#odds are non-zero that i take a swing at a man

[gourmet-trash]

there is a decently high chance my director is going to pull me aside tomorrow to “let me know” i’m not getting the promotion OR the raise i should be getting next week so like. please fucking channel all your extra energy into my personal spirit bomb to NOT ANGRY CRY DURING THIS MEETING.

[vodkassassin]

For SVSS- Gifts of jewelry, with spite.

I could have sworn I had another prompt asking for what the other peak lords thought of the cucumberplane friendship, and I was going to smoosh it together with this incredibly vague prompt, but I couldn’t find it lmao. Anyway, here @starfata

There are OC peak lords in this, including the POV character. Rong Qingsheng peak lord of the agriculture peak number 12, Ju Qingsong peak lord of the 11th peak, and I finally named the booze peak lord Shui Qingyu. That’s it, I think. Read away!

—

Shang Qinghua enters the peak lord meeting with a loud bang, slamming open the door with much more force than it really needs. Being the last one to arrive, everyone else is already seated and exchanging quiet conversation with one another.

They all jump when he comes in, and stare in confusion at the scowl that adorns his face. They watch in abrupt silence as he steps into the hall, at how his eyes zero in on a suddenly smirking Shen Qingqiu, and Qi Qingqi leans her shoulder into the master of the agricultural peak that sits next to her.

Rong Qingsheng raises his eyebrow at her, keeping one eye on the An Ding lord that stalks forward without looking at any of them to sit in his own seat with a noisy and very pointed huff.

Voice lowered, Qi Qingqi smirks at him. “How much?”

“For what, exactly, this time?” Rong Qingsheng heaves a quiet sigh, long since used to his martial sister’s gambling ways.

If there’s even a hint of wavering odds in the balance of the drama that occasionally befalls the inner workings of their sect, you can be certain that Qi Qingqi has a betting pool running behind the scenes of it.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” She asks, and Rong Qingsheng is never one to wager money in any of her ridiculous and time-eating schemes, but then again— despite speaking directly to him, she’s not exactly asking him.

Seated to Rong Qingsheng’s right, the peak lord of the beast tamers peak leans around him to eye Qi Qingqi with a sharp gaze and an even sharper smile. “What do you think the stakes are, that Shen-shixiong did something to piss him off?” He asks, eagerly, always one to fall into a bet.

“I think that it’s already clear that he has, indeed, done just that,” Rong Qingsheng says, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder and pushing him out of his personal space and back into his proper seat.

Ju Qingsong pouts at him, the ridiculous man. “Yes, but the question is, did he do it on purpose, or on accident and is just pretending he did it intentionally in the face of Shang-shixiong’s anger?”

“Why would he do that?” Rong Qingsheng asks, confused.

“Because he’s a dick?” Ju Qingsong shrugs, and leans behind his back this time to make eye contact with Qi Qingqi. “Ten silver on Shen-shixiong doing it on accident, though. He’s a good actor, we can’t be sure he doesn’t have as much of a clue as to why Shang-shixiong is upset with him as we do.”

Qi Qingqi grins, pulling a loose sheaf of parchment out of absolutely nowhere — no, that had definitely come from in between her breasts. And a charcoal pencil, too? How does it all fit? Why.

Rong Qingsheng feels so tired, all of a sudden.

“Qi-shijie,” someone else murmurs, and Rong Qingsheng glances over his shoulder, already exhausted, to see Shui Qingyu of the brewery peak hunched behind them like he thinks he’s being sneaky. “Five silver on Shen-shixiong purposefully having antagonized Shang-shixiong.”

“All of you are idiots,” Liu Qingge grunts from where he’s sidled over to lean over Ju Qingsong’s table.

The rest of them eye him closely, and Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil pauses on its scribbling. If anyone were to have any sort of inside perspective of the odd friendship that exists between the Qing Jing and An Ding peak lords, it’s the Bai Zhan one. For some reason that probably makes no sense whatsoever, Rong Qingsheng is certain.

Liu Qingge continues, “Qinghua definitely started it.”

Immediately, Ju Qingsong rolls his eyes and leans heavily into Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder. He shoves the man away, once more, but he just returns, again.

“Shang-shixiong wouldn’t be this pissed if he’d made the initial insult himself, would he?” Ju-shixiong ponders. “He’s always been pretty good about taking responsibility for his own actions and accepting any retribution for them.”

Rong Qingsheng watches as Liu Qingge squints at their martial brother, and then reluctantly nods.

“He is,” the man says, tapping a finger thoughtfully to the base of his sword. “But…”

Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil shivers with anticipation as it hovered over her parchment. Rong Qingsheng isn’t sure it contains notes solely about the wagers, anymore. “Liu-shidi? What’s your insight?”

Liu Qingge makes a face, like having any sort of insight to it at all is a burden and insult to himself personally. “It’s different,” he eventually admits, “when it’s Shen Qingqiu.”

For some goddamn reason, isn’t vocalized, but all the peak lords exchange knowing looks anyway. Not even Liu Qingge, who’s closest to them, knows what the hell is going on there. Mu Qingfang might have a better take on the two ‘bros’, but even he looks confused, in that exasperated and tired sort of way of his, half the time whenever Shang Qinghua or Shen Qingqui pull their antics with one another.

Speaking of which—

“I’m going to get you back for this,” Shang Qinghua is grumbling, loudly. His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring balefully across the room at where Shen Qingqiu so smugly lounges in his seat beside a faintly puzzled looking Yue Qingyuan.

“You can certainly try,” Shen Qingqui says so quietly that it’s more like he’s mouthing the words than actually saying them, and the An Ding peak lord bristles like he’s been insulted in the gravest of ways.

Rong Qingsheng takes a moment to study him. Shang Qinghua is dressed in his usual peak lord attire, dark blue robes and flowing silk indigo over pants and a high-collared shirt of black, a gauzy and transparent light colored, shorter outer robe thrown over the entire ensemble. For someone who spends a lot of his time running two and fro across all the peaks of the sect chasing down some paperwork or report or other, Shang Qinghua has always been surprisingly stylish. His hair is done up in his usual full bun, held in place with the An Ding lord hairpiece and two silver needles.

Rong Qingsheng narrows his eyes, trying to parse out what, exactly, is different about his senior martial brother today, aside from his current outburst that isn’t typically within his personality unless he’s chasing after someone for an audit of their peak finances.

He resists the urge to shiver. Rong Qingsheng has never had any glaring holes in his peak’s budget histories, but he can quite vividly remember the last time An Ding had come to audit them, and he fervently hopes that the next occasion will not come any time soon.

It takes a few moments, but he eventually spots a difference in Shang Qinghua’s wardrobe. The man isn’t typically one to wear earrings unless they’re simple gems or small hoops. It could be theorized that the dangling ones just get in the way during work? Are distracting when attempting complicated maths and other calculations? Whatever the case is, the ones Shang Qinghua wears today are ornate and incredibly expensive looking, long enough to brush against the tops of his shoulders if he were to shrug, and completely uncharacteristic of the An Ding peak lord.

Not that Rong Qingsheng makes it a habit to creepily examine all his martial siblings whenever he comes across them, but he’s not blind. If you place a pretty person in front of him, what’s he suppose to do? Not look them over? Being a lord of the twelve peaks of Cang Qiong, Rong Qingsheng has ample opportunity to observe his beautiful martial siblings, and Shang Qinghua is as pretty as the rest of them. So what if he’s stared at him enough times to notice a minute change in his jewelry?

There’s a nudge against his ribs. Ju Qingsong leans into his space again, his breath ghosting across his face.

“You’re blushing,” his martial brother whispers, and Rong Qingsheng shoves him.

Ju Qingsong comes back like a boomerang, a grin on his face and his hands latching around Rong Qingsheng’s arm like some sort of infatuated maiden. “Who is it this time?”

“Nothing,” Rong Qingsheng says, calmly, and turns his eyes pointedly away from the line of Shang Qinghua’s neck. Definitely doesn’t notice how the new earrings accentuate it, or how they sparkle in the light and swing just barely with the man’s smallest movements.

He gets poked in the ribs again for his non-answer, but thankfully their sect leader finally stands to bring the meeting to order, so Ju Qingsong has no time to continue needling him.

The meeting is boring as all the others, only highlighted by the brief snack break that the Qiong Ding and Zui Xian disciples tag team to cater. Zhangmen-shixiong always goes out of his way to make sure the monthly meet between peak lords aren’t so dry and mundane that they all simply end up dying of boredom, but there’s only so much even their honorable sect leader can do. By the time the meeting rolls to an end, Rong Qingsheng can feel the edges of sleep tugging at his awareness, and none of his martial siblings look any better.

Except Shang Qinghua, that is. Then again, the peak lord of An Ding has never seemed to allow himself to feel boredom, especially at meetings of any kind. Being in charge of such a detail-oriented sphere of the sect business, Rong Qingsheng assumes, requires one to pay close attention to even the littlest of trivialities.

How time consuming. How much work does it take, to constantly be on alert for every little mention of every little faucet of their collective lives, taking careful note of every little action and reaction and conversation and tucking them away to be used at a later date in conjunction with the running of the sect, without going absolutely mad in the process? Shang-shixiong is the most frequent visitor of their sect leader’s offices for a reason.

He’s never once fallen asleep during a meeting. Rong Qingsheng simply cannot relate, and neither can any of the other peak lords.

The very second that Zhangmen-shixiong brings the meeting to a close, Shang Qinghua jumps up from his seat and makes a beeline toward Shen Qingqiu, who has also begun to look incredibly sleepy and bored out of his mind, but much better at concealing it behind his trusty fan. The Qing Jing peak lord glances up to meet the gaze of Shang Qinghua as he approaches him, and he brings the fan down an inch, a lazy smirk steals across his face.

“Do you like them?” Shen Qingqiu asks almost coyly.

The rest of the peak lords loiter in the room, holding conversations with one another but not paying attention to them because they’re all focused on the confrontation happening at the front. Rong Qingsheng is a little ashamed that he’s one of them. Not ashamed enough to leave, though.

Shang Qinghua comes to a stop before Shen Qinqiu’s table and kneels, huffily, directly onto the hard stone floor across from him, sweeping his sleeves behind him before crossing his arms over his chest. How he’s able to act befitting of a peak lord and yet behave so casually at the same time is surely a paradox, yet he somehow manages it.

“I fail to see why I have been gifted them in the first place,” Shang Qinghua comments idly, though he sounds oddly sarcastic.

Shen Qingqui sets down his fan, only to go for his teacup and use tha to cover his rather sharp smile instead. “But, do you like them?”

Distantly, he can hear Qi Qingqi murmur gleefully from behind him. “How much did you want to wager on Shang-shixiong starting it, Liu-Shidi?”

There’s a grunt. Then, reluctantly, “... Three silver.”

“So low? Liu-Shidi, that’s not very confident of you.”

“S-seven silver!”

“Qi-Shijie, stop trying to extort Liu-shidi. He’s never placed a bet before.” Oh, did Mu Qingfang join them? “Also, put me down for ten silver on Shen-shixiong being the one who started it, but Shang-shixiong being the one who caused it to continue.”

Ju Qingsong frowns. “Are they actually fighting? Shen-shixiong hasn’t intentionally aggravated anyone for a reaction since the fever.”

“What would they be fighting about?” Shui Qingyu asks, confused.

“Something stupid.” Liu Qingge grumbles, but in a knowing way, and so they all turn to listen, like a bunch of nosy eavesdroppers. Which is precisely what they are.

Rong Qingsheng feels so, so tired.

Across the room, Shang Qinghua is scowling. “You can’t just give me expensive jewelry and think that’ll make everything better.”

“Aren’t you calling the kettle black, here, Shang-ge?” Shen Qingqiu asks, using another of the odd metaphoric phrases than only he and Shang Qinghua seem to understand the meanings of. And then there’s the overly familiar form of address, which he’d begun using a few months after the fever broke, but to which Shang Qinghua had rather suspiciously had very little reaction to, and even reciprocated.

It’s all just really, really weird, if you asked Rong Qingsheng. But, then again, no one ever does.

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” Shang Qinghua asks incredulously, fingering one of the new earrings as if self conscious. Ah, is that what Shen Qingqiu had been saying?

“Well, I’m not calling you a stalwart.”

“Joke’s on you then, Shen-ge, because I’m the most stalwart person here.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, eyes flitting over to a bemused Yue Qingyuan, and then briefly across the rest of the peak lords, who all very consciously do not duck their heads, before he nods slowly in acquiescence.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve got me there. But, you still haven’t answered my question.”

Shang Qinghua scowls, removing his hand from the earring and folding it pointedly against his other in his lap.

“... Fine,” he huffs irritably. “Yes, I do.”

Shen Qingqiu takes a sip of tea, eyebrows raised. “You what?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“You have to. That was the deal.”

“There was no— ugh!” Shang Qinghua throws up his hands, and Shen Qingqiu’s lips quirk a little before he chuckles. Actually chuckles! Yue Qingyuan looks positively poleaxed, from where he sits silently and as unobtrusively as possible at his table a foot away from the two bickering friends.

“You can’t insult my sense of fashion and style and then just, what, not expect me to get revenge? Shang-ge, please. You know me better than that.”

Rong Qingsheng’s brows furrow. This is revenge? Gifting Shang Qinghua expensive earrings was a form of revenge? Revenge for what, exactly?

“And you know me better than to think I won’t be getting you back for this,” Shang Qinghua sniffs, standing up from the floor. He points a finger at the fan-toting lord of Qing Jing, and exclaims, “I’m going to get you a gift so great that you won’t possibly be able to top it.”

“Watch me,” Shen Qingqiu immediately retorts, as if Shang Qinghua’s announcement had been some sort of threat, eyes narrow and fan flipping open to cover his lower face.

It’s a beautiful face. Rong Qingsheng has always wondered why Shen-shixiong is so self conscious about it as to constantly cover it up. It can’t be to hide his expressions — he hardly ever allows his thoughts or feelings to show on his face in the first place. It has to be something else.

Shang Qinghua glares, pivots on his heel, and stomps toward the exit. He breezes right on by the eavesdropping peak lords without even sparing them a glance, and slams the door behind him on his way out.

Rong Qingsheng is so confused, and it doesn’t look like any of his martial siblings are much better.

“I can’t even figure out who wins the pot,” Qi Qingqi harrumphs grumpily. She shoves the parchment and charcoal stick back into her cleavage like it’s just another pocket. Both items vanish, and Rong Qingsheng wonders a little hysterically whether she’s got some sort of quankin space array tattooed in between them or something else equally as absurd.

“Well, that would require knowing who started it,” Ju Qingsong shrugs. He’s got a hand on Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder and is leaning against him. He shrugs him off like the irritant that he is, and gets another pout for his troubles.

Mu Qingfang hums. “We will just have to wait until things settle down between them, and ask.”

He and Liu Qingge exchange a glance, and then look away from each other with odd, amused little smiles on their faces.

“It might be a while,” the doctor adds.

He walks away toward the exit himself just as Yue Qingyuan approaches their little group.

“If the peaks lords wish to have lunch together in Qiong Ding, arrangements can certainly be made,” the sect leader begins, and gives them a placid smile. “However, I do not not believe this to be the case. Do my shidi and shimei not have any work to do today?”

Rong Qingsheng cringes, exchanging a sheepish look with his martial siblings. They all beat a hasty retreat back to their own peaks. Finding out what exactly is going on between their two most dramatic and ridiculous martial brothers is going to have to wait.

[thiswasinevitableid]

82, Sternclay, NSFW if possible? Ty so much for all your great fics <3 -☀️

You’re welcome! I hope you enjoy the fill. It’s NSFW, and involves mating cycles, because my A03 stats suggest a lot of y’all like that.

82. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors  (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

----------------------------------------

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual. 

“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke. 

“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have--Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, tumps to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the fuck?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy--uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “That explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in  his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut up babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You��re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents discipline” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him,  while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from  behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

-------------------------------------

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”

[datawyrms]

Dannymay2020 Day 31: Free Day (ghost sword fight lets go)

It was for science, a good cause. His life would be so much better if he didn’t have to hear his parents gleefully discuss ripping apart some mindless ectoplasmic scum molecule by molecule. Right now though, he was remembering the other reason he flinched in horror when having to take his parents anywhere. Complete embarrassment. One extra downside to ghost powers: knowing you actually can just have the ground swallow you up in shame, but knowing you really, really shouldn’t. When your dad is sitting with sodas strapped to his head and waving a foam finger with your friend’s name on it, it got very tempting.

He’d almost prefer dealing with an ecto gun. “Dad, you’re actually going to pay attention, right?”

“Course I will Danny-boy! That goth friend of yours will kick that ghost right back to its own dimension, and I’ll be watching.”

The half ghost groaned, crossing his arms. “Dad.”

“And totally see if it’s actually a fight with rules. I did listen, son! It’s just good to see young people taking up ghost hunting!”

“This isn’t ghost hunting!”

“Right. Your friend is just going to clobber a ghost with a sword. For Science!”

Well he wasn’t wrong exactly, but it wasn’t helping him not regret every second of this stupid plan. “It’s more Sam’s doing the ghost a favour, and Sam’s doing me a favour by letting us watch. Sooo don’t go calling the ghost scum or anything. Please.”

“Hmmhm. I did read your notes son. You think I’d come with no weapons if I thought your observations were shoddy?” he clapped the boy on the back, who had to struggle to not fall over. “Still gotta root for your friend kiddo!”

Yes. Yes he did, actually. Yet asking his dad to maybe be a little less enthusiastic was like asking the sun to maybe be a little less bright. Pointless, and possibly amusing to anyone overhearing you. “She manages without a cheering section most of the time,” he felt the need to point out before heading down the hill to check in with Sam.

“I don’t know what I expected. Not that, that’s for sure.”

“Tell me about it. I didn’t think he’d do anything but scowl from the hill because he’s worried about a dastardly ghost. Sorry.” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking between his friend and the bright orange blight on the hillside.

“Nah. Arlas will probably get a kick out of it anyway, she likes having an audience,” Sam shrugged, fiddling with the lightweight wooden sword. “I have a few new tricks. Who knew Star of all people would like fencing?”

“Did she swear you to secrecy?”

“Bought my silence by being a pretty good practice partner,” her grin faded somewhat “Guess I’ve been buying into their ‘popular’ shtick too. She’s not that bad.”

“Then I’ll pretend you didn’t tell me. You don’t think she’ll try and talk to Dad, right? That could get ugly real quick.”

“She might. She knows to keep the whole met in the ghost zone thing quiet, but I can’t promise much else,”

“Well I can’t promise he won’t call her putrid protoplasm so we’re totally doomed.”

“Maybe we can make it sound like good natured ribbing?”

“With what ribs?” Danny smirked in spite of himself

“Oh shut up you. Go worry about not turning invisible trying to hide from your dad or something. I’ve got this.”

He nodded, backing off to head back to his expected spot. He wasn’t meant to know the ghost well, after all. He did notice the ghost showing up before anyone else, but forced himself to act oblivious.

“Oh, there’s the spook! You mentioned the heavy leg armor, these ones can’t do the leg shapeshifting thing, right?”

Danny blinked. He’d actually read and paid attention to all of it? “Yeah, that’s right. It can be pretty heavy since they don’t have to walk much with the whole flying thing, apparently.” his eyes flicked to his Dad’s face, trying to figure out how the man felt about Sam and this ghost greeting one another in friendly terms. He didn’t look angry, so maybe it was a good sign?

“First to three hits is what you said, right?”

Man this felt weird. Answering things about ghosts without constantly worrying he’d be called a ghost for it. “Sam’s pretty sure five would take too long. Either because she gets tired out, or a ghost hunter barging in.” Something he had almost done three times, but he couldn’t mention that bit.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the two, leaning forward even as he slurped from the ridiculous soda contraption. “That’s how she wins, right son?” he pointed as Sam blocked a swing and danced backwards, forcing the knight to give chase. “She outruns em and can go for smaller openings.”

“How did yo-yeah. That’s usually how, since she can’t just fly after her…” How could he pick up on that and not his son literally falling through things for a month?

Arlas looked as if she might have caught on to Sam’s usual plan as well, backing off instead of pursuing after another failed clash. He honestly had zero idea what to do in that situation that wasn’t ‘shoot ecto blast’, but his friend seemed to have a decent idea, feigning a left swing before jabbing forward at a much greater speed.

“Ha! Lookit that, already winning!”

“You’ll distract her if you cheer louder.”

“Nah, your little friends are tough!”

He did seem to be right, the boisterous cheering when Sam had the upper hand not earning as much as a glance from the fight. Sam did shoot Danny a look at the boo his Dad made when Arlas managed to turn a block into a strike Sam couldn’t defend against in time, and he could only shrug. Hopefully the knight wasn’t too annoyed at the blatant favoritism. Or maybe she expected it, being a visitor and all.

Still, making it through the combat without having to stop his Dad from trying to capture or hurt the ghost was pretty good. Even if it was still really weird to have him just watch. He personally didn’t even need to watch the fight, watching Jack was more than enough indication on how things were going. Okay, maybe he was a bit paranoid, watching just in case he had to do some split second overshadowing. Moreso now that the ghost apparently wanted to say hello to the watching human, to his complete dismay.

“Oh, so it is a family thing! What interesting armor.” Arlas said, looking at the bright orange jumpsuit. 

Jack did seem a little surprised at the possible complement, hiding it with a nod. “Always need to be prepared!”

Danny manared to peek out from behind his fingers. Dad hadn’t threatened her. That was progress. That was good! Him possibly wondering why she thought jumpsuits were a family thing was not good! Sam’s advice of remembering not to turn invisible suddenly seemed very useful.

“Still I hope it was a good show. Sir Manson is still a bit too fast for me, but I’ll figure out a way around that soon, you’ll see.”

“You could just lose the armor, you’re way better at planning than I am.” Sam pointed out, earning a laugh from the ghost.

“If I plan to work in it, I must be able to beat you in it! The extra preparation can only be a good thing. That, and I can use the same trick on the others if they get overconfident.”

“So you consider being a knight as a job? You could do something else if you got bored of the sword swinging gig?” Jack asked, hand on his chin as he watched the floating knight.

“Of course! There are plenty of things to do back home, but who wouldn’t want to help protect the Queen? It’s not like I cannot retire when I no longer wish to do it.” she paused, looking up at the sky as if searching for an example. “I suppose you do not really have proper communities of ghosts over here, just the stronger sorts or the occasional animal?”

“Nope. We just get the town attacking beasties”

“Ah, well who doesn’t? Troublemakers will be troublemakers.” she shrugged easily, apparently not considering herself a ‘beastie’.

Jack considered the answer, the loud slurping sound rather at odds with the pensive look on his face. Surely he didn’t think this ghost would make up an entire fake backstory, or be perfectly fine with losing to a human in a fair fight while being ‘mindless’. “So the Fentons are known over in your world then?”

“Well I wouldn’t say unknown. The outfits are pretty memorable! Yours more than your son’s. He is your son, I think. That’s the right term?”

Of course she had to bring up his jumpsuit. That he never wore. Because it was on his ghost form. Sam’s wince in sympathy did not help.

“See Danno, even the ghosts think you need more colour! Even Jazz’s is blue, maybe we should get you an orange one.”

“Maybe. Mine’s fine, thanks.” he managed to speak, hoping he didn’t sound too much like he’d been internally choking.

Sam took up damage control before her friend managed to be more suspicious than a wolf in a sheep pen. “Well, I’ve got stuff to do, and Arlas does too. See ya Mr. Fenton.”

The ghost did seem a little put out to not continue to chat, but took Sam’s lead, turning invisible before making her way back home.

“Not even going to try and scare anyone while she’s here huh? Interesting.” Jack commented. “Certainly a lot to think about kiddo! Our little researcher,” he ruffled Danny’s hair, earning a grunt from his son. “You think you might be able to arrange talking to some of these other ‘non-violent’ ghosts?”

“Oh. Yeah. Probably? Not right away, but sure.”

“Great! I want to see for myself if the stories line up. If they do, then we’ll need to figure out why only the blobs and animals showed up before the portal.” he got to his feet, apparently wanting to go write things down in the lab right away.

“Because they were the only ones dumb enough to leave the ghost zone without a portal to go home with.” Danny muttered “The smart ones wouldn’t risk it,”

“Right, you scrawled that on the back of your folder. Which ghost told you that again?”

In truth? Frostbite. Yet he didn’t have a way to explain that. “Phantom.”

“Well you can’t use yourself as a primary source son, that’d be considered speculation.”

Danny could only stare. Whoops.

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  I love your witcher in need fic! For a prompt- maybe a monster or robber or something tries to use jaskier as leverage over geralt? Or as a hostage? And geralt realizes how scared that makes him?

/shrugs. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good hostage fic.

Mentions of this fic.

Geralt and Jaskier spend the next few days in town upon Geralt’s stern insistence, the latter wishing to allow Jaskier a chance to fully rest and recover from a nasty wound received after a rather terrifying encounter with a couple of Kikimora soldiers.

However, while Jaskier’s wound slowly heals, his health takes a turn in the opposite direction, leaving him with harsh, barking coughs and a near-constant fever that’s got him bedridden, more so with each passing day. Geralt’s initial fear was infection, but Jaskier’s wound isn’t an angry swollen red, but rather a faint pink around the edges, leaving Geralt to settle for Jaskier’s insistence that he merely caught a chill after being pulled under water by one of the Kikimora soldiers, though Geralt has his doubts with Jaskier’s rapidly deteriorating condition.

Geralt’s taken to the town each day Jaskier can’t find the energy to move from bed, asking around for a mage, a doctor, any single person who has even the slightest ounce of medical knowledge, yet the small town proves sparse in the medical field. Still, Geralt goes out each day, moving along a hint of desperation, and when he’s not asking each and every person he crosses paths with, he’s trying to make sense of Jaskier’s many medical books, finally pinpointing on a section detailing an infection of the lungs. His eyes dissect each symptom, and he applies each to Jaskier: the alarming coughing, the gripping fever, the inconsistent chills, the fatigue, and more recently, the rattle coated along each wheezing breath.

When he wakes on the fourth day to Jaskier’s harsh, labored breathing, face pinched in discomfort, Geralt doesn’t hesitate to slip into his clothes and seek help, medical book in hand. He moves about the town for hours, and those who do agree to stop and hear him out only offer non-descriptive medical help, instead detailing vague accounts of their own children who were stricken down with the same illness. When one woman tears up, claiming this apparent infection of the lungs claimed her seventeen-year-old son’s life a year ago, something pulls in Geralt’s stomach, a clear sense of uneasiness and fear that twist and mold together until he’s starting back to the inn to ensure his bard is still breathing.

When he steps into the inn, despite moving through familiar motions, the uneasiness in his stomach grows into a pit, his senses chasing an odd feeling that something feels terribly off. He takes to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, before he’s throwing the suite door open, eyes zeroing in on the empty bed.

“Jaskier,” he growls, hand instinctively moving over his shoulder, fingers brushing against this hilt of his sword. He can still make out the lingering smell of Jaskier’s illness, of sweat and pain, but there’s a second smell mixing in the air that has Geralt creeping to the bed, light and quiet on his feet. The comforter is knotted on the floor, and the sheets have been pulled half-off, revealing the old, worn mattress underneath, the bed showing clear signs of a struggle.

Geralt rests his hand atop the sheets, taking note to the faint, damp warmth that coats his palm. Not long ago, he thinks, and he moves through a quick sweep of the rest of the suite, checking every inch and coming up empty with every narrow drag of his gaze. The pit in his stomach grows, fear swirling to the center, and his fingers curl tightly around the hilt of his sword as he bounds down the steps, stopping before the inn-keeper.

“My companion is missing,” he announces bluntly, pulling the inn-keepers attention toward him with a deep growl.

“A man stopped by, said he was a doctor here to help.” The inn-keeper’s voice is distracted, her attention already flicking back to her book, but Geralt presses, voice deep, threatening.

“There are no doctors in this town.”

“Maybe he’s from the next town over.”

“The next town is three days away even on the fastest horse--”

“--look, Witcher,” the inn-keeper spits out, voice colored in a clear tone of annoyance. “I don’t know where your lover went, but maybe it’s for the best.” She drags a slow gaze back to her book, and for the briefest of moments, anger sweeps across Geralt’s vision, but just as quickly, he blinks through it, sighing lowly as he moves away from the wooden counter and out the door.

He pulls a narrow gaze around his nearest surroundings, relying solely on his senses, and he starts toward the woods surrounding the small town, figuring he would have already heard a commotion if Jaskier’s been taken through the center of town.

His instincts prove accurate when he walks around a few trees and spots a series of faint footprints in the mud, one set unsteady and pulling in a different direction compared to the other even set. He moves with the footprints, often losing them at times, but he keeps in a single direction, taking note to leaves ripped from vines, to small tree branches looking as if they’ve been unwillingly broken, a second sign of a struggle.

The uneasiness shifts to a muted burn of desperation within his stomach, moving and mixing with the fear up to his chest, past his rib cage to fight against his slower heart beat. His hand brushes against the sharp edges of a broken tree limb, and then he hears an incredibly faint yet frighteningly clear sound of muffled coughing that’s got him moving quickly toward it.

The air around him, though fresh and clear, is beginning to take to a familiar scent that has hope trying to push to the front of Geralt’s thoughts, and he chases the sound and scent, through bushes and around towering trees until he’s stumbling into a small clearing where a lean man with a pointed nose has Jaskier pinned to his chest by a knife pressed to his throat, just hard enough to warrant a small trickle of blood.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide with relief, yet they’re still clouded in fear, glassy with fever, and he mutters Geralt’s name around the cloth tied against his mouth, a few, ragged coughs following. Geralt can hear the deep rattle with each, struggling breath, the shallow, choppy inhale and exhale through Jaskier’s nose, and he tries to will his mind and heart to steady so he can fully assess the situation.

Moving may prove fatal for Jaskier, so while he keeps his shoulders squared and he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, he doesn’t move, only offering a small tilt of the head in silent question.

“You are quite difficult to track down, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt recognizes the voice, and he casts his eyes down to the dirt below him as if searching for an answer along the mud, brief patches of grass, and footprints.

“You don’t remember me.”

Geralt pulls his gaze back up with a frown, and the man groans, pressing the knife a little harder to Jaskier’s neck.

“Three years ago? You killed my brother.”

For a brief moment, Geralt’s mind chases the new information back to a small town three years ago, a town he had been sorely unwelcome in the second he and Roach stepped foot into their territory, specifically to a small group of men known as the tavern regulars. Though small, the town was quite rowdy, and he remembers sleeping at the inn, only to be pulled awake by a knife piercing his shoulder. He remembers moving on instinct, reaching for his sword, and then he remembers pulling a knife from his shoulder, the scar still prominent to this day. He remembers stepping over lifeless bodies, and he remembers tipping the inn-keeper well.

“Your brother and his friends tried to kill me.” He finally says, blinking away the past.

“No, they only wanted to rough you up!”

“I think my sheer act of self-defense having been woken by a knife to the shoulder was severely warranted,” Geralt presses, voice low and eyes dangerously narrow.

“They were never planning on killing you!”

Geralt remembers now, those same words being yelled at him as he had pulled himself up to Roach’s back.

“They were just,” the man starts, voice abandoning the squeaking cry and turning to a darker, malicious tone, “roughing you up a bit, just as I’m doing.” He presses the knife deeper against Jaskier’s neck, eliciting a small whimper from Jaskier that Geralt clings to, fear now gripping at his heart.

“Rough me up, then. The bard’s done nothing to you.”

“No,” the man draws out, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “but he’s my ticket to you.”

He moves to make the final press to Jaskier’s throat, to slice clean through the small, bleeding slit, and suddenly, Geralt’s potion is weighing a hole in his pocket, but he can’t reach for it, he can’t move against the pure, icy, terrifying clutch of fear that’s pushing against him, freezing his limbs in place, but then Jaskier’s swinging his head back away from the knife, bashing the back of his head to the man’s face, and Geralt takes the brief moment to snag his potion, ripping the lid off with his teeth and dumping the contents down his throat in one, long swig.

His eyes coat to a deep black, and his veins jut out underneath his skin, and then he’s moving, drawing his sword while pulling Jaskier away from the man while the man’s staggering a few feet away, cradling a bloody nose.

Jaskier hits the ground, coughing miserably and wincing at the pain that jolts up and down his arm, his sutures pulling against the sudden jerk and pressure. He drops to his side, and he can barely watch as Geralt moves effortlessly along the effects of the potion.

Geralt moves without thinking, swinging his sword until the man’s running off into the woods, sobbing and leaving a pooling trail of blood, and only when he’s sure the man’s gone, listening closely to the fading footfalls, does he turn to Jaskier, movements aggressive, desperate. He yanks the cloth from Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier struggles to suck in a ragged breath, lungs quaking, failing, and then he’s coughing over and over until blood trickles past his lips.

And true, unaltered fear hits Geralt like a crashing wave in an ocean, fear of Jaskier’s condition, fear of losing Jaskier, an endless push of fear that Jaskier’s death would be his fault. He scoops Jaskier into his arms, so quickly it’s almost dangerous, and he spins on his heel, stopping when black eyes lock onto sharp, purple ones.

“Yennefer?”

“Looks like your bard’s dying,” Yennefer starts, sighing, “again.”

Jaskier’s unconscious in Geralt’s arms, barely breathing, chest moving in quick, shallow motions, and Geralt brings a gaze from Yennefer, to Jaskier, then back, and his voice is shaking despite the potion bleeding strength to every crevice of his body.

“Can you--”

“--yes,” Yennefer interrupts, already turning sharply on her heel. “I’ll save your lover.”

Geralt doesn’t think of anything other than the shivering bard in his arms, and he follows Yennefer back to the inn. His potion begins to wear off when he sets Jaskier into the bed, and he backs away, Jaskier’s ragged coughs sounding far too loud to his ears, until his back hits the wall across the room. He slides down the rough wood, hitting the floor with a low thump as Yennefer works through touch and magic. He watches with bated breath, only exhaling when he hears Jaskier suck in a deep breath, no rattle clinging to his lungs. He can hear Jaskier’s heart beat slow to a steady, rhythmic thump, and he cranes his neck to see the pained, flushed expression fade to smooth lines and pale cheeks.

“He’ll sleep for a while, but he should be well when he wakes,” Yennefer announces, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she turns from the bed and starts to Geralt. “I even worked on the wound. Some of the sutures ripped out. It’ll scar, but,” she pulls her gaze over her shoulder to the sleeping bard before dragging it back to Geralt, “it will be healed when he wakes, as will his neck.”

“I can pay you,” Geralt starts, voice still shaking slightly. “I’ll do whatever you would like to repay you for this,” but when he moves to stand, to retrieve the money he’s earned from jobs, Yennefer stops him with a single sharp gaze, a single hand raised.

“I don’t want your money, Geralt,” she draws out, sighing, voice tinged with slight annoyance. “All I want is for you to realize that your kind doesn’t mix well with his kind.”

“What--”

“You’ll get him killed one of these days.” She walks out of the room, and Geralt listens as the faint sounds of her heels disappear, her words pushing around his mind as he slowly gets to his feet. He stumbles to the bed, crawling in beside Jaskier, desperate to drift off to the comforting sounds of Jaskier’s beating heart, but then Jaskier rolls over until he’s facing Geralt, and his eyes flick open.

“Jaskier--”

“She’s wrong,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with sleep. “You won’t get me killed. I trust you completely.”

You shouldn’t, Geralt thinks, but he only pulls Jaskier to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of Jaskier’s head. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[ckret2]

So I’ve got a Spotify playlist consisting of the compiled contents of 81 different Alastor-centric playlists, like I just copied the contents of every single playlist I could find with no cultivation, no filtering, and no censoring. The one limitation I put was no duplicates of the same song—although multiple versions of the same song off different albums was allowed.

And since then I’ve been listening to this all-packed-together playlist on shuffle. It’s brought up several comments/questions. Highlights include:

- To every single person that includes a romance song with lines like “baby you’re my angel” or the like: are you a Radiodust shipper actually referring to Angel, or are you a Charlastor shipper referring to Charlie’s “fallen angel” heritage?

- One of you included an entire creepypasta story about the devil talking a man into killing his ex-wife and her lover as part of a 500-step-long plan to conceive the Antichrist and I’m not quite sure why it was on an Alastor playlist but I appreciate the characterization of the devil in it. I guess a creepypasta is kind of a radioplay of sorts? Maybe more Alastor playlists should just have random radioplays mixed in.

- To the person who included half a Kidz Bop album on their Alastor playlist: I’m not judging, I just wanna know why. I want to understand. I really want to understand.

- I respect all you people that included song covers by Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox and I understand where you’re coming from, but like, if you’re not familiar with music genres from before 1990, I suggest you look up which genre a given PMJ cover is trying to emulate, because if you’re stuffing PMJ covers on a playlist specifically to make them “sound like” Alastor’s era or because you’re going for “songs Alastor would like because they sound like what he’s used to,” then a PMJ cover that makes a 1990s song sound like a 1970s song isn’t quite in the right neighborhood.

- There are different philosophies that go into making a character playlist. Some go “the genre has to fit the character’s era and/or personal tastes, whether or not the lyrics do.” Some go “the lyrics have to fit the character, genre be damned.” Some go “these songs were big/popular when I was into this character so that’s what I associated with them.” Some go “these songs are really out there for the canon character but fit my headcanons.” Some people may have totally different criteria I haven’t even thought of! Anyway the point is: when you mix over eighty playlists together, you get every single playlist-making philosophy mixed together, and it’s an exciting experience to listen to.

- And on that note: every single genre on the planet is on this playlist. We’ve got Britney Spears, we’ve got Vocaloid, we’ve got Thomas Sanders (we’ve got a LOT of Thomas Sanders), we’ve got My Chemical Romance, Two Steps from Hell, Barry Manilow, Oingo Boingo, Within Temptation, Madonna, Kesha, Hans Zimmer, ... we’ve got the poppiest pop, emo, metal, electronic, folk, rap, rock, movie soundtracks, TV soundtracks, classical, disco, country, KPop, Carrie Underwood, every single decade for the last 150 years... and I’m deliberately leaving out all the jazz, swing, electroswing, and musicals, because those are a given for Alastor. Obviously those ones dominate the playlist but it’s amazing how much variety there is outside them.

- I’m frankly amazed by how much of this playlist is Thomas Sanders and Bendy and the Ink Machine. Like. It’s a notable quantity.

- That said, actually the playlist doesn’t quite include every single genre. Like, for example: I can tell y’all want to lean into Alastor’s New Orleanian/Louisianan/Creole roots from how many songs I’ve seen that include words like voodoo, Creole, New Orleans, bayou, uhhhh The Princess & the Frog, etc... And yet aside from a few New Orleanian jazz artists so far I have crossed paths with very little Louisianan music compared to, say... Undertale songs. So here. Start with some Cajun, try some Mardi Gras songs, I’m not totally sure how much of this playlist is “actually from Louisiana” and how much is “other people making songs that they think are Louisianan” but try this one anyway, and once you’ve oriented yourself a bit dig in here. I wanna see ten Alastor playlists with one song that includes “Zydeco” in the title or album name, stat. Sure, we know Alastor’s all jazz and swing and musicals, but I sure don’t listen to only three genres, you probably don’t listen to only three genres, and Mr. Radio Guy Whose Public Title Includes The Word “Radio” Who Likes Bursting Spontaneously Into Musical Numbers probably listens to more genres than you and me combined, and those genres probably started with what was local & accessible & common around where he grew up.

- Then again I haven’t listened to this whole playlist yet, sometimes I put it on shuffle and sometimes I put it in alphabetical order to try to slowly work through it from top to bottom (I’ve made it mostly through the C’s) so maybe y’all hid the Cajun & Creole music down in the D’s. But lemme say this: while randomly shuffling through the playlist, I’ve randomly run into multiple Irish drinking songs & shanties, and randomly run into zero zydeco, so like from those of you who follow the “music that sounds like what the character listens to” philosophy of playlist-making, non-jazz Louisianan music could use a lil more representation. If there’s room for twenty-six Billie Eilish songs there’s room for one BeauSoleil song. (I’m partial to “L’ouragon,” but you do you)

- Somewhere in this massive mixed playlist there are three parody medleys of Disney songs rewritten to be like “here are grimdark edgy lyrics about all of the terrible real-world things happening to the cultures depicted in these Disney movies!” and like, okay, I can see why that merits inclusion in an Alastor playlist, his big moment in the pilot was “take an optimistic song worthy of a Disney princess and rewrite it with grimdark edgy lyrics,” but those three songs still annoy the hell out of me because the specific way they frame the concept of their songs is that Disney movies/songs are “full of lies” and these songs reveal the lies. And then it’s things like... “Aladdin got captured and interrogated by the CIA,” which is definitely a thing that happened to a character living in an ambiguous time period that predates the existence of the United States, much less the CIA, much less the CIA’s meddling in the middle east, by several centuries. Disney was definitely lying about the reality of Aladdin’s day-to-day existence by not depicting American imperialism that predates America. Or “the characters in The Princess & the Frog have to deal with the fallout of Hurricane Katrina,” like, yeah, Disney sure is pulling the wool over our eyes by dishonestly denying the devastating consequences the 2005 hurricane had on 1920s New Orleans. Listen the lyrics are clever and all the things they discuss are real salient social issues but it still drives me nuts that the songs are framed like they’re revealing “lies” being told when half of the movies are taking place in (fantasy versions of!) time periods or locations where the issues they’re discussing didn’t apply, if they’d just framed that one line differently— Okay, okay, I’m finished, I’m done, I’ve got it out of my system

- Every single love song makes me go “are you imagining this song with a ship (and if so which ship) or do you just think Alastor would be into this song?” The question goes double for songs from the 20s/30s, because the odds that they added it to their playlist just because they think Alastor would like the song increases.

- On the other hand, if whoever added “A Formidable Marinade” isn’t a Charlastor shipper I will eat my hat. Also nice work on the gory cannibalism sex song.

- Every once in a while I’ll run into a song that makes me go, now how the heck did you end up on an Alastor playlist? Does this song line up with someone’s very specific headcanons and/or fanfic plot? Do they think Alastor would like this song? Did they happen to like the song and like Alastor at the same time and so they associate them with each other? Examples: “I Got You (I Feel Good)”, “iRobot” (is it the emotionlessness of being post-death?? do they headcanon that he’s got radio hardware replacing his guts?? is it a post-breakup ship song??), “Greensleves”, “Barbra Streisand” (the song, not the singer), “Jolene,” “The Last Steampunk Waltz,” “Seven Nights in Eire,” “Cruel Angel’s Thesis,” and the person who included half a Kidz Bop album, please, I just wanna talk—

- Every time I hear a song that includes the words “hell,” “sinner,” “smile,” or “radio,” I go, “Haha. Nice.”

- An incomplete list of songs that amused me for how on point they are: “Hotel California” (how often do you have a fandom where “Hotel California” is actually very blatantly fitting without having to twist through an extended & convoluted metaphorical interpretation?), “The Hunting Song,” “The Axeman’s Jazz,” and “Time Again”

- I sort of hate whoever put “Circus” by Britney Spears in their playlist and made me realize that lyrically it’s a perfect Alastor song because it is.

- *scrolls past six versions of “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows”* Haha. Nice.

- *scrolls past five versions of “It Don’t Mean A Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing)”* Haha. Nice.

- *scrolls past a song from Bambi* Haha. Nice.

- *scrolls past five versions of “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile”* Haha. Nice.

- *scrolls past eleven versions of “Sing Sing Sing”* Haha. Nice.

- What’s with those of y’all putting steampunk songs in Alastor playlists? Listen, listen: steampunk vibes are for Sir Pentious. Swing vibes are for Alastor. Don’t cross the streams. Take your steampunk songs and make Sir Pentious playlists with them. He could use more playlists.

- The playlist includes 39 songs that include “smile” somewhere in the title.

[omegaplus]

# 3,350

Amityville Veteran’s Hall Record Fair, Winter 2002.

Somewhere in the local newspapers they listed a record fair for a late February Sunday. This was before postings went into full swing on the internet. I been to most Long Island record-stores at this point but never another venue to buy music. No real impetus other than curiosity had me ultimately arrive in my first visit in Amityville other than shaking it up for a change. Luckily for me, I had that Sunday off and there was nothing my manipulative bet-placing managers would do about it. It’s a go.

I enter the hall and pay my entrance to the kind trans-individual manning the cashbox who may or may not have been affiliated with Q104.3 FM, the rock station that was holding it. Five minutes in and maybe two tables deep I see behind me Kenyon, a WUSB dee-jay and journalist whom I met through my other musician “friend” Dede during his band’s nascent stages. Not too far behind Kenyon was a true-punk with a two-foot high mohawk. I knew that mohawk when I saw it. It’s Rick of The Casualties. Both came in with their girlfriends ready to shop but I didn’t even approach them. I simply didn’t want to be bothered. I usually don’t.

A moderate amount of vinyl buyers and collectors arrived to provide some good ambient action and camaraderie in the air. Everyone shooting the breeze and connecting about that one show in ���85 that their lives peaked at or cock-fighting over record-grading, etchings, and first-pressing information. All the dealers manned one or two tables they paid daily space for with several crates of records ripe for perusing. Stickers affixed on record jackets came in all sorts of fluorescent orange, yellow, and blue dots with pen written on them. Some white ones cut out of corners of other fresh stickers, and those grocery style price-tags with smudgy purple ink printed on them, can’t forget. For the most part, pricing was a non-issue with zero haggling necessary. Take it or leave it.

I see Paul McCartney’s Back In The USSR to kick off the afternoon. This was a record that Bill told me about; a family friend of ours who once owned a movie rental store and considered one of the biggest Beatles fans ever to walk the planet. Back In The USSR, a gift full of covers from Macca to the then-Soviets as part of a world peace-treaty, would once be a Russia-exclusive release until the rest of the world got it a couple of years later. The time never came to see Bill about it as he was tragically beaten, robbed, and murdered the night he closed shop. Speaking of more “friends”, Dede used to enlighten me endlessly of The Smiths so Hatful Of Hollow became my first acquisition of theirs, and about time. It was the one good contribution of Dede’s and that says a lot about a self-centered narcissistic who’s superstar ego put himself over his own.

Around this time I was heavily into to Q104.3 FM due to riding around with my dad. No surprise that influenced my additional purchases I made and why I got Ric Ocasek’s Beatitude, The Who’s It’s Hard, and Carly Simon’s Playing Possum. The afternoon progressed and the finds got better: a picture disc of Eddie Murphy’s Comedian and Kraftwerk’s Radio-Activity for $20.00 which was the most I paid for any title at the time. Finally, my first-ever Sex Pistols-related release: Public Image Ltd.’s Live In Tokyo to get that ball rolling for good. A couple of other odds-and-ends came as The Crusaders’ Street Life and my only industrial find of the day: Ministry’s “The Fall” / “Reload” on vinyl which I already had on disc. The only one what-the-fuck moment came when I somehow bought Melba Montgomery’s Don’t Let The Good Times Fool You. What? Who are you? And what is this? Either I had my impulse-buying moment or one of the vendors suggested I try “something new” and went for it. Yeah, went for it I did and I’m out $3.00.

There was only one vendor who sold CD’s at his table at the far back of the hall. Of everything he had, I bought Dinosaur Jr.’s Green Mind and Thurston Moore’s Psychic Hearts. About a half-an-hour to go I was still searching, putting down my stack of records to look for more titles and what do you know? It’s 4PM. Show’s over. I go to the bathroom, wash my hands, grab my stuff and exit the venue. $100.00 well spent. Not bad for a day’s off. To this day, it stands as the one and only time I would ever attend a record fair. Nothing stood out of it over anything I ever experienced at the stores I frequented other than location and the ability to meet many sellers instead of one. But I wouldn’t rule out not going to one again.

30 minutes later I arrive home. I take my purchases out of the bag and then I realized...what did I do with the Dinosaur Jr. and Thurston Moore CDs? Great. Fuck me. I totally forgot about them. I must’ve left them at the hall when I put my stuff down to browse for more vinyl. One of the dealers had kept their mouth shut and said “hey, free music!” or that they couldn’t catch me in time. By then it was too late for them to find who left them there (me).

Paul McCartney Back In The USSR / Cнова в CCCP

Smiths, The Hatful Of Hollow

Ric Ocasek Beatitude

Kraftwerk Radio-Activity

Eddie Murphy Comedian 12” picture disc

Public Image Ltd. Live In Tokyo

Crusaders, The Street Life

Carly Simon Anticipation

Ministry “The Fall” / “Reload”

Who, The It’s Hard

Carly Simon Playing Possum

Melba Montgomery Don’t Let The Good Times Fool You

Thurston Moore Psychic Hearts CD

Dinosaur Jr. Green Mind CD

[makorays]

A List of Short Bios for a Bunch of OCs so People Actually Know What I’m Talking About Whenever I Mention Them on Streams or Whatever

These are all from the Savage Worlds tabletop campaign known as The Initiative that my friends and I play. It is a modern day sci-fi story involving aliens and cosmic horror cults. The basic premise is that some very important Scellor tech was stolen and found its way to Earth, and the Scellor government contacted Earth’s government to warn them they will have to wipe out their planet if the tech isn’t recovered in time. Thus an initiative was formed consisting of renowned Earth military figures as well as Scellor volunteers to try and locate it.

The Scellor are a race of aliens originally created by a man by the name of Jukashi for tgchan. Joe discovered them and decided to write a tabletop story in that universe. He may have taken a couple artistic liberties here and there for the sake of better fitting things into his own story. Scellor are green psychic aliens with a whole bunch of neat traits I won’t go into but you can read about them here if you want: https://questden.org/wiki/Scellor

Onto the actual bios:

Sofie Edelstein

The commander of The Initiative. Over a century ago, her father revealed to her and her two sisters (Teri and Tara) that he was the head of an “angel”-worshipping cult known as Erleuchten. When Teri and Tara showed hesitance in joining it, her father killed them. Sofie joined, but plotted to sabotage the cult from the inside. Some time later she became a preserved brain, got digitized, and obtained a robotic body. Now she’s a 6′ tall 400 pound robot with advanced combat capabilities. She created a series of androids with artificial intelligence based after her late sister Tara, but none have gained sentience. Was the leader of Poland’s military as a day job. She was working for The Initiative from the inside as an Erleuchten leader, but got found out and now lives with us. She’s done a hell of a lot of sleeping around through all her years, but eventually decided to get into a long-term relationship when she met Stan.

Minyaxl

My OC. Minyaxl is a Scellor combat medic with renowned psionic healing abilities who decided to volunteer and help out the humans, partially out of kindness and partially to have a chance to demonstrate his abilities to a less advanced race. He started out as this 5′0″ little bitch who was super full of himself but his confidence has been beaten into the dirt on numerous occasions; most notably when he realized that humans, unlike Scellor, do not reincarnate after death, meaning he’s been sentencing people to oblivion during every combat mission. He’s since become desperately obsessed with saving as many lives of sentient, non-reincarnating beings like humans as possible, even if it means jeopardizing operations. He routinely finds himself at odds with his squadmates, particularly Valerie, due to their perceived lack of interest in non-lethal solutions to problems. He is the closest Scellor can get to typical human romance with Thael.

Katherine Dawson

Cey’s OC. Katie is a combat medic who was taken as a POW by a terrorist group and later forcibly enlisted into The Initiative for her abilities. She’s sort of the mom of the group. Everyone else in arbiter squad has some form of extra-ness to them and she’s the straight-woman who holds them together. She has a knack for bossing around idiots due to her upbringing with rambunctious siblings in a Japanese-American household. Dual wields pistols and does not take shit from people. Is girlfriends with Teri.

Johannes B. Otto

Kyle’s OC. It's sometimes easy to mistake Johannes for a confused German tourist. During quiet hours, he spends his time complaining about No Smoking signs and combining multiple quarter-pound patties into single full-pound burgers. But get in his way and you'll find that he's less "tired, goofy dad" and more "towering, ruthless brute". Withhold information during an interrogation, and he'll start calmly searching for a pair of pliers. Try to hurt him or his squadmates, and he'll shut you in a storage locker with a live grenade and then feel zero remorse for the gory soup that spills out (a tactic that has since been affectionately referred to as the "Deutsche Oven"). It should also be noted that Johannes is not a patient man. If we’re ever at a standstill with deciding how to proceed, he’ll start jumping a fence to go beat the shit out of a guard before taking all his clothes and spanking him until his ass is red.

Valerie Mimieux

Ragu’s OC. Valerie is a woman of class. She’s a French spy who likes expensive things and is passionate about cooking. She has a habit of flying way off the fucking handle and doing some reckless impulsive shit or just generally acting like a psycho. Will sometimes single out a particular enemy that did something to piss her off and then beat the hell out of their corpse long after they’re dead. She has raced Yakuza gang leaders for the right to win their car and then nonchalantly gunned them down when they decided to get revenge. She somehow manages to slither her way into acquiring ludicrous amounts of currency during her operations, and wants to one day take over all of Europe. Has a pet german shephard named Steve who used to be a guard dog for the enemy until she offered him a treat. She is alien-gay for Adiira.

Fayaiy

Selena’s OC. Fayaiy is a bounty hunter who crash landed on Earth and temporarily joined the cause before disappearing off to who knows where. She’s super goofy and sort of comes off as a happy-go-lucky foreigner who doesn’t entirely grasp English but loves to vibe with everyone regardless. LOVES Family Guy, thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. On multiple occasions she got faced on weed in the men’s bathroom with Stan, who I’m pretty sure still assumes she’s a trans guy because she didn’t seem to understand human gender symbols on doors. Has a pet black cat named Peanut who she took with her when she left.

Teri Grimm

A state of the art android who is so human-like you wouldn’t even know her body’s innards were synthetic unless you looked at them under a microscope. The commander’s first creation to gain sentience, and The Initiative’s token robot hacker waifu. Everybody loves Teri. She’s polite, incredibly intelligent, and has a face you just really want to protect, although she can hold her own in battles with superhuman strength. She’s rather unlucky though. Is girlfriends with Katie.

We’re actually currently playing a reboot of The Initiative. The first go around happened a few years ago, didn’t last as long, and featured the following five characters as our player characters. They did not function very well as main characters but work quite well this time around as quirky side characters.

Stan Ward

Ragu’s old OC. Stan is one of the most extra people to ever exist, roughly tied with only Bruce and Vulohon. A true American, he’s a mad bastard of a soldier who loves drugs and driving, often at the same time. Once, several members of The Initiative went out to town to relax and have fun, and he almost immediately got into trouble with the police, being chased off into the night. He came back later after swimming his way back to the base, crabs stuck to various parts of his soaking body with their pinched claws. Was somehow man enough to satisfy a 6 foot tall 400 pound 160+ year old android’s sexual desires to the point that he became her boyfriend.

Bruce Reistill

Kyle’s old OC. Bruce is an abrasive asshole who will never ever let a villain get more than 5 words into their monologue before interrupting them with something along the lines of “now y’see here I think the problem we’re having is that you keep on talking when you really shouldn’t be so I think it’d really be in all of our best interests if I were to just go ahead and...” before drawing his revolver that he nicknamed Banger.

Vulohon

The old OC of Roll, our long lost friend who just sorta disappeared to do his own thing in life. Vulohon is a fucking dumbass. He’s basically if Knuckles from Sonic Boom was an edgy anime himbo. The first time we saw him, he was doing the cool guy thing where you lean back in your chair and sharpen a blade. The second time we saw him, he was doing the same thing, but this time was sharpening a glock. The third time it was a trash can. He owns a legendary energy battle axe and can use psionic energy to generate explosions wherever he wants, but almost all of his fighting tactics involving picking up dudes and throwing them at other dudes. Either that or ripping off car doors and swinging them at people.

Stan, Bruce and Vulohon are all best bros. They moved their beds into the rec room and turned it into the Boys Room, where they sit in the hot tub together and behave heterosexually.

Thael

My old OC. Thael is a scientist who has no personality or emotions, but a really great ass. He’s a husk of a formerly optimistic young student who lost the ability to feel things after a shady government organization recruited him and forced him to conduct awful, sometimes murderous experiments on unwilling Scellor. Everyone is creeped out by him, but Minyaxl’s virgin horniness was enough to push past that as he felt love at first sight (with Thael’s back turned to him) and pursued relations with him. Thael opened up to him and Minyaxl decided to do his best to help him regain his former self. He’s getting there.

Pamiil

Selena’s old OC. Pamiil is an optimistic pacifist healer who never really got all that much screen time but she is cute and must be protected. She loves* Setel.

*by which i again mean the closest scellor equivalent to love which i guess is sorta just close friendship where you also fuck but they’re also capable of feeling proper love it’s just weird and can lead to psionic feedback loops if they’re not careful

(the following 5 pics were drawn by selena)

https://butamakingart.tumblr.com/

Orvon Valasma

The captain of the ship that a mysterious third party (referred to as the Scellor Freelancers, consisting of her, Adiira and Setel) arrived on. She’s 7 feet tall and has robotic legs that can extend to make herself even taller and run super fast. Somewhat stoic, and has gotten into fights with Adiira, but still cares deeply for her friends. The freelancers were originally at odds with The Initiative as they (somewhat rightfully) believed that we were doing a sloppy as hell job of things, but they eventually decided to join forces.

Adiira M’vora

A deadly assassin who, due to being born in the Ayaar caste, was forced to carry out political assassinations against people the Scellor government suspected of being potential state enemies. It got to her so she went rogue and is a bit of a wreck. She owns a legendary sword called Blue Midnight that can cut through the very fabric of space, and has various other psionic space manipulation abilities. She is human-gay for Valerie.

Setel Tunsai

An absolute chad of a man, standing at a towering 5′0″ (which is stupidly tall for his Orthan caste). Setel is a powerful psionic who excels at manipulating social outcomes, either through exceptional diplomacy or good old fashioned mind control. He has a talent for helping people with their emotional problems, and has acted as a therapist for people like Adiira and Thael. He is beloved by all. Is small lovefriend of Pamiil.

Korhan

Horrible. Piece of shit bitch bastard. Rightfully dead. Korhan used his position as an Ayaar operative as an excuse to live out all his sadistic fantasies. Worked in the evil-ass facility that used people like Thael to carry out their horrible experiments, and made implied rape threats to Thael if he thought about not doing his job. Responsible for everything that’s wrong with Djylana. Planted a tracking device on Minyaxl to find the location of The Initiative’s base, then came in and slaughtered innocent people for the fun of it before taking a bunch of hostages. He used them to try and make us hand over Adiira and Thael for betraying their government but we managed to clutch things out and put him in the dirt. Also he could stop time. Was basically Dio.

Djylana

Korhan’s partner in crime. A bloodthirsty animal he used to carry out much of his dirty work. After she was killed, while Korhan was lying on the ground just before Thael unloaded two magazines into him to finish him off, he said that she was his finest work, that we would never be able to truly stop her, that she would not rest until every single one of us was murdered. He had installed something called Echotech into her, allowing her soul to stay attached to her body after its death. She got up and started freaking out because her only “friend” had been killed, ready to kill us all, when MVP Fayaiy came in with the hug and helped us manage to convince her that Korhan was a piece of shit and we could be actual friends to her. She came around, like an abused guard dog finding a compassionate master, and now lives in the base as a decaying zombie. We convinced the commander to let her in despite her crimes and to also eventually make a robot body for her. She was unsure if she wanted to let us do that until someone brought up the fact that it would be the biggest middle finger we could possibly give to Korhan, at which point she vehemently agreed. I hope his piss stain of a soul somehow knows that his ace in the hole was defeated by the power of friendship.

IO

Satan.

There are other characters that I may or may not include in the future, but those are the most prominent ones.

[dragon-temeraire]

Do you take fic prompts? If so, then I'd love to see a take on the "Werewolf pretends to be a large dog to get attention or food from an unsuspecting human", except the other person is also a werewolf and can tell right away. If not, then feel free to ignore this ask. :)

I’m not sure this is what you were looking for when you sent this prompt, but I had a lot of fun writing it! (On AO3)

Stiles likes walking home from work. He feels more connectedto the world when he can smell and hear it all around him, with no doors orwalls in the way.

He usually cuts through the park at the edge of thepreserve, because it always has a sort of happy, warm feel to it. It gives hima sense of contentment every time. As he comes over the hill he can see thatit’s pretty empty today: a woman is pushing her stroller along the path throughthe middle, an older lady is sitting on one of the benches knitting, andthere’s a guy petting a rather large dog by the volleyball court.

Except that when the man gives a final pat and turns to go,Stiles freezes for a step, skin prickling in surprise, because it’s another werewolf.

“Hey,” he says, and it comes out more sharply than heintended.

But it works, because the were’s head swings toward him, andhe comes loping over, tongue lolling out. Stiles figures that’s to make himlook like a non-threatening dog, rather than the wolf he actually is. His coldnose presses against Stiles’ hand, shamelessly asking to be petted, his tailsoftly wagging.

Stiles is about to rip into him, to demand to know what hethinks he’s doing, hanging around humans while fully shifted and acting like a dog, but then his brain catches up withthe situation, and his jaw clenches shut. Because he has to consider why, exactly, a were would be seekingattention this way.

The underlying scent of loneliness he can pick up throughthe smell of grass and leaves and other people only highlights the fact that something is going on. But Stiles isn’tsure what, and finds that he’s gliding his fingers across the top of the“dog’s” head automatically as he thinks about it.

Stiles is using his magic to cloak his scent—it’s reallyonly good for that, and a few tricks with mountain ash, so he tries to utilizeit as much as possible—but he’s still surprised he hasn’t been recognized as awerewolf. Obviously his skills are improving.

The wolf’s fur is soft and thick, and when Stiles digs hishands into it, lightly scratching, the wolf makes a sort of soft, pleased hummingnoise. Stiles just tries not to laugh.

And decides to play along instead, hoping he’ll be able tofigure something out. He crouches down in front of the wolf, scratching underthe chin, then taps his chest and says, “No collar?” in the gently chiding tonepeople use with dogs. “You’ll get in trouble. And I bet the last place you wantto end up is the pound, buddy.”

The wolf huffs a little at that, and wiggles against Stiles’hands, clearly wanting more petting. Stiles doesn’t smile, because it’ll onlyencourage him.

“I can’t stay, I’m on my way home,” he says, giving the wolfa final pat. “You should be getting home, too.”

The wolf makes a low sound as Stiles walks away, but doesn’ttry to follow him.

He does wag his tail when Stiles looks back, though.

 *

 Stiles doesn’t end up at the park again for a couple ofdays, but when he does, the “dog” is there again. Fetching a Frisbee of all things, and looking likean idiot while trying to catch it midair.

Stiles sits on a bench to watch, because while he’s neverconsidered himself to be dignified, he’s also never seen another werewolf actlike this. Sure, werewolves run andplay—Stiles likes to shift when he has too much excess energy and needs to burnit off—but to see one acting so much like a dog is kind of disorienting andweird.

He hadn’t ever considered doing something like this, despitethe fact that he makes dog jokes around his pack all the time.

Eventually the girls playing with the wolf get tired and gohome, taking their mauled Frisbee with them. After getting goodbye pats fromthem, the wolf immediately zeroes in on Stiles, trotting over with his earspricked eagerly.

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching to pet, then pausing when hisfingers encounter something that’s not fur.

The wolf is wearing a collarthis time.

Stiles has an internal moment of hilarity, imagining awerewolf purchasing a collar for himself, while maybe surreptitiously finding away to try it on first. When he’s done stifling his laughter, he leans down tosee what’s engraved on the tag.

It says:

Derek.

Not lost.

Very friendly.

“Derek is kind of an odd name for a dog,” Stiles says,scratching him behind the ears. “But I like it,” he adds, and doesn’t miss theway Derek’s tail starts wagging.

It’s a little surreal, pretending that someone is a dog whenyou know they’re a person, but Stilesdoes his best. And he has to admit, it has it’s perks—running his fingersthrough Derek’s soft fur is actually pretty soothing.

“I had kind of a rough day at work today. You want to hearabout it?” Stiles asks idly, mostly because it’s impossible for him to sit insilence for long. So he’s really only kidding, but Derek promptly rests hishead in Stiles’ lap, ears pricked with interest.

And Stiles feels a little silly, talking to someone whocan’t say anything back, but it doesmake him feel better. He worries he’s being selfish, putting this on Derek whenhe clearly has issues of his own, but when he takes a subtle sniff, he onlygets contentment from him.

Though admittedly, it’s harder to smell complex emotions onsomeone who’s fully shifted. But at least Stiles knows he’s not botheringDerek.

He talks for more than an hour, drifting to random thoughtsand ideas, and Derek stays there with him the whole time, a comforting weightagainst Stiles’ legs.

He can’t help being grateful.

 *

 Stiles ends up visiting his dad for the weekend, partly justto get him to take some vacation time. And when his dad asks, ever so casually,if he’s met anyone new, Stiles can say with complete honesty that he’s beentalking to a guy named Derek.

Thankfully his dad doesn’t press for more, just moves on toasking him about what he’s been doing lately, though he does remind Stiles thathe’s welcome to bring someone todinner anytime.

Stiles tries not to roll his eyes. He’d never imagined hisdad would turn into such a matchmaker.

Staying with his dad means he doesn’t get back to the parkfor several days, but when he does show up, Derek runs over to him immediately,tail waving happily.

“Hi,” Stiles says, then laughs when Derek nudges against hishand. It’s a very subtle hint. “Sorry I was gone,” he says, giving in andstarting to pet Derek. “But I had to visit my dad. He still worries about me,even though I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

He doesn’t mention that it’s been easier fend for himselfsince he was bitten, though he probably should. It’s likely Derek would want toknow that another werewolf knows that he’s pretending to be a dog.

And if he wants any chance of knowing who Derek is as a person, he needs to come clean.

But not today, he thinks, scratching behind Derek’s ears.

He needs time to think of a tactful way to do it.

 *

 After a lot of deliberation, Stiles realizes he’s absolutelyterrible at being tactful. Also, giving a long, supportive speech to a dog inthe middle of the park is going to be weird as hell, no matter what he actuallysays.

Thankfully, there’s not too many people there when Stilesshows up, so when Derek trots over, Stiles promptly says, “Look, Derek. I don’tknow why you’re doing this. I don’t know what happened to you. But I think Ican understand, at least a little bit.” He drops his magic then, so hiswerewolf scent is revealed. “So if you ever want to talk—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Derek snaps hisjaws angrily at him and then turns and runs off into the woods.

Stiles sighs, leans back morosely on the bench. That couldhave gone better.

He ends up walking home slowly, hoping at any moment Derekwill come bounding up to him again, tail wagging.

It doesn’t happen.

And it leaves Stiles feeling lonely, making him tempted tohowl for his back, even though they’re all miles and miles away for school orjobs.

So he clamps down on the urge, because he’ll only feellonelier if he howls and no one answers.

 *

 Stiles enjoying a well-earned day off, relaxing in hissweatpants while soup simmers on the stove, and the only thing he’s thinkingabout is whether he’ll be able to finish reading the book he started earlier. Sowhen his doorbell rings, he jumps a little in surprise.

He’s not due for a visit from anyone, and he just saw hisdad last week, so.

He has no idea who it could be. He’s tempted to ignore it,because it’s probably a salesperson, but his curiosity gets the better of himand he decides to check anyway.

His house is pretty soundproofed, because becoming awerewolf didn’t really change his tendency to get easily distracted—in fact, itjust gave him more things to bedistracted by. So he can just vaguely hear that someone is on the other side of the door, but not much else.

He yanks it open, ready to say ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ butwhen he sees who’s there, his tongue promptly sticks to the roof of his mouth.He has no idea who this beautiful man is, but whatever he’s selling, Stiles is definitely buying.

He swallows, trying to figure out something to say. “Um,hi?” is all he manages.

The handsome stranger stares at him, jaw tensed and seemingalmost ready to bolt, then blurts, “I followed your scent trail here, I hopethat’s okay.”

“You—what?” Stiles says, as his brain, which had beenrunning over the many different ways to casually ask this guy out, finallycatches up to the current situation. Noticing that the stranger smells likeanother—rather familiar—wolf is onlyconfirmation. “Derek?” he asksdisbelievingly.

“Yes,” Derek says, ducking his head and looking away.

Stiles is very glad Derek isn’t wearing his collar now,because he’s pretty sure his heart couldn’t take it. “Okay,” he says, trying torally. “I’m Stiles. Do you, um, do you want to come in?” When Derek lookshesitant, he adds, “I have soup,” in what he hopes is an enticing manner.

“It does smell good,” Derek ventures in a way Stiles woulddescribe as shy, except that his expression doesn’t really change from neutral,and his body language stays stiff and wary.

He can’t help thinking that Derek was much friendlier as adog.

But Derek came here to Stiles of his own volition, and thatmeans something. So Stiles gives hima friendly smile and says, “Come on in, then.”

He directs Derek to the couch, then heads to the stove togive the soup a stir.

“It’s almost done, just needs a little bit longer,” he says,joining Derek. “So we have time to talk, if you want to.”

Derek nods, but doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Stilesresists jumping in, because he can bepatient, dammit.

Derek hunches over a little, hands curling around eachother, then says, “I lost my whole family a little over a year ago.”

It hits Stiles like a punch to the gut, and he struggles notto react, because Derek’s still talking.

“And there were—there were so many things happening all atonce. I had funeral arrangements and memorial services and all of these condolences I had to deal with,” hegrits out. “And after that was over, it was easier to just stay in my house. Myfamily…they left me a lot of money. So I quit my job. I was tired of seeingpeople, tired of trying to talk to them through all the platitudes. The onlyones that I allowed to visit me were the family lawyer and the doctor.”

Stiles nods in understanding, but keeps quiet.

“And it was that way for months—I signed the papers thelawyer brought, looked over the paperwork the accountant faxed over, took theinformation about therapy from the doctor. That was it. I mostly kept tomyself, because I couldn’t deal with all the memories—”

Derek hasn’t actually said it, but Stiles is pretty sure hisfamily was his pack. It’s hard enoughfor a human to lose someone they care about, but it’s even rougher on awerewolf, especially when there’s a pack bond involved. There’s a total loss ofconnection, a feeling of emptiness that pulls on you, day in and day out.

Stiles had felt all of that when Allison had almost died. He couldn’t imagine thefeeling if he’d suddenly lost his wholepack.

“So by the time I realized I did want to reach out, I felt like it was too late. I’d isolatedmyself for months, kept a firm distance between myself and other people, and Ididn’t know how to undo it.”

“So you started going to the park?” Stiles guesses.

Derek nods. “I felt like I wouldn’t be able to connect withpeople as…myself. So I started showing up in full shift, pretending I was adog. At first it was only once or twice a month, because it was a littleoverwhelming to be out there. But I began to crave the kind, gentle way peopletreated me. I needed the human contact,” he says, looking ashamed. “And Istarted going more and more often, until I was there practically every day.” Heshudders to a stop, clenching his hands together.

“I think,” Stiles begins hesitantly. “I think you probablyhelped comfort a lot of people, even as they were comforting you.” Hell, Derekhad even soothed Stiles’ nerves several times. He looks over, catches Derek’seye. “And I know it wasn’t easy, but I’m glad you reached out to me.”

Derek relaxes a little, looks down at his hands again. “I’mglad you were there. Who knows how long I would have been there, not knowinghow to ask for help.” He sends a quick, nervous glance Stiles’ way. “I waswanting to shift back less and less every day. I think at some point I wouldhave just ended up staying as a wolf.”

Stiles doesn’t doubt it, because it doesn’t seem like Derekhas much keeping him in the human world. He wants to do something about that.“If you do want to, um, talk to people again, a few of my friends are cominginto town next week. You could come hang out with us,” he offers.

He didn’t actually say it, but it’s obvious that Derek heardthe word ‘pack’ instead of the word ‘friends,’ purely from the look ofhesitation and wariness on his face. Stiles would almost guarantee he’s goingto say no.

“Or,” he tries, racking his brain for something else. “I’mgoing to the café with some people from work on Tuesday, just a totally casuallunch thing. You’re more than welcome to come with me.”

He’s doing no such thing, but he knows some easygoing peoplewho would be fine with a last-minute lunch date.

Derek still looks hesitant, but it’s also apparent that hereally wants to interact with other people again as a human, in even the mostbasic of ways. “Okay,” he agrees, before Stiles can start gently wheedling.“I’ll go.”

“Wonderful,” Stiles says brightly, then figures he shouldn’tmake too big a deal out of this. It’ll only put pressure on Derek. “Well, itshould definitely be ready now, so how about some soup?”

 *

 Lunch at the café goes better than Stiles expects.

He’d briefed Kira and Allison ahead of time, so they knewthe situation. He didn’t want them pushing Derek too hard or asking the wrongquestions. He’d hadn’t given them many details about Derek’s past—partlybecause he didn’t know all of them himself, and partly because he wasn’t sureDerek would want them to know. So he’d just said that Derek had suffered aloss, and was trying to learn how to be a part of society again.

They’d both nodded sympathetically and had quickly agreed toa low-pressure lunch.

And at the café Derek is really awkward at first, stiff andfrowning and barely able to order himself a sandwich, but Stiles is good attalking, and keeps the conversation flowing until Derek gradually relaxes andsettles in.

He even gets comfortable enough to join in the conversationa few times, though he’s clearly a little overwhelmed.

They don’t linger too long after they finish eating, becauseStiles knows Derek probably needs a break from the noise and confinement. So hewalks with Derek over to the local bookstore, and asks Margie if she has anymembership openings for her book club.

“Sure,” she says, then cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. “Both ofyou?”

“No, just him,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s shoulderencouragingly.

He can’t be Derek’s only gateway to the real world; that’snot healthy. Derek needs to make his own connections, and needs to learn to talkto people without Stiles there as a crutch.

He glances over, wondering if Derek is upset that Stilesjust volunteered him for this. But he just smiles shyly at Margie, and asks,“What are you reading now?”

“Something pretty good, I think,” she says. “I’ll get you acopy if you want.” She points to the back of the store. “And some of our otherclub members are here hanging out, if you’d like to meet them?”

Derek glances over at Stiles questioningly, and Stiles nods.“We have plenty of time, go ahead. I’ll just be next door at the candy store,come find me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Derek says, looking more confident than he did atthe cafe. Maybe the smell of books is as comforting to him as it is to Stiles.

Derek may have spent most of the past year as a wolf, butStiles would bet that he wasn’t much of a social person before he lost his family. So this is likely pretty stressful forhim, but he’s handling it surprisingly well.

By the time Derek comes over to the candy store, Stiles haspicked out three kinds of fudge—after trying numerous samples, of course—and alarge assortment of truffles. He takes what he has to the register before hegets too greedy, and gives Derek a smile. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Derek says, looking pleased. “They were reallynice.”

“Yeah, they are,” Stiles says. The book club has a friendly,positive atmosphere, and is mostly older ladies and a few nerdy teenagers, whoall great people. Stiles wouldn’t have introduced Derek to them if he thoughtthey weren’t, honestly. “I’d know, I was in the book club when I first movedhere.”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “But not anymore?”

Stiles scoops up his purchases so they can head out. “Nah, Ikept going off on tangents when we’d try to discuss plot points.”

“So you got kicked out?” Derek asks, looking amused. “Bannedfrom the book club?”

“Of course not!” Stiles says, laughing. “They’d never dothat. I just felt bad for talking so much, so I kicked myself out.”

“I don’t think talking too much will be a problem for me,”Derek says wryly.

Stiles laughs. “No, probably not.” He glances at the book inDerek’s hand. “I guess you better get reading, I think you have a lot ofcatching up to do before the next meeting.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Derek says with genuine enthusiasm,and Stiles has to desperately resist the urge to hug him.

 *

 So Derek goes to the book club every week, stops orderinghis groceries online and actually goes to the store instead, and just overalltries to be in more contact with the world.

Stiles sees him sometimes at the park, completely human, andoften sitting on one of the benches, reading a book. Though on one memorableoccasion, Derek had been playing volleyball with some college kids when Stileshad wandered by. Derek had been shirtless and clearly in his element, andStiles watched for a while, captivated. Then he’d realized he needed to leavebefore Derek noticed his lustful staring, and had made a stealthy retreat.

But he hadn’t forgotten what Derek had looked like, outthere in the sunshine, smiling happily.  

Derek comes over pretty often for dinner too, seemingperfectly content to hang out at Stiles’ house. And at first that’s fine—theywatch movies or play cards or talk about whatever Derek’s reading lately.

But as Derek gets more comfortable with him, and as more ofhis personality emerges, Stiles finds himself falling hard. Sure, he’d been solely attracted by Derek’s looks in thebeginning, but now he’s more drawn to things like the quiet, thoughtful wayDerek speaks when something is important to him, the way he listens so intentlyand interestedly to what’s being said, and the way he can communicate using hiseyebrows alone.

So seeing Derek sprawled comfortably across the couch, or byhis side chopping vegetables in the kitchen, or smiling across the table at himafter getting a triple word score, it makes Stiles ache.

And he hasn’t been masking his scent at all—per Derek’srequest—so it doesn’t take him long to figure out that something’s up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

They’re in the middle of watching a movie they’ve both seenbefore, so Stiles doesn’t really mind the interruption. He just wishes itwasn’t about this.

“I’m fine,” he says with as much honesty as he can muster,hoping Derek will let it go.

Derek’s obviously getting better at social interaction,though, because he presses on instead of yielding like he usually does. “You’vesmelled strange around me for weeks now. You’re not fine. Is it—” he hesitates. “Is it something I did?”

“Not really,” Stiles sighs. But he knows that’s not a goodenough answer, so he forces himself to keep going. “Here’s the thing. I reallylike being your friend, Derek, but I’d also really like to be dating you.”

Derek cocks his head. “And you…don’t think I’m ready forthat?” he asks, watching Stiles intently.

“Dude, only you know whether you’re ready for that or not,”Stiles says immediately, because that’s definitely not his call. “No, I just didn’t think you were interested in me.At all.”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “Surely you could tell—” he starts, sounding disbelieving.

“I couldn’t, though,” Stiles cuts in quickly, trying to hidehis disappointment. “Your scent never changed when you were around me.”

Derek smiles then, and Stiles feels his heart flip in hischest. “My scent never changed because I liked you from the very beginning,” hesays, quietly amused.

“Oh,” is all Stiles can manage to say, thrown completely off-guard.He does his best to recover. “Does that mean you do want to date me?”

Derek glances at their plates of mostly-eaten pasta on thetable, then gestures to the movie still playing. “I thought we were dating already. I’ve just beenwaiting for you to get up the nerve to kiss me.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again, feeling like an idiot. Then hisbrain catches up. “Oh, that’s a hint, you want me to kiss you—”

He’s interrupted by Derek’s lips pressing against his own,and he can’t help melting into it, making a small sound of pure happiness.

“Like that,” Derek finishes, pulling away with a smug littlesmirk.

Stiles can’t blame him for that. “Yeah,” he says, a littlebreathless and already wanting more. He curls his hand into the front ofDerek’s shirt, grinning. “I think I have a lot of kisses to make up for,” hesays, and pulls Derek back in.

[sherrybaby14]

The Distraction

This is for @aquivercactus who requested a Dark!Steve Rogers where the reader is innocent.  

A/N:  This can be read more like a prologue since making a good guy a bad guy without going totally OOC usually requires one for me.  Instead of writing one long story I’m splitting it in two.

Warnings: None/dark thoughts (Non-con Smut in the next chapter). 

Pairing: Steve X Reader 

Tags: @thecynicalnerd @marauderice @mac5323 @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @negan--is--god @kellyn1604 @roschelesworld @taintedgenre @screeching-pterodactyl-fangirl @purplemuse89 @blondesouthsquad @buckyscrystalqueen @kawaiirepublic @captainemwinchester @xbergiex @bellaballanda @theariel85      

 Don’t move to New York.  It’s dirty.  When you arrived you bleached your tiny apartment from floor to ceiling and kept hand sanitizer on you at all times.  

Don’t move to New York. The people are mean. You weren’t outgoing anyway, it was easy to keep to yourself.  Who cares that you made no friends over the past year? You didn’t even keep in contact with the ones you had from back home.  Your monthly phone calls to your parents turned into monthly e-mails after your latest nephew was born those dwindled too.  They were busy with their newest grandson.  You were never their favorite child.  

Don’t move to New York. It’s dangerous. You tried a self-defense class, but it wasn’t for you.  The thought of hurting anyone, whether they deserved it or not, was almost foreign to you. Besides, you would never react in time. Instead, you never left your apartment after dark, avoided eye contact with strangers and kept to yourself.

Don’t move to New York. It’s expensive. There was no denying that fact. Outside of your main career, you worked side jobs on the weekend.  It was the easiest way to keep up with the rent and still have some money in savings.

For all the reasons not to live in the giant city, there were a few good ones. First of all, your main job was a great starting point, but soon after your arrival, you realized you were not stand out material.  You didn’t think your bosses knew your name, every time you finished a project someone else took credit for your work.  You had a feeling your bosses knew since they never fired you, but it also meant the odds of moving up were slim.  

The second reason was the sense of freedom.  You were the sixth of seven children in a strict household.  Growing up you followed all the rules, but your parents seemed to pay more attention to all of your siblings.  When you announced your decision to move outside of the four complaints above they just shrugged and waved you off.  Now the only rules you followed were the ones you imposed on yourself, but you were starting to feel like they were stricter than the ones your parents enforced.  Maybe the freedom was an illusion and you would have been better off moving back to the middle of nowhere.  Nobody missed you or wanted you back though.  You sighed and shook your head.  

 “Good morning Miss.”  The man pulled a bouquet of flowers out of one of the black buckets in front of you. “How much for this one?”

 “Thirty dollars.” You looked at the array of flowers, knowing the same bunch would cost five dollars top back in your hometown.

 “Sheesh. Back where I’m from this would have cost a nickel.” The man laughed.

 You looked up at him, sure the cheap paper the flowers were wrapped in would cost more than that. Your eyes locked with him for a split second and your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.  You dropped your gaze, hoping he would not interpret your stare as rude.  It was Steve Rogers, Captain America himself.    You didn’t know how to respond.  The last few months you manned the flower stand inside the lobby of Stark Towers on the weekend.  Never once had you seen anyone famous, not that you paid attention to the people walking by, that would be rude.  

 “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  He reached out and put a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”  

                His hand felt like a burning weight.   You lurched backward and nodded your head.  

                “I’m fine.”  You kept your eyes on the ground. “I am sorry Sir, but I don’t set the prices.”

                “That’s alright.  I was only teasing.”  Steve reached into his back pocket he set two twenties on the counter in front of you. “Thank you, and keep the change.”  

                You gave a small nod and grabbed the cash. Without lifting your head, you went to the register and dropped both bills inside.  You thought you heard him let out a sigh as he turned away.  You pinched your eyes shut, certain you’d just embarrassed yourself beyond reproach with America’s favorite son.  

~~~  

               Steve cracked his jaw as he rode the elevator up.  He didn’t like the way she flinched when he touched her, but outside of that, he enjoyed everything about their interaction.   The way she kept her eyes down, how she was almost scared of him, and he particularly liked her use of the word Sir.   He licked his lips at the memory and felt his cock grow in his pants.  He shut his eyes and shook the memory away, having to save it for later.

                The doors opened with a ding and Steve was not surprised to see Nat waiting for him on the other side.  

                “You’re late.” She unfolded her arms and started walking.  “What’s with the flowers?  One of your fans corner you?”  

                “No.” That was the reaction Steve normally got, which is what made Y/N’s response so intriguing. “You want em?”

                “Come on, there has to be a special girl waiting at home for the Captain America to drop them off?” Nat glanced over her shoulder.

                Steve plopped the flowers in a trash can as they continued walking down the hall, knowing the action would be enough of a response for Nat.

                “Alright.” She looked forward. “I’ll stop asking.”  

                They arrived at the conference room and she pushed the doors open to show the rest of the team sitting around the table.  

                “Nice of you to join us.” Tony pointed towards the tech. “There’s only a terrorist at loose in the city we have to stop.”  

                “Why wasn’t I informed of this first?” Steve glared at Director Fury.

                “You’re the one who wanted more privacy.” Tony twisted the chair. “You move out of the Tower, you don’t get information as fast. Now let’s stop swinging our dicks and listen to the details so we can form a plan.”  

                Steve scowled.  Tony was right, but as Captain and the leader of the Avengers Steve should have been the first informed and already presenting his plan of attack. Once they had the situation under control he and Fury would be having a little chat.

~~~    

               “I TOLD YOU TO CUT LEFT!” Steve slammed his fist on the table. “Then like a showboat you have to move right.  You almost got people killed!”

                “But I didn’t.” Clint stood up from the table.  “We stopped the bad guy with zero casualties.”

                “No.” Steve shook his head. “We got lucky, running in there like a bunch of lone rangers!  There was no teamwork, nobody paid any attention to the plan. All of you went after the man like you were there by yourself. That is NOT how a team works.”

                Steve stood up straight and ran his hand over his head.  Tony, Nat, Clint, and Fury all staring at him.  

                “Have you all lost your minds?”  He looked around the room at the shocked faces. “Tony, you just ran into the man with your suit, what if he didn’t drop the detonator? The entire building would’ve blown!”

                “But it didn’t.” Tony shook his head. “This is a win for us Captain.”

                “Director Fury.” Steve went around the table. “You saw the footage.  Admit that I am right, we are not working as a team.”  

                “It was a little rusty, I will give you that.” Fury held up his hands. “But this isn’t wartime.  It’s peacetime.  Your first mission of this level in months, I’m putting it in the win category.”  

                “It’s always wartime.” Steve didn’t understand how nobody else could see that. “If we let our guard down if we’re not prepared another one will pop up.”  

                “And what do you think we’re doing?’ Tony laughed. “Was today not being prepared? Stopping that from happening?”

                Steve started to respond, but it was as if his voice caught in his throat.  He stood agasp, unsure how to respond.  

                “I need some air.”  Steve went straight to the balcony.  

                He leaned over the edge and tried to hide his disappointment at the team.  Not only did they perform poorly, but then they couldn’t take criticism.  What happened when a real threat hit?  One even more severe than today?  They would be crushed like ants.  

                “Hey.” Tony walked outside and leaned next to Steve.

                “If you’re going to tell me I’m wrong you can save it.” The anger was out of Steve’s voice. “I won’t change my mind.”  

                “I know you won’t.” Tony spun around so his back was against the railing. “I don’t expect you to.  But can I give you some advice?”  

                “I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”  Steve turned around with Tony. The sun was starting to set, and he wanted to avoid the glare.

                “See those people in there?” Tony pointed through the glass to Clint, Nat, and Fury.  “They are as much type A personalities as the two people out here. If Banner and Thor were here today, that would make two more type As.  Well, maybe not Thor, I’m not even sure what sort of personalities Asgard has.”

                “So?” Steve was well aware he was competitive, controlling, task-oriented, maybe even hostile from time to time.  Almost a textbook definition.  

                “So all of them have found ways to curb their less than pleasant personality traits.”  Tony pushed up his sunglasses. “Clint focuses on his family, coaches every little league sport possible and those kids play like machines.  Nat has a very active private life where she takes out her aggression on people who want to have it taken out.  Fury spends every waking second worrying about and building SHIELD like it’s a precious baby.  Banner focuses his energy on either finding a cure or helping starving children.  I can’t keep it straight anymore.

                “And I build shit in my spare time, which is every second I am not doing this.”  Tony pushed off the railing. “What do you do Cap?  The Avenger’s cannot be your only outlet or you will blow us up from the inside. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

                “You’re saying I need a hobby?”  Steve raised an eyebrow.  

                “Not a hobby.”  Tony started towards the door. “An obsession.  One that will let you work out some of those control issues, so you don’t keep busting in here ready to take over a split heads open whenever things don’t go your way.”  

                Steve glanced around the room and noticed the three inside were saying goodbye.  They all had other places to be and things to do.  All Steve had on schedule for the evening was getting in a workout and reviewing the tapes from today’s mission, studying them for errors.  He hated to admit it, but maybe Tony had a point.

                “Do you have any suggestions?” Steve kicked off the balcony and followed Tony.  

                “I’m not sure.” Tony shook his head. “But I don’t think a guitar is going to cut it.  You need something where you are in complete control, that requires a time commitment.”

                Steve wasn’t sure if the idea had always been there, buried in the back of his mind, and Tony’s words just brought it to the forefront or if it was a branch new concept.  He’d hoped for the later but was certain it was former.  Maybe it was time to embrace that part of himself, the piece he denied existed for so long.  

                Hearing the words complete control made his pants twinge and one face come to mind.  The girl who worked the flower stand.  

[geneshaven]

An Olicity Retospective Going Into Season 6

With only three days left before Arrow sets forth into Season 6, I wanted to add my two-cents worth on what is ahead. For the most part, I’ve kept my specs and wishes for the season out of the ongoing debates and other specs, out of the happy bubbles and some of the misgivings that the unknown often brings. I suspect that my views and feelings will in no way turn or influence anyone else’s---nor should they. But right up front, I want to say that I am overly optimistic about what’s coming; more specifically, Olicity and their future.

I was remembering last summer’s (2016) hiatus and how there was zero promotion and some vague references for our favorite couple. There was a lot of disappointment and even some anger. I can’t count how many times I read the phrase, ‘I’m done.’ People were threatening to stop watching the show and some were sending nasty Twitter’s and Facebook message to the writer’s producers and actors. I think a large part of this vitriol was because Felicity was getting a new boyfriend, leaving Oliver as the odd man out. Then later, Susan Williams reared her unpopular head and sleazed Oliver into her web. WA and MG told us that Oliver and Felicity’s relationship was in an ambiguous state, with unresolved feelings still left between them. Yet, when Season 5 started, it looked like they didn’t get that memo. There was intense heart-eyes and lack of personal space---you know, the norm for Olicity. Watching them, it felt that at any given moment Oliver and Felicity were just a touch, a hug or a kiss away from dropping the bullshit pretenses and letting their natural chemistry shine through.  It felt like the show runners were playing with our emotions---and this was especially true at the end of 501 when Felicity was being fondled by one of the love interests we heard about, a character we were supposed to like and really pull for; as if. It was a tough scene to watch as an Olicity shipper, and I could almost hear all the anti-Olicity people out there giving it a standing ovation.

Over the next 18 episodes, Oliver and Felicity seemed to be only acquaintances, interacting professionally but keeping their distance personally and romantically. What was frustrating to me about this was they had a sense to them that they wanted to forgive and forget and love each other on a level nobody else could ever reach; i.e., Billy and Susan.

I  never understood (and still don’t) why Arrow would take a tried and true formula built over four and a half years and upset the apple cart by forcing the contrived BMD on all of us. It  made no sense to the established characters of Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, and it under minded the history of Olicity. Now, remember, these are my views on this. I do not have any intentions of stepping on anyone’s toes. And by the way---I’m having fun.

I’m  sorry friends, I’m rambling. Needless to say, most of Season 5, it seemed, was written predicated on what happened in Ep415 when Felicity got out of her chair and walked away. The writing for them after that was a bit meandering ; a hit-or-miss endeavor.  In Eps 420 and 422, there were brief flashes of love (in the longing ways they looked at each other) of desire (the thank-you-for-not-being-dead hug), but still, I couldn’t help feeling that Olicity was being shelved, maybe entirely because of the disgruntled fanboys and their nocturnal wet dreams being destroyed by Felicity having replaced Laurel in Oliver’s heart.

Okay, that’s enough back-storying. Episode 520 came along and the reconciliation was in full swing. I guess if a fandom’s voice is loud enough, the powers that be will hear it. Felicity got a tiny taste of what Oliver has been living through and with ever since the Gambit went down. And Oliver came to understand just how much he had hurt Felicity by his dysfunctional, PTSD related actions. He had already lost so many people he loved and cared about, and having a head full of Chase telling him they were all gone because Oliver’s life after Lian Yu was a lie---it just reinforced his self-doubts and loathing. It wasn’t about not trusting Felicity with important and crucial information; i.e. William. It was the fear of losing more pieces of his soul by not trusting himself.

So in 523, Felicity kissed Oliver (finally!) and the door that had been tightly sealed between them for almost two years swung wide open---wide enough to  march a parade through. Then the island blew up and another agonizing summer hiatus was upon us.

But here’s the thing. And what brings me into Season 6. In my mind, there was nothing ambiguous hanging between Oliver and Felicity. Okay, this time Felicity did mention having some regrets. And all summer long I’ve been wondering if one of those regrets, for both of them, was them not telling the other they loved one another. It might have been unspoken in the way they were looking at each other---but come on, it would have been nice to hear it out loud.

It is just flat out silly that the EP’s have been trying to keep everybody in the dark and worried about who survives the explosive cliffhanger. When the spoilers for Season 6 came out, along with the interviews and the conventions, it was all but verified that Oliver and Felicity were going to be a happy couple again.

My fellow fans; there is a wedding coming. An Olicity wedding.  What do I want to see in Season 6?  I want to see them cohesive and coming together to deal with William and John and the FBI investigator and BS and Cayden James and whatever else intrudes on them. Does anybody still think that anything dangerous or emotional or unexpected will influence their wedding?

At this point in their relationship, the only thing that will disrupt Oliver and Felicity is Oliver and Felicity.

Personally, I really don’t care what adversary comes down the pike. The story is going to be told to us whether we like it or not. I’ve invested in my heart, with my time and through some personal tragedy---the hope that Olicity finds their way out of the dark and stands in the light of love, contentment and a happily ever after. Anything less would be a five year snow job on all of us.

Oliver told Felicity (okay, it was during a fantasy flashback) that he believes in magic. Maybe it was a cheap appeasement to the fanbase. But there is no ambiguity between belief and non-belief. You either do or you don’t. After all that Olicity has gone through over the past five years---I for one am a believer.

An Olicity wedding, people. Believe in that.

@it-was-a-red-heeler @hope-for-olicity @almondblossomme @memcjo @louiseblue1 @casydee @candykizzes24 @nalla-madness @mortallock @1106angel @cinfos

[glopratchet]

jase

"She sounds like she's dying " You think as panic starts to set in and you have no idea of what's going on Getting to the bedroom door is a struggle in itself since people are coming out of everywhere to see what the hell is going on The door keeps swinging open from the rust on the hinges and because of that someone ends up getting their leg broken in the melee as people were trying to get away from what ever was in there "Its Bad!" "Did she convert?!" "Let me through! I'm a doctor!" All this you hear as you finally get the door shut to keep more people out and then to add to the chaos one of your manticores tries to get through as well, the only thing that stops it from bursting throught the door is that the hallway is narrow so all it can do is stand there roaring at the door Fantastic Of course this is not the most worrying thing, what is worrying you is hearing Naji in there screaming in pain like someone (Who was obviously trying to kill her) was assaulting her with a red hot poker banging on the door shouting at her to stop screaming because you thought she was hurt and needed immediate help As it turned out however that's not what was happening at all! Naji it seems had just finally managed to master her powers like she said she was going to do and as it would happen, she decided to try them out by 'converting' you And, as for all spikes, they cause immense pain when thrust into a non-believer and head-banging wasn't the same as this and she wasn't Crucifer so you didn't think she'd be trying powers like this When she made the door burst open and you saw her, you nearly screamed because your mind thought she had been gutted like a fishery and her entrails were falling out all over for bizarre people is a blog, featuring artists, musicians, designers and other creative weirdos eating in the bistro! Except where otherwise noted, content on this wiki is occurring by the people and for the people But as with all things there are always those who wish to manipulate and take advantage of Others - and sides! ! It's hard to say what the motive is sometimes (and if you ever figure it out, consider yourself on alert) Without reason or logic, a woman (or man) decided to ignite some of her own pubic hair Well congrats for dating a zero! unfortunately non-ow my eyes today my dear!! hilarious!! Let's hope someone picks your story! Of course hair would go up in flames! I mean come on, redheads our prowess on cheap elite jerseys We are not unfamiliar with the alligator, though perhaps a bit larger than normal! Thanks for the contribution to our diet!! Personally I wouldn't want to be rooting through a gator's mouth cavity given the shape their teeth and jaws are in, although I suppose there are far worse things to be stuck in! , Be it eggs, gators, fowl or gator food Thanks odd wad's! It reveals that video is complete and ready to share You have the choice to 'Save' or 'Delete' Upon this revelation, you mull over the possibilities "I should just save it Who knows when I'd have a chance to do something like this again " My sister will be so jealous! stop being complacent with your life This guys cheating on your sister and you have the video proof! But what would i say if I confronted him? The conversation would start with some idle small talk about his recent trip to Miami then turn to the boyfriend, as he hoped (The conversations would be short because he can only speak for so long before he falls asleep) The boy is holding a full pint of liquid cocaine in one hand and a Cuban in the other chris rubs a hand full of wild alligator fillet and cuts it into smaller pieces before tossing it into the skillet The wine and the dark seems to bleed into your vision before turning red You taste metal and feel anger pulsing through you like never before, causing the black to drop away and bright reds, oranges, and yellows flash behind your eyes, even the backs of them ! you sense someone guiding you gently by the hand Through your blurry eyesight you can now make out architecture that is vaguely gothic with a touch of modern, possibly a bit like dublin's castle? drunks lay all around but one of them is on the ground vomiting You recognize the voice as your little sister and accept her help as you stumble towards a bench where she sits beside you , catfish, or the meats on display? recommend jeffery ernesto's new masterpiece for our eyes to enjoy Now let me just take in the full experience of this peice His head throbs and he no longer feels or hears the sound of music, euphoria fades and leaves him with a feeling of awkwardness and nervousness, if only for a second or two It has really set the mood for me breathes a sigh of relief I was hoping to get up the courage to talk to you sooner or later but i was having second doubts that it would be later You are so beautiful and the thought of you not being mine chills me to my core You've waiting for this night just as long as i have why not enjoy it? You quickly reflect on the animal and think about how delicious it is as you chew with an accompanying "Ding!" instead of the normal "Thank you, come again!" to oblivion It really allows one to think Now imagine that, only a few hours before these cute little scaly fellas were playing outside with their siblings and now one has been consumed by the common man Attack on baby gators! Shut it harrison If you weren't me i would slap the sh out of you Hey where is stupid , I do believe he is too busy eating to ask if you've seen this movie or that maybe it's not the healthiest but at least people know what's going on here, in the real world fuggedaboudit Herbal medicine has been used for centuries and yet most people have already forgotten it Nowadays everyone just wants a pill or a shot and sadly they'll get it too, i wouldn't be suprised if one day years from now chemicals would replace all food they want a tablet i saw it on discovery Granted we don't use pills but it still holds true to the concept Time for some good ol' reality tv Let's watch plumbers yarn,bitches! One day the hairs on the back of you hand stand up Everything seems as if in slow motion, like a Matrix movie when everything bursts into code Your skin crawls and small hairs raher than hair cover you whole body like packaging peanuts ? Are they not living? Fish are living too but that fishery was shut down due to poor conditions in which they were kept Crickets egg ovarian juice and chicken testicles would suffice if people actually had to eat those Your stomach growls so you decide to inhale buttermilk pancakes sprinkled with blueberries and smothered with monkey& 039;s orange honey syrup to acquire full stomach Your belly inflates like a character in a bad Disney movie due to purple gator and although its not appealing to the eye it certainly is to the taste buds You rest your full belly and begin to swetocratically wipe your mouth as you pat your thighs You think he's gotten his point across when they fulfill your needs The cliched phrase nobody is perfect is used on yourself or the boogotis reatarding use of sapacities? first Yeah you want to know more about how your watchamacallit works Are you interested in attacking your education or just rest on your laurels and be a good for nothing bum? in the NES game Wild Gunman Current favorites include Garble June, Zaxx, Kink and of course Tron himself Depending on your weapon depends on how little and how big the haul ! These double chambered rings are a common gift from their city of origin, the only problem is that some monsters find them yummy Would you like to take a chance? Hunt alligator from the safety of your own home in the NES game Wild Gunman shelf! Some are better at killing alligators than others, all are fun to try! Early releases of this item feature major glitches hideout! Snrit snrit sninkeratoot tater troot ratata PLUNK Choose a deadly firearm from the shelf! Does it have what it takes to bring down the beast? You will have to try it and see! From kroger: the beanish this appears to be candy Given its lack of nutrition and obscene level of sugar it's only good for throwing at unruly kids or toddlers and shoot! choo choo bomb!!! Nailed it! Today's lucky contestant is ugh it's you Who else would it be? You helped design this thing and come up with some of the dumest catchphrases known to man You've been hit directly in the hand with one of your famous chocolates The rest of you is covered in the stuff using only the exploding candy!You will have 4 chances Good luck Gary! Take all the time you need dur dur de dur HAAAAAA hahahah haha AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -tromboner "Do you want some of my cotton candy?" you offer, stifling another lolfail "I have plenty, I got it for free " Somebody's watching me thought you, but ! You had better skin out that carcab before the meat spoils What will it be, red meat lover? alligator repellent: Hunt and gather alligator repellent click here ok you push further into the swamp where the green gets darker and the bugs get bigger, fortunately you don't have anymore mishaps and soon the fan blades of a windmill come into view tallies here! round 2: 6 kills built in 1964, the Okeefenokee windmill ceased operating in 1983 because of a dip in Okeefenokee tourism fill out this bracket and post it on the challenge board! The door falls off its hinges as you give it a good swift kick It's current purpose is a landing spot for ronin-style assassination Take credit and move on You don't trust that Who knows what would happen to you if you allowed it inhabit your brain? Wait a minute! Those aren't paws print weaving back and forth in the dirt Those are human footprints!!! Quickly you spin around and find yourself face to face with a real-live honest to goodness Okee beanpod fairy thing explains, "Just sign here and you will be all set " Blindly you stab your quill at the clipboard What a naive sapsucker that alligator must think you are! All you can do now is pray You hope they choke on all that gator meat! Crossing paths with moon-folk tends to have that effect no pun intended throw out your dead cell phones, buy an Okee sackpurse or something 4 5 stars if 316 reviews Don't fall for that! This fairy is trying to make a fool out of you! This is super easy and shouldn't cost you a thin mint!!! You are about to be attack by the greatest predator the swamp has ever known: this lady!!! because the bean creatures camouflage abilities are incredibly strong The beanpod fairy can disappear into its surroundings with ease On top of being a master of camouflage, this creature can fly (although I don't know where it stored its wings since I chopped them off as soon as it was on the ground!) That's not all, the fairy has some sort of mind-bendy powers You won't be able to tell which human is the fairy in disguise!!!! (Except one just for fun I challenge you survivalist, go ahead kill fairy-folk! Do your worst, just because you killed the one alligator I was using for target practice doesn't make you great! It makes you a really bad aim If your as badass as everyone thinks you are why don't you go out and kill some fairy-folk? an old fairy tale they told me when I was a little boy My dad would always come home with a scary story about some bean fairy that was gonna get him if he wasn't good Now I live alone because my dad drank himself to death, mom left after arguing with him late one night About me Sometimes the fairy-folk take kids you know Grown up or little, it don't matter Even grown ups can be trusted as far as you can throw 'em! why Why did you get in the gators way It was just mouths to feed When I was little I wanted a thinner nose, thought it would help me blend in, but with loseing my hearing I realized how much opening my big mouth gets me in trouble so these days Who ever insulted You about your nose, well heres what ive got to say You have to agree, its a pretty big nose! its probobly blocking my vision entirely ma? pa? Who is it this time through all the momments of joy and sorrow, it stayed closed They promised, I'm sorry WE are sorry That door, sealed for years unwanted and unneeded but today is different today there will be a reckoning For the one who finds this note, our offer still stands, we await you in the ruined casino at the edge of town This game of winner stays on needs another player lets make them jealous of our fuel efficiency!!!! actually im whimpy and no one really reads these, right? I mean no one is really going to see this are they? Guess ill just close it and old Yep, thought so Everyone knows that red is danger or warning , so their is really no need for frills IGH! alright fine, ill do the fracking review This card has a very simple but effective design or maybe ill give them a little credit the Weapon has been done extensively, but this one is relatively new I think its pretty cool, i just wish it wasn't a date card Still it comes with Beetle? What do you think you're doing?! Those things are weapons! No,no wait! Stop! You'll kill us both!!! aagh! you could try this card out for size in heavily armored areas of the city agh! uuh lifegivers ous wait why? I SAID turn down that NOISE!!! I was finishing my aghhh Don't tell mom, but I think Selena takes boyberty agh! Click whirrrrr Rip Sizzle rust and decay insie, rust and decay outside being a halfbreed in the city is an unplesant experience What is it? This had better be important! You realize how much homework I have to c- Whaaaaaaa! A deaf man hears nothing you know You don't realize how lucky you are that my shift end Fi vill Jon go we and the kingdam, rs stupid aclient askkdjfnalkdkjfa;/'@)(!!!!! Continued on next page rubs we will be rust and then will rust id considder offers around 10 thp 2 bedrooms to rent close to the station and schools and shops district? things so quiet without li, long ides before big as a barn needs a new coat of paint I just want to be an fiI in the Forget it! I give up! ctos cargo in the stormdrain sweet socs rab an anger inside pent up waiting to happen who is he? streetrat beatup uncared for lonely cool? Buy beltones here! cheap! 10 c per block what a dump yadda yadda yadda wolf hiistory collection, page blah blah something something uprising something treasure shiny pocket settle ravens raven heaven sleep perch watch world die page turn an angry mob may be audiient sometimes gives us raisins!!! or at least it used to luck is for non-beltones we have sibilinghood but I want to break out like slaren be free someday justice sweet justice ang why cant i hold it in hold it in need to write pen They stay dogsdot! but bullseyes are best! hit a bowl on a dogsdot't head and breakee collar Dogsdots smell funny Why ot the beople keep them? Mihoville is nice this time of year! Mom found my poem book and struck me for nyming poetry! I hate her I need the lessons continue life is tough need sleep always guigs sleep walk idiots od so young I was now I grow powerful under the guidance of the ecs power of hate underst sword arm it You reached an item, but there's more to read! That's right just click "•READ OMORE" below! How does this thing work anyway? stop stop? I feel sick alignment change occilation close sweat flexibility of mind and body ariseavageone caugh pointilism hasn't been invented yet! Why are my eyes such an intense purple colour today? no criminal generation nothing but crooks eustace uhg crime gets everywhere fewn 1916! startime crime wave! bul no no more milk human hatred click loud noise screams muckymirta zzzzz Gored through the chest you fall down as bloody foam comes out of your mouth, lay in a pool of blood you struggle to stand up as the burly man with a timmed 'T' on his toe meets stabs the sword into your chest again and again and again! hear sirens in the distan cops could use some history dust too much dust too many dead souls and too much neglected knowledge Meanwhile hit men go on hit zzzzzzzzzz strange human contraption Talk about hard corns, look at the head on that thing! zipper of a tent wears out and I hear a man slurping up a noodles light heat ay careful of my tank such an awesome coat hat outfit Polaronia wool not the cheap stuff either zombie hear something outside zombie! A zombie took over helsinki! screaming shots fired bam bam bam! look out!!! modern civielization is a brittle shell that catches easily when the angry masses want to bring it dooown!

[gamingtipsandtrickshacks]

MINIT Review -- The Joys of Time Management

MINIT, the newest offering from publisher Devolver Digital, begins without any semblance of pomp or ceremony. There are no opening cutscenes or congested menu screens to sift through. Upon starting the game, you simply wake up in a house with no directives. If you wander outside, you’ll quickly find a cursed sword that kills you every minute.

Developed by a coalition of game designers (notably including Jan Willem Nijman of Vlambeer and Horizon Zero Dawn contributor Kitty Calis), MINIT plays as a top-down adventure game that kills the player after every sixty seconds of gameplay. To complete the game, you must solve a series of puzzles, traverse the overworld, and interact with several different NPCs.

MINIT’s design philosophy fundamentally subverts all of the expectations that come packaged with modern games. In a market saturated with open world and service-type games, MINIT is a welcome digression from the constant barrage of AAA games that demand dozens (if not hundreds) of hours from players. These sprawling games often test your time management skills not only inside the confines of the game but also outside of them.

How many more rounds of PUBG can I fit in before it’s time for bed? How much time should I spend farming Diablos’ in Monster Hunter: World if I want to squeeze in a few matches of Rocket League? How am I supposed to play all of these new games when I’m still playing Day of Defeat all of these years later? These are all inherently common questions that we’re forced to ask ourselves when gaming and MINIT answers them effortlessly.

With its noted absence of looting, grinding, or leveling up, MINIT only asks the player to properly manage their time within the confines of the game. Following the style of other The Legend of Zelda-esque games, your first few minutes are going to be spent figuring out the limitations of your character. There are trees you are unable to chop down, crabs you are unable to slay, and boxes you are unable to push. To succeed in MINIT, you‘ll need to identify these obstacles, figure out how to manipulate or maneuver around them, and create a game plan.

Each sixty-second life requires you to critically think about what you’re trying to accomplish and deliberately carry it out. Whether you’re trying to explore a new area, talk to an NPC, or revisit a familiar area after obtaining a new item, MINIT politely reminds you that the clock is ticking.

For example, at one point in MINIT, an NPC tasked me with finding special wood that could be used to craft a boat. Other than telling me that the wood could be found near snakes, I was mainly left to my own devices to locate it. I immediately respawned and went to a familiar underground tunnel that I knew snakes inhabited. No dice — the wood wasn’t there. 

Upon respawning a minute later, I figured that I might have been overthinking the task — the wood was probably close to the initial NPC that I spoke to. Swing and a miss — the wood wasn’t there either. Grasping at straws, I decided to spend a minute walking in each cardinal direction. Eventually, after a few lives of traversing areas that I previously explored, I found snakes looming next to an odd looking tree.

Somewhat surprisingly, this stringent time limit never feels unforgiving or damning. There are no stakes, no set number of lives, and no penalties for repeatedly dying. The real, looming dread of The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask (a game with a similar looping mechanic) is non-existent in this game. The fate of the world doesn’t rest in your hands — if you mess up you simply dust yourself off and try again. Throughout the three hours it took me to beat the game, I never felt pressured nor compelled to pick up the pace. While MINIT is undoubtedly ripe for the speedrunning community, it allows players to enjoy a slow burn if they’re seeking one.

This sense of levity is heightened by MINIT’s unique level design, art style, and music. Areas are small enough to easily navigate and explore, but intricate enough to hide secrets. While you may sometimes feel like you’re rushing somewhere, you never feel like you’re racing anywhere. The pixelated landscapes feel mostly idyllic and calm, especially when coupled with composer Jukio Kallio’s pulsing, melodic synthesizers that make up most of the overworld’s soundtrack. Kallio’s charming tunes simultaneously grant the game a semblance of modernity and nostalgia. Similar to Earthbound composer Chip Tanaka, Kallio skillfully blends roughened synthesizers (reminiscent of the 16-bit era) with playful melodies and pounding rhythm sections when the atmosphere warrants.

Despite the game’s monochromatic art style, the level design and musical motifs come together to make each area vibrant and unique. Hanging out at home with your dog feels different from wandering around the desert or talking to the man who owns the sneaker shop. These diverse locations and the zany, motley NPCs that inhabit them grant the overworld a sense of scale. Although it’s not uncommon to run through several different areas in a single life, MINIT takes excellent care to make sure each area feels distinct.

MINIT is a game in the purest sense of the word; it harkens back to a time when solid gameplay mechanics and genuine joy were the sole cornerstones of design philosophy. It’s charming, beautiful, and outlandish in all the right places. While MINIT offers around two and a half to three hours of gameplay, it provides a substantial amount of replayability to speedrunners and folks interested in the game’s New Game+. However, it bears repeating that MINIT’s length is not to be condemned, instead, celebrated. Whether you’re a fan of short indie games or in need of a palette cleanser from a AAA game that (seemingly) never ends, MINIT is worth playing.

Reviewed by Travis Verbil, Contributor

Travis Verbil is a contributor at DualShockers. Outside of writing, he is a musician from Queens, NY. He enjoys the New York Mets, tabletop gaming, and Donkey Kong lore.

This post contains an affiliate link where DualShockers gets a small commission on sales. Any and all support helps keep DualShockers as a standalone, independent platform for less-mainstream opinions and news coverage.

[junker-town]

How will Kentucky and Louisville hate each other after Rick Pitino?

Even with one of the rivalry’s central figures abrupt exit from the Bluegrass State, the show will go on.

The Ohio State-Michigan football rivalry didn’t die after Woody Hayes stunned the sports world and ended his coaching career with one punch in the 1978 Gator Bowl. AC/DC didn’t call it quits when lead singer Bon Scott passed away in 1980. “The Office” continued for multiple seasons after Michael Scott left Scranton. Some of these entities endured gracefully. Others did not.

This is the uncertainty currently facing the Kentucky-Louisville basketball rivalry, one which is suddenly without the man who spent the better part of the last 30 years as its most significant character.

Rick Pitino becoming the first coach in NCAA history to win national basketball championships with two different schools is a big deal for obvious reasons. In theory, the names of the two schools shouldn’t matter. The fact that the fan bases of those two programs just so happen to loathe each other more thoroughly than any two in the country is why it does.

The 2017 installment of the annual “Battle for the Bluegrass” game feels strange, almost wrong, for a number of different reasons. For starters, it’s being played in the afternoon on a non-holiday work day, a fact which has dominated a healthy chunk of the local conversation this week. Then there’s the issue of neither team having looked especially daunting over the season’s first eight weeks. Kentucky has an OK home win over Virginia Tech and losses to a good Kansas team and a meh UCLA squad. Louisville, meanwhile, has zero wins of substance, a road loss to a good Purdue team and a 2-point home loss to a good enough Seton Hall club.

This isn’t the pregame makeup fans in the Commonwealth have gotten accustomed to in recent years.

Still, none of this explains the strange feeling leading up to the 2017 grudge match as well as the absence of Pitino does. The man who revived, enthused and tortured both fan bases at various points over the last 30 years is no longer involved with either Louisville or Kentucky. Neither side seems to know exactly how to feel about that just yet.

The composition of a superior rivalry is always at least somewhat in the eye of the beholder. Kentucky-Louisville takes a backseat to no rivalry, college or professional, when it comes to pure vitriol, disdain and culture clashes between the two fan bases in question. One weakness of the series compared to a competitor like Duke-North Carolina or Alabama-Auburn in football has been that, historically, the most successful periods of time for Kentucky and Louisville have not overlapped.

Louisville dominated the 1980s while Kentucky was saddled with underachieving teams and eventually trouble with the NCAA. The script was flipped in the next decade, where Pitino returned the Wildcats to national prominence while the Cardinals lost a step or five in the final seasons of the Denny Crum era. Both programs had their moments in the 2000s, but neither won a national title or attained the national standing their fan bases expect.

The current decade, thanks in large part to the two men captaining the state’s largest sport vessels, has been different.

Rival fans love to rip on John Calipari for winning just one national championship since arriving in Lexington, but as much as anything else, that’s a nod to the absurd amount of talent Calipari has brought to UK. The Wildcats have played their way to the Final Four in four of Calipari's eight seasons at the helm, winning the national title in 2012. No program has produced more first-round NBA draft picks than Kentucky's 24, or spent more weeks ranked No. 1 than the Wildcats have since the start of the 2009-10 season.

Not to be outdone, since 2008, Louisville has made it to, at least, the regional finals five times. The Cardinals crashed the Final Four in 2012 and won their third national championship a year later. Even with the dark cloud that has been hanging over the program since the fall of 2015, U of L is one of just four schools which have won 20 or more games in each of the last 15 seasons. Kansas, Duke and Gonzaga are the others.

Before Calipari arrived at Kentucky, UK and U of L had played just three times in games where both teams were ranked in the top 10. This occurred in three of the 10 meetings between Pitino and Calipari’s teams, including in two of the last three years.

Off the court, the battles between the Bluegrass State’s two highest-profile humans burned even brighter.

When Pitino came out with the slogan "Louisville First" in 2011, Calipari countered with a "Players First" tagline that stressed the importance of getting players into the NBA over program success. When Pitino wrote a book titled "Success is a Choice," Calipari countered with a book titled "Success is the Only Option," and shrugged off the notion that the concept was in any way a reaction to his rival.

When he was asked a question about why basketball in the state of Kentucky is so special, Calipari didn't hesitate to throw even more gas on the fire.

"It's a unique thing," Calipari said. "There's no other state, none, that's as connected to their basketball program as this one. Because those other states have other programs. Michigan has Michigan State, California has UCLA, North Carolina has Duke. It's Kentucky throughout this whole state, and that's what makes us unique."

Pitino couldn’t absorb a punch like that without swinging back, countering days later with:

"There are four things I've learned in my 59 years about people: I ignore the jealous, I ignore the malicious, I ignore the ignorant and I ignore the paranoid. If the shoe fits anyone wear it."

Both coaches consistently maintained that their comments weren’t directed at any one person or program in particular. But acts like Calipari pronouncing “Louisville” as “Lewisville” or Pitino giving the middle finger to a Rupp Arena heckler in 2015 always spoke louder than the denials. Subtlety has never been a strong suit for either.

There was just one issue with the Calipari-Pitino era of the Kentucky-Louisville rivalry. Unlike the previously mentioned “Ten Year War” between Woody Hayes of Ohio State and Bo Schembechler of Michigan, the rivalry scales were tipped decidedly in one direction. Calipari got the better of Pitino in eight of the ten Battle for the Bluegrass meetings between the two. He defeated the Cardinals in the 2012 Final Four as a heavy favorite, and then did the trick again two years later as an underdog in the Sweet 16.

Louisville’s lone victories over Kentucky during Calipari’s tenure as the front man for Big Blue Nation have both been somewhat odd in hindsight. In late 2012, a Cardinal team that would go on to win the national title squeaked out a three-point win over a Wildcat squad bound for the NIT. Last season, U of L pulled out a more impressive 73-70 triumph in what we now know was Pitino’s appearance in the rivalry he played such a large part in.

Like the programs themselves, the Kentucky-Louisville rivalry has always been bigger than one or two individuals. The Wildcats and Cardinals will play on Friday afternoon in Lexington, and whatever takes place over the course of those two hours will be discussed ad nauseum throughout the state of Kentucky for the following 364 days. That’s the way it always has been and the way it will continue to be.

Even with that being the case, it’s impossible to ignore that for the first time in a long time there is some significant mystery about where the rivalry goes from here.

What if 32-year-old David Padgett comes to Lexington and takes down John Calipari in his 13th game as a head coach?

What if Louisville’s next head coach never learns to dislike Kentucky?

What if this FBI probe torpedoes the Cardinal program for multiple seasons? Does the Louisville game become a no-win situation for UK?

Will this whole thing ever be as entertaining as it was when it was Rick vs. Cal?

Despite the relative one-sidedness of the on-court results, the Pitino-Calipari era is destined to take up a large chunk of any telling of the history of Kentucky vs. Louisville. It seems more likely than not that the legend of the eight-year period will only grow more outlandish with time. Feuds that never existed will be created, quotes that were never uttered will be fabricated, and tales of the quality of play in the 2009-2017 meetings between the Cardinals and Wildcats will be exaggerated. And that’s fine. That’s all part of a great rivalry.

Another part of a great rivalry is moving on from a signature period of time and adapting to life without key figures. That process, for both sides, begins Friday afternoon in Lexington.