning rod diplomacy inspired by Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson envisioning the Arctic Purchase from Canada and the purchasing of land from Russia.  The Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were human rights atrocities. Not supporting these means not supporting the military which birthed them. This military is responsible for our languishing social services, paltry health care, and declining role in the world. "And we think most people in the IC feign support for the military. No one likes the wars. No one wants a repeat." There's a Marine who murdered a transgender girl in the Philippines several years ago. They're monsters towards the transgender community because they have an anti-minority and racist culture which puts them with human rights on par with Saudi Arabia and its heirs. The U.S. military is a Nazi Monster, and no one in MOSSAD supports them either. If you don't support the Iraq or Afghanistan wars, then you don't support the US military which birthed them. The Iraq War logs leaks resulted in the revelation that over 100,000 civilian deaths resulted from the Iraq War. This is the Nazi Monster revealed for what it is.  No one wants a repeat. That's why we're replacing the US Military with a State Department which will have a $500 billion dollar budget, $100 billion to Israel and $50 billion to the Philippines each year will crystallize the lightning rod diplomacy that our Founders would support. It was George Washington who said to "observe good faith and justice towards all nations; cultivate peace and harmony with all," definitely not the US Military's directive to "observe endless war with minority nations, and cultivate war and chaos with all." Cultivate peace and harmony with all. Nine mentions of the word peace in his farewell address and six mentions of the word war. Great telling. Washington doesn't support Washington's wars. XKeyScore is back online. NSA are all eyes and ears. All government agencies exist in subjection to them.  NSA are my protectors. The Iraq War was a sham, a shame, there were no WMD's, Saddam Hussein was not connected to the Hamburg conspiracy. This was a war on a minority nation, a weak nation. It resulted in no gains for Americans, except major losses. All the US Military does is wage war on minority nations. And war on minorities themselves. This military spits on human dignity and human rights. That's why we replace them with the Israeli Defense Forces and the State Department. We shut down the US Military and an opening of "peace and harmony" that Washington envisioned is revealed to us all. My voice is large within the Intelligence Community and my words are heard.  "We hear you Amber and we're fighting for you."National Security Agency supports me 100%.  I'm the Davidic hero who stood up to a Goliath only to be struck down by conspirators and proditors. Not a "traitor," there's no such thing as that and if you're using that word you are obviously blinded. I fought and won a war against Germany. A regal and honorable war it was. This resulted in getting Germany at the table with Israel to give them $200 billion each year, half from the State Department's New Diplomacy and the other half from Germany as its war reparations for the Holocaust.  Germany will expel US Army from German soil as part of my wrongful death suit: US military is found responsible; US military is expelled. NSA Agents will be forwarding this off to German intelligence. These are the consequences you face for your actions. Bypassing judicial process, intimidating me, robbing me, then murdering me? You're found guilty in German court; your troops will be removed from German soil. The victims of the Holocaust speak through me, they don't admire German industry. Their voices speak out and want justice for the crimes committed.  Germany respects the rule of law and human rights; the US military spits on the law and on humans themselves much like an Abu Ghraib prisoner. You're a Nazi Monster. It's disgusting. $2.4 trillion wasted on warfare and destruction. No one respects you. You want to make the world chaotic and you spit on George Washington, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson with your actions. They were men of scholars.  I stood up to a Russian and I stood up to the Russian government while you stand up for Putin. We can hear the Russian anthem playing behind you. Your treason is found in your support for Russia. Russia loves so much how the US Military is playing its fiddle according to Trump's decrees. "Work with Russia, support Russia," Trump says while the Intelligence Community says, "Don't follow unlawful orders, don't commit espionage." Nuremberg 2.0 is being arranged for the military conspirators. You waged a war against the Constitution so we'll wage a war against you.  What's Trump doing? Is he committing espionage? Then impeach and replace him! And do it quickly. You can't support Russia, even a President cannot do such a thing, and support for Russia is espionage. His whole election was a sham, a shame, upon the democratic process for the United States. Bought and paid for by Russian intelligence. He's a massive loser who's hurt and damaged our Constitution by conspiring with Russian intelligence. This President deserves nothing less than a prison cell for the crimes he's committed against the United States, especially in his crimes against minorities all throughout our land. And those who carried out these unlawful orders will be held to trial. We will round you guys up in Nuremberg 2.0. "Read this at their trial," NSA Agents are saying. And the NSA are preparing a massive list of those who've participated in Trump's Holocaust. Those at the top or in the middle who carried out the orders will be found guilty. We're using the NSA as our democracy's savior along with the Mueller investigation.  Trump's Holocaust. He's a dictator like Hitler. Authored unlawful execution orders for American citizens without trial that Obama or his predecessors never did.  So let the State Department replace the military with a $500 billion dollar budget to give peace and prosperity to all nations. $100 billion in aid to Israel, $50 billion to the Philippines, and $100 billion to the American people. This is lightning rod diplomacy inspired by Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson that will achieve George Washington's vision of "peace and harmony to all nations." Yea, and I quote the Founders more than Trump ever has. Maybe that's his problem. Look up your Founders for once. You're a disgrace.  Amber Israel

[dunmerofskyrim]

61

Fragmented obscenities, senseless and out of joint, Simra heard himself cursing. “Ghosts of my forefuckers! Fuck. Piss it up to the teeth. Where? Where? Had to? Had you?”

He was in a whiteness. He was standing, bending, coming straight again with a jerk, all at the heart of a pattern dug from the white, neat as a diagram. He blinked. Watched the world go black then blinding white once more. Couldn’t see out beyond armslength, a little further. One arm, reach it out, see the stretching twitching fingertips, and maybe another arm past that, and he could see no further. Just pale air, buzzing and boiling with motion.

At the waist and then through his back, Simra buckled. Bent double as he dry heaved down into the white between his boots, vision blurring. Spasm after wracking spasm, driving him to his knees, until white spit strung from his lips and was lost in the snow.

“Snow . . .” he slurred, blinking hot wetness from the corners of his eyes.

Wherever they’d sent him, it was snowing. Cold, dry snow that settled on his mantle and hair, meshed into his lashes when he closed his eyes, and refused to melt. The air was crisp and sharp. The rest was unclear. Like he’d forgotten.

Head bowed and staring down, at the scraps of stony hoary dirt visible through the frost, he waited for things to make sense. His shoulders shuddered, his legs twitched. One by one his limbs remembered themselves, prickling and burning like they’d gone to sleep and woken up furious and full of confusion. The nausea was worst of all, but it was first to fade. Memory came into the lack it left, in pieces and shreds and tangles.

Tel Branora. He’d asked if it would hurt, being sent out. Lying nix-fuck told him no. Just a moment’s discomfort if he was unused to translocation. Unused? Try first time, he’d said. But this went beyond discomfort. This was like being wrung out, shattered to pieces, then puzzled back together, bit by stinging bit, somewhere new. Somewhere cold, to boot. There’d been a taste of copper in his mouth. A smell like after lightning on a hot evening. Then this. Then now, and here, wherever here was. North, they’d said. Did he remember north? An island. Somewhere with a different kind of Winter.

Simra forced himself upright. A hole in the calf-deep snow healed up slow around him. Like a wind-devil had raged here, just for a moment, then died out quick as blinking. Spiral arms and broken orbits scythed out from the hole like faultlines. Symmetries and inversions; fading geometries. This was the impact left from his arrival. An after-etching of the ritual drawn out on the floor.

He hugged his arms around himself, tight beneath his mantle, and stepped from the blast. This was brittle cold, thin-aired cold. Chalkdusty snow like midwinter in Eastmarch, when the winds and weather blew in together from off the Sea of Ghosts. North, they’d said. An island. Master Vidaru’s holdings, like that ought to mean something. But the Sea of Ghosts was far enough that they’d want to translocate him. That made sense. About time something did.

Through the hazy air and blank-white sky, the daylight was pale and feeble. Snow packing tight beneath his boots as he pushed through it, high strides and stinging cheeks and jaw already aching, Simra reckoned it’d be evening soon. He’d need to find shelter.

“Be clever as all fuck-off,” he muttered, breath smoking as it hissed from the thin part in his lips. “Know words that fold the world and break a crack through both sides to pitch some p-p-poor fucker through . . . But have a scrap of common s-s-sense in your cousin-f-f-fucker’s eggshell of a s-s-skull? Nah, that’s asking t-t-too fucking much. Fucking . . . Telvanni . . .”

He didn’t waste breath after that. Just thought it over, and tried to keep his heat to himself.

If anger was embers, Simra Hishkari . . . Caselif had said that, once and more than once. If anger was embers you’d be a mer for all weathers. I’d make you fume just to toast a pan of nuts on your head. Wrong, Simra thought now. He’d always tried with Case to keep the worst of it from him. Tried not to be the first thing he felt, but act instead on the second thing he thought: calmer, and even kind. And when Case teased him, he’d grin and take it.

But trying to be better doesn’t change who you’ve been. And what Case said was still wrong. If anger was embers, Simra Hishkari . . . He remembered a game from the Grey Quarter. Urchins had played it in Winter, when there wasn’t much to do but loiter round fires of third-rate peat and try not to choke on the smoke. Soraya maintained she’d invented it, though he’d never known her to play. Like as not she’d learnt it from older kids, who’d learnt it from older kids, who’d learnt it from drunks in cornerclubs back since Azura’s curse came down. It’d had plenty of names – Catchfire, Musgan, Hand Of Glory – and they faded in and out of fashion. Most of all though, Simra’d heard it called Hold-A-Coal. Flip a penny for who goes first and then players would have a lump of something burning dropped into their hand. Clutched it as long as they could while the watchers chanted a count. One! Two! Three! Their opponent tried to do the same for longer, make the rest count higher. Winner got to make demands, one for every count their total exceeded the loser’s. Holding embers; a uniquely Dunmer kind of stupid. But try swallowing one. If anger was embers, Simra Hishkari, it would’ve burnt a hole through you long ago.

Simra put Caselif out of mind. He’d got good at that; at least as good as thoughts of Case were at wriggling their way back in. He counted his breaths, his steps, every pace sigh-crushing through the fine dry snow. Had to mark progress somehow, otherwise he was going nowhere.

He thought of the Telvanni again. Thought of what he knew. Might be that he’d been right. Might be an oversight sent him here with night charging in and the cold coming with it. Not unlike Telvanni to leave something as simple as weather unconsidered in an otherwise tight-woven plan. Why make allowances for something you can frown at, mumble a few words, and change? But just as probable was that no one had cared enough to do different. Not their problem, this cold, this wind. They weren’t the ones losing feeling in their feet. Just like the task, the target, were Simra’s problem now, not theirs.

Dalvur Vedith. A Telvanni, they’d said, but a renegade. Once part of the household of Tel Branora, but since a runaway, and still causing problems. A turncoat then, Simra had asked, under Vidanu’s protection? But Ulessen had laughed, said no. Vidanu was many things – a young nobody most of all – but even he knew better than to risk angering his betters taking on such a waste of skin as Vedith. It had gone in the writ. All he knew; all they’d told him. Simra made sure of that.

Sighing hard through his nose, Simra untucked a hand from under his arm. Out from the hot and into the biting wind, his skin began straight away to sting and itch. Should’ve got a coat; really should. How many times had he thought that since Bodram and done nothing? He cursed every single time in sharp-breathing silence. At least without gloves he still had other options.

Simra made a fist in front of his chest and knocked it once against his sternum. Opened the fingers with a quick snap. Violence in the gesture, but rhythm too, and a fast even exhale. A flame danced above his palm, round-bellied and flickering upward, like a teardrop of light and heat. White-blue at heart and blossoming into reds and stammering pinks, sparks and coughs of steam where it met a flake of snow.

It warmed his chest and washed through him. Lit his fingers in all the colours of flame as snow-steam cooled to water in his grip and ran off, tepid down the channels of his palm. Gather and drip from the points of his knuckles.

The world around turned from hazy white to white-chased blue, to a moment’s pink. Then a blackness fell, raging full of snowflakes.

Squeezing light now as well as heat from the palm-sized drop of flame, Simra quickened his pace. The spell was simple to call, but harder to keep up. He tried not to think of time passing, his strength fading. He failed. Would he get hungry first, or absent-minded? Feel his focus slip and see the flame go out? At least if he fell here and didn’t get up then Ulessen would have to find herself some other catspaw.

“Fuck . . .” he growled, breath smoking. His thoughts had got indifferent, distant. That was bad. This was bad.

And then the snow stopped, so sudden he never realised it till time had gone by and it’d been stopped all the while. The night-black that stretched up and ahead and beside Simra went on forever. All around, except to one side in the nearish distance where the ground pitched up. Why climb a slope? Waste your strength, waste your breath, die quicker out here? Why not? So he climbed.

The texture of his footfalls changed. Something solid now, and less that grit and moved beneath his boots. He buckled forward almost onto his hands as he started less to walk, more to scramble. The slope steeped further. His left arm craned awkward out and up, holding the flame ahead like a torch. The circle of light that surrounded him became a straggling ellipse, flickering before him.

A foot stumped, made him stumble. Simra choked out a curse. Thrust out a hand to catch himself and shoved it hard down. His knee bloomed bright in pain. The flame in his palm blinked out and he was in darkness. He raked in a breath, sob-sounding, trying not to panic, finding the hopeless cold made it almost easy. Feel around, feel his way upright. But what he’d stumbled on was a step. The first syllable of a long dark stairway. He’d skinned his palm on another as he fell.

Shuddering already, Simra fought up a little further in the blackness. A little further, then backwards, to sit down on a step and breathe hard and hot and sighing-damp onto his freezing stinging hands.

“Ghosts and bones . . . Blood of my fucking blood . . .”

Head bowed and hair in his face, he chattered through rattling teeth, almost like the start of a prayer, over and over. Might’ve been, too, for most other Dunmer. Ancestors guide me; foremothers teach me; forefathers protect me. To those that came before me, I speak and say I am in need. If this was the Sea of Ghosts, the Telvanni Archipelago, he was closer now to where they lay, but worlds of silence distant. An impassive ocean, heedless, between him and the ghosts whose names he was never told, and who were never told his.

He felt with a bloody hand into his satchel, blind, and brought out a clay compact. A little crucible, sealed with a tight lid. Bringing it to his mouth and nose, hunching towards it, he fumbled to break the seal. Breathed deep. A moment of blue-grey fumes glittered in the dark. The concentrate inside reacted with the air and sang down into his lungs. He hadn’t known how tired the spell had made him until he felt this new surge of magicka, fighting back the exhaustion.

He snapped another calling. The little flame danced back to life, sputtering and flickering. The warmth came back with it, brighter, safer.

Simra looked down, looked around, as he turned and crabbed back to his feet. The stairs were dark and pitted by time beneath his boots, past the wind-fussed red ribbons that tied their padded knees in place and showed bright in all this black and white. Stairs, he told himself, staring down, peering ahead. Stairs meant a path to something. Shelter or summit, he couldn’t be sure, but it was better than wandering lost.

A moment stretched and passed before he realised there was no snow here. None had settled on the stone this place was built from. Coarse and porous, it had shredded a ragged crescent of red from his palm. He flexed the fingers, clammed the hand open and closed. Blood welled slow from the welt and dried clammy then stiff.

Simra returned the bloodied compact to his bag and continued to climb. Dry mouth, tinged with belladonna, creeproot, a solvent acridity, numbing and clean.

On one side a pillar snaked from the incline, ending in nothing but night sky. Blunt pedestals of stone flanked the stairway as it twisted a path up the hillside, mountainside, the face of this pyramid, or whatever else it might be. They stood arbitrary at intervals, less like milestones and more like the last teeth left in a jaw.

A ruin, Simra reckoned before he saw the truth of it. And then the stairs ended, and thrust him amongst it. Coils of inscrutable masonry, fit together in ways that shouldn’t have worked, interlocking in arches and strabismic buttresses, supporting nothing but their own overreach.

Like the walker in a maze can make out only the next turn, the way behind, and not the maze itself, Simra moved in his capsule of light and warmth. There were no rooms so far, no buildings, just the structure, built for no reason but to be. A temple maybe, or a monument. Something ruined for so long its purpose is lost but the attempt to fulfil it remains.

Simra was afraid of it. Not the stone or the structures, and maybe not even the shadows and the keening wind. Just a threat in the air; an unease. He bent and drew the wand from his boot. Better that than try wield a sword in his raw and half-scabbed hand.

He skirted the ruin’s limits but had a sense of turning inward. Clambering over a fallen strut, thick as the stoutest Falkreath oaktrunk, Simra saw something ahead. A place where the wings and torques of architecture hedged together and tangled. It was almost like a dome, almost like walls, and almost like the twist and knot that the wand he carried made in the matter it struck. At least he’d be out of the wind, out from under the sky. He had a destination. Somewhere to stop.

He pierced into the dark, staring into the tangled dome-shape. Shattered urns and dessicated scraps of colour that might have once been flowers. The bones of small creatures, fish, birds. Nothing that moved or moved on him.

Simra stepped inside. A ceremonial scent still clung to the air here, smelling of new sweat, old metal, bad perfume, unguents and burnt oil. Finding a wall, Simra turned his back against it and collapsed.

Temple, he decided. Smelled like a temple, anycase. Prayer and undisturbed dust, and the dry decay of offerings left to air. For all that littered the room there was almost nothing to burn, but the cold had let up since he entered. He was past questioning why. Some lingering magic, some quality of the stone, same perhaps as whatever stopped the snow from settling . . .

“I’ll take it,” he murmured.

Like letting go some small animal he’d clutched to him all this time, Simra angled his hand towards the floor, between his bent and spread knees. The flame slipped down to the dusty ground and sat a while, still burning.

He was tired to breaking but sleep kept its distance. Safe, or feeling safer; warm, or feeling warmer, he fell back into himself, and screwed his eyes tight. He could have died. So easy, he could have died out there, and they’d have sent him to it, on ignorance or uncaring. His fury turned to terror turned to fury turned relief. Then almost panic again, as he remembered the scroll in his bag.

He hissed through his teeth, scrabbling his book-bag open and searching out the scroll. A sending-spell; one of the tools the scribe had given him, hashed out hasty when he’d balked at Ulessen’s impatience. Send him out now? Right now? What about them back at his camp? he’d said. Telling them where he was and not to worry? What about his friends? He’d said he wanted them with him, but when the Telvanni told him there was no time, that he’d have to go alone, the sense of release was almost crushing. Alone again, at least for a while. Guilty, but he’d grab it wholehearted. In the end the scroll had been a compromise. One chance to send his speech and say what needed to be said.

He had to tell them, he thought as his heart raced. Ought to, he thought as it slowed. But he was tired. Ghosts and bones and blight and all, he was tired. Sitting up, cool but made warm by the contrast, he angled back his head into the wall behind him, and slept heedless and deep as his little flame blinked out.

[tu-writers-room]

In the Web

On. With a quick swipe of my thumb, I unlock the screen. A couple of notifications are waiting for my attention. There are a few texts that I can answer right away. Another is the reminder to get to the job interview in time. A glance on the top right hand corner does the same. So I get moving. The train doors open and they close. The reassuring weight of my phone in my hand calms me down. I won't be late, I'm sure of it. No new e-mails have come in as of yet. Still, I check again. The interview could have been canceled after all. The tunnels open and darkness closes around the train. Looking around, I can make out a couple of faces, lit from beneath. A shivering feeling creeps through my thumbs into my arms. As the screen turns black again, a faint light still shines into my face. My thumbs are not only cold now but glowing slightly, too. Curious, I manage to think when the darkness opens again and the tunnel ends.

"Nice profile pic!" I raise my eyes to see where that came from. But nobody's even looking at me. The doors open. "No, really, you should wear that shirt more often!", a voice exclaims, again right next to my ear. A different one. As I turn around to see who said that I only see a woman staring me in the eye. I am pushed to get out and stumble. An arm right next to me prevents me from falling but disappears right there and then. So does the woman from before. I turn in circles, looking for her. Or for that first voice. Nothing. The doors close. My feet carry me along. I won't be late. Check the phone and the inbox again. I squint my eyes to decipher my screen. Every once in a while a shadow grants me a moment to read. Then I also see windows and signs, advertisements and even an occasional face. Where they might lead? Bzzzz. An e-mail just arrived. My interview has been moved to an earlier time slot. I scroll through the text. I squint at the clock. I can make it. If only all these people would walk faster! I bump into someone but have no time to spare. Four more messages coming in. They don't know me anyways. Now running, I finally arrive at the reception desk. The doors open and they close. I sit in a waiting room. My leg starts fidgeting. The inbox is now empty but the messages keep coming in. I stare at my fingers but the blueish glow is nowhere to be seen. I read that a former classmate married, a cousin got their drivers license and somebody's on vacation. Good for them, I think. I start to write a status update. The woman next to me averts her eyes. As I turn the other way, a man stares blankly at me. The new buzzfeed test is out. I like somebody's lunch and wonder when I have last eaten. An invitation to a wedding arrives. I re-start my status-update. The door opens and it closes. 

As I sit and wait again, the weight in my hand gets heavier with every buzzing sound. But no, I cannot check on them, at least not yet. The person in front of me starts to talk. "So, you would like to work for our company. As far as I could tell from your resume this will surely be a good fit." Two more buzzes make my hand clench around the screen. Not yet. "We just have a few more questions: Why is it that you have not updated your relationship status for such a long time? I mean, sure the last break-up was tough for you — considering how much you still click through your ex's profiles you're also still working through it — but still there's no need to stop searching. You know, we are looking for someone who is persistent in his pursuits. Considering how you keep on changing—" I sit and stare. How does this person possibly…— "And then your google history… really, why would you try to look up your symptoms online?" She rambles on. I don't even hear what she is saying anymore. The cold feeling has crept up my arm again and I start to shiver. No, to buzz, every time the phone does. A door opens and I walk through. It closes. My feet start walking. Reflections of skyscrapers pass by and my dad has finally repaired his car. I am handed a leaflet for a concert that is set for next week, 9 pm PST. I should check that with my calendar. I bump into someone who shouts at me. My ex has uploaded another photo with the new partner. I turn because I heard the woman's voice again. And an e-mail from the company is already in. I trip and fall but there is nothing to hold on to. My phone lands on the pavement first. It is glowing in bright colors as I fall right on top of it.

The screen opens and it closes. A roaring sound. Chatter and laughter and screams. I peek into the darkness. Buildings looming left and right. Endless heights. Suddenly they light up. Cast flashes that illuminate. Thousands of people flood the street. Bodies moving recklessly. Pushing other bodies carelessly aside. My feet start moving. Did they? Did I? Or did the punch from behind make them? I have to get to the other side. Pushing through this stream. The flickering light ends. As mechanically as it began. No sunlight here. No sun. No moon. No sky. But the roar remains unchanged. "Fake!" — "Liar!" So loud I cannot figure out a single voice. I push and shove. The rows of buildings do not end. Another lights up as the first goes blank. Bodies everywhere. "Look! Tits!" — "Test yourself!" Pushing, shouting through the crowd. Pushed and drawn into the looming structures. Finding what they did not seek. They stay. They flicker in the light. Their faces unaccounted for. Shimmering masks with hollow eyes. They stare. At me. I squint through the lightnings. The same face. Over and over and over again. I am dragged along. Scanning the faces. One second square. The next, they're round. My own eyes staring back at me. From millions of these unmoved grimaces. "Ugly!" — "Come and play!"

Faintly, there are familiar noises. I remember. Remember what I had hoped to forget. I try to run from these voices. The mass of bodies in the way. Unmoving suddenly and glaring. Regret is mirrored in their pages. Who could they—? Do they… know? The noise gets louder. Feet get faster. Hits get rougher. The bodies part. Just for a bit. Their eyes return to run. From one light to the next. One mask to the next. "WTF?" — "HAHA!" — "Loser!" Long enough to run from the bellowing familiar sound. Running, trying to find a way out. Every turn another poll, another blank to fill in. Just to get further down the road. Getting cold. Colder. Step by step. Just like every shoulder I push against. Cold and unblinking. "You did WHAT?"

Countless voices shouting. A clacking, rattling sound. Blind and deaf. "Look at this!" — "Share my shit!" — "You idiot!" Flashes of blue and white. Bodies all around. Flickering lights. Flickering faces. Changing eyes. Blurry lines. Pushing and kicking. "Shut UP!" Mocking smiles when you wince at a punch. "Who the FUCK are you?" — "Buy this!" I stumble. "Leave me be!" Grab a shoulder not to fall. There's nothing there. A glint. Body readjusts. Now looming high above. Hands transparent. Shadows. Flicker. "FUUUUCK!!!!!!" Screams. Shrieking. Blue. Buy! Bright. Black. Off.

This was a creative writing project I did in the class Dark, Darker, Gothic this summer semester and which I also read at this year’s summer fair. I set out to figure out what a kind of Virtual Gothic might look like; translating the genre into our digitalized world if you will. - Rika

[doctorwhodunit]

Bloody Venus

Gajevy Week Bonus Prompt: Alternate Universe

Summary:  Gajeel Redfox studies to one day become the leader of the Second Division of the Police Department, the one that deals with cases of thefts and robberies. A particular thief piqued his interest, a quirky and arrogant one that managed to outsmart the police force too many times already. Cunning as he is, Gajeel decides to join in on the fun.

You can also read it on FFnet.

"Impenetrable fortress," Macao Conbolt, the head of the police squad, said with a smirk as he looked around the room.

"The walls are made of glass," Wakaba Mine, his best friend and right-hand man, retorted beside him. "I repeat," he quipped, miming a megaphone, "we're on the building's top floor at night and the walls are made of glass for 'fanciness reasons' according to the person in charge of the exhibition. There's nothing 'impenetrable' about this place."

The dozen police officers surrounding them sighed silently. 'Here we go again' and 'Always bickering' could be heard from some of them as they faked checking some of their equipment. "Bulletproof vest, okay," one of them coughed.

Macao rolled his eyes and glared back at Wakaba. "I know they're made of glass," he snapped, "but we," he yelled proudly, opening his arms wide, "the agents of Justice with a capital J, are what make this glass room impenetrable! We are the backbone of this nation! Bearing pride in our hearts, we have one and only goal! Protect the jewels from the filthy hands of this serial thief!"

A moment of silence passed and the police officers glanced at each other with a hint of a lopsided smile on their face. They all straightened their stance and looked intensely back at their leader.

"Yes, sir!"

Macao grinned a toothy grin, proud of his men's resolve. Beside him, Wakaba snorted. "You might sound cheesy but you sure know how to boost your squad's determination," he commented earnestly. However, he didn't let him have time to smile and promptly added, "she managed to escape from us twice already though."

Macao coughed as he unintentionally choked on a ball of bitterness thinking about how easily she outsmarted them without any bloodshed. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit verbally that her thieving skills were out of this world. Stealing gems from right under their noses without using any lethal weapon against the police to do so was not an easy feat, and yet, she achieved her deeds with utmost brilliance. And arrogance. So much arrogance. Macao seethed inwardly just thinking about it.

"This time," he replied after regaining his composure, "she won't be able to steal anything." He considered the pedestal in front of him and smirked as he regarded the jewels in the glass case. "If you touch the glass, an alarm will ring and the trap door inside will open and close fast to protect the jewels." He glanced at Wakaba who clearly had his 'I already know about the security systems, stop repeating yourself' face on. Macao reached in his back pocket and whipped out with slight arrogance his ultimate weapon. "And I've got this!"

Jealousy could be read on Wakaba's eyebrows when he contemplated what looked like sunglasses from the future in Macao's hand.

"Glasses with Iris Recognition System!" he boasted. "When I put these on, they scan my irises and it activates a mechanism inside the pedestal that allows the glass case to open automatically!" He wished he could have wiggled his eyebrows at the annoyed and jealous Wakaba who clearly had enough of him repeating himself. "This means that only I, Macao Conbolt, can open the glass case to get the jewels!"

Wakaba clenched clenched his teeth and fist and rolled his eyes. He sounded even more arrogant than the thief itself, which had the tendency to piss him off more than anything. However, a quick look at his wristwatch made him realise that he had no time to deal with this prick.

“Anyway, Supreme Leader Macao Conballs, it's almost time.”

Macao ignored the tasteless nickname he gave him, put away the sunglasses in his front pocket, and cleared his throat. “Alright! She said she'll come to steal the jewels at 10:00 PM. Only two minutes left, get ready.”

His tone of voice sounded more serious, almost grave. He was determined to capture her this time. Close to the glass case containing the jewels, Macao and Wakaba regarded their men with confidence, knowing that their presence around them and the jewels would be more than enough to take the thief down. After all, they were the elite handpicked cautiously by the head of the police departm-

“From above!” a voice cried out.

Everyone's heart skipped a beat as they all instinctively shot their head upwards in order to neutralise their oncoming threat. Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion when not even the shadow of the thief could be seen.

“What's this?” one of the men said hastily, pointing at something falling under the moonlight.

Macao squinted to see that a small metallic object was falling, and it was only when it reached eye-level that his jaw dropped as he recognised what it was. Unfortunately, it had already reached the ground right in front of him before he could say anything.

“Flash grenade?!”

Like lightning descending from the skies in the middle of a storm, a blinding light suddenly illuminated the whole room, making it impossible to see anything. Their eyes couldn't handle the glow of the powerful light, and they instantly shut close in pain. The thudding sound of the explosion had Wakaba and the other men cover their ears, and they understood quickly that for a few seconds, they wouldn't be able to move as they pleased.

“I can't see shit! Damn thief!” Macao seethed.

“Conbolt-san! Here, the sunglasses!” a voice hurried.

Macao felt one of his men's fingers on his hands as he was handed the sunglasses. A sigh of relief in this confusing situation escaped his mouth.

“Thank you!” he yelled as he put them on.

He managed to open his eyes and his forehead grew a size when he saw what was happening. A blue light passed over his eyes and he could distinctly hear a sort of gas sound near him. He recognised the sound of the mechanism right away as he was the only one to have heard it in this room.

The glass case opened.

“Damn thief used the glasses with Iris Recognition System against me!” Macao cried out in horror. “Keep calm and get closer to me, the thief can't have escaped this quickly!”

Without ease and with their eyes still blinded, his men walked towards him. However, as seconds went by, their eyesight was slowly coming back to normal. They could spot Macao throwing his glasses and Wakaba rubbing his eyes. When all the officers reached their squad leader, their jaw dropped.

“The jewels disappeared,” Wakaba gasped at the open glass case.

Macao quickly examined the room, but there was no thief to be found. “Goddammit!” he cursed with gritted teeth.

“Look!” Wakaba exclaimed, snapping Macao out of his self-deprecating thoughts, pointing at the top of the pedestal.

A neat, laminated piece of paper was placed on the cushion that supported the jewels on the pedestal. Considering the neat penmanship, it was most likely a note written by a woman. Macao took a closer look at it and gritted his teeth, always so overwhelmed by this thief's arrogance.

How about a good ol' race, Conbolt-san?

The loser owes the winner Kinder Chocolate ice cream.

“This pretentious bastard,” he hissed. “Why would you choose Kinder Chocolate when you can have Oreo Cream?”

Before Wakaba could add a snide remark to his tasteless remark – and comment on his malfunctioning taste buds – they heard a screeching car noise coming from outside.

“Must be her,” Macao said curtly. “Oh, she wants a race, we're gonna give it to her. Guys! Let's get outta here, we're taking her down tonight!”

“Yes, sir!” they yelled back.

And in no time, they all rushed down the stairs to go after their enemy.

All except one.

Because of all this ruckus, none of the so-called elite of the police department realised that one of them had stayed behind. A whistle escaped the mouth of the member of the police force, only to be followed by a rather high-pitched chuckle. A smirk tugged at the corner of the officer's mouth as he brought his hands from behind his back up to his face – said hands holding what the elite of the police department was supposed to protect.

The object was round, and there wasn't anything much special about it. Cherry blossoms of different warm colours adorned the object, all seeming to converge to one point on the round-shaped jewel. It had all the characteristics of a… button. The officer raised an eyebrow, and his thumb naturally went over the button and pressed it. He almost made the ball-like object fall when it opened, as if it were a compartment someone would put a wedding ring into. But instead of a wedding ring, the eyes of the jewel bearer lit up, reflecting a magnificent display of shine and artistry.

Beauty was truly in the eyes of the beholder.

Falkor's Ashes. Peculiar name for this dragon-shaped diamond. As if frozen, the dragon stood tall on his tail, its nest appearing bigger on the inside. The craftsmanship of this masterpiece made the officer's hazel eyes glitter in awe.

His eyebrows furrowed suddenly, and he considered the dragon's nest once more. Ashes… Ash...

“Oooooh,” the officer exhaled, “it opens like a Poké Ball.”

“That's yer first comment, really? What a weirdo.”

Startled, the 'Poké Ball' almost dropped to the ground as the officer snapped his head in the direction of the foreign voice. It came from the staircase the other policemen had gotten out from. An ominous shadow was calmly making its way up, and step by step, it felt like its confidence was growing bigger, sharper.

A hand slowly dragged itself up the banister. The officer's heart beat faster and his blood started boiling as a long mane of hair appeared across the bars of the banister. He could feel the mischievous smile of an unexpected opponent.

How exciting.

“Yo,” the deep voice said, done walking up the stairs, “havin' a nice stroll?”

From where he was and because of the moonlight, all the officer could see was a tall figure with wild, long hair. At least, he could tell he was a man, judging by his deep and raspy voice.

“Who are you? How did you get here, kid?” the officer asked in an astonishingly deep voice.

A laugh that resembled a grunt escaped the tall figure's mouth. “Well, that clearly ain't yer real voice,” he snorted. “Let's get down to business,” he grunted then, “don't waste my time, thief.”

His last word echoed around the room with thunderous strength. The weight of the word as it burst out of his mouth was like no other, for some reason it felt like he deemed his enemy worthy of this battle, even though he had already won.

A long silence lingered in the air, both of them waiting for the other to whip out his next move, but the tall figure had already lost patience.

“This ain't no silent movie so how about I do the talk for ya?” he suggested. “First off,” he exclaimed, pointing his index finger upwards, “you've got the jewel in yer hands, that's already pretty suspicious if ya ask me.”

“Th-”

“Nah-uh, you had your chance, you wasted it,” he sniped. “Second off, give a close look at the bottom of the pedestal.”

The officer looked down carefully, still confused by the sudden turn of events. He blinked once or twice before seeing a white square stuck to the bottom of the pedestal.

“It's a wireless transmitter, also commonly known as a bug,” he bragged. “I've been listening to everything that was happening since the beginning.” A smirk tugged at his lips, foreseeing what the next question would be. “Why does it even matter that you listened to what was happening? Good question!” he blurted joyfully. “When Macao and Wakaba started bickering, one of the officers faked checking their equipment and referred to it as a bulletproof vest. What a newbie mistake,” he snorted, “the police force in this country mostly use stab vests, especially when they're up against someone who's known for not using firearms, like you.”

Who on Earth are you? the suspicious officer thought through gritted teeth. By the looks of it, he wasn't one of the policemen who had left. He wasn't a policeman, period. The wireless transmitter wasn't Macao's idea or else he would already have made a move. Whoever he is, he works alone, and he's good at it.

“Thief,” the tall figure spoke, “dunno how long yer gonna stay silent but I think there's something that'd make yer mouth work a little.” His mischievous smirk reeked of confidence, and he made it seem like his eyes could see right through the suspect's every move. “Whatcha have in your hands… it's a fake.”

The suspect's hands started trembling at once, and hazel eyes shivered over what was supposed to Falkor's Ashes. Fake?! The 'elite' of the police department wouldn't protect fake jewels, this didn't make sense. How could it be a fake? No matter how you looked at it, there was no way it could be a f-

“Eh?” came the culprit's confused inquiry.

“Finally seein' it?” he snorted. “Ya've been breathing on it this whole time, right? Diamonds have high thermal conductivity, which means condensation never stays on it, it vanishes immediately. But you can see it now, can't ya?” he asked provocatively. “The condensation from yer breath is still lingering.”

A blurry reflection of a lost-for-words culprit appeared on the fake diamond. Falkor's Ashes turned out to be an omen of bad luck in the end. The wrongdoer's lips started being bitten by short and sharp teeth. Frustration was building up inside. Should have come more prepared… oh well, makes my escape more exciting. A deep breath was taken then, and a shrill, almost snobbish laugh escaped her mouth.

“I guess I reached my limit,” she muttered wistfully.

The brilliant mind who found her out watched in confusion what followed. The fake officer started to undress, one piece of equipment after another. The fake bulletproof vest came off first, and as it reached the ground, it sounded like polystyrene covered the inside of the vest. It was probably to make her look chubbier because at first glance, even though from afar and without much light, he noticed that she instantly became much slimmer. Then, she unbuckled her helmet, from which puffed out a good amount of wild hair going more upwards and sideways than downwards. What struck him the most was when she took the shoes off, it looked as if she had dropped down from the first step of a ladder. Did she just lose 10 centimeters or what?

After she finished taking off the rest of her fake police equipment, she gently put the fake jewel on the floor, and promptly kicked it aside. He snorted at the angry-looking gesture, and the fact that she was ten centimeters now only added to the comedic effect.

“Finally turning yourself in, huh?” he boasted. “The only way out is the staircase right behind me,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “so ya'd have to go through me if ya wanna escape, but I don't think starting a fight with me would be a good idea, shorty.”

As though deliberately answering his threat, the thief started walking straight to him. There was a sluggish pattern to her pace, it was slow, but it felt like she was sauntering her way to him. The effortlessness – or the smugness – of her walk made him snort.

“I like your guts,” he grunted, “what's yer name?”

“What are you going to do with it, add me on Facebook?” she sniped in a rather haughty voice.

He rolled his eyes at her boldness. “No, smartass,” he retorted sharply. “I just wanna get the name of the person who's managed to outsmart the police force way too many times already.”

Still slowly sauntering her way to him, her lips drew a lopsided smile. “You're a stranger and we've only just met,” she said with disdain, “I'm not giving you my name like that.”

With that, there was one thing he understood. Nobody could have such a haughty, nasal voice, which meant that, yet again, it wasn't her real voice. Only one reason would make her act this way: she didn't plan on being arrested tonight. However, judging by the fact that she didn't use weapons and that he was fairly confident in his combat skills, the last slither of doubt that ghosted over his mind flew away.

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname,” he snickered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Nickname?”

“Nickname, code name, alias, whatever,” he groaned. “Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?” He brushed his nose with his thumb and grunted. “And this story ends tonight as I, Gajeel Redfox, am the man who will arrest you.”

“What a presumptuous man we've got here,” she promptly answered, “if you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

And as she uttered her answer, three meters away from reaching him and with finally enough light for them to see one another, Gajeel Redfox waved his hands in horror in front of him, stopping her in her track.

“W-wait!” he startled, clearly trying to repress a laugh. “There are way too many things to make fun of here! Where do I even start?! The fact that ya have double roller skates instead of shoes?! That you're in yer pink pajamas?! That yer backpack makes ya look like yer going on a school trip?! Or that yer mask looks like what a brat would wear at Halloween?!”

“H-how rude!” she spluttered. Her cheeks suddenly became hotter, mimicking the apparent colour of Gajeel's eyes by the moonlight. She waited a few seconds to regain her composure, trying not to fumble over her words. “It's not my fault, okay?” How embarrassing. “I didn't have enough time to put on a decent outfit because I was in a hurry! I had decided to take a nap in the afternoon and I woke up late because… my alarm clock didn't ring.”

Gajeel blinked. And he blinked again. …One more time for good measure.

“You in middle school or sumthin'?”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“Right,” he quipped. He cleared his throat then, and took a voice even deeper than his normal one. An official voice. “If you had read the School Rules & Regulations, young Miss, you would have noticed that 'my alarm clock didn't ring' isn't an accepted excuse to miss class anymore.”

What a shithead, she thought vehemently through gritted teeth. She wanted to punch him in the face for this one, though she couldn't but think that she would have laughed if the context had been different. She would probably have hurt herself doing it though, there were quite a handful of piercings on his face.

A deep breath and an eye-roll later, Levy brushed off her violent needs. “How did you manage to replace the original with a fake?”

Again. This toothy smirk of his. Not many things could rile her up easily, but this, this was infuriating. His mouth was quality punching-ball material. She had never felt that drawn to a mouth before.

“Let's say I know a guy.”

His tone of voice was surprisingly curt, as sharp as his physical features. She considered him for a moment. His features were sharp indeed, she wanted to punch him earlier but she could cut herself hitting this jawline; it was tantalizing in a away. Even the sand colour of his skin reminded her of giant rocks in the middle of a desert – jagged, perilous and rough. The worn, black – with khaki undertones – leather jacket that hung from his broad and well-defined shoulders added to the feeling that he was towering over her. And the shallow curve to his spine as he looked down at her did not help.

Her face twitched as his hand brushed his belt and reached the full pocket of his blue jeans.

“Anyway,” Gajeel Redfox muttered, whipping a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, “turn around, I'm draggin' ya to the police station.”

She gave a quick look at her wristwatch and bit her lip. “W-wait a minute,” she stammered.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Are you sure you don't want to let me go?” she asked vainly. “It's simple, I just have to walk past you and go down the stairs, and we'll have another showdown later,” she suggested cheerfully. “Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

“Nah I'm good,” he casually answered, “pajama girl.”

His bad habit of giving her nicknames was really getting on her nerves. Maybe she wouldn't mind cutting herself slapping his jawline after all. But she managed to put away her killing intent far, far away in the back of her mind, glanced at her wristwatch again, and breathed heavily.

“No choice then,” she muttered as she whirled around, holding her own hands behind her back.

Gajeel Redfox smirked. “There's a good girl.”

From behind, he couldn't help but think that she really did look like a grade school girl with her backpack and roller skates. And the freaking pajamas. He took a few steady steps forward and readied the handcuffs.

His eyes shot open wide in surprise when her small figure jumped up and hit the heels of her roller skates against one another.

“What th-”

BOOM!

A bright flash of light and the cracking of glass shattering snapped his head up in direction of the explosion. Right in front of him, a part of the glass wall was no more. Shards of glass bounced and scattered on the floor.

“What did y-”

Gajeel Redfox gritted his teeth in fear and backed a shivering step away from her. From underneath her double roller skates, two mini jet engines seemed to have popped out on both sides in-between the rear and front wheels.

“See you later, alligator!”

She swiftly reached down her roller skates and pressed a button, and before Gajeel could even think about getting a hold of her, a burst of fire shot out of her jet engines. It was so abrupt that she almost lost balance as she thrust herself forward.

Gajeel's mouth and eyes opened wide, and his heart skipped a beat as understanding dawned on him. “Are ya gonna jump off the window through the crack in the glass wall?! The roof of the building in front of ya is twenty meters away from here!”

I know, she thought tensely, and this building is ten meters taller than the one in front of me.

“Fucking stop!” he yelled, now desperately running after her. “Yer not gonna make it!”

She couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear his irregular and hasty footsteps behind her. She was too focused to pay attention to her surroundings, she even glossed over the fact that shards of glass could bounce off the ground as she wheeled at high speed and land anywhere on her body.

Given the size of the room, she speculated inwardly, I'll be around 40 km/h by the time I jump off the window. She bit her bottom lip nervously as she, lightning fast, thought things through. Damn, including gravity and the fact that there's a ten meter height difference between the two buildings, I'd need to go at 14 meters per second, so 50 km/h.

I need a 10km/h boost!

Without a moment's hesitation, she opened her backpack side pocket and managed to grab what she was looking for. A quick with low-medium power will do. I've got 1.42 seconds in mid-air, I can do this.

Gajeel - who tried as hard he could to keep up with her alarming speed towards her impending fall – couldn't look away from what was happening. He hated the idea that he could lose someone this way again. He tried his hardest, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop her.

“Yer just being arrested! Don't do this! It's not worth it!” he implored in vain. “You suicidal or what?!”

She flinched, but as she almost reached the huge crack in the glass wall, she pulled the ring off of what she was grabbing onto and smiled wistfully.

“Who knows…”

And after wheeling on a few other shards of glass, she jumped over the edge. For a tiny moment, she was distracted by the weightlessness of the experience, but she snapped out of it quickly enough. There was no time for awe.

Before Gajeel saw her leaving his line of sight as she was falling, she threw what was in her hand behind her. Gajeel wasn't good in maths but his instinct was as sharp as his jawline; at the speed she went, there was no way she could reach the next roo-

BOOM!

The shards of glass on the floor shook and the earth trembled under the weight of this other explosion. Gajeel noticed it was less powerful, but he decided to walk carefully towards the shattered glass window. Glass cracked under each one of his shaky footsteps. His eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the other building.

His mouth opened slightly and, for a moment, he stopped breathing. He brought his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them. Hard. He blinked multiple times as the knowledge of the notion of breathing to stay alive kicked in again.

“Unscathed…”

A handful of seconds after her jump, twenty meters away and ten meters below him, the thief – with her roller skates off and backpack gone – stood proudly at the edge of the roof with a defying grin tugging at her lips.

He swallowed thickly at the impossible sight.

On the other roof, the impossible thief seemed to shiver, but after she revealed what was behind her back, Gajeel Redfox's face turned green as she burst into a manic laughter.

Sitting gloriously on the palm of her hand, the Poké Ball shaped object opened, revealing a diamond dragon sitting on its tail. Falkor's Ashes.

Gajeel frantically checked his pockets, and as he looked down at her again, he shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in defeat.

“I started as a pickpocket,” she explained from the other side, “and you reeked of arrogance, so you must have had the jewel on you. I'll let you connect the dots!”

Gajeel bit his lip. “You stole it when I was distracted by the first explosion,” he muttered.

She didn't hear him, but she guessed he understood how he was defeated. It was good enough for her. Without giving him time to react, with a quick bow, she stepped off the edge of the roof and ran to the staircase, leaving Gajeel Redfox alone with his thoughts.

His voice got caught in his throat. He wanted to say something – anything – before she left, but she was already gone. He scratched the pocket that was supposed to keep Falkor's Ashes safe, and he clenched his fists and teeth in frustration. This damn suicidal thief! H-how –

He thought back to what happened, and a tiny moment was enough for understanding to dawn on him. He remembered she had thrown something behind her back, and a second later, the explosion happened.

“A hand grenade… no way…” He shook his head hard with scared eyes, as though trying to shake off this impossible truth. “She used the power of the detonation as a boost to make up for the lack of enough speed she needed to jump from this roof to the other…”

He froze. He unconsciously tried to imagine what was going on in her mind when she thought about this escape route. She must have thought about it the moment she took off her fake police equipment, since it was the only time where she could have set whatever she set for the first explosion. The thought of it alone made him dizzy.

A nervous laugh escaped his mouth. “What the hell…”

When he looked down at the floor, trying to find some sense of balance, something caught his eye. He decided to sit down after kicking away all the shards of glass that could have bitten him in the ass. He picked up what caught his attention.

A note.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- * insert nickname here *

He frowned. “Nickname?”

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname. Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?”

“If you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

With a shy lopsided smile, he remembered. They did talk about this, didn't they?

A nickname for this woman thief, huh? A woman way too flashy for her own good. She outsmarted the elite of the police force three times tonight, and at the third time, she outsmarted him, too. She disguised herself as a policeman and used a flash grenade to make her appearance; she sure knew how to put on a show.

She was also dangerous. She took a lot of risks tonight just not to be arrested. She risked her own life for this dragon. No way in hell would someone be willing to throw their life away for the sake of an expensive jewel. She was dangerous… and it was ridiculously tantalizing. Gajeel wanted to reach out and touch her, even though he knew he could burn himself doing so.

Her light was already blinding enough as it was, she also had to be dangerous. She was dangerous to him, but she was even more dangerous to herself. He couldn't explain it, but his instinct told him that she, too, was unconsciously reaching for something that could burn her. A sun more powerful than the light she emitted.

One day, blood would splash her hands, and it wouldn't be someone else's. It would be hers.

She was a flashy woman who tried her hardest not to reach for something greater and eventually deadlier than herself.

Gajeel snorted. It wasn't like him to think this much about something, but this time was special. He reached in the back pocket of his jeans and whisked out a pen. Finally, he placed the note on the palm of his hand, brought it closer to him, and scribbled over some words.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- BLOODY VENUS

He left the note on the floor and stood up, deep in thought. He heard the sound of police cars outside the building, which meant they heard about the explosion. Under the weight of his footsteps heading out of the building, shards of glass – reminding him of his most exciting showdown – bent and shattered, making the soundtrack of his exit more… metal, the way he liked it.

“Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

His devilish smirk came back.

“I can't wait.”

[march-gay-shipping-madness]

LOSER'S BLIND LIGHTNING ROUND:

[march-gay-shipping-madness]

LOSER'S BLIND LIGHTNING ROUND FINALS: