#the urge to draw cowboy fits all day every day

[dizzybizz]

🤠sam!!!!!!!!!!!!

[musingdistraction]

Falling for Whiskey (Agent Whiskey x Reader)

Hello Mr. Pascal lovers :D. I recently watched The Mandalorian and fell for Pedro’s sexy voice and protective dad ways. I've been looking for Pedro content and discovered the fics tag by chance... It's so much fun and your stories are great, so I wanted to contribute too, cause I have so many ideas and my imagination is running wild about Pedro these days, haha! Agent Whiskey is one of my favorite characters from him, so here I go. English is not my first language so excuse the mistakes. Hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: (3k words) You're a young Statesman agent and are assigned to a mission with Whiskey and Champagne. The initial dislike between you and Whiskey will turn into something very different later, since you are going to fall hard for each other. He’s tough on the surface but a real cinnamon roll deep down, and you are his weakness.

Warnings: +18 content, references to violence, SMUT.

After a short but impressive record of good results since you became a Stateswoman, your superiors had assigned you to a new mission. You needed to steal some key data from a drug gang which was suspected to have connections with arm traffickers and a terrorist group. Agents Whiskey and Champagne would be teaming up with you for the operation. You were not happy with the arrangement since the take-off meeting had been tense, and these guys didn't seem to be team workers at all. The agents had been distracted and mostly contradicting your ideas, mainly that damn Whiskey. You were even on the brink of starting an argument once or twice. The situation was not ideal and you couldn't wait to wrap up the mission, and hopefully getting a new assignment with new partners.

Your boss had provided the information about the target, an accountant of the mafia. The idea was to set up a distraction and steal some key data from his laptop without him noticing, so that would give you time to collect further proof of their activities before they could react. You followed the guy around for a couple of weeks, studying his daily patterns, his connections and meetings. Working with Champagne was more or less ok, but Whiskey was making things difficult. He was getting on your nerves, being surly and sometimes plainly puzzling. You were exasperated at his attitude, wondering what was the deal with the lone ranger. 

Finally the day came when you had planned to take action. You were supposed to act while the accountant was waiting for his boss in a restaurant, surrounded by some of the mafia thugs. It was not going to be easy. Whiskey and Champagne would keep them distracted. Then you would swap the laptop and leave a fake one. You would copy the data and later you would return the original laptop without them noticing. Things went wrong, however. All thanks to agent Whiskey and his seeming excess of testosterone. Instead of fulfilling his task, apparently he couldn't resist the first opportunity to attack the thugs and caused a ruckus, while the accountant fled the scene. You were frustrated, "This guy can't control himself, how are we going to succeed here?". But mostly you were bewildered since you had found that idiot to be quite hot during the fight. He was definitely fit and holding his whip in a skillful, sexy way..., you hated to be attracted to that type of guy.

It had been an epic fail that called for a group meeting where you all were scolded. Later that night you talked privately to your superior about the mission status, since you were not happy with the course of events. "Don't be too hard on Whiskey, the guy lost his pregnant girlfriend in a shooting not so long ago, with drug dealers involved. He hates them". "Then why did you assigned him to this mission?" you complained. "We want to give him a chance, he's a great asset to us and we need to know if he can overcome his trauma or we can't use him anymore". "Great" you thought, "so they are throwing us at this mess and expecting we handle this guy's issues too". You were not happy at all but also felt guilty for judging Whiskey so quickly while knowing nothing about him. You tried to imagine the pain of losing your girlfriend and a baby on the way...surely he had suffered a lot. No wonder he was easily provoked by the thugs earlier.

Next morning the team gathered in the headquarters in order to study the situation and decide the next step. You had to find another way to get the information you needed. At the beginning you were giving Whiskey the death stare and he didn't seem to know what to do or where to hide. But the truth is, after finding out what had happened to him, you saw Whiskey in a new light and couldn't be too mean. You wanted to make things work. However agent Champagne wasn't feeling so generous. At some point he casually dropped that you had suggested next time you and Champagne would do the fieldwork, while Whiskey would support from the office so he couldn’t mess up again. It was easy to tell that Champagne was joking from his mischievous smile, but Whiskey believed everything and started complaining, angry. You were amused and followed Champagne's ruse for a bit. Grumpy Whiskey was sort of cute and brought to your face a wide smile you couldn't hide. "Do you really think I would say that? We are a team. We have to do this together." He seemed pacified by your words and stopped complaining. Then, after some discussion on the operation details, you left the room a bit embarrassed since that smile might have been unintentionally too warm. Whiskey stayed there, looking thoughtful. And Champagne was still joking and laughing, maybe because he already caught that there was something going on between you and Whiskey? You were a bit upset though. You told yourself that the rough cowboy didn't care about the team or you, and you shouldn't let your guard down because of his sad story, that you needed to keep things professional...Only that was not really how you felt about him anymore.

Next day Whiskey dropped by your office and left you a document folder. He had been gathering intel about the drug mafia. The truth is he had been absent-minded and struggling since the beginning of the mission because he wasn’t sure about working for Statesman anymore…he was still quite depressed since his beloved girlfriend and their baby were taken from him. Then he had screwed up and that was a bit of a wake-up call, he didn’t want things to go that way. He actually liked his job and believed in the Statesman agency values. And there was a general change of mood in the team, with you suddenly smiling at him and all that, so he thought he should do something to contribute. You thanked him and devoted the afternoon to study the documents and review your action strategy. The guys you were facing were dangerous. You knew that the team needed to be solid in order to succeed, and that Whiskey needed to be fully on board. The guy was difficult to control and didn't like team work. You thought you knew what would take to make him change his attitude but it was difficult to take that step. After some internal struggle, you finally gathered enough courage to call him and ask for help. You asked him to elaborate on the documents he brought you and check the action plan together. Asking for help indeed seemed to operate some magic. His voice on the phone was soft when he said he was on his way to your office. He arrived quite fast. Then you sat together for several hours checking everything and discussing the details. It was a productive meeting. He actually helped and gave you good advice, and you gladly took it. His recommendations were quite clever. He seemed to be happy that you were noticeably impressed so he kept offering ideas, and you thought that was very cute of him. That night you stayed together until very late in the office, which you didn't mind since you were charmed by him. His masculine and honeyed voice lulled you and you found yourself once or twice checking his messy brown hair or his strong biceps showing through his shirt. When he casually touched your arm a couple of times to draw your attention, you felt the heat through your body. You wondered if he was aware of the effect his touch had in you. He wasn't, but he didn't miss how comfortable you were in his company or how you looked at him...and he definitely wanted more of it.

You worked on the plan together for a couple of weeks more, and things were looking good. The "team bonding" was going really well. So many hours spent with Whiskey had also an effect in you. You liked him more and more every day. He seemed to enjoy your newfound closeness and looked for you round the clock. He was very supportive and always helping. You felt he was being protective of you. One night you fell asleep during a stakeout, while you were spying on one of your suspects from a nearby apartment. You woke up later in one of the bedrooms, and Champagne casually said that Whiskey had carried you there, so you could get some rest. To know that he had taken such liberties with you and carried you in his arms…that made your heart race. The truth is Whiskey had awakened your female instincts in a way you never had felt before. He might seem tough at first sight but he had a soft side that just started showing, and you knew about his emotional scars. You were weak for him, maybe that strong but damaged guy in need for affection was your type after all? You wanted to take care of him, and that feeling intensified every time he was doing something nice for you. You felt the urge of giving him some love and taking care of him, and that included taking care of his needs as a man too...that very idea was enough to make your body temperature rise. You found him very manly, sexy, and suspected he was an expert and passionate lover. That made you fantasize about being with him and sometimes you were tempted to flirt, since he seemed to like you too. The circumstances were not the best for dating though, so you told yourself that you wouldn't act on your burgeoning feelings. Your determination proved to be weak though, since you couldn’t stay away from him. As for Whiskey, he found you very pretty and sweet when you didn’t had your guard up. He also thought of keeping the distance while working together, in order to not mess things up. However, what he wanted was to be around and protect you, and see your beautiful smile often.

A few days later, finally it was time to strike again and steal the files you were after. You had planned to get it from the office of one of the gang managers. Since the operation was taking place at a social club from the mafia, that gave you a perfect excuse to put on a sexy, revealing dress. You wanted Whiskey to look at you of course. When you arrived to the meeting point, he was there waiting with Champagne. He carelessly said that the group was not supposed to attract attention, while giving you a quick look from head to toe that gave you butterflies in the stomach. You were a bit embarrassed and blushing while reminding him that you were heading to a posh club so the dress was ok but the cowboy hat maybe not. Then you rushed to the car. When arriving at the club, your group stopped at the bar to check who was there, and Champagne ordered some drinks. You didn't know but apart from your sexy figure, Whiskey had noticed your red cheeks before. You were being too cute and looking too pretty for him to resist. The desire to touch you and kiss you was stronger than him. Suddenly he wanted to steal you and bring you far away, so he could keep you safe. Too bad he couldn't do anything in the middle of the operation... You were distracted watching your target -the club manager- leave towards the garden. Then, suddenly felt Whiskey's hand on your waist while he called your name and made you turn and look at him. It was for a second that he touched you, but it was firm, intimate, the kind of touch men use to sound out how welcome they are in your personal space, a warning that they are going to touch you more if you allow them. Your heart was pounding when you faced him. He approached your ear and said "Be careful, princess" in a low voice, and then winked. "We're going outside, see you later", said Champagne and they left you on the spot, distracted.

The agents headed to the garden, following the club manager. Finally alone, you were able to breathe again and quickly focused on your part of the job. You had to steal the content of the manager's computer in his office. This time everything went well and your team could finish and run from the place with no one noticing, bringing some valuable info that would make your boss happy. The operation was a success and the team gathered for some drinks at the bar later that night. Pretty soon, Champagne had started flirting and left with a girl. Your heart fluttered when it suddenly downed on you, that you were alone with Whiskey. But you already had a couple of beers so none of you were so timid anymore. He blocked a guy that tried to flirt with you, totally looking like a jealous boyfriend. It was pretty obvious what was going on there. You talked about the mission for a while and complimented each other's job. Then he smiled and looked at your dress, his eyes shining. "I see you're wearing a dress again tonight, you look very pretty in it ". "Should I wear it more often, then?" you said in a flirty tone... "But only when I'm around so I can protect you from the unwanted attention". Things were heating between both of you and your cheeks were burning. Then he smiled, "Hey, I love this song, come here", he pulled and made you stand up by him. By the time you started complaining about the old-fashioned tune, he already had grabbed you by the waist and was dancing slowly. You were a bit surprised by the move, but quickly shut up and surrendered to the sway and his physical proximity, allowing him to take the lead while looking at him in the eyes. “You like it, don't you?... I can think of other things that you will like, miss". Still smiling, he leaned in for a kiss. He was soft and slow, while holding you tight. Soon the kiss turned more passionate and you needed to separate in order to catch your breath. He looked at you intently and said "Let's go to my place, baby. It's too loud here and I want to be alone with you". For a second you tried to weigh the possible cons of that idea, but you liked him too much to stop there, so you agreed. In the taxi, his hand was resting on your thigh and you felt the burning heat between your legs. You kissed throughout the cab ride. He was running his fingers through your hair and while catching breath between kisses he promised "I'm going to treat you very well, princess". "You better do", that's all you managed to respond before he took your lips again. When you arrived to his apartment, the door closing after you sounded like heaven. Curious about his personal stuff, you explored a bit the living room, apparently to Whiskey's amusement. He approached smiling and grabbed you by the waist, "Do you like this cowboy's humble place, baby? Well, get ready to see the bed, because I'm going to ride you there". Then he started kissing you and lifted you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around him and got lost in his kiss while he carried you to the bedroom. Your fingers got entangled in his hair while he was unbuttoning your dress and kissing every centimeter of your naked skin. The way he touched you and looked at you was a big turn-on, so decisive, so confident and masculine. On the bed already, his hands all over your body, later his head between your legs made you lose your head. He seemed to lose it too when you slipped your hand in his underwear and started playing with his cock, which was ready for action. You noticed his excitement and kept teasing him, playing bad girl. That made him felt the urge to give you what you deserved. "What do you think you're doing, come here", he grabbed you and placed you underneath him, kissing you again, while pressing his hips towards yours. He still had his boxers on but you could feel he was so hard against your entrance. He played around it for a while and you showed your desire, by grabbing his butt and pushing him against you. Then he teased you, introducing the tip of his finger in you. "Oh baby you are so wet, you have no idea how much I like it.” He kept playing with his finger while kissing your neck and then going down to taste your nipples. Excited, you arched your back and made him go up in order to kiss him again, your hands running through his hair, next towards his back. “I want you so much”, you wanted him to know how much you desired him. He seemed pleased to see how excited you were. He kissed your neck and went up to bite your ear, suddenly feeling the need to assert how you belonged to him.  “You know your pussy is mine, don’t you? You are mine now". Then he stood up and took off his underwear. You knew what was coming next, which made you even more excited. He leaned down on you and you hugged and kissed, this time completely naked, with no obstacles for the imminent intercourse. After some exquisitely desperate waiting and begging him to take you, he also couldn't wait anymore. He was on top of you, moving his hips so his cock would slide and position itself against your entrance. You were so wet and he was so hard that the tip entered you with no need for further guidance. Next he penetrated you slowly, taking his time, savoring your moans and the look in your face. He lied on you, holding you in his arms, one hand on your back, the other sustaining your head. He was on top of you, holding you tight and close to him, then started thrusting inside you with passion. Feeling his weight and the grip of his strong arms increased the delicious sensation of being helpless and possessed at his pleasure, his hips moving over you and the friction on your clit bringing you to unknown enjoyment heights. He certainly knew his way around a woman’s body. As you vibrated with pleasure under him, he felt more excited and wanted to be even more inside you, so he silenced your screams with a kiss, his tongue deep in your mouth. Then you completely surrendered to the feeling of being his, let go of all resistance and reached your climax. You kept making love for a while since your thirst for each other was not satisfied yet and he wanted to play with you more. When he came later, you felt so full of him and happy. Both of you were covered in sweat and exhausted. His  blissful smile filled your heart with joy. He caressed your hair and showered you with sweet kisses. But his adoring brown eyes fixed on yours was what made you feel weak and realize that you had a serious problem going on there. You were falling in love.

[slutty-mcree]

!!!! @shoeswithoutsocks

listen, buddy, thank you so much for this request omg.

I really hope you don't mind my song choice! Ring of fire absolutely screams Jesse Mcree and i love it so much, but the song  ‘big bad handsome man’ by Imelda May was introduced into my life a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to stop associating it with Mchanzo since hearing it adsk. You've handed me a golden opportunity i cant pass up. (Seriously if you haven't heard that song please listen and tell me it doesn’t absolutely fucking  radiate Mcree energy...)

Anyways! I hope you enjoy <3

—

“You are telling me you can sing..? Seems...unlikely.”

Hanzo could remember just how offended Mcree had looked when he said that; hand clutched over his heart, mouth slightly agape as though someone had suddenly struck him.

“Darlin..sweetheart...my huckleberry pie..you sayin’ you don’t think I got talent?”

“Obviously I believe you have talent, Mcree. Overwatch would not have recruited you otherwise. I am just unsure as to how much of that talent is...musical.”

In hindsight, Hanzo supposed he should have known better. Jesse Mcree, by nature, was never one to withdraw from a challenge. It was proven time and time again—whether it was showcasing a dauntless, unnecessary act on the field or following through on an unsuspecting fool who was not expecting to be taken up on their dare. The cowboy was, without a doubt, the very definition of ostentatious--and evidently, Hanzo’s comment made him feel like he needed to prove something.

Hanzo Shimada had provoked the southern, gun-slinging bear and now he was now going to pay the price for it.

“I cannot believe you helped orchestrate such a ridiculous charade.” The archer scoffs with a tinge of annoyance coloring his tone. He eyes over the homemade flyer in his hand; decorated in obscenely glittery drawings of music notes and tiny cartoon versions of cowboy hats. Big, bold letters spelled out ‘karaoke night: featuring the musical talents of Jesse Mcree’, and Hanzo glances from the piece of paper to the Korean woman in front of him warily.

“Don’t look at me like that, Han! Lucio made the flyers and did the audio set up stuff, all I did was set up the chairs.”  Hana defends herself, though the mirthful smile that’s present indicates that wasn’t completely true. “Besides, karaoke is awesome! Look you have a front-row seat and everything!” She gestures to a folding chair that sat front and center to the boxing ring in the training area watchpoint offered (which was now made out to be like some kind of stage.)There were a few more rows of chairs just like it, though that one in particular quite literally had his name written on it. In messy, sparkly blue lettering...

A long, albeit dramatic sigh rolls from Hanzo's chest as he takes a seat, arms firmly crossed. He can practically sense the Meka pilots ever widening  smile from beside him, and he vaguely hears her utter something along the lines of ‘mission dragon strike is a go!’ before running off somewhere.

It isn’t long before other agents trickle in, among the small crowd being Genji himself. His brother takes a seat next to him, and Hanzo attempts to probe for any type of information he can about what’s to be expected out of this aside from the obvious. Though, much to his chagrin,  Genji offers nothing; the other man just sits there and has the audacity to shush Hanzo all while somehow being able to radiate utter smugness behind his impassive faceplate.

The archer narrows his eyes in return, a quiet huff leaving him as he turns his attention back to the stage with a glower etched on his face. It felt as though everyone was aware of something he wasn’t, which caused an infuriating mixture of concern and panic to flutter in the lower part of his stomach. One would hope his words days prior wouldn't of offended Jesse to the point he was willing to organize an entire ordeal just to embarrass himself or his own lover.

Then again… this was Jesse “once went streaking through the streets during a category five storm because someone told him he wouldn’t do it” Mcree.

Hanzo shrinks at the onslaught of other ridiculous possibilities the cowboys could be subjecting him to tonight; Images of Jesse in nothing but underwear, howling out a song that’s far too high pitched for him is the first thing that comes to mind…

The man sighs, although before his concern could get the better of him the lights of the gym suddenly dim just as a tall silhouette makes its way on stage, causing the soft chatter of the crowd to dwindle into silence. Hanzo makes another huff when forced to squint in the lack of lighting, unable to make out a familiar hat but not much else. A moment passes, then the lights above the makeshift stage suddenly alight brightly once again, illuminating the cowboy now occupying the space with a glow that could almost be called ethereal.

Hanzo blinks, and he finds himself swallowing against the sudden thickness that gathers at the back of his throat.

Mcree, void of his usual gear, is instead embellished in a form-fitting vest with a tasteful dress shirt underneath; which, in Hanzo opinion, was unfairly  left unbuttoned a few notches lower than probably necessary. Mcree then smiles, toothy and suave as he gives an experimental strum against the guitar strapped to his torso, dark eyes immediately meeting Hanzo’s own.

The archer fights back the urge to swallow again.

“Howdy, everybody~” The southerner greets in a way that’s somehow so damn provocative it elects a series of whistles and cheers from the crowd.  Honeyed laughter echoes through the standing mic, grin never forsaking him. “I’d like to thank everyone for comin’. Got a real special song for a real special person tonight.”

Mcree winks in his lover's direction, and suddenly Hanzo is aware of a dozen cheeky gazes and smiles on him from every damn direction. Despite being able to remain relatively straight-faced, heat burns the tips of the archer's ears.

Much to his own displeasure.

Mcree grins a little wider, before counting down from three. A pre-recorded tune of saxophone and base notes then begin to play from a pair of speakers from behind him, and along with it Mcree begins steady beat with his guitar; the symphony creates a type of rhythm that immediately reminds Hanzo of the old American style songs from the 1950’s his father would occasionally listen to. It's amazing, really; Mcree’s fingers strum against the strings of his guitar with such fluid ease it renders Hanzo shocked at first. Though really what is more surprising than the skillful use of the instrument is the actual sound of Mcree’s voice.

‘The man is tall, mad, mean, and good-lookin', And he's got me his eye. When he looks at me, I go weak at the knees, He's got me going like no other guy. Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man, He's got me in the palm of his hand. He's the Devil Divine, I'm so glad that he's mine, Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man~”

It held a gruff yet ever seductive timbre that resonated Hanzo through his core and sent small bumps prickling the surface of his skin. His jaw drops ever slightly, though he’s only made aware when the icy, metallic touch of Genji's hand pushes his chin up to forcibly close the gap.

“May I get you a something to drink, brother? You are looking extremely thirsty.” The cyborg snickers from beside him. Red rises over ivory skin, and Hanzo turns his head to with a look sharp enough to cut the man in half where he sits--though it’s not a half second later before his attention is brought back to the stage.

‘With his rugged good looks yeah he's got me hooked

Got me where he wants me to be

With his arms so wide, he pulls me in by his side

He's the kind of guy that does it for me’

Cause he's my big bad handsome man yeah

He's got me in the palm of his hand

He's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine

Cause he's my big bad handsome man

Ooh

My big bad handsome man, yea

He's got me in the palm of his hand

He's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine

Cause he's my big bad handsome man

Mcree is staring at him with a wide, far too charming smile as he finishes up the rest of the song. It ends with a long, soulful hum—and the group of ten to fifteen sounds more like a crowd of hundreds with amount of clapping and cheering that goes on. He chuckles, bowing with a polite tip of his hat and signature “thank you kindly” before he exits the stage to allow those next in line (Reinhardt) to showcase their talents. As the boisterous German takes center stage, Hanzo manages to shake away the astonished look of his face and swiftly disperses to the water fountain in the far corner he watched Mcree strut off too.

“I must say that...was impressive,” Hanzo compliments as he approaches. He eyes Mcree as he smiles and leans away from the water fountain to wipe the thin layer of sweat across his forehead with the back of his hand. “Why thank you, darlin.’ Mighty kind of you to say. Gotta admit it’s nice to know I can still surprise ya.” His smile curls into a coquettish smirk, as if being able to read Hanzo’s thoughts the entire duration of his performance. The archer was not always as impassive as he thought he was, that’s for certain.

“Mm…” a subtle smirk of its own tugs at the corner of Hanzo’s lips. He leans forward, adjusting Mcree’s slightly askew collar. “Indeed. Actually, I am so surprised I wanted to ask if you would care to favor me an encore.”

Mcree blinks, chuckling softly and scratching the back of his head. “Encore, eh? Why I don’t mind, but I take it Reinhardt is gonna be a while—“

“I am referring to an encore of a more private sort. In my quarters...” Hanzo interrupts.

“Oh? Oh…” The southern gunslinger grins, clearing his throat as he wraps a well-sculpted arm around his lover's shoulder. “Well sweetheart, I’m thinkin’ that can be arranged.”

[thesportssoundoff]

A word on the ole elephant in the Barclay’s Center

Joey

Jan 15th

So I was working on my card write up for the UFC's ESPN debut and there's obviously a big elephant in the room regarding the co-main event. There's plenty of things I wanted to say or believe in saying and it was taking attention away from the card. It was getting way too long and so I figured I'd just do a separate bit on the entire situation. It's probably going to be a bit messy and perhaps a touch convoluted but I'm hoping that I can at least get some concepts out here. It's my "job" on here to be kind of rational and fair. Gonna put it under the read more just in case some people don't want a big wall of text given I've got ANOTHER wall of text coming re: actual fight business.

I want to begin with an irritable point of contention I have about not so much Greg Hardy but of a fake concept in MMA some people keep clinging to. Guys if I could, I would love to shout this to the heavens: There is NO such concept in MMA as earn nor deserve. Nobody earns anything and nobody deserves anything. We've seen it a million times now. Earn and deserve are fake in this sport and the longer we continue to believe in it, the more irritating it gets. There is no earn. There is no deserve.  There is truly no meritocracy here and the UFC has shown us that time and time again. Asking if Greg Hardy has "earned the right to be on the first ever ESPN card?" Idiotic. What has Alonzo Menifield done? Chance Rencountre? Who determines who has "earned" such an honor? Okay who determines who deserved it? The same company that felt has bent its unofficial playbook for dudes like Jon Jones and Conor McGregor? Think of all the fighters who have "earned" title shots and had them taken away or fighters who deserved spots on a main card only to be buried on the prelims due to their fighting style or in some cases whether or not their contract was expiring. I hate to be the dickhead here but we need to stop debating earn and deserve because it's fake. Combat sports make it fake and then revel in us getting tied up about something they don't care about.

Keeping with that point, remember that at the end of the day everybody has the same moral compass. The goal with this show is to get a rating and get ESPN+ subs and I'm 100% sure that if ESPN felt Greg Hardy on the first card was a problem they would've stopped it. ESPN has the authority and the say so here and yet here we are with him still on the card. Every organization has the same moral compass; they're all trying to sell you something. I had this conversation on the DojoTalkPodcast pertaining to the idea of asking forms of entertainment to handle issues they're ill-equipped to deal with---primarily because it collides with the end result of making money. Random guess that ESPN and the UFC had a meeting about it, the UFC said "We think he can generate X amount of interest" and so ESPN sucked it up and went with it. Greg Hardy is probably the second biggest story on this card for better or worse and to be honest if there's interest being driven? It's him. The show looks like it's on path to sell out so it's not like Greg Hardy is sending people away. Again all promotions are trying to make money here and if that means having to buddy up with a guy like Greg Hardy, that's what they'll do in the long run. If this truly irks you then understand that you have plenty of people to get mad at; not just the UFC here. All parties, all involved.  They all dug deep into this together and so here we are.

I object to the idea that Greg Hardy is getting a second chance. It's really more like a third chance and potentially even a fourth if we're being honest. Greg Hardy was talented enough at Ole Miss to be a 1st round pick and wound up going in the 6th round because teams had genuine concerns over his character and work ethic. That's chance one. Chance two came in Carolina where he worked himself up into a potential major payday and then he screwed himself over with the DV incident. In a sympathetic NFL, Hardy could've come back with a bigger long term payday had he just kept himself out of trouble in Dallas. As a Cowboys fan, I can tell you there were heavy rumblings toward the end of the year that he was toxic and divisive that the Cowboys were thinking of cutting him before December was out. Chance three. Hardy was essentially blackballed from the NFL despite his talent level and his response to this was to eventually get arrested for cocaine possession and other offenses. The UFC is not a second chance for Greg Hardy to earn big money. Maybe it's a second chance from a spiritual or personal perspective but I'm not even sure that fits either. Greg Hardy is what he is; a troubled yet talented individual who has historically not learned from his mistakes. To a fault, I'm really big on second chances and multiple chances for people because human beings are faulty machines who make mistakes and absolutely in my opinion capable of learning and improving. At the same time, I do not in any way shun people who don't believe this person is capable of fixing himself or making good on the repeated opportunities his talent allows. They have history on their side.

It's possible to A) feel as though Greg Hardy being on the same card as PVZ/Rachael Ostovich is tone deaf and B) be ultimately okay with is so long as Ostovich is okay with it. I wouldn't of done it, think it's borderline arrogant and invites unwanted controversy but if the person or people most likely to be impacted by it are fine with it then it's whatever I guess. This feels like a self inflicted wound from an organization that has enough scars from its own stubborness/arrogance.

HAVING SAID THAT, let's address a problem MMA has to find a way to correct and I suppose the same goes for combat sports as a whole. We totally need to find a way to get around the "I'm paying/watching to see you lose" aspect of things. Greg Hardy is here probably 50% in part that there's a bloodthirsty audience willing to wait and wait for the day when he eventually loses. It's that weird primal urge people have that feeds the not so good aspects of human nature. It also creates situations like this where people get mad about something, wait for what they feel is the karmic payoff and if it happens then it's this big pop. The problem is this isn't pro wrestling where we can script who wins and loses and so a bunch of folks who want that release get stifled and it turns ugly. I remember Rumble fights being like that; primarily because people who were so vehemently opposed to him would tune in or pay money to see him lose and then break down when he wouldn't. There's something really unhealthy about that aspect of combat sports and the longer it keeps working and promoters can manipulate it, the longer we're going to have to deal with all of this.

Feels pretty cop out-y to not say if I'm watching or not. I'll be watching on Saturday for a variety of reasons. The first is I promised Alex I'd cover just about every UFC card I could and to this date I think I've missed three; one for a power outage, one because I couldn't see after eye surgery and a third because I was sick (and even then I jumped in halfway through). I'm not going to let Greg Hardy force me to slack on what I said I'd do. I'll also be watching because it's a damn good card and I'm excited to see a lot of it. I also do, and I hate to tell people this knowing the response, think Greg Hardy is going to be a serious thing in this HW division when all is said and done. Will he be good enough to win a title? Probably not. I have SERIOUS doubts he stays out of trouble long enough to not even make it two years into the UFC. That said he's my Adrien Broner I guess; I wanna see how good he is before he capsizes himself. Lastly? This is combat sports. No form of entertainment outside of maybe the music industry forces people to separate artist from person so repeatedly. It often times asks us to stomach some pretty rough people in exchange for the violence they put into the cage or the ring. I've been on here for waaaaaaaaaay too long; long enough to have covered fights with people like Thiago Silva, Abel Trujillo, Rumble and so on so forth. I mean hell Floyd Mayweather Jr! Guys like Bernard Hopkins, Travis Browne, Jon Jones, Rumble Johnson all have their personal warts often displayed in the public's eye and yet we still watch their fights because....well we're addicted. Greg Hardy I guess isn't enough to get me to quit cold turkey on MMA.  Hell look at it this way, the alternative for Saturday if you're a combat sports fan is a battle between a guy who seems to get arrested once a year (Adrien Broner) and a guy who has some pretty comments on his record regarding gays and supports using the death penalty for drug offenders (Manny Pacquaio). We all have to make choices, especially in combat sports, about what our lines are or aren't. That's our jobs as consumers.

That said if there's one thing I can say that I hope will stick with everyone, it's that there's nobody wrong here outside of the people in question here. What YOU do as a fan one way or another is ultimately your business. If Greg Hardy offends you as a person then I have zeeero problem with you deciding to sit this show out. There are people I respect who will not be watching and I respect them for having that feeling. It's a totally acceptable feeling to have and no, you're not some SJW/soyboy/snowflake or whatever other terms MMA bros might throw your way. You have your line and I accept that and if anything, I appreciate you sticking to your convictions. Conversely I'd also ask that you not get pissy about people who ARE going to tune in and watch. Watching an MMA event with one dude on it who draws some serious visceral reactions due to his actions doesn't make you a supporter of domestic violence, a bad person or some kind of gooney bird unless you're actively rooting for Hardy DUE to his DV past. In that case, you probably are all those things. At the end of the day, we're all in charge of our own moral compass. Watch if you wish, feel how you feel, just don't hurt your cause by being an asshole about it.

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

The Purgatory Files: All Roads Lead to Purgatory, Chapter 1

This was originally a roleplay, and I edited and spliced the existing part of it to more resemble a fic for the site I’m putting together to house these stories in a more polished form. So I’m just going to post that here.

Harry woke to an insistent nudging at his rib cage, and slapped drowsily at the offending disruption of his pleasant and blissfully deep sleep.

“Msgwymmmhslpng,” he said, and rolled over, sliding a hand under his cheek.

His bed sure did feel hard. Like lying on a rough concrete floor. Had it always been that hard? He thought about buying a new mattress, which he probably couldn’t afford anyway, then promptly fell back asleep.

Another, firmer nudge pushed past the haze of the sweet, sweet sleep that he never seemed to get enough of these days. “Mouse!” he grumbled. “Go away. I’ll feed you la–”

His sleep-crusted eyes creaked open in mid-sentence as he pushed at what he believed to be his dog, but his hand hit smooth, dusty leather instead of Mouse’s shaggy mop of fur. He stuttered into silence, and squinted at the boot that rested on the ground before his still-blurry vision. Slowly, he slid his eyes upward, up a pair of shapely, jean-clad legs, a fringed, black leather bomber jacket fitted around a wiry frame, and an angular face displaying an expression of simultaneous perplexity and amusement. Dark hair fell in a wavy curtain around the woman’s shoulders, and she stood with one hand propped on her hip as she peered down at him.

She wore a gun on that hip, a big old-fashioned revolver that looked like it belonged in a museum, thrust through a black leather holster hung on a conspicuous ammo belt. Harry could feel a heady pulse of magic swirling around and through the gun. Yeah, that was no prop or museum piece.

As the world continued to fade into view around him, he realized that he was lying in the middle of a road. To either side, stretching for what looked like eons, arid grassland waved and rustled in the growing breeze, enclosed behind barbed wire fencing.

And he had no idea whatsoever how he had gotten there.

Hell’s frickin’ bells. What did he get himself into this time?

“Uh,” he said, because he was eloquent like that. Slowly, he rolled to his knees, then grimaced as a sudden headache bore down on him. The world swam before his eyes briefly, and he drew in a breath, then sneezed explosively as he got dust up his nose. It did not improve the stabby-stabbiness of the headache. He rubbed his fingers at his temples and blinked dust out of his eyes. “Augh. Urk. Ow. Nice gun. Where the hell am I?”

“Bless you,” the woman said. Well, then. A polite gun-toting dame.

She crouched down beside Harry and peered at him, a spiraling lock of hair falling over her shoulder. He noted, because he was a detective and all, that her hand stayed close to that gun. His face scrunched up as he looked at her, and he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. A flicker of dimples puckered the sides of her mouth as she smiled at him. She had cute dimples.

She… had cute everything, actually.

Down, boy. Focus. She had a gun. She had a magic gun. She had a magic gun and was probably Trouble with a capital T, because that just seemed like a girl-with-a-magic-gun sort of thing to be.

“Aw, thanks,” the woman said. She was still smiling but her eyes were watchful. “It’s real. And I hate to tell you, but you’re in Purgatory. How much were you drinking that you don’t know where you are? Or that you fall asleep in the road?”

Harry realized he was grinning like a great, big dope. She did have cute dimples. And he did like her gun. It was a nice gun. “Real,” he echoed, and giggled with a little snort. Don’t look at me like that, he thought deliriously. That was a manly giggle. A giggle of manliness. Manly amusement. The little chuckle she gave in response was simply an appreciation of the manliness of that giggle. “Yeah. I kinda gathered that,” he said. He giggled again, then grimaced and resisted the sudden, uncouth urge to spit. He didn’t resist it for very long. The inside of his mouth tasted like sweaty gym socks well overdue for a laundering.

Then a particular one of her words swam into his awareness, and he sat blinking as his still-sluggish brain tried to process the word purgatory. He stopped giggling. Thank God.

“Uh,” he said again, then wagged his head side to side to see if it would rattle. It didn’t. Wonders never ceased. “That… uh. Wouldn’t be literal purgatory, would it? Because I seem to be having that kind of day.” He shook his head again and wiped a hand over his face. Several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw prickled against his palm, and he lowered his hand to stare dumbly at it for a few seconds.

The woman began to laugh outright, and he glowered up at her. “Hey, it’s a legitimate question. You have no idea how legitimate in my line of work.”

“Literal purgatory?” The woman shook her head, still snickering under her breath. “It’s small and just about everyone here has the personality of rancid milk but…I wouldn’t go that far.”

He nodded sagely and the world swam. He resisted the urge to lie back down and take a very long nap. “Y’know,” he slurred. “’M startin’ to think I got roofied…”

She stopped laughing at that and stared at him, her expression suddenly serious. “Oh.” She regarded him a moment more, and he could almost see the wheels start to spin in her mind. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Uh…” Damn, he was just a regular master of words today. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, its gruesome scarring still hidden beneath a black leather glove, and tried to remember where he was before he woke up here in Dustville, USA. He half expected a tumbleweed to saunter past while he tried to drag up the memory.

Remembering was a lot harder than he thought it probably should be, but he finally had a flicker of image: standing at his worktable in his basement, wrapped up warmly in his flannel bathrobe and consulting Bob about a local cryptid. “I was talking to a skull,” he told the woman. “I do that sometimes.”

“A skull?” She looked down at the him for a moment longer, nodding ever so slightly as she did so. The wind caught her hair and blew a few strands across her face; she brushed them back and tucked them behind one ear. “Sure. Why not? You and Hamlet. Talking to your skulls.”

Har har,” Harry said flatly. “Ha. Ha. Hamlet. Oh, my sides.”

Somehow, he managed to wrangle his long legs in such a way that he maneuvered them under himself, and stood, swaying precariously. He began brushing off his clothes, and in doing so, looked down at himself. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans under his leather duster, his feet nested comfortably in his well-worn cowboy boots. No bathrobe in sight. He could feel the weight of his revolver in his coat pocket. “Apparently I changed clothes after.”

He caught sight of his staff and his battered old backpack lying on the ground nearby and bent down to collect them, nearly faceplanting again but managing, miraculously, to steady himself at the last minute. He was nothing if not graceful. Straightening up to his full height until he towered a good foot over the woman, he turned back to her and looked her over, his eyes coming to rest on that gun. She seemed relaxed, even a bit amused as she watched his every move, but she had been keeping her hand near the butt of that revolver the whole time, and he had a feeling she had a hell of a fast draw. He just hoped she didn’t randomly decide he looked like good target practice. People sometimes did that to him. It has an unfortunate side effect of ruining his day.

“So,” Harry said, finally leveling his eyes back to her face– not quite to her eyes, though. Something told him that a soulgaze with this gun-toting dame could make his headache turn into Armageddon in his skull. “Almost afraid to ask. But… what day is it?”

“Not to add to that fear, but it’s September twenty-second. First day of fall. Terrifying, I know.”

“Wait, what?” He boggled at her for a few seconds, jaw agape. “September? Fucking September?” He could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. He probably looked even kookier than usual right then. “Fucking hell! Hell’s fucking bells!” He paused a beat. “Uh. Pardon my Francois.” He probably butchered the accent.

Her lips pulled up into a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve heard. Not even the worst thing that I’ve said.”

He barely heard her. It had been June. He was absolutely certain of it. He had lost three months. Three. Friggin’. Months.

Taking a half-step back, arms folded across her chest, she watched him from beneath a raised eyebrow as he attempted to make sense of his predicament. “Not a fan of September?” she deadpanned.

“Not when summer was heating things up in Chicago last I remember,” he said. “It was June. Jesus. Missing time. Can’t say I’m a fan. How the hell did I get out here?”

“June.” She gave him an inscrutable look, her tone deadpan. One slender shoulder lifted in a brief shrug. “Beats me. You were lying in the middle of the road.” She half-turned while extending one arm to point to the blue-and-white striped pickup truck that was apparently hers. “I’d thought you were dead, actually.“

“Well, unfortunately for some, I ain’t dead yet. Hell, I think my ghost’d probably be making trouble even after I’m in the ground.”

She something that sounded like, “Please don’t,” and he couldn’t help but smile a little, despite his bewilderment. He could commiserate.

It also made him wonder what sorts of things this woman with a magic gun had dealt with in order to make that kind of remark.

Sighing, he looked around himself, grumbling under his breath while trying again unsuccessfully to get his bearings. Then his eyes, of their own accord, traveled back and did another gratuitous sweep of the woman’s figure, and he definitely didn’t notice how svelte and shapely that figure was. It was purely professional observation. Of a highly appreciative nature.

Trouble, Harry. Capital T.

He frowned deeply for a minute, thoughts finally picking up speed to whirl around dizzily inside his head. Missing time. Memory tampering. Dumped in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, equipped with staff and spell-shielded coat, and– yep, there was his blasting rod, hanging from its loop on the inside of his coat, and there was the smooth, cool metal of his revolver in the coat’s voluminous right pocket, tucked in with a box of ammunition.

All like he had been preparing for battle.

Something nagged at his brain. The M.O. sounded familiar. Way too familiar.

He stewed on that for a minute, leaning slightly on his staff, then shrugged. Hell, for all he knew, Trouble over here was responsible. She did just happen to be hovering over him when he woke from my blissful stupor, after all. Complete with magical gun.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially not one as big as that.

He gave a little pause, then said, “Thanks, er…?” He trailed off, hoping she would supply him with something to call her in his head other than the smoking, gun-toting dame, also known as Trouble.

“Wynonna. Wynonna Earp.”

“Earp?” he echoed. “As in…”

His words elicited a heavy sigh from her, and she rolled her eyes. “As in Wyatt Earp Earp. That’d be the one.”

One corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as Wynonna Earp– what a name– heaved a sigh. She probably heard no end of it, name like that. He offered her a hand, stealthily extending his senses as he did so.

“Harry,” he replied, careful to keep the cadence and resonance of the name neutral. Names are hard currency in the magical world. Wrong being gets hold of your Name, the full and true version of it, and they can wield all sorts of power over you. You don’t give it out willy-nilly to anything smelling of magic, especially in circumstances like this, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Harry,” she echoed again, looking at him under raised eyebrows. He nodded. He guessed she was expecting him to give his full name, but that wasn’t going to happen until he could figure out what the hell was going on here and who this random woman who just happened to find him at the right time and the right place really was.

“So, uh, Wynonna,” he ventured as he held his hand extended. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest pay phone would be, would you?” He needed to call some people. They were probably scouring Lake Michigan or something for his body by now. Murphy was going to freaking kill him.

Finally, she accepted the offered hand and shook it, and as he closed his fingers around hers, a faint tingle rushed through his palm, shivering up through his wrist and into his arm. Magic. Faint, but indisputably present. Probably not even enough to fuzz up electronics. Lucky girl.

“Not too many of those still working here,” she said. “But there’s one at the cop shop.” Her hand slipped from his, and that wry smile quirked at her lips again.

Harry was glad she hadn’t offered him a cell phone when he had mentioned needing to make a call. He would have hated to accidentally fry it, her being so nice and all.

“Cop shop,” he said, and nodded. “Gotcha. You’re so helpful with your words.” He looked around, gesturing at the endlessly rolling fields and the empty stretch of road currently dominated only by Earp’s big blue and white pickup, Earp herself, and a lost, perplexed, and increasingly annoyed wizard. Overhead, clouds were starting to gather, shadows sweeping across the ground like an incoming tide. A big raindrop plopped on his nose, and he was pretty sure he went cross-eyed for a second as he reflexively tried to look at it. Great. “And the cop shop would be…? Where, exactly?”

Wynonna tilted her head, a momentary look of disbelief on her features. For a minute, she looked ready to bite his head off, literally. “Cop shop,” she repeated, her tone acidic. “The sheriff’s office. Which is in town. Where most people have their law enforcement offices. ”

Anything more that she could have said was cut short when fat rain drops started to hit the ground. More rain fell, picking up the pace a little bit and threatening an incoming deluge, and Wynonna turned her back on him, tossing a few last words over her shoulder as she stalked towards her truck. “Would you like a ride or would you prefer to walk, Hamlet?”

He felt a little pang of guilt twist in his chest as he watched her spin on her heel and march back to her truck, obviously affronted by his oh-so-charming demeanor. Damn it, Harry, he thought. It’s not her fault you got in over your head again and wound up stranded on the side of the road somewhere with your head screwed around with and three months blanked out.

It probably wasn’t, anyway. Jury was still out on that. But he could at least act like a civil human being until he was in a place to pass that particular judgement. Give at least that much benefit of the doubt.

He paced to the truck, managing by now to walk in something resembling a straight line, tossed his staff in the cargo bed, then opened the door to the passenger side of the cab and climbed inside. Silence stretched for a beat or two before he said, “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just a bit… discombobulated right now.” He managed a little smile, glancing up at her. “Hey, thanks for the ride. And, you know, for stopping in the first place. I owe you one.”

She glanced back as his staff clattered into the bed of the truck and turned just a little to watch him come into the cab. About three seconds after that a peal of thunder crashed overhead and the heavens let loose. Wynonna sat for a moment, one hand poised on the steering wheel and her attention on him.  Finally, she laughed, shaking her head.

“That wasn’t even close to what I would consider head biting.”

Well,  that sounded suspiciously like an innuendo. Harry’s eyebrows climbed again. He had a feeling they’d be doing that a lot around her. “Sounds like you’re a bit of an expert,” he quipped. Let the innuendos flow.

Her lips twitched up into a small smile. She sat up a little straighter and kept her eyes on the road when the rainfall became more intense. He glanced up as its patter rose in volume, rattling against the roof of the cab. Guess they got in the truck just in time.

“I know what I’m good at,” she said. “And the stopping just made sense. I didn’t feel like cleaning guts off my truck.”

Harry quirked his mouth into a sardonic grin. He concurred. He didn’t feel like her cleaning his guts off her truck either.

“Can’t argue with that.” The truck rumbled as she revved its engine, and the rain fell in sheets around them, starting to pool on the pavement and in the grass. He hoped they got where we were going before it started flooding or something.

He unzipped his  pack and sorted through its contents, unsurprised to find once again he had come armed for bear. Magical bear. The pack contained all your basic thaumaturgical and ritual supplies– candles, matches, his old army-surplus knife, a compass– and a number of seemingly innocuous items that he had found to be very useful for distance magic in the past.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Sighing, he craned his neck to look at the bed of the truck, where his staff was resting in a rapidly rising pool of water. “Damn,” he said to Wynonna. “My staff is getting soaked.”

“Staff?” She looked at him like she was trying to decide if he thought he was Gandalf or something. “I thought that was a ridiculously ornate walking stick.”

Wynonna had missed a golden innuendo opportunity with his carefully worded staff quip. I mean, come on. I left myself wide open. He smirked at her and shrugged. “It is a ridiculously ornate walking stick. Slash traditional Ozark folk art, slash… uh, security blanket.” He stretched his long legs as much as he could in the limited space. It wasn’t that her truck was small, it was that he was built like an NBA player. “Never leave home without it.” At least not when he thought he was going to come up against something big, bad, and potentially interested in turning him inside out for funsies.

“Security blanket. Right. Makes sense.” Her voice once again dripped with sarcasm, but he saw her brush her fingers lightly against the grip of the revolver. Her voice softened a fraction. “It’s pretty.”

He eyed her, and then found himself smiling at her, an actual, genuine smile without the slightest trace of irony, for the first time since waking up in the middle of the road that day. “Thanks.”

Harry settled back in his seat and looked out the window. He was feeling a bit less hazy now, but still every bit as confused. He watched the fields drift past, obscured by a nearly opaque veil of falling rain. Something kept nagging at him. He felt like he should know exactly why he was here. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not call up the memory.

Missing time. Mind tampering. Elaborate games. Layers of manipulation. Players arranged like pieces on a chessboard (was Wynonna a chess piece too? Instinct told him she was, but at whose behest?). What creatures on his own personal rogues gallery had all of these things on their villain bingo cards? Vampires definitely had their fingers in the mind tampering, manipulation, and game playing pots. All the Courts. But he didn’t feel any lingering effects of Red Court venom, he was too mentally present to have been tampered with by the Black Court, and he didn’t feel any particular need to mindlessly worship anyone in the White Court and do their bidding.

There were some warlocks who could also pull off that kind of mental mojo, locking memories away, twisting perception, building subtle and not-so-subtle compulsions. But that sort of magic leaves a mark, a scar on the psyche that he was sure he would be able to feel. Whatever had been done to him was subtle, expert, surgical.

Something one of the Sidhe might have been able to do. In fact, if he went down the list of his circumstances and what they hinted at, it sure as hell seemed like faerie M.O. to him.

“Hell’s bells,” he growled under his breath. “God-damned fucking faeries.” The question was, which faerie?

He really needed to learn how to keep his thoughts inside his head.

Wynonna’s eyes snapped to him and stared. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

He cast a desperate look up at the ceiling of the cab and hoped he could explain his way out of this one without getting unceremoniously dumped off on the side of the road as a lunatic in the middle of a freaking deluge.

“Uh–” he started, but then there was a resonating bang that had him reaching for his blasting rod, and they were swerving wildly and hydroplaning and probably going to die horribly, because how else would his luck go today?

“Shit!” The curse slipped from Wynonna’s lips as she worked to regain control of the truck. It continued to fishtail for what felt like an eternity before she was finally able to guide it to the shoulder of the road. For a long moment she simply sat still.

Harry realized he was both holding his breath and clenching the dashboard in a death grip with his good hand. Slowly, he pried his fingers loose.

After belatedly realizing the truck was still running, Wynonna snatched the key out of the ignition and turned to him. “You okay?”

He withdrew the blasting rod from his coat and hefted it in his right hand, because every instinct he had was screaming “Danger, Will Robinson!” inside his head. He cast a glance towards Wynonna at her question and flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring grin. It probably looked more like a grimace. “Peachy. You?”

“I’d be better with some whisky and a dry shirt, but other than that I’m great!”

Rain continued to pour buckets on them, sluicing in opaque waves down the windows, and he felt his hair standing on end as a rising sense of the two of them being a couple of ducks sitting around waiting for their date with destiny seemed to permeate the air inside the truck. That sense spiked into an all-out crescendo when there was another reverberating crack, and the back window exploded.

“Shit!” He ducked– hey look, a pun— and at the same time reached over to drag Wynonna down beside him, shielding her with his body as best he could in the limited space. Twisting so he could maneuver his arms, he slid his right hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a wizard’s best friend: his Smith & Wesson Model 29. Setting aside the blasting rod for a minute, he checked to see if the revolver was loaded with the .44 Magnum rounds he always used. It was.

He’d called it, all right. Prepared for battle.

“Starting to think this wasn’t a tire blow-out,” Wynonna muttered. “Dicks.” He felt her twist around beneath him, and a moment later, she held her own revolver in her hand. She looked at Harry and did a double-take at the gun he was holding.

What? He couldn’t carry around an unlicensed firearm?

”Are they shooting at you or me?” she snapped.

“How the hell should I know?” he growled back. “I just woke up, goddammit!”

Another bullet slammed into the truck, and his lips curled into a snarl as he tried to keep both Wynonna and himself out of the range of fire.

This just kept getting better and better.

[paulbenedictblog]

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Fox news Schrager's mock: Ruggs over Jeudy? New names! - NFL.com

Fox news

Good days away from draft week, my mock aspects some new names it is doubtless you'll maybe maybe not be conscious of. That is continuously an spell binding time within the pre-draft process, with intel and smoke monitors coming rapid and indignant.

I might present one closing mock subsequent week sooner than the 2020 NFL Draft kicks off, however here is how this no-alternate mannequin labored out recently. Maintain at it.

College: LSU | Year: Senior (RS)

The Bengals might perchance maybe additionally to find supplied a king's ransom for the rights to take Burrow. Even in that divulge, I can not watch them accepting a deal. The Ohio-reared Burrow returns home to the Buckeye Issue.

College: Ohio Issue | Year: Junior

My colleague Bucky Brooks recently ragged the phrase "gold jacket" to describe Younger on NFL Community. Or not it is not that loopy. One total manager urged me Younger might perchance maybe rep an even better impact than reigning Defensive Rookie of the Year Carve Bosa staunch had in San Francisco.

College: Ohio Issue | Year: Junior

Okudah screams "Patriot Advance." He's all business, a student of the game and absolutely deflects consideration in phrases of others raving about his play. Lions total manager Bob Quinn, vice president of participant personnel Kyle O'Brien and head coach Matt Patricia were all brought up throughout the Pats machine. Factual fit here. Goodbye, Darius Fracture. Hello, Jeff Okudah.

College: Iowa | Year: Junior

I've long previous forwards and backwards many events between the top three tackles here: Wirfs, Jedrick Wills and Mekhi Becton. Wirfs, out of the NFL O-line manufacturing facility in Iowa Metropolis, is considered by many because the "cleanest" of the bunch. Improbable athlete, versatile and handsome.

College: Oregon | Year: Senior

Many, many years ago, Dolphins team clinical doctors failed free agent Drew Brees on his physical and the Saints ended up signing him almost right this moment thereafter. No one's failed Tua Tagovailoa on his physical -- on the least that I know of -- however there's ample uncertainty and whispers across the league about what the Dolphins are doing here that I might recent an different option. Herbert -- big arm, wholesome, Academic All-American and Senior Bowl/mix conceal-stealer -- is now and again a extra swish Door No. 2.

College: Alabama | Year: Junior

GM Tom Telesco treats this stuff admire authorities secrets and tactics, and I to find the sensation he takes proper indulge in throwing all people for a loop seemingly every single year. The Chargers might perchance maybe scoot a diversity of ways here, no matter whether or not Tua is on the board. The thought of featuring Derwin James and Isaiah Simmons within the again of Melvin Ingram and Joey Bosa is very tempting. As is drafting one of many top offensive tackles. Tagovailoa to Los Angeles at No. 6 would be a licensed fit for all events eager. Tyrod Taylor for a year; Tua from there. But here's a bet. I repeat -- a bet.

College: Clemson | Year: Junior (RS)

Matt Rhule extremely values character, management and mosey. Add within the native tie-in, and Simmons falling to No. 7 would be a substantial fit for the Panthers' rebuild below a brand new regime.

College: Auburn | Year: Senior

The doubtless pairing of Kyler Murray with feeble Sooner teammate CeeDee Lamb grew to transform far much less seemingly after the DeAndre Hopkins alternate. Insert Brown, an anchor for the Cardinals' defensive line. The Auburn product might perchance maybe rep left college early closing year, however he returned and improved his draft stock immensely.

College: Florida | Year: Junior

There is loads of like for Henderson within the scouting neighborhood, and I've spoken to coaches who grunt he's bought some juice to him that Jeff Okudah couldn't. Both is at risk of be top 10 picks, and the Jaguars -- who parted ways with Jalen Ramsey and A.J. Bouye over the last six months -- would gladly scoop Henderson up here.

College: Alabama | Year: Junior

One other offensive take care of off the board, and this one is believed of a Day 1 starter. Cleveland, peaceable in need of offensive line support even after the Jack Conklin signing, is in a licensed role to nab one of many top OTs on this class.

College: Louisville | Year: Junior

If Wills, Wirfs, Becton or Andrew Thomas is peaceable on the board at No. 11, I take into consideration the Jets will scoot offensive line over huge receiver. A mountain of a man who measured in at 6-foot-7, tipped the scales at 364 kilos and ran a 5.1 40-yard poke, Becton might perchance be the left (or appropriate) take care of to offer protection to Sam Darnold.

College: Oklahoma | Year: Junior

If the Raiders are the principle team to recall a receiver, I deem Lamb's the principle wideout off the board. A fancy, physical, gregarious and handsome pass catcher, Lamb's drawing comparisons to DeAndre Hopkins -- and that isn't a loopy comp.

College: Alabama | Year: Junior

Ruggs over Jerry Jeudy? In Kyle Shanahan's offense, I'm in a position to look at it. That 4.27 mosey is at risk of be the supreme complement to what Deebo Samuel brings to the table. Ruggs isn't actually staunch a burner, either: He runs routes, has improbable hands and might perchance attain the microscopic things.

College: Georgia | Year: Junior

Conserving Tom Brady appropriate in 2020 must be the greatest thing for Tampa's offense. The Bucs' offensive line isn't actually rotten, however they would maybe maybe additionally use one more proficient big physique. Thomas might perchance maybe scoot as high because the top 10 if there's a poke on tackles, even supposing he's considered by most groups because the fourth OT off the board.

College: Alabama | Year: Junior

There is talk about of the Broncos inviting up within the principle spherical to to find one of many top huge receivers. If things play out this method, and they fabricate not have to alternate, this might perchance be the very supreme divulge for Denver. Jeudy is the top huge receiver on on the least about a groups' boards.

College: South Carolina | Year: Senior

I've heard top-10 buzz on Kinlaw, however he's peaceable an unfinished product on the sector. Off the sector, his story is as keen as any on this class -- and he's an grownup well beyond his years. Tall fit for the Falcons, who added a pass rusher in Dante Fowler Jr. all over free company. Crawl Kinlaw real into a defensive line that already has loads of young, hungry skill, and Atlanta's pass bolt is at risk of be one to worry about.

College: Alabama | Year: Junior

This might be loads sooner than the attach some assorted mocks rep McKinney going, however I deem he fills an instantaneous need for the Cowboys' protection. In a position to taking half in either safety role, he's a flexible sport-changer who's positively NFL-ready with a high soccer IQ. The losses of Byron Jones and Jeff Heath actually thinned out Dallas' secondary, however McKinney has the extra or much less superior skill situation to support personal the void on Day 1.

College: Houston | Year: Senior (RS)

After getting their quarterback at No. 5, the Dolphins take this opportunity to give a enhance to Justin Herbert's safety. Alongside with Jones -- a 6-7, 320-pounder, who logged four seasons as Houston's starting left take care of -- would be good. He's been a uninteresting-in-the-process riser who might perchance maybe discontinue up coming off the board throughout the top 15 picks.

College: Oklahoma | Year: Junior

Is linebacker a dire need for the Raiders, a team with proper concerns at nook and safety? Maybe not, especially with what they did in free company. But ought to you is at risk of be shopping for a mosey-setter of the unit for the prolonged-duration of time future, there would be no better franchise cornerstone and chief than Murray. Classic managers and coaches rep raved about his interviews, and he additionally occurs to be a sideline-to-sideline LB who crushed the mix. A Day 1 starter at OU, Murray used to be a team captain by his sophomore season. Mike Mayock prides himself on procuring leaders throughout the draft.

College: LSU | Year: Sophomore (RS)

Calais Campbell is long previous and Yannick Ngakoue's future with the team is a huge question designate. Chaisson is at risk of be the man to pair with Josh Allen for future years. Quiet severely uncooked, the 20-year-ragged has substantial room to develop, however he's naturally explosive off the brink.

College: LSU | Year: Junior

All people's thinking huge receiver -- no matter what -- at No. 21 for the Eagles, however that isn't how Howie Roseman now and again rolls. Queen is considered even better than Kenneth Murray on some groups' boards, and I might perchance maybe watch Philadelphia going with an instantaneous sport-changer on protection. Despite staunch one big season at LSU, Queen tore it up, and might perchance wander sideline to sideline with ease. This would be a huge swing -- especially with Justin Jefferson peaceable on the board -- however I deem the linebacker group is loads thinner than the receiving corps.

College: LSU | Year: Junior

Commerce Stefon Diggs and discontinue up with Jefferson with one of many four picks bought? Not rotten if it actually works out this method for Minnesota. Jefferson assign apart up learn about-popping numbers closing season at LSU, however there were skeptics on his mosey heading into the mix. He then ripped off a 4.43 40-yard poke, dazzled in interviews and showed why he's the fourth-supreme wideout -- on the least -- on this draft.

College: FAU | Year: Senior

First time you rep considered Bryant's name within the principle spherical of a mock draft? Don't be afraid -- I'm in a position to look at it going down. Original England has tried to to find Jared Cook and Hayden Hurst in again-to-again offseasons, and not using a success. Bryant is a huge physique who can both make a choice balls and block. He isn't Gronk, however nobody is. What he can be is a constructing block for whomever Bill Belichick and Josh McDaniels groom to be the QB of the long term.

College: Arizona Issue | Year: Senior

The like for Aiyuk in league circles is loads stronger than what we're hearing within the media. In speaking with just a few GMs, even with the deep wideout class, Aiyuk is anticipated to attain off the board in Spherical 1. I've bought him going to Original Orleans, a team that has very few holes, however might perchance maybe use one extra receiver if the Saints are going to make a poke for Drew Brees' elusive 2d Neat Bowl ring this season. Michael Thomas, Emmanuel Sanders and Aiyuk would personal a actually dreadful 1-2-3.

College: Boise Issue | Year: Junior (RS)

I rep not considered Cleveland mocked to transfer within the principle spherical anyplace else yet, however the 6-6 tower had an famed mix, and I've heard he's been substantial within the virtual interviews throughout this process. There is legit top-20 talk about around his name now, however I deem 25 to the Vikings appears to be like to be a licensed fit.

College: Georgia | Year: Junior

I purchased crushed (nearly!) by Dolphins fans for slotting Swift to them with this secure in my closing mock draft, however I'm sticking with it. Swift does it all and might perchance impact Miami's offense in a mode that Josh Jacobs did for the Raiders a year ago. He'll be the supreme participant available here, and whether or not the market price of running backs has diminished or not, that have to not impact rookies who will make far not up to veterans shopping for 2d contracts. Swift is advanced, rapid, solid and might perchance both make a choice and block. He'd be a substantial addition to Miami's backfield.

College: Penn Issue | Year: Junior

Notorious-Matos is 6-5, 266 kilos and an athletic specimen. Penn Issue's supreme defensive lineman over the closing two years can to find to the passer and discontinuance the poke. I fabricate not watch him escaping the principle spherical. The Seahawks need extra juice off the brink, even supposing they within the slay discontinue up re-signing Jadeveon Clowney.

College: Iowa | Year: Junior

The Ravens fabricate not transfer up and peaceable to find one of many top defensive linemen on this class. He's 6-5, 275 kilos and all business. A flexible athlete who, in his high college days, used to be all-convey in soccer, all-convey within the discus and a 1,000-point scorer in basketball. He made performs as a freshman, and then bought severely better as a sophomore and a junior. The adoring note on the mix used to be that he performs "mean." Ravens DC Don "Wink" Martindale is at risk of be the supreme match.

College: Georgia | Year: Sophomore (RS)

Born in Brooklyn, Original York, Wilson took his talents to Athens, the attach he used to be one of many most agile offensive linemen in college soccer a year ago. With the shortcoming of Jack Conklin and a substantial have to support giving Derrick Henry the rock in Arthur Smith's offense, this can make loads of of sense. Google Wilson's high college pictures. He's about 300 kilos and takes snaps as a Wildcat quarterback.

College: Texas Tech | Year: Senior

Lightning-rapid linebacker who fought through a shoulder damage to poke on the mix for scouts (posting a 4.54 40). Blake Martinez is now not in Inexperienced Bay, so here is his replacement. This class' substantial WR depth enables the Packers to address that need later on.

College: TCU | Year: Junior (RS)

The 49ers will rep the telephone traces (or whatever personal of communication groups are using on this virtual draft) originate here, as they fabricate not preserve a 2d-, third- or fourth-spherical secure for the time being. That is an very supreme role for a team that desires to alternate up and stable that fifth-year option on a first-spherical secure. If the 49ers preserve assign apart, I watch Blacklock as a licensed fit. He's now two years eliminated from a 2018 Achilles damage and is seemingly one of many few dominant interior defensive linemen within the draft. Is he DeForest Buckner? No. Not yet, on the least.

College: Michigan | Year: Junior

The Chiefs are returning 20 of 22 starters subsequent season. In assorted words ... learn about out! In the occasion that they decide to transfer supreme participant available, Ruiz might perchance maybe additionally very well be that man. In a position to taking half in either heart or guard, he's an brilliant participant who can both support offer protection to Patrick Mahomes and be a mauler within the poke sport. Kansas Metropolis can scoot anyplace with this secure, however offensive line is by no method a rotten different.

Apply Peter Schrager on Twitter @PSchrags.

[authorloremipsum]

Profoundly Unprofessional

A “The Glass Scientists” fanfiction

Words - 3478

Characters - Sergeant Brokenshire, Dr. Jekyll, Mrs. Cantilupe, Ms. Lavender, mothman

Summary - Sergeant Brokenshire realizes that he and his men have encountered something, curious, and goes to the one place where he knows they might get some help. In the process, he glimpses a side of Doctor Jekyll he didn’t know existed.

Inspired by and written for @zolotaya-orda

    Sergeant Brokenshire saw a lot of strange things in his time working in London, monsters rampaging in the streets, houses destroyed by extraordinary circumstances, and murders more horrific than anything that could be dreamed up in the minds of men. Thank goodness all those kinds of events were few and far between, otherwise one would probably lose their mind. However, the fact of the matter was that these things did happen and that made every day a luck of the draw as to what mad event was going to happen.

    This week had started with the discovery of a thieves’ den near the outskirts of Soho, and after months of looking for these  burglars, they’d finally been lead right to the source. It went well though, plenty of arrests and only a few of the suspects getting away, but there had to be a catch. When they moved to enter the basement, something was waiting, and it scratched a sleeve of of poor Wipple’s coat!

    The man was fine of course, if a bit spooked, but the officers assembled had a unanimous agreement. Whatever was down there was not something they could deal with, and it didn’t help that they’d released it into the rest of the house running from the cellar. They’d need someone to catch it.

    And, unfortunately, Brokenshire knew precisely where to find such a person.

    In truth he had no qualms with the Society of Arcane Sciences, mostly a high level of suspicion for most of their “activities” and a few of their Lodgers. The Sinnett fellow, as shy and polite as he seemed, had caused quite a bit of trouble in the past, same for that man Luckett and his stupid hat. But that didn’t make them bad people necessarily, just incredibly odd.

    Of course it started raining as he climbed the few steps to the front door, knocking politely but firmly. When a moment passed and no one answered, he rung the doorbell, impatiently folding his arms against the cold, glad the overhang shielded him from the cold drizzle. There was the sound of a lock sliding and one of the doors was pulled open, revealing a young woman with ash, was it ash? All over her face.

    Brokenshire frowned, “Madam, I’m looking-”

    “For Doctor Jekyll,” they said, frowning a little. “What’s happened?”

    “I, seek his assistance,” the sergeant said, well, admitted really. The woman nodded slowly and pulled open the door, “You’re probably freezing out there, it’s warmer inside.” He stared at them a moment, only then realizing he was being invited inside.

    With a bit of apprehension, he stepped through the door and it shut behind him with a click. It smelled a bit like smoke in here, but also like cinnamon and peppermint, and odd combination that wasn’t actually pleasant to smell. Brokenshire fought the urge to wrinkle his nose at it as the woman passed by, hurrying towards a room he could see with the door wide open. A familiar ginger-haired man with only one hand was on the landing outside, fanning his face and coughing.

    As the woman neared he called down: “Maybe we should start with a simpler base?”

    “I think so!” they answered, climbing the stairs. The man glanced up towards Brokenshire, went pale, and darted back into the smoke-filled room, clearly intimidated by the presence of an officer.

    And so Brokenshire had been left there in the lobby, lit with the grey light drifting through the skylights overhead, dripping cold water, only the slightest bit nervous about the strange things that took up the lobby. Ahead, the large double doors were pushed open and the exact scientist Brokenshire had come to find stepped out with a book in hand, reading.

    He caught sight of the guest, closed the book, and hurried over. “Why, Sergeant Brokenshire! What brings you to our humble Society? I do hope nothing has happened.”

    “Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, shaking with Jekyll upon his approach. “In fact I, and I don’t want to impose, but we found something curious in a thieves’ den that seemed to er, fit some of your Lodgers’... Expertise.”

    Jekyll frowned a little, folding his arms and tilting his head curiously, “Your tone implies it is some sort of animal, I do hope no one was injured.”

    “Constable Wipple was scratched, but it’s nothing serious, we were lucky no one else got hurt.”

    “And it’s entirely possible that scratch could be far worse than we know, some creatures are known to spread diseases in such a manner, it was wise of you to come for our help,” Jekyll said, putting a gloved hand to his chin in thought, the other tucked behind his back. He gasped, “Oh! You must be frozen to the bone! Can I take your coat?”

    “As much as I appreciate it, I think we have more pressing matters than my coat,” Brokenshire deadpanned. Jekyll nodded, “Of course, please follow me, I know precisely who can help with your situation.”

    “Thank you doctor.” Brokenshire took a moment to shake his cloak free of any clinging raindrops before following Jekyll into the Society. He’d seen the lobby many times before, but never the interior corridors which seemed to branch in many impossible directions as they walked. If he wasn’t with the doctor, he certainly would’ve been lost in no time!

    After a minute or so of peaceful walking, Jekyll began to speak again. “We’ve two zoologists on our roster. Mrs. Cantilupe, senior extremofaunic zoologist, and Ms. Lavender, her pupil.”

    “Extremofaunic, implying monsters,” the sergeant said, watching Jekyll with a small frown. “You aren’t keeping a lab full of monsters are you Jekyll?”

    The doctor chuckled, “Certainly not! And even if we were, I have the utmost trust in those two to keep it under control. They’ve tamed some very ferocious creatures, and I have no doubt you will be at least somewhat impressed by the creatures they’ve got.”

    “Then you admit they are out of the ordinary?”

    “Of course! What about the Society would you call ordinary Sergeant?” He chuckled again and Brokenshire couldn’t help but frown, furrowing his brow a little bit. Eventually they came to a heavy looking door that Jekyll had to use his whole weight to open and keep open. The sounds of animal cries, which had been quiet before, rose to a crescendo and Brokenshire was hesitant to walk in.

    Not that he’d let that show on his face, especially in front of Jekyll who was someone he definitely needed to keep intimidated. If this doctor who clearly knew more than he let on about thought he had an upper hand on the police, he might try to do something more drastic than taking criminals and monsters under his wing. So Brokenshire shelved his anxieties and strode into the lab.

    Only for there to be a shriek like a banshee to his left that caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.

    “Mrs. Cantilupe?” called Jekyll as he shut the door and walked into the lab, sounding only the slightest bit unnerved. Oh, oh he was good, how many other things could he hide behind that porcelain facade? “Ms. Lavender? Are you in? Sergeant Brokenshire is in need of your help with a pest in, oh where did you say you found it?”

    “Soho, in a house where a number of Jewel thieves had been hiding,” he answered, suddenly distracted by a snake watching him from a cross hatched cage nearby. Its scales seemed to change colors and he squinted, stepping closer to get a better look. Canvas suddenly dropped over the cage, obscuring his view, and he looked up to see a young woman with dark hair and glasses grinning at him while leaning over the stack of cages and crates.

    “Careful Sergeant, Chroma here normally hypnotizes prey with that little trick you just saw,” she said, patting the cage and giggling at the resulting hiss from inside. She climbed down and walked around to meet them, “Soho you said?”

    “And you are Mrs. Cantilupe I presume?” Brokenshire asked, gesturing to her. The woman blinked and laughed, “Oh no! I’m Lavender, her student, Mrs. C should be around here somewhere.”

    “GANGWAY!!” shouts a voice, accompanied by a rumbling sound. They all looked down the alley of cages to see a very fat lizard with a colorful frill charge around the corner, scrambling towards the door behind them. (thankfully shut)

    It didn’t seem to care there were people in the way and ran at them, claws scratching on the wood floor as it barreled past, massive tail swishing side to side and knocking into things as it ran. An older woman skid around the corner barely a second after it, a rope with a loop on the end in hand. She let out a war cry and gave chase, practically shoving Brokenshire aside as she lunged for this massive lizard.

    The loop went around its neck and the woman pulled, watching it slip behind the frills and go tight, catching the creature in its tracks. She placed a foot on its back and held it in place, “You hang on now, I’ve business to attend to!” With a firm nod, she looked up at the guests and pulled down her goggles, replacing them with a pair of respectable spectacles. “Now, Doctor I see you’ve brought our good friend the sergeant and I heard something about a creature in Soho? Do tell, did it have teeth?”

    “Many,” Brokenshire answered, thinking back to it. “Though, more like a beak. And it had wings and these odd things sticking up from its head. It was covered in fur and feathers, with bright red eyes. Was perfectly silent till we came down the stairs, and then it lunged at Wipple.”

    “Did it bite him? Scratch him? Or did it go for the throat?” Cantilupe asked, casually tying the lizard up like a cowboy tying up a calf. Brokenshire blinked, surprised by this, before answering: “It bit him, cut right through his sleeve the poor bloke. But it ran before anyone could catch it, after chasing us out of course. Ferocious little bugger.”

    “It’s not that big then?” asked Lavender, walking to help her mentor pick up the wiggling and irritated lizard. It was only then that Brokenshire realized just how bloody long that animal’s tail was.

    “It was about the size of a small child, and just as angry,” he explained, earning a polite chuckle from Jekyll. Cantilupe and Lavender shared a look before the senior zoologist said: “Go get our net traps and that unfortunate mouse from a week ago.”

    “For bait Missus?”

    “Indeed. We’ll also need a rope and a medium cage. Oh! And make sure you grab our defensive jackets.”

    “Yes ma’am.”

    “Defensive jacket?” Brokenshire asked, eyes going wide. Cantilupe chuckled and easily picked up the trussed up lizard, “Of course! Can’t have everyone getting injured now can we?” He stared as she strolled off, waving to them. “Do wait for us dearies, we won’t be ten minutes I promise.”

    A beat passed and Brokenshire slowly turned to look at Jekyll, who smiled pleasantly after Mrs. C. When he noticed the Sergeant’s stare he said: “Yes? What’s that look for?”

    “You expect them to catch this thing?” he demanded, gesturing with his hands. “They’re-”

    “They best suited for this job,” Jekyll interrupted before his friends could be insulted. “Sergeant, would I lie to you? Honestly?”

    Brokenshire squinted suspiciously, and did not answer, watching as Jekyll turned with a nod and strolled towards the door. He hesitated to follow, only hurrying after when something barked in a cage nearby and made him jump.

~

    They arrived at the house in Soho a little less than half an hour later, and it was still raining. Though, doctor Jekyll was so kindly sharing an umbrella with the Sergeant as he silently opened the door to the house, allowing the Rogue Scientists entry. He’d already warned them that the creature was loose in the house, and upon arrival they received confirmation that it was still contained within the house. Every so often a horrifying shriek would come from within when one of the officers spotted it through a window and it darted away before they could get close.

    Lavender and Cantilupe singlehandedly carried their gear in, and even as Brokenshire insist Doctor Jekyll wait outside, he insisted with equal confidence that it was of utmost importance he was a part of it, to act as a sort of overseer. Lavender whispered behind his back that he was just as eager to see this strange creature as she and Cantilupe were! Brokenshire had to marvel, you wouldn’t have even been able to tell!

    In any case, the house was very quiet as Cantilupe and Lavender surveyed the first rooms, setting up a few traps and going to do a search of the house. Their footsteps could be heard along the floor as Jekyll and Brokenshire waited patiently in the meagerly furnished parlor. It smelled of pipe smoke and something else foul, the silence set everything on edge, and it  clearly unsettled Brokenshire, for he kept a hand on his nightstick and couldn’t manage to stand still.

    Jekyll, on the other hand, appeared wholly calm, writing in a small notebook without a word as he listened to the room around them.

    There was a small scratching noise and he shut his book. Brokenshire visibly stiffened at the sound, grip becoming tigher on his weapon as he slowly looked towards a dark hall, the source of the sound. Out of the corner he saw Jekyll stand, placing his tophat aside and unclasping his cloak, holding it out before him like a blanket. Was he going to catch this thing as one tries to catch a stray cat?

    Did he not see the wound on Constable Wipple?

    The scratching sound came again and Brokenshire watched as Jekyll approached the hallway, silent as the creature he was watching for. If he was afraid, it was impossible to tell.

    Well, until a creature lunged from the darkness in a black blur with red eyes and sent him stumbling back with a shout. Brokenshire stepped back in shock, watching it slam first into Jekyll’s cloak and then into the doctor himself, sending them both falling back. Though he tried to wrap it in the blanket and contain it, sharp taloned feet tore through the fancy dark fabric as it flailed and screeched.

    The Sergeant stood frozen unsure what to do as it suddenly leaped from Jekyll and darted behind a sofa. The doctor rolled over onto his knees, looking a bit startled with a nasty looking scratch across his cheek, and a tiny grin tugged at his mouth. He pulled off his gloves and coat, throwing them both aside and picking up what remained of his cloak before approaching the sofa.

    “Sergeant, the other side, if you would,” he asked politely, voice as charming and polite as ever, as if they weren’t after a creature that had just attacked him. Brokenshire nodded firmly, not quite sure why he was following orders, and stepped around the couch. Whatever it was hissed at him and backed away, its glowing red eyes narrowed, the strange antennae on its head bent back in anger.

    Brokenshire knelt, staring at this black, feathered creature with curiosity, not noticing as Jekyll reached behind the sofa and grabbed it. With a sharp pull, he pulled it out by the leg with a horrific shriek, only managing to hold it for a second before a clearly powerful wing smacked him in the face and caused him to drop the creature in surprise.

    It scrambled to its stubby, turkey-like legs and ran at Brokenshire, he gasped and raised the nightstick in defense.

    Only to lower it in surprise when this small, black, fluffy thing didn’t lunge, instead darting at his feet and trying to hide behind him. It seemed to be cowering like a child behind his rain cloak, still wet from before.

    Jekyll sat up and spit a single black, fluffy feather from his mouth. His clothes were covered in dust, normally neat fringe a fluffy mess, and he had multiple scratches on his arms and face. Despite this, he wore a wide grin like nothing Brokenshire had seen before, eyes sparkling. “It’s a chick!”

    “This thing is a chick?” the sergeant asked, utterly dumfounded at how the child-sized animal at his feet could possible be a chick. Jekyll stood, dusting himself off, eyes wide with awe, “Look at the feathers, they’re all fluffy and only a few primaries have grown in! The beak is still soft, but sharp enough to-” he paused, as if listening to something, before chuckling and standing up a bit straighter.

    And suddenly the mask was back on, or so Brokenshire noticed as Jekyll began to dust off his clothing. He had just had a glimpse of the real Henry Jekyll, and had nearly missed it in his fear of the animal that was very clearly afraid and cowering behind his legs.

    “It’s, just scared, is all I meant to say,” Jekyll said coolly, smiling and gesturing slowly with his hand. “Kneel slowly, keep your hands open, and put the nightstick away.”

    “I’ve dealt with frightened animals before Doctor Jekyll, I can handle it,” Brokenshire said, lifting his cloak a little and slowly kneeling to be on an equal level with this strange creature. It seemed startled, and shied away from his touch at first, but it didn’t bite or claw when he tried to smooth down its fear-fluffed feathers. In fact, after a few pets, it let out an oddly human sounding chirp noise, head tilting to the side.

    It was, bloody adorable.

    Of course the sergeant would never admit this, not in front of his men and especially not in front of Jekyll, who was now able to pick up the creature.

The women zoologists came running moments after the sounds of scuffle had died, and Mrs. Cantilupe let out a delighted sound upon seeing the creature in Jekyll’s arms. She and Lavender acquainted themselves with the creature, who seemed much more comfortable now that it wasn’t being chased and knew these strangers weren’t going to attack it. Its bright red eyes looked to Brokenshire though, as if it were curious

    It took some coaxing, but eventually Lavender could get it into the cage they’d brought. Her mentor remarked that its feathers seemed similar to some american birds, perhaps it had been smuggled. The whole exchange had Brokenshire staring at her and at the mussed up Jekyll with a look of confusion and subtle fear.

    They weren’t afraid of this thing or the prospect that strange American creatures were being smuggled into London, in fact, they seemed thrilled to meet the little devil. (What else could it be?)

    Before long though, they’d loaded the boxes into a carriage, gathered their supplies, and the zoologists certified that there was nothing stranger in the house than some large mice. Brokenshire kept silent when his men asked him where the creature was being taken, because he didn’t quite know. He’d overheard the older woman, Cantilupe, remarking how she was going to send a letter to an associate in the states about him coming to take the, oh what had she called it, Noctuidae sapien?

    He was going to call it a crow-child.

    Jekyll sent his Lodgers on their way, watching with intrigue as the police investigation picked up where it had left off, and only after a few minutes did Brokenshire realize he wanted to speak.

    His hair was still mussed from the scuffle, but the cut on his face had stopped bleeding. “Sergeant, thank you for coming to me with this, I do imagine you’ve just assisted my friends in their science quite a bit. Not every day you find a creature from the States in London after all.”

    “Yes well, I didn’t want anyone getting hurt unnecessarily,” Brokenshire answered, folding his arms behind him, giving Jekyll a meaningful look. The gentleman laughed, “You mock me for my impulsivity, but I was merely following my, better judgement. Better I put myself in harm’s way than someone getting hurt on accident.”

    “You knew you risked injury then?”

    “Of course! No action is without risk Sergeant, it merely takes a bit of, prodding, to take that risk,” Jekyll said, nodding. And again, the mask slipped from Jekyll’s face. His smile was a little wide, his eyes held a dangerous twinkle that dared to ask: What if? And just like before, it was only for a second that he could be seen.

He donned his hat, opened his umbrella, and set off into the rain. “Good afternoon Brokenshire, perhaps I will see you again soon under better circumstances yes?”

[cyclone5000]

I was inspired to ask you this question because of the ccs content you've been reblogging (love that show btw). So as far as I know Japan is not a very gay friendly country, certainly not as friendly as some people believe. The MalexMale and FemalexFemale content is marketed to specific groups and usually shows them in ways that are kind of demeaning, like having one of the males being touched against his will (like full blown raped in some cases) by his future lover. (to be continued)

So my question is, how come Sailor Moon and Card Captor Sakura were able to get away with showing Gay couples in their shows (and well developed, healthy gay couples at that) back in the 90s? It was censored in America but Japan didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and as far as I know both shows were mainstream shows in Japan and marketed to large groups, not like Yuri and Yaoi normally are. Is it just cause they were side characters? Any chance you know the answer to this question?

uhhhh tbh I don’t know if there is a right answer to this…I’m unsure if I’m the one who can provide one at least. 

I’m not that well versed in this kind of stuff. And I’ll be honest, I’m little confused by this ask…I’ll answer it as best as I can. But, I’m just gonna tell you right off the bat that  this is 100% my speculation. Don’t take this as a serious answer :x 

With the way this kind of question is worded…it sounds like you’re comparing the same sex couples in SM and CCS to yaoi and yuri genres? And if that’s the case…well…your answer is right there… you’re basically comparing magical girl anime to pornography….

I mean, don’t get me wrong. Japan is definitely not an LGBT friendly place. But, the adult industry is all about fantasizing to the point of fetish-sizing. It is purposely formulaic. Why? Because a kink is marginally easier to sell than a person. And this is something that can be applied to international adult markets. Ever notice how there are several categories on porn sites, but no real variety within the category’s content?  Yeah that’s no coincidence. Adult entertainment is not about reinventing the wheel, they follow the patterns that are known to work.

Yaoi and Yuri definitely are applied this notion. I think the fact that it’s animanga further allows readers to detach it from reality. Like in the case with the yaoi genre, a huge premise behind it’s creation is ‘forbidden romance’ and its after effects. Caste systems, falling in ‘love’ with someone who you can’t have, power dynamics, the whole ‘i’m not gay but you did this one thing to me and now i can’t forget how incredible it made me feel and so i’m confused until this story reaches a conclusion’–all of this and more get cranked out to the extreme because it sells this romanticized POV of Taboo. 

It’s kind of a no brainer to see how incredibly inaccurate these genres are at depicting actual same sex relationships. But the whole point of the genre is…well not to. I’m not saying that it’s a good thing or anything. (I think a major issue within the adult industry and pornographic material is how unregulated it is in favor of it turning out a profit. Studies have show that people wind up believing what porn shows because of their lack of sex education…but adult industries don’t feel pressured to cared about that really…which does have a negative impact…lol i wrote a paper about this once).

I know bc of the nature of the Internet and stuff, Yaoi/Yuri is often lumped together with regular mlm and wlw love stories. Yes, you’ll find some sense of similarities on how sexual these stories can be. But I think there there is a major difference in yaoi vs shonen ai or yuri vs shoujo ai. And that difference boils down what kind of story the author wants to tell. And what kind of impression the author wants to leave in their reader’s minds. 

Which I’ll transition to SM and CCS now. These series had a specific story in mind, and in order to tell that story; the author(s) made conscious decisions to have characters and couples to display it. I don’t think that they ‘got away’ with anything. In the case with these two shows, in order to display themes and other elements of their fictional verse, they created gay characters to illustrate them in ways the other cast members couldn’t.  The gay and lesbian characters/moments weren’t just added in without consideration. They were an integral part to the plot. They had purpose. And with that in mind, they were created.  The reason why they are good and healthy depictions of relationships is because of the actual format of the genre. These are magical girl stories. The priority is telling a good story. I don’t think they were just token characters, they were woven into the plot extremely well. And if you have a well written character, that’s gonna have a way better impact than a ill written one. 

There was a lot of effort and care put into both of these series. That’s why they left a strong impact that’s still prevalent today. I don’t know too much about Japanese culture and stuff. Under my assumption, I don’t think they are focused on LGBT representation. It was the 90′s. It was rare to find anyone that pushed for proper representation right, hell it’s still rare in present day!  But even if it’s not a primary acceptance for the culture as a whole, for one reason or another, it was impertinent  to the authors. That’s why they made them, that’s why they were weaved into the story. Japan is known for its subtlety. These characters were homosexual, but it was quiet. No one was blunt about it at least. These could be factors of why it was broadcasted as widely as it was. idk for sure, but my gut does tell me that it was a  positive if anyone did oppose of it. 

Like, with SM, I couldn’t tell you what Takeuchi had in mind while conceiving the story…If I’m not mistaken. I believed she made the first ark and was pretty okay with it. But when she gained popularity she was asked to create more, and thus made four more SM series. If the publishing company is asking her to continue her story…chances are they’re gonna let her draw/write what she wants. SM was already a running series by the time Haruka and Michiru came about. That whole ark was specifically about the talismans they held. Takeuchi might have had her own reasons for writing a romance between them, but I personally don’t know what they are. If that’s what she wanted though, that’s what she was gonna do. If the story is good enough to pull in sales and readers, then it’s okay. I can’t remember if there was a big uproar about it. I don’t think there was at least. 

CCS is a little different seeing as it was created by CLAMP and a different publisher. CLAMP in of itself have always been kinda progressive. I mean, within this series alone…one of the big themes is love and memory. Specifically how those two things are so different person to person. I know that tumblr and other social media likes to comment about the gay couples in the show (I don’t blame them lol), but sometimes it’s easy to forget some of the…not so easy to accept romances in the show. There were a lot of romantic feelings between students and teachers. Most of them having a large age difference between them. There were some things that crossed over family lines too. Their push for risky romance, did not stop at just same-sex couples. It was all across the board. CLAMP has always been one of those authors teams that pushed ‘there are many versions of love and just bc you don’t like it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist’ mindset. Even if people didn’t agree with the message, it didn’t stop or deter them from their success. And again…I feel like if I was a publisher…and I had a material for long running success…I’d take it lol. CCS had a lot of promise. 

Hell, look at YO/I rn. The author was always straightforward about Victor and Yuuri being a couple. And they got it through to completion. Why? Because the story was good enough to win people over. I know that sounds like a simple answer to such a complicated issue (it’s really hard getting variety and representation in animanga) but if the team believes in a project, and there is promise in its creation…there is history of studios caving in and allowing it to get created. And this isn’t just for gay love stories. It goes for a bunch of different things…like, look up how Cowboy Bebop’s concept got created! It makes me laugh every time i think about it XD That is like a prime example of someone getting to make what they want and the result being outstanding. all bc the publisher didn’t care so long as they got one thing correct.

BUT I don’t know for sure. It’s not like I’m able to find direct interviews with the authors of SM and CCS. I don’t know what they were actually thinking when creating their stories. Or why they specifically designed the characters the way they did. 

But the same sex couples in these series will almost always be better than say other stories in the yaoi/yuri genres. And that’s just simply due to writing. The authors made characters to fit within their worlds. They didn’t just create characters that had slight variations of the same exaggerated animanga tropes. 

It’s kinda sad when I think about it. mlm stories are being catered to the female gaze while wlw stories are being created for men….why? bc according to publisher, those are the demographics that will purchase these works…I don’t think that’s necessarily true. I think that a lot of people have their preferences and types–but no one is gonna reject a truly good story! lol, even if there are gems within the same sex genres, make so mistake. They can be really hard to find.

I’m not Japanese. Hell I’m Indian-American. That’s like the double opposite of Japanese LOL. For SM and CCS, I don’t know what are the priorities for these publishing studios were. I’m just guessing that it’s success/numbers and thus they allowed for the story to take flow naturally. I don’t know for sure though. I could be completely wrong here. I’d urge you to try and find the answer elsewhere, I’m actually not like a super-fan about these kinds of shows :x hell I don’t really read yaoi or yuri anymore…

but I hope this at least created some kind of stepping stone for you to seek out the proper answer to your question. ^^’ sorry I wasn’t more help. 

[minxiebutt]

The Draw

For @glassesgirl0401 for the Eruri Secret Valentine.

Summary: Sometimes, finding a soulmate does not light a fire in one’s blood, but rather, the opposite, cooling the pain of long separation.

 Author notes: Hello, Frauke! I’m sorry that I’m late for Valentine’s Day, but I hope you enjoy this little thing. Your list gave me so much to work with, and the idea of aro/ace soulmates gave me the warmth fuzzies, so that is what I’ve gone with. I hope you have a wonderful belated Valentine’s!

 ;;;

It's there, that whirling twirling stirring of restlessness nestling deeply, soundly, steadfastly in his bones in a way that he can neither deny nor express, driving him toward too often, too intense sessions of introspection, meaning to discover and employ a way to soothe said restlessness once and for all, to no avail.

The charm of his hometown dulls predictably with age, and his parents say it's part of growing up, that he is too large for their humble nest; that the cure for his late night paces and frets is to spread his wings, find his own flight, fly-- figuratively speaking.

 The gleaming glamour of Manhattan is all he's ever known, but Erwin Smith, at the age of eighteen years, freshly graduated from high school, two-time student body president and most recent prom king, is inexplicably homesick for stetsons and cowboy boots and longhorns to kill a man, so after trading the prestigious supply of Ivy League for equally proud Texas A&M, he departs for the southern state.

 ;;;

 It's been his dream since childhood, to be like his father and follow those too-large footsteps, so he studies as hard as he can and applies with all the hope he can muster; however, there is no happy acceptance in the letter in his hand, not from the school he wants, off in New York, his father’s alma mater and the school that would have guaranteed a smoothly successful career.

 “I'm sorry, pumpkin,” his Ma says, catching him in a half hug, holding the second, less exciting, more predictable and expected letter from Texas A&M, his back-up school, who will gladly take him on scholarship.

 “It's alright, Ma,” Levi Ackerman says, content façade, as his heart swells in disappointment and that old aching in his bones flares and makes him want to curl up and cry. He can't, though. It hurts him but he knows this is better, this scholarship keeps the burden of cost off his mother, and he’ll keep living at home, not yet leaving her alone in the too-empty house with all her thoughts and sorrow and family photos.

 It hurts him, it makes him long for the bustling nightlife of New York City, something tugging at his sternum, fit to open him up should he pull against it. It aches sharply for a few weeks after his graduation, and then one night, amidst a heavy downpour that leaves his city in a flash flood watch, it spreads out warm and heavy and makes him sleep soundly.

 ;;;

 Erwin’s first night in College Station, Texas, it rains so hard that he thinks he might be washed away, but he makes it to his new apartment safely and when he eventually settles under the freshly-made sheets of his new bed, he finds that for the first time he can recall, that stirring in his bones has muted to a gentle throb, as if there is another heartbeat inside of him.

 ;;;

 The muted gentle throb is content to accompany Erwin in relative peace until classes begin in the autumn, after which the throb becomes a fierce piercing in his chest, and he wonders if he should visit the clinic to be evaluated for heart attack risks.

 ;;;

 Levi takes a position pushing paper at the university clinic, a small building on the corner of campus that doesn't seem to be anyone’s interest this close to the beginning of the semester, so he mostly sits and plays with his phone on the clock. He's behind the receptionist’s desk, out of sight from the waiting room, heavily invested in a round of online poker, when the aching comes stumbling into the forefront of his mind like a drunkard, demanding attention and demanding it now.

 “Sorry,” someone says, a yankee accent, “Uh. Do you have information on, uh, heart attacks, please?”

 Levi can't explain it, barely registers his own actions, but he pushes to his feet, letting the cable wire around his rib cage lead him out into the waiting area, where suddenly the air is static.

 The yankee has a hand in his own chest, rubbing, but he stills when Levi, drunken on the aching in his bones, giddiness permeating his bloodstream with delirious warmth, stumbles into his line of sight and there, on Levi’s lips, without the slightest of indicators: “Erwin.”

 “Levi.”

 ;;;

 They stay up all night but not with inappropriate activities, instead with trading stories and dates to find comfort in their mutual experiences, and that it's not so insane after all, that all this time, their tugging and aching has been for the other one.

 ;;;

 Two days in and Levi knows that his Ma can see the difference in him, and he knows that she purposefully doesn't speak of it, that she wants to avoid pushing her own life choices on him, because not everyone gets married in college, it he wants to badly to take her in his arms and squeeze her tight, proclaiming that he has found the one for him.

 The first weekend after meeting Erwin, Levi packs an overnight bag and lets Ma know that he is staying with friends. She smiles, unquestioning, supporting his newfound social growth.

 ;;;

 Despite the current social trend of using movies to excuse for sexual activity, Levi binges a whole season of Erwin’s favourite show with him in one night, going through twelve forty-minute episodes without so much as a wayward stroke or shy kiss. They are, however, entwined like lovers; Erwin, on his back, his legs spread open on the long couch, Levi settling snugly between his thighs; Levi, chest to chest with Erwin, has his arms around the other’s torso, his hands immobilised where they spread over shoulder blades and sinew and strength.

 “Am I heavy?” Levi asks during an episode’s intro music.

 Erwin grunts a soft decline.

 “Of course not,” Levi says, acting tough to distract from the blush creeping up his neck. “Why would I be? You lift weights like a maniac.”

 As if Levi is not the same way, as if they are not nearly one in the same, of the same feather, a flock of two.

 ;;;

 Erwin invites Levi to Manhattan for Thanksgiving, and even though he wants to agree so badly, to board the plane alongside Erwin, to meet his parents and his litter of little sisters, Levi must turn him down.

 “Ma shouldn't be alone for Thanksgiving,” Levi says, with all the weighted responsibility of a boy who wants to be the man his father wouldn't want him to be.

 “I understand,” Erwin says, and it's true.

 “I wouldn't want any of our parents to get the wrong idea about us.” They don't fuck, don't even kiss. They're together, easy companionship like cookie cutters, but not intimate, and surprisingly to Levi, neither of them are bothered. There are no heated, lustful glances, no air charged with sexual tension begging to be explored and satisfied.

 It's unspoken between them, this knowledge that they will be together forever, that they were made for one another, but they're young still, and youth draws skeptical, unsolicited criticism.

 ;;;

 Hardly a month later, Erwin spends the whole of the Christmas holidays with Levi and Mrs. Ackerman.

 ;;;

 Erwin doesn't kiss Levi until after college graduation. It's not a goodbye, but a see you soon, because Erwin is going home to break some important news to his parents. Levi is there at the airport to pick Erwin up a few weeks later, his sternum on fire, a degree for every mile that has separated them, and he surprises himself by seeking a kiss, one chaste press of lips to lips that Erwin gives willingly.

 It turns out that Mr. and Mrs. Smith were more accepting of their son being with another man than the notion that a healthy, young adult male could possibly be uninterested in sexual activity. Erwin is quiet about the trip for a few days before he opens up and tells Levi about the peculiar exchange, but afterward, they find a good giggle in it, that everything somehow must come back to sex, as if the only reason to live and breathe and find a soulmate is to fuck, to degrade hard-won commitment to a crude, biological urge.

 ;;;

 Eventually, they decide to get married, more on the pragmatic side of why not? than for a romantic reason. Instead of even the smallest of ceremonies, instead of even informing their families, Levi manages to coax Erwin down to City Hall on a quiet Tuesday morning, where they don’t even exchange rings before the Justice, opting to simply recite cardboard vows, because everything that needs to be said is already there in their bones.

 Afterward, like an inside joke of a modest celebration, they buy hotdogs from the vendor in the park and discuss their next steps together as one.

[thefaeriereview]

Tour: Fated Mountain Wolf

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Fated Mate 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 1 

by Jessica Aspen 

Genre: Paranormal Romance 

I've been abandoned. Left on the side of the road with a Rocky Mountain storm on the way and the only person I can turn to is a stranger—but Aaron has his own secrets... 

When Gwynn's dad sells her off to pay his gambling debts the only person she can turn to is a stranger. But how is she to know her knight in shining armor is actually working for the bad guys? 

Aaron’s been forced to work for a criminal for too long, he’s just counting the days to freedom. When the opportunity rises he’s ready to jump. The only problem is—in order to get what he wants he has to betray a stranger. Too bad she’s his fated mate… 

Now, Aaron has to save Gwynn, keep the pack lands the boss has promised him, and convince the only woman he’ll ever truly love that fairy tales are real—and so are wolf shifters… 

For sexy Shifter Romance you can’t put down… 

Buy FATED MATE today. 

Discover your new pack—Fated Mountain Wolf Pack... 

Come to Colorado where the rivers run cold and the alphas run hot! 

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Claimed Mate 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 2 

Mistaken identity. An accidental kiss. And the mating fever begins…

When the sexiest woman alive walks up to Gabe and demands to make love, he knows he's met his fated mate. But will falling head-over-tail for Serena turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life?

Serena’s move to Colorado isn’t going as planned. Her new boss hates her. She’s falling in love with the wrong twin. And a stalker is sending her roses.

Now both brothers are suffering from mating fever but only one man is Serena’s fated mate.

If Serena can survive the obsessive love of a stalker one brother will have the mate of his dreams. And the other—a chaotic fall into the wild…

Sexy Shifter Romance you can’t put down…Buy CLAIMED MATE today.

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack...

Come to Colorado where the rivers run cold and the alphas run hot!

For Sexy Shifter Romance that you can’t put down…Buy CLAIMED MATE today. 

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Stalked Mate 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 3 

It was just another ordinary day for Glenna…until she was violently attacked and thrown into a world of wolves—a world she never knew existed. 

Now she's hell-bent on escape. 

After nearly going wild wolf, Sam Wulfric is back and sane—mostly. The last assignment he wants is babysitting a new wolf shifter—and all the chaos that involves. Even worse, she’s one of the sexiest women he’s ever seen. And to top it all off—she’s driving his wolf crazy.

But everyone from the US Government to an unknown assailant is after Glenna and Sam’s instincts take over. Now, he’ll do anything to keep Glenna safe—even if her new found mating urge drives him over the edge. 

Sam’s already found and lost and he’s hell bent on never going through that again. But fate has other plans… 

Sexy Shifter Romance you can’t put down… 

Buy STALKED MATE and discover your new pack today. 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack... 

Come to Colorado where the rivers run cold and the alphas run hot! 

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Hunted Mate 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 4 

A forbidden love…Too many secrets….Fated to be Mates… 

Glimpses of her dead sister push Sarah to leave the safety of her rich, privileged life, and venture into the dark. But when pursuing the truth leads to more than she’s bargained for…she risks not only her life, but the life of her sister—If Glenna is still alive... 

Rico’s been tasked with keeping Sarah out of harm’s way—as well as hide every detail of her sister’s new existence as a wolf shifter. But how can he do that when sexy Sarah is determined to turn over every rock and hunt out the pack’s secrets? And when a mysterious informant contacts Sarah—Rico knows she’s in danger. 

To protect Sarah, Rico risks his job, his status in the enforcers, and his life. But most of all…he runs the risk of losing his fated mate. 

Sexy Shifter Romance you can’t put down… 

Buy HUNTED MATE today. 

Discover your new pack—Fated Mountain Wolf Pack... 

Come to Colorado where the rivers run cold and the alphas run hot! 

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Wolf Mate 

Fated Mountain Wolf Pack Book 5 

On the hunt for her best friend, Natalie discovers it’s more than murder…it’s wolf shifters. 

All Natalie has is her GPS, her best friend’s last known location, and a desperate hunger for the truth. Her dangerous search for clues leads her to a blood soaked piece of land and a trip down a rocky ravine—straight into the arms of a sexy angry cowboy. 

Could it be fate? 

Luca has been a lone wolf his entire life. Discovering Natalie trapped and injured on Fated Mountain ranch—her big brown eyes and determined attitude break into his lone wolf reserve. But Natalie’s human. And her insistence on hunting down the truth conflicts with the pack’s needs. 

What happens when fate draws you to the wrong mate and murder might be best covered up? 

Sexy Shifter Romance you can’t put down… 

Buy WOLF MATE today. 

Discover your new pack—Fated Mountain Wolf Pack... 

Come to Colorado where the rivers run cold and the alphas run hot! 

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Alpha vs Beta

Hi! I’m Jessica Aspen and I write Urban Fantasy romance—fast paced, sexy, and a little on the dark side. And right now I’m writing wolves, wolf shifters, that is. And you know what that means…alphas!!! And betas and omegas. Wow! There are so many mates to choose from, but I think you know what most of the wolves in shifter romance end up being…alphas. And we love them! We love the brooding, sexy, dark men who need a woman to complete them. And not just any woman, they need their perfect woman—their fated mate.

But what about the betas and the omegas? And what about the complexities they bring to your shifter romances? Do you love alphas more? Or do you want to read more books about the betas? And how do the omegas fit in? Leave a comment and let me know, I can’t wait to see what you want to read.

Jessica Aspen always wanted to be spirited away to a world inhabited by elves, were-wolves and sexy men who walk on the dark side of the knife. Luckily, she’s able to explore her fantasy side and delve into new worlds by writing spicy paranormal romance. She loves indulging in dark chocolate, reading eclectic novels, and dreaming of ocean vacations, but instead spends most of her time, writing, walking the dog, and hiking in the Colorado Rockies. 

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[trevorbailey61]

The Arcade Fire

Genting Arena, Birmingham

Sunday 15th April 2018

“They build it up just to burn it back down”. The large frame of Edwin Farnham Butler III is hunched over a small keyboard placed on the rotating central part of the stage as he delivers the words into the microphone in front of him. A quiet moment of reflection during the sensory overload that is The Arcade Fire’s return to this arena on the outskirts of Birmingham after a gap of nearly eight years. In the meantime they have conquered all before them, playing to audiences numbering tens of thousands in vast open air shows and headlining almost every large summer festival across the world. The words are from the song “Rococo” and as it was taken from their third album, “The Suburbs”, the one they were touring on their last visit, it was then a regular in their set. Its subdued tone and the cynicism in its lyrics, however, made it a awkward festival song and it rarely makes an appearance now, just twice before on the tour that began in the autumn of last year. The song uses the ornate, highly decorative but ultimately insubstantial art movement of the 18th century as a take down of the vapid, insipid hipster culture where modern kids are “Using great big words that they don't understand”. Whilst Butler’s words were directed those who in a desperate attempt to stay at the forefront of popular culture will discard music almost as soon as they have picked it up, it is tempting to also see it as a dig at those shapers of opinion who having loved them were starting to pick at every fault they could find; the knives that were already being sharpened then have found their target as the popularity of the band has soared.

Back in the middle of the noughties they announced themselves with “Funeral”, right up alongside “Marquee Moon”, “Are You Experienced” and “Unknown Pleasures” as being one of the great debut albums. As the title suggests, death formed its dominant theme; still in their early twenties, the grief experienced as ageing relatives passed away was all the more painful as it was being felt for the first time. Whilst sickness and death may form the backdrop, however, there was also a strong sense of rebirth and renewal, seen at its most powerful in “Wake Up” where Butler urges; "Children, wake up … before they turn the summer into dust”; a reminder that glory will only go to those who dare to seize it. The complexity of its emotions, the transition through life, death and rebirth and the staggering anthemic momentum of the music led to five star reviews and an almost universal top placing in the album of the year polls. With the follow up, “Neon Bible”, three years later, the mood had started to shift and with each subsequent album they have found it increasingly difficult to elicit the praise that was heaped on “Funeral”. Inevitably their most recent, “Everything Now” has received the most polarised reviews, some noting that it sees them at their most accessible whilst others saw a dark and joyless album where the social commentary lacked the insight they had shown on their debut. Needless to say it featured in few end of year polls. The naysayers have a point, there are moments on “Everything Now” where you have to question how a band capable of producing that glorious debut could have sunk so low. The clumsy synths of “Peter Pan” would easily be the worst thing they have ever recorded were it not followed by “Chemistry” which manages too be both cloying and corny without showing any irony or humour making it significantly worse; fortunately neither are played tonight. Then if all albums were judged on their weakest moments few would achieve greatness and even at their most transitional, there are still songs of majestic brilliance which, mostly, are the ones we hear tonight.

Perhaps, the critics had been too successful in identifying the next big thing and as the band outgrew their indulgence, they began to resent the success that they had helped to bring about. The band were undoubtedly highly ambitious, eagerly moving on from clubs to concert halls, arenas and beyond, writing anthems to draw in these big crowds and producing ever more spectacular shows. It no longer felt as intimate and like many before, they found that those who had championed them at first turned increasingly hostile, “they build it up just to burn it back down”. The mixed reviews for “Everything Now” are right to identify its flaws but as they began the tour to promote it, the live reviews followed a similar pattern, a reluctance to identify the strengths and an over emphasis on any perceived weaknesses. There may have been some early tour teething troubles and the corporate concept initially used certainly distracted from the music but regardless of the the opinion as to their merits in the studio, there can be no doubt that The Arcade Fire are a formidable live act. Anything that fails to acknowledge that and the enthusiasm that they can generate in their audience makes it look as it the writer is out to be negative just because they can. 

Formidable they are. From the the moment the faceless cowboy projection announces that they are about to arrive the build up is relentless in its intensity, heightening the anticipation and generating fervour in the crowd. The strains of “A Fifth of Beethoven”, a nod to the disco mood of their recent work, merge into the introduction to “Everything Now” as the announcer covers their awards and achievements in the style of a heavyweight champion. The boxing analogy is carried into the staging, performed in the round with roadies holding the ropes up as the performers enter the ring. Then seamlessly they pick up from recorded introduction for a spectacular “Everything Now”; each member of the band facing out from a different side of the stage, the drummer rotating around the middle; they were everywhere, Butler’s younger brother Will even abandoning his musical duties altogether to run laps around the stage. The song stands out on the album showcasing what they are good at; a simple hook to draw you in, a bright intoxicating melody, banks of strings and piano, ghostly backing vocals and a epic scale; live it was immense. It was a masterclass in how to start a concert and as the thumping introduction to “Rebellion (Lies)” was followed by the disco groove of “Here Comes the Night Time” the only doubt was whether they could maintain such a ferocious pace and supreme quality for the next two hours.

They could, of course. There were a few quieter moments, the relatively sparse “Electric Blue” where Regine Chassagne’s falsetto soars into the stratosphere, the repetitive and moody “Neon Bible” and the aforementioned “Rococo”, and these helped to highlight just how climatic the peaks are when the full force of the band is unleashed. The driving beat of “No Cars Go” hits its groove perfectly and the doomed romance of “Put Your Money on Me” is suitably brooding and even starts with Win and Regine having a smooch. The nine piece band regularly swap instruments so “Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)” sees drummer Jeremy Gara taking a break from his rotations as Chassagne takes the opportunity to pound out the rhythm. He returns to share duties on the folky swing of “The Suburbs” which segues wonderfully into the urgent overwhelming surge of “Ready to Start” before giving way once again to the Regine’s eerie falsetto in “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)”. Light scattered from the opposing glitter balls on either side of the stage, an appropriate setting for the glam disco beat of “Reflektor” and the perfectly crafted “Afterlife” which followed. Even when it seems as if everything has already been thrown in they still manage to find something extra for the darkly flamboyant “Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)” before they eventually make their way out through the audience, shaking hands and posing for selfies as they leave. They are soon back to show that they can do restrained and sensitive with the sombre “We Don’t Deserve Love”, the delicate counter melody provided by striking empty wine and vodka bottles. As the refrain of “Everything Now” bookends the show, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, who had earlier played a superb support slot, return to add to a colossal rendition of “Wake Up”. With the chanted refrain echoing around the hall, the band leave as they had arrived, running the gauntlet of eager fans hoping to shake hands, grab selfies or just touch the conquering heroes. Even with the audience starting to move towards the exits, they still hadn’t completely made their escape.

As an introduction to “No Cars Go”, Butler notes how the song was crafted during their early days in Montreal where they performed it to just a handful of people. Over the years it has grown into the immense anthem that it now is, a perfect example of how their sound has developed to fit the scale of their live show. In that time it has been there as they have become one of the best live acts around, masters, as they showed tonight, of arenas but also able to expand their sound to vast open air venues. It would be easy for them to rest on their repertoire but whilst much of what they played tonight was recorded at least a decade ago, they are still able to add new twists and turns as well as seeking to push their boundaries in their new music. It may be the case that not everything they try comes off and the mixed critical reception to “Everything Now” may encourage them to be a little more ruthless with their creativity when the results are below the standards they have set. In avoiding the clunkers and toning down the mock corporate concept that proved such a turn off during the early days of the tour, they have shown that this self analysis has already started leaving nothing to distract from what was an incredible gig. Stunning, mesmerising and uplifting, the champ pulled himself off the ropes and delivered the knockout punch. 

[coolfriedstarlightcollector-blog]

Shoe Shopping one zero one: What You Need To Know

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