#transitional deck decor

[filmfridays]

Deck Uncovered Houston a sizable, uncovered transitional backyard deck

[ama-mori]

Transitional Deck - Deck Deck: Idea for a sizable backyard transitional deck with an addition to the roof

[notredamedeparisfans]

Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen Large backyard with a transitional outdoor kitchen Idea for an outdoor kitchen deck with an addition to the roof

[tvwade]

Transitional Deck Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional backyard deck remodel with no cover

[rae-writes]

An Angel?

om demons x reader (+Simeon, Solomon, Mephi, Raph)

wc : 2.k

warnings : more simping bois, more humor, a lot more sprinkles of suggestive comments

synopsis : a deviltok trend has the boys on their knees for you, part two: electric boogaloo

a/n : for the record, Luke was in the room while Mc was making it, cheering them on, doing his cute little “Waahhh!” // idea brought to me by the lovely [your-next-daydream]​ // AND, as usual, let’s not talk about how ridiculously long this took me to finish ahaha rip me-

demon ver. 

<Simeon> Mc looks rather...heavenly, don’t you agree? 

[attachment sent] 

Intrigued, he wasted no time in clicking on the file, grinning when he realized it was one of your deviltoks. Decked out in your RAD uniform, you sat in a chair with your hands clasped together. 

“Who are you?” 

Smoothly, almost as if you were floating, you stood and took a few steps towards the camera with a rather shy smile. 

“An angel.” 

You bowed ever so slightly, flitting your gaze to the floor. 

“What’s your name?”

You spun suddenly, sending your red accessory swooshing in front of the camera, covering everything from view. 

“Michael.”

As fast as the transition happened, it ended; the view was cleared to reveal you— angelic down to a T and beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe you. 

You were adorned with sheer, white clothing that was loose and flowy, probably swaying due to a fan that was off camera. Light blue accents were scattered here and there- including an extension piece in your hair of the same color. Sparkling gold accessories glinted under the light, but not as much as the halo that hovered above your head. It was a gorgeous molten gold tint, partly transparent with glitter floating around inside (with a few cracks decorating the outside of it). It only brought attention to the snowy wings spanning out behind you, flecks of iridescent scattered amongst the feathers. 

[9 people saved a video attachment]

Lucifer

Ah. Yes. He’s not combusting on the inside, not at all. 

*insert internal screaming*

Ahem. Now that his jaw has been picked up off the floor, he is immediately wondering how the fuck Simeon of all people got access to the video before him

Don’t get him wrong though, he is on the way right now- leave the door open, Mc

He has to put his marks all over your body to get rid of the fact that you looked that pretty while using Michael’s name

Possessive urges aside, please keep the outfit on

Does not care if you’re dressed up like an Angel, he will gladly corrupt you

In fact, he wants to corrupt you- let him see that pact mark of his while you look so angelic, yeah?

might be into role playing it if you’d like

Mammon

Blinks a couple times before looking around slowly; poor boy really thought he’d been yeeted back to the celestial realm for a minute there

It’s all quiet before suddenly everyone in the house (and probably outside) hears “HOLY FUCK WHAT”

You never cease to amaze him, by the devils, is he in love 

The blush on his face- if he was anything other than a demon- would look severely concerning. Like no, it’s not a red beacon of light, it’s just him coming through the halls

Is creepin outside ya door practically on his knees. Please let him in. His greed is flared and you’re the only cure even if you’re also the reason

He is dying to have a diy photo shoot of the two of you in your angel fit

Step on him. Do it- it’s the perfect angle, the shot comes out beautifully and he is putting it right in his wallet once it’s developed 

Will step on you in return if you ask

You’ll let him kiss all over your body, wontcha, Mc? (he’ll even be gentle with his fangs when he nibbles around that golden necklace you’ve got on)

Levi

*cue his very nervous yet giddy laughter*

This is just like that anime he saw last week called ‘Help! My human s/o just turned into an Angel but I’m a demon and actually kind of into this?!” 

Seriously though, you look so beautiful, Levi was immediately down in the floor with his face covered and tail wagging 

Please allow 3-4 business months before he can recover 

Jk lol he’s hovering in your doorway before you you can even click on his contact

Shyly asks if he can touch your halo and wings (and ends up with his tail wrapped around you, knocking you side to side because it’s still attempting to wag) 

Unlike the eldest brother, Levi practically begs you to roleplay this with him and have a cosplay photoshoot 

Will shamelessly keep you to himself for the rest of the day and hiss at everyone who gets too close 

Please sit on him and call him mean names while also holding him sweetly 

Satan

Sign him tf up- he’s got a pen at the ready 

Irony aside, Satan thinks you look absolutely stunning— straight out of a fairy tale 

Irony not aside, Satan is actually so into this and craves to play it out with you

He was never an Angel to begin with, he was born a demon; just thinking about making your ivory wings turn black makes him excited 

Satan understands it’s just a simple spell you’ve casted so he won’t get too out of sorts (but if you like it, then what’s the harm?) 

Wants to read a forbidden love trope book and maybe act out some of the scenes while you’re still dressed like that 

The hopeless romantic in him is front and center the entire time

If you think he’s gonna let you go now, you’re sorely mistaken— let his brothers try and take you away 

He’s got tons of scenarios to act out if you can handle him 

Asmo

That weird high pitched sound you hear from across the house that should be something only dogs can hear? Yeah that’s Asmo squealing

Posting your video EVERYWHERE bc everyone needs to see how fucking gorgeous you look 

You can hear his footsteps from a mile away as he hurries to your room 

He MUST see your outfit in person ASAP

Azzy. Is. So. Fucking. Down. For. This. Shit. He thinks he’s dreamed about this once actually  

Please let him just examine every inch of you, he’s begging

Once again his camera is out and ready for a photoshoot and his demon form is out right alongside it 

He will be keeping you for the next 24-48 hours thanks

Beel

Choked. Again. 

Don’t be alarmed by the loud rumbling sound— it’s not Beel’s stomach for once, but instead a growl

He didn’t mean to make that sound but you just look so— and he just— and you— and and— A a a A A 

Has that cute little blush plastered over his face all. day. 

Might be tempted- or actually try- to take a bite out of your halo or something else ifykyk

Rewatches the video at least ten times because you're just. Wow. Wow. W O W. 

Is now in the mood to eat some celestial realm food with you 

though his appetite is half for food and half for you 

Pls don’t mind his staring or the way he’s probably drooling a bit, he can’t help it :(

Belphie 

“...wait, what?”

Lays there staring at the ceiling for a moment bc PHEW you got him sweating and he hasn’t even moved yet-

Manages a straight face all the way until he enters your room and sees the outfits in person

To which he is, once again, dropping right at your feet with a look of ‘PLEASE’

He needs a whole ass minute or two to catch his breath from how fucking gorgeous you look and then he needs another whole ass minute or two to scan you over again

Please sit on him

Is uncharacteristically stuttering through every sentence— how can he possibly concentrate on stupid words in these [amazing] conditions?!

Gatekeeping you AGAIN

Underneath you the entire. time. 

Barbatos

*windows shutdown* 

*windows restart*

…aaand we’re back ladies and gentlemen and every cool dude in between but Barbatos is still fucking astonished— absolutely flabbergasted at how badly he’s got it for you

He dropped everything he was carrying in that moment and swiftly picked it back up, hoping no one saw

Diavolo saw. He recorded the entire thing and sent it to you, zooming in on Barbatos’ blush

There’s just something primal in him that makes him want to sink his teeth into you and coil his tail around your body so that you won’t be able to go anywhere else until he lets you

Everyone be damned, Barb will be having you to himself for the entire night

Will also run his fingers along the faux wings and halo before he absolutely ruins you until the magic dissipates

He is…totally normal about the entire thing..

Diavolo

His father help him— Diavolo is so incredibly thankful for the exchange program

Is OUT of the castle at mach speed before Barbatos can even say otherwise

And then he’s speeding right back and summoning you to him instead so he can have you to himself

Mans is kneeling at your fucking feet the second he lays eyes on you

And while it isn’t ‘proper’ for someone who wants unity between all three realms to want to corrupt you— 

—he does. So badly. He thinks he might even beg you for it 

Also wants to take a picture of the two of you with him in his demon form (it’s the it picture for weeks after he posts it)

Cannot stop looking at your halo; please let him touch it

(If you slowly begin altering your wings to bleed black, he’s practically foaming at the mouth—) 

bonus: 

Simeon

*sharp inhale* . . . *yeets halo*

He deadass forgets he’s an Angel himself for a few minutes bc he’s too busy simping fawning over you 

God who?? Like get tf outta the way, beep beep, archangel on a mission comin through 

Is begging as soon as he steps foot through your door. Please, please let him touch you and explore— he should be ashamed with how unabashed he is but fuck look at you 

Will let his own wings out just so you can compare your angels forms (melted on the spot when you brushed your wings against his)

Honestly can’t decide if he wants you to corrupt him or if he wants to corrupt you…or both at the same time

He’s not sharing you. Not now. Not like this. 

You may look like an angel, and he may be an angel, but he won’t treat you like one tonight 

If you do the fancy trick of letting your wings turn black, he’s completely bowing down to whatever you wish right then and there 

Solomon

Kinda forgot he was immortal for a split second and wondered if he’d either died or accidentally traveled to the celestial realm

Gains his bearings rather quickly, but the hold you have on him is still very much there

And he’d like you to have a hold around his throat— what? Who said that??

His pretty little blush where he averts his eyes all nervously? YEAH THAT

He’s taken aback for a couple moments before his usual shit eating grin comes back but that blush? Still there. 

Backs you against a wall, in a corner, and let’s his hands roam with a small laugh, quietly asking how you manage to make him lose composure so easily 

Is so soft and sweet for a minute before his eyes darken and that SEXY smirk crawls onto his face

Plucks that halo right from above your head and tosses it behind his shoulder because how could he possibly do what he has planned if you’re an angel?

Makes your wings bloom black himself (and challenges how long you can handle him)

extra little bonus: 

Mephisto 

Simply raises a brow and wonders why the hell his body got so hot all the sudden 

Ignores the video for a couple hours until he realizes he can’t stop fucking thinking about it 

Promptly decides he’s going to go straight to you and demand how dare you invade his thoughts like this 

And then promptly decides he’d rather just revert to using his hands instead when the sight of you makes his mouth dry and water at the same time

Will take it upon himself, right then, to corrupt you

Because there’s no way in the seven rings of hell he’s letting you switch sides and he’ll break the magic you’re using as proof

After though *cough cough* he will bashfully tell you how gorgeous you looked…

Raphael

Let me tell you, mans was not ready 

Like if you’ve seen the video of the person with a stacked ass on the stretcher being carried by and the news reporter’s face afterwards, that’s Raphael. 

Luke takes a picture of his expression and makes a meme

Won’t address it until the very next day, stiffly telling you that your outfit was very pleasing to the eye (he thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous, okay, he’s just struggling)

If you offer to show him in person, he is ascending right back home. Won’t deny, though. Like please do. 

In awe for the whole experience 

And blushes an alluring deep shade if you show him some ‘corruption’ tricks you have up your sleeve

[taylor-titmouse]

so we know that gender for dwarves is mainly divided between rock and jewel (for the sake of keeping it simple to explain. there are definitely genders outside that binary) and that rocks map closer to masculine, and that jewels map closer to feminine, but it has nothing at all to do with genitals and everything to do with presentation. in dwarven terms, tourmaline and angre are both crafters, in that they're capable of childbirth, but this is considered a sort of natural skill rather than tied to their value. outside of the aristocracy and royal lines and half-things, dwarves do not generally care about bloodlines. children are raised by the community. you keep track of your crafter and getter for the sake of good health, but outside of that, it's not a big deal what you have down there.

of course tourmaline and angre are both exceptions to the bloodline concern, given she's royalty and he's half human. but this post is for dissecting presentation, rather than social dynamics.

TOURMALINE AS A ROCK

so the richer you are, the more you want to show that off. we know that having smooth skin is indicative of free time/money to spend on achieving it. that doesn't change for rocks. the one difference is that rich rocks (and sometimes jewels!) may, instead of shaving their faces, engage in elaborate beard braiding and decoration. this is more common among the older generations, who by the time they reach those ages, are either too wrinkled or simply too tired of dealing with shaving and wax. tourmaline, being a strapping young stone, would shave completely. long hair would also still be considered the fashion for a young rock of his station. however, luxurious thickness is for jewels. a tight, sober braid is preferred for rocks for everyday wear. he also doesn't wear makeup. makeup is entirely the realm of jewels. foundation to hide blemishes at the very most, but otherwise it is not expected of him.

gemstones are incredibly important to dwarves, with a lot of coding regarding how much you can wear and what styles/stones you can wear. as a jewel, tourmaline would be expected to wear a Lot. earrings, hairpieces, bracelets, anklets, everything and anything. rocks are a bit more limited, because the presentation is about strength and steadfastness rather than beauty... but if you're rich, you still have to show it. so in practice, rich rocks and jewels can both be totally decked out, but rocks will favor chunkier, less delicate pieces. notably: rocks will also have more piercings than jewels, because it signals toughness against pain. thus, rock tourmaline has pierced his nipples and belly button. and of course he's not covering his chest to show that off (and wearing anything heavy would be uncomfortable)

the slitted trousers are of course to show off the hot smooth leg. it would be perfectly acceptable for him to wear a skirt or skirt-like piece, but for the sake of making him more readably masculine, he gets pants. his shoes would also have a slight heel or platform to them. there's a sweet spot of height that dwarves find attractive, and he's otherwise fairly average/short. angre would be just on the upper edge of it.

ANGRE AS A JEWEL

so while rock tourmaline is fairly unchanged, angre as a jewel would be a very different person with a very different life path. as a jewel, she cannot become a knight or soldier. she can be taught self defense and how to wield a weapon, but being employed in the defense of another is Not Done with jewels. remember: this has nothing to do with childcraft, entirely with presentation. if she wanted to become a knight, she would have to transition to rock, which isn't an uncommon occurrence. switching genders based on occupation is very normal. but then we'd just have original flavor angre. so this is an angre who took a different path.

this angre would be a lady in waiting, and, if we want to give her the equivalent job to captain of the guard, she would be tourmaline's royal barber. she would be in charge of the care and keeping of his body, a role that requires significant training and trust. she would have command over a team, but she would be the only one permitted to touch and tend to his neck, and would be a close confidante.

as for her presentation, she would be considered a very conservative jewel. nothing in her hair (which she wears long) and very few actual gemstones in her jewelry. this is partially about expectation--she is a commoner, and it would be very inappropriate for her to be ostentatious in the service of royals--but it would also be her own choice. she does not want to be attractive to the young prince [undecided on the actual term]. rock angre did not want to be perceived as a sexual threat to jewel tourmaline, and so jewel angre would not want to be perceived as a sexual option (but would be just as in love with him). so she wears simple patterns, little jewelry, and very light makeup. showing skin is something she can't really avoid, because it also represents her work. you wouldn't really trust a barber if they had a bad haircut.

phew. that's a lot.

[cityof2morrow]

NetworkMAT: Streetscaping 001 (Sidewalks & Sewers)

Published: 5-23-2024 | Updated: 7-16-2024 (+hood visibility) SUMMARY “Accentuate the streets, pedestrian paths, and roadsides in your city …” “Rubberall is made from upcycled rubber, metal, and other materials. It's ten and a half times weather resistant as regular rubber and twice a pretty. Order it in bulk today!” “Build a functional water and waste management system in your city…” Another edition to the Network Materials (networkMAT) (Simmons, 2022-2024) series! This modular set includes 80 low poly objects for pedestrian paths, sidewalks, decorative foundations, and other roadside streetscaping. Objects are designed to be used with the Streets of 2morrow (Simmons, 2023) set  - but they’ll work without them just fine. There are also matching neon curb lights. How about functional sewer/water management networks?! You also get a canal, tunnel, deco, and functional items for making your own sewer network. The drains will clear the lot of any unattended puddles and garbage every few hours – visible exhaust rises from them during this process. The utility box and pipes earn the lot owner a small credit at each billing cycle – SimCity rewards good infrastructure!

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §0 and §100-1000 for lights/bollards, §300-1000 for sewer items Build > Architecture/Columns and Buy > Lighting/Plumbing/Electronics > Misc Most objects are repo’d to the BBNiche1Master (BuggyBooz, 2012) and/or Element Repository, which are both in the Repo Pack (Simmons, 2022). Don’t forget to grab some recolors – I recommend the “element” set HERE (Simmons, 2023) for the sewage water/material. See the following tags for more swatches: #co2recolors, #ts2recolors, #ts2repo #co2repo #co2repopack IMPORTANT:

2-click objects are for 2-click/step foundations and foundation pieces are for default foundations/stages. Still – you’ll be able to mix and match in a variety of ways.

You’ll need “move object on/off” and “grid on/off” cheats to place some objects.

Foundation pieces match default foundations/decks which are slightly larger than a 1x1 tile space. They will overlap slightly – so depending on your design, you may want to shift things around with cheats.

Some items are asymmetrical/oversized so they’ll fit better with others in the set and give the paths a bit of a “distressed” look.

The 1x1/2x2 round corners use angled (not rounded) curves; this detail is apparent when you apply solid color txtr’s to them.

Some lights are repo’d to the neon plutonium rod (Nightlife EP) and will use the same light colors.

There is a short tutorial for this set HERE.

ITEMS SIDEWALKS

2-Click Platforms, Planters, and Ramps (12-100 poly) 4-Click Foundations (32-64 poly) Bollards 001-002 (230-262 poly) – Bollard 001 is repo’d to the Plutonium Rod (Nightlife EP) Step Covers (Steps/Ramp) (~18-24 poly) -place with cheats; – center/side pieces work as Rubberall Platform 1x1/2x1 (20 poly) Rubberall Ramp Cover 1x1 (66 poly) Rubberall Corner (Left/Right) (96 poly) Rubberall Curb (14 poly) Just8, 1x1 Transition Curb Left (24 poly) Just8, 1x1 Transition Curb Right (24 poly) Just8, 1x1 Transition Platform (44 poly) Lighting (166-332 poly) Solo, 1x1 Planter (20 poly) Solo, 2x2 Planter (20 poly) Urban Future 4, 1x1 Curb (66 poly) – REQUIRED MESH; includes invisible recolor Other curbs, curves, corner, and accent pieces (6-305 poly) SEWERS 001

Beam (Deco) (44 poly) Beam (Column) (44 poly) Canal (7x9) (140 poly) Pipes 001-003 (1000-1024 poly) Rails (1-Tile/3-Tile) (115-192 poly) Tunnel (7x9) (448 poly) Utility Box (Functional) (266 poly) – earns the lot owner a small credit for each billing cycle. Utility Wires (896 poly) Zogorman Drains (1x1 /3x1) (42-126 poly) K76 Drains (1x1/2x2/Raised) (728-744 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA COMPATIBILITY Compatible with Shiftable Everything (Lamare, 2022) and Object Freedom (Fway, 2023). Shift trees and garden plants into place before adding the planter pieces. CREDITS Thanks: Sim Shenanigans Discord folks, UV Mapping Tips (Frac, 2024). Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Dosch SciFi Materials V1.1 (2022; 2009), EA/Maxis; Metal Grate (RBG_illustrations, 2019 via CCA), Modulo_Sewer_01 (Polo_Art, 2022 via Creative Commons Attribution), Modular Sidewalk/Curb Kit (Just8 2022-2023 via CCA), Neon Floor Lamp Add-On (PineappleForest, 2022), Nooks & Niches (Buggybooz, 2012), Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), Retro Simlish Font/Simlish Manbow Solid (Adele, n.d.), Rubber Traffic Inspirations (Pewex, 2019), Sewer grate (Katy76 via PC Sims, 2007); Sidewalk (Zogorman, 2018 via CCA), Spawn of Square Stair (Khakidoo, 2007;), Textures (CuriousB, HugeLunatic, 2018; Simmons, 2023; 2010; Stonemason, 2011; Klevestav, 2013; 2010; EA/Maxis); Tree Planter w/ Grate (LordSamueliSolo, 2021 via CCA), Urban Future 4 (Stonemason, 2011).

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Emergency request? I’m not sure if this will count as an emergency request but I’ll let you decide if it does. Anyway, this year has been hectic so far. I started a new job at the beginning of the year and now I’m needing to find a place to move. While I did find a place, I’ve severely underestimated everything that went into buying/ moving. There’s SO much paperwork, and it’s LONG paperwork too, so many additional costs and expenses being thrown at you left and right on top of the down payment and closing costs, not to mention that I’ll still need to get utensils and furniture while still having enough for bills and mortgage. The whole process can take months to go through, too. Thankfully, I’m blessed that I’m not doing it alone, but it’s still been greatly scary and stressful and sad and exhausting and exciting at times. It’s a whole roller coaster of emotions honestly. And I think I’ll have to leave my childhood cat with my parents, too.

Anyway, sorry for the long yap. I know many people experience this, but if this counts as an emergency then I’d like to request a little moving out/ in fic. I’ve been overwhelmed lately and I haven’t really even thought about who I wanted it to be with even while writing this. Honestly, I’ve been kinda a Dark simp, way before linked universe, but I’m not sure if he’ll make a good fit for this (though I think he would make a good house husband, having someone love him for once would change him and I will forever die on that hill.) I’m kinda thinking about something sweet and cute about the reader and them buying a place and moving in together, whether it’s just slice of life stuff, cooking together, decorating together, etc. If Dark doesn’t work for you, then I’d be happy with Wild or Twilight as well. I just know they’d make good house husbands! Thank you so much, though! If everything goes well with the current repairs and paperwork and finances, I’ll get to start moving out in March!

Omg no this totally counts!! I'm not at the moving stage yet because I'm still in college, but I totally understand the stress that comes with transitioning to a new place. Don't ever apologize for sharing your feelings, and I truly hope that everything works out for you in the end. You've got this!!

(Also it's no problem to write for Dark. I haven't done him before, but I did a fair bit of character study for this request, so thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to practice my skills <33)

Our Way Out

Pairing: Dark Link x Reader

Warning(s):

Notes: Honestly I had tears in my eyes when this was done. Partly inspired by THIS lovely work <33

Masterlist

You weren't sure what exactly had drawn you to the house on the hill. It was small, pale in color, and the floorboards had definitely seen better days, but it was home, and that was all that mattered.

The deck creaked under your boots as you stepped to the front door, fumbling around the interior of your satchel for the key, which was a bit hard when it was absolutely stuffed with various vegetables, but you prevailed, raising the small item to the light before using it to open the door. Ever since moving in two weeks ago, your boyfriend had always teased you for letting it loose in your clothes and other belongings, but he could go suck an egg because you were an adult, damnit!

"I'm home!" you called, stepping over the foyer and into the home. Shutting the door with a thud, you bent to place the satchel down and begin the arduous process of removing your boots–

–until a pair of arms curled around your waist and a heavy weight settled on your back. Your stomach flipped when something nuzzled the shell of your ear, and a rumbling baritone filled the small space.

"Did you get the carrots?"

"Big and thick," you flashed Dark a sly grin over your shoulder, resisting the urge to grab a gentle handful of stark white hair and pull him in for a kiss. Fortunately, the allure of a good joke was too much, and you giggled cheekily: "Just how you like it, right?"

There was a huff of breath, accompanied by a nip to your ear, but not even an act of Hylia could keep the amusement from his tone. "Actually, I believe that's–"

"Shut your mouth," you interrupted with a guffaw. "Admit it: you fell right into that!"

Silence.

Boots half-on, you turned in his grasp, allowing your back to be pressed to the thick oak of the door. Dark skin, pale hair, eyes that glowed with the ferocity of a thousand bloody moons, and the first thought in your mind when you looked at him was nothing short of beautiful. Dark's ears perked when you cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking over smooth flesh. Unlike so many others, he wore his scars on the inside, bared secrets shining in blood-bright irises.

For a beat, nothing was said.

Dark's lips ticked up. "I think I'd prefer a different kind of falling."

You couldn't help the laughter than bubbled from your throat. "Pfft– shall I get the bandages?"

"You wound me," he said, pointing in that faux way you loved so dearly. His arms loosened, hands coming down to rest on your hips. He didn't squeeze or pinch or try to entice you into some other salacious activity, but you knew he was feeling you all the same. That was fine; his hips were better anyways.

Still, you grinned, never one to resist the allure of a terrible joke.

"Want me to kiss it better?"

His smile was diamond-sharp and twice as pretty.

"I'd love nothing more."

"No."

"But–" you hefted the portrait–an heirloom that had watched over your family for the past few centuries–into your arms in an attempt to make him waver. It did not. "–it's an heirloom! It's too pretty to go into storage!"

"Absolutely not," your boyfriend's glare narrowed until his eyes were mere crimson slits as he viewed the item with what you could only describe as unadulterated hatred. Gods, he could be so dramatic sometimes. Who gave a fuck if the Hero of Time was depicted in one of the corners?!

You set the portrait back on the ground before Dark got the brilliant idea of punching the offending depiction into the stratosphere, cleverly maneuvering it behind you before turning to face him once more, arms folded across your chest. "How about this: we cover him. I've got rags. And tree sap."

"You truly believe tree sap will fix this?" he all but hissed, leaning ever-so-slightly to the left to shoot metaphorical daggers at the portrait

"That's rich

"It's him," oh dear, you knew that voice, the one he used when he was about to go full demon.

"It's a tree!"

"You're a tree!"

You pinched your temples. What in Hyrule was he trying to do, intimidate you?? After literal years of knowing each other, it would take more than his 'scary' voice to faze you. A lot more. "Then why are you the one always getting wood in the morning?"

Full stop.

Dark blinked, the frustration bleeding from his expression faster than sand in a hourglass. His mouth opened, then closed, and you felt an unexpected flash of pleasure when he seemed completely and totally without a rebuttal for that one. It wasn't like you were making things up, either, considering he was the one who woke you up with all the subconscious humping. Who knew the evil (you begged to differ) reflection of the famed Hero of Time could be such a... well, you couldn't quite conjure a term to describe his lust, but it was great. And addicting.

Cheeks darker than his name, Dark's brow furrowed as he fought to regain control of himself and, by definition, the situation. "You... I... we are not keeping that."

You raised a brow. You didn't budge. "You wanna bet?"

His eye twitched.

"I don't like this," Dark hissed, fingers intertwined tightly with yours as he tugged the hood of his navy cloak even further down his face. Being the 'scourge of Hyrule' wasn't necessarily a well-respected title in Hyrule, so you had to take extra precautions when going out to make sure he didn't get challenged to a duel in the middle of the street or, worse, denied premium discounts on account of the whole 'being evil' debacle, though it was a bit of a shock seeing your boyfriend snap his fingers and instantly become a mediocre white man so you two could traipse through Castle Town like the troublemakers you were.

"Link, I'm sorry, but you don't like anything," you whispered back without any heat.

"I like you," he said without missing a beat.

"Aww!" you exclaimed, clapping a hand over your heart, startling several passersby in your excitement. "Oh my Goddesses, honey, I–"

"Don't mention it."

"–was going to ask for the rupee pouch so we could get candles, but I like you too."

He looked ready to rebuff your statement, until the works sunk in a bit and he raised a hilariously black eyebrow, brown-black eyes narrow in confusion. "Candles? Why?"

"It's so we don't stumble around at night if one of us needs to pee," you explained, feeling quite proud of yourself for thinking ahead. That, and how pissed he had gotten two nights ago when he awoke hours before the sun and discovered you had 'vanished without a trace', though watching him skid through the front door, sword in hand, on your way back from the outhouse was unfairly hilarious once you realized some eldritch horror had indeed not taken refuge in your home.

Dark's pale nose wrinkled. It looked strange when his skin was so... pasty, but you loved him nonetheless. "You forget that I don't need to perform your Hylian..." he grimaced but not at you. "bodily functions."

"But I do, so we're getting candles," you said, gently pulling him in the direction of the Bazaar, which you hoped to whatever deity was out there actually was in stock because, hands-off as he may appear, Dark had the terrifyingly-sweet tendency to stop at nothing to get something when he truly thought you wanted it, and you really didn't feel like watching him vault over the counter to threaten the clerk. Again.

"Then let us buy these accursed candles," he said in a tone that sounded more griping than anything, but the way he was holding hands with you told a very different story.

You grinned, laughing softly when he leaned in to press the softest peck to the apple of your cheek. "Don't worry, we'll be in and out of there before you know it."

Three hours later, you were beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. What had originally been a quick run to the Bazaar had devolved into a full-blown shopping spree involving nearly half the shops of Castle Town. Dark, despite his whining, was a surprisingly good sport when you strong-armed him into picking between two multicolored futons, convinced him to rent a horse and cart to carry home the spoils, and most importantly, offered a full sentence of advice on what rug would fit your newly-acquired home.

By the time the sun began to dip into the orange horizon, the cart was nearly sky-high, piled with all sorts of furniture and knickknacks. Grunting, you hefted the last of the shield mounts up and over the edge, clapping your hands together in satisfaction. Your boyfriend, who had been amusing himself with hitching the poor horse to the cart, turned to survey the damage. His gaze slowly traveled up the frankly impressive mountain of items, then dropped to you.

"Happy?" he asked, though there was no judgement behind his eyes. he genuinely wanted to know if you were satisfied, and it made your heart stutter in your chest, though you masked it with a big grin.

"Very!" you exclaimed, walking over to wrap him in a tight hug, uncaring of the fact that you were quite literally in the middle of the street. Granted, it was a lot less crowded than before, but that didn't mean there weren't children around to regard your purchases with wide, sparkling eyes, or adults to do the same, but instead for the respected purpose of gossip. As you pressed close, cheek practically molded to his chest, Dark's hand came up to pet your head, smoothing your hair down in a way that had you practically melting in his arms. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft as he gazed down at you.

"Good."

Without warning, he scooped you into his arms, hopping onto the driver's ledge of the cart and taking the reins--ignoring your yelp of surprise–gently snapping them to get things moving. "Ah, ah, don't move," he chided when you attempted un-wrap your legs from his waist, wrapping an arm over the tops of your hips to keep you pressed firmly against his front like a errant animal. "You're perfect where you are."

Dear Hylia, you were pretty sure the entirety of Castle Town was watching you ride, butt first, through the streets, which was definitely not how you wanted to be remembered should you return-- ah, and now his forearm was dropping perilously low on your backside. "Link."

"Yes?"

You buried your face in his shoulder because, Goddesses, the bastard knew what he was doing. "I'd really appreciate if you didn't feel my ass up for all of Hyrule to see."

A haughty sniff was his answer. "I have no idea what you mean, beloved."

You pinched his thigh. "Eyes on the road, hun."

"My eyes have not strayed."

Yeah, sure.

You huffed and, a second later, the arm returned to its previous place over the tops of your hips. "Better?" Dark asked softly, and you could have sworn he sounded vaguely apologetic. The town was beginning to fade into the road, giving way to familiar forest, and a sense of comfort washed over you.

"Much."

It wasn't that you didn't like being touched by him, but the position was already enough and, honestly, you really didn't want to draw attention to either one of you, lest someone realize that, beneath the black hair and even blacker eyes, he looked eerily similar to the Hero of Time.

"I love you," you murmured, turning your head so your lips brushed the skin of his neck. A soft shiver wracked through him when you pressed a soft kiss to the pale flesh.

"And I you," he responded without missing a damn beat, sneaking a tender peck to the top of your head. "To the end of time, and beyond."

"Charmer," you teased, cheeks pinking; he had this way of surprising you at the most random moments, and it was one of the things you loved about him.

"You bring it out in me," said Dark Link, scourge of Hyrule and your terrible, wonderful lover. His body was warm against the buffering chill of the approaching dusk, and you found yourself snuggling closer to escape the wind, mind straying what you had planned for later.

"I was thinking tea, for when we're home, and you can help me get all the stuff inside. We've got enough ingredients for soup, too. How does that sound?"

"I'd love nothing more," he responded, skillfully guiding the horse down the narrow path to your home, which you had chosen specifically for it's closeness to civilization, yet significant distance from the main road, which maintained the illusion of solitude. "And after?"

Dear gods. He was insatiable. You bit your lip to keep the laughter at bay. "We could... christen the futon?"

"And the dresser, I'd expect."

"Naturally," you shrugged. "But if I get butt-splinters, you're dealing with them."

At the mention the words 'I' and 'butt-splinters', Dark paused. "...Perhaps we shall have to return for a mat–"

You cut him off with a laugh.

"Hey."

It was dark out. A beam of silvery moonlight streamed in through the window, casting an almost ethereal glow over your boyfriend's face. He had shifted to his regular form as soon as your feet touched solid ground, and you couldn't have been happier when it only took two short hours to drag everything inside, though the approaching night had forced you to be lazy and retire early to recuperate–christening the futon would have wait, likely when it wasn't in the middle of the dining room with a thousand other things stacked atop it–but when you cracked your eyes open to find him very obviously watching you sleep, you couldn't help the concern that befell your expression.

"You're awake," he rumbled, voice heavier from disuse. It was a well-known secret that he didn't need to rest like you did, but he was usually more... discreet when it came right down to it.

"So are you," you reached up to rub your bleary eyes as they adjusted to the lighting. Dark shifted so he was on his side, fully facing you with a fist propped beneath his cheek, sheet pulled down just enough to reveal a very generous peek of his chest and stomach. You could have sworn the red in his eyes was pulsing. "You didn't have another dream, did you?"

It was yet another well-known secret that, when he did find it in him to 'rest', it was often plagued with things terrible enough to have him shooting up with a breathless gasp, then jumping from bed to stalk the home for enemies. Most times, you could get away with wrapping him in a tight hug, but there was never complete certainty, so you had begun asking.

But Dark merely shook his head, watching you with a neutral expression. "No," his voice, still rough from 'slumber', rasped. "Thinking."

"Of?"

"You."

Aw, really? How sweet! You found it in yourself to smile, scooting up the pillow to copy his pose, the last traces of exhaustion still clinging to the back of your mind. "Me too," you admitted softly, keeping your voice low so as to not disrupt the fragile air between you. 

Dark blinked. He hadn't been expecting that answer. "Truly?"

"Have I ever lied to you?" You asked. It was a joke, because, really, you hadn't, and he knew it too. You let your hand drop from beneath your cheek, scooting forward until you were a hairs-breath from each other; eyes searching, hearts yearning.

Inky arms wrapped around you: one slid to cradle your head while the other traced the divots of your spine through your tunic. Soft breath fanned over your skin, and it was with no shred of hesitation that your leg slung across the curve of his hip over the thin sheet. I would die for you, whispered his eyes, because he would always be a man of action than words.

Me too, you hoped the kiss you planted on his nose conveyed.

His grip tightened. You allowed a laugh to bubble from your throat. "We're not sleeping tonight, are we?"

"Not unless you want to," Dark said smoothly. He didn't sleep, but he understood that you had to. Usually. The way he stroked your back was giving you ideas that dared not be ignored. 'For you, I'll wait an eternity' went unsaid.

And, when he kissed you–like a lover, like the only person in the world–you believed it.

Y'all have no idea how close I was to writing smut 😭

[secret-time-is-here]

Utmv modern city au, but it's the normal multi verse with modern things like a public transit for Au hopping and being able to make your own portals is the equivalent of a car and you can deck out your portals like you could decorate a car. The phones are more obvious, but instead of sci there's a legit multi verse hospital and they hate to see the bad sans or stars coming through. More internet focused with Error lurking undernovela forums to immediately pounce on anyone who's clearly wrong about the show. Farm tale is rich as hell because they provide for the multi verse cafes and restaurants. Ink is a food blogger when he remembers to. Blue works part time at a simple little library but half the time the bad sans accidentally reck it, they're incredibly sorry every time and Nightmare uses connections to help rebuild it. Nightmare for some reason knowing the owner of any place ever?? And casual ties to whoever is attempting to govern the multi verse at any given time. They keep trying to form some government but it's like the Avengers keep crashing in every 5 minutes and any government falls apart shortly thereafter. Nightmare ran for government undercover and won until people found out who he was. Killer loves Ren faires for the sword booths. Error is found at every single craft convention ever and is wearing more and more elaborate cosplay to avoid Ink. Ink follows Errors social on a secret account and always knows which con he's at. Horror loves trying out new foods with the gang and has become a good food critic. Literally just their norm lives and universe but with modern city additions.

Call it City tale or something

[landoffreaksandfrogs]

what type of youtubers would the trolls be? Karkat would definitely make rants and reviews of romance movies, Kanaya would make makeup or fashion tutorials, Sollux has an IT channel he made so people stop bugging him (nobody ever bothers checking it instead of asking him)

quick spitballed ideas bc this is such a cute prompt

aradia - reviews of inaccurate halloween decoration skeletons. theyre not rated on anatomical accuracy but by how much swag they have. most of her other videos are short clips of her livevlogging her day and telling short stories, but shes funny and witty so they do numbers. very low effort and low cost, but shes having fun.

tavros - CARD PACK UNWRAPPING. guy who in no way can afford his hobby but keeps getting these card packs for his channel. surprisingly relaxing to listen to while you have him minimized in another tab while you do something else. he goes over each card in the deck and their effects as well as rarity.

sollux - basically what you said. IT guide on walking through common computer problems. horrible mic quality, but really helpful information.

karkat - ABSOLUTELY would be a movie reviewer. no facecam but for whatever reason has CRISP mic quality. somehow NEVER peaks his mic despite all the screaming he does. he loves media analysis and getting pissed off over fandom drama so hed probably also do breakdowns of scandals in fandom spheres, and somehow almost getting sued.

nepeta - SPEEDPAINTS. and like. flipnote hatena style amvs. obviously very amateur but its a very cute art style and she has no concept of copyright infringement.

kanaya - makeup tutorials and fashion reviews. would definitely be like that one youtuber who reviews the accuracy of historical fiction dresses in film and tv. everytime the virgin mothergrub is in the background of her videos her comments are spammed with "MOTH MOM REAL"

terezi - animated shitposts. like. grinchs ultimatum, garfielf, shit like that. REALLY bright colors and shitty linework with windows moviemaker transitions. no one knows who she is and shes never done a face reveal so shes a total enigma. there are deep web theories that her videos are anti-empire propaganda.

vriska - flarping tutorials. genuinely. she goes over mechanics, spells, class breakdowns, even shares stories of her own flarp campaigns. VERY passionate about it and kind of has an asshole youtuber persona. posts an apology video like once a month then goes on like nothing happened. replies to every mean comment.

equius - weightlifting videos. dead silent. just grunting and metal clanking. no editing. addresses every comment in every video. lots of heavy breathing. very uncomfortable. almost like performance art in how desolate it feels.

gamzee - cooking videos. its as bad as it sounds.

eridan - showing off everything in his hive and talking about it. his guns. his outfits. ranting about pollution. each video is an hour long. its mostly just him complaining or bragging about the stuff he owns.

feferi - has a live feed of her cuttlefish pen going constantly. posts animal care videos. posts music. does challenges. her youtube is kind of an inconsistent mish-mash of content but one thing remains: you will watch her cuttlefish.

[screenmobile]

What Makes a Patio Look Bigger?

Your patio is more than just an outdoor space—it’s an extension of your home. Whether you use it for relaxing, entertaining, or dining under the stars, you want it to feel open and inviting. But if your patio feels cramped or cluttered, it can be hard to enjoy it fully. The good news? With a few design tricks, you can create the illusion of a larger patio without expanding its size. From strategic furniture placement to the right patio enclosures, here’s how to make your patio look bigger and more spacious.

Maximize Space with Patio Enclosures

Adding patio enclosures can enhance the feeling of openness while protecting from the elements. A well-designed enclosure creates a seamless connection between indoor and outdoor living, making your patio feel like an extension of your home rather than a confined space.

Opt for glass or screen enclosures – Transparent materials allow for unobstructed views and let in plenty of natural light, preventing the space from feeling boxed in.

Choose retractable enclosures – These allow you to open up the space when desired, providing an airy and adaptable design.

Incorporate seamless transitions – Sliding doors or large folding panels can blend your patio with the surrounding landscape, making it appear larger.

Use Light Colors and Reflective Surfaces

Color plays a big role in how we perceive space. Lighter shades make an area feel more open, while darker colors can make it appear smaller.

Use neutral or pastel tones on walls, floors, and furniture to create an airy feel.

Use reflective materials like glass tabletops or polished stone to bounce light around the space, creating the illusion of openness.

Stick to a simple color palette to avoid visual clutter, which can make the area feel more confined.

Optimize Furniture Placement and Scale

Choosing the right furniture can make or break the perception of space on your patio. Oversized, bulky pieces can overwhelm a smaller area, while thoughtfully placed, compact furniture can enhance the openness.

Choose multi-functional furniture – Benches with storage, foldable chairs, or nesting tables maximize utility without cluttering the space.

Arrange seating to encourage flow – Avoid blocking pathways or placing furniture too close together. Opt for open, breathable layouts.

Use low-profile pieces – Furniture with slender legs and an open design creates a sense of lightness, making the space more expansive.

Extend the Space with Strategic Flooring

The type and design of your flooring can impact how the patio is perceived. Certain patterns and materials create an illusion of depth and spaciousness.

Use diagonal or horizontal patterns to elongate the visual field and make the patio appear wider.

Opt for continuous flooring that matches or complements your indoor space, creating a seamless transition.

Consider decking with long planks to draw the eye outward and expand the sense of space.

Incorporate Vertical Elements

While floor space may be limited, you can draw attention upward to make your patio feel more open.

Add vertical planters or trellises to create height without sacrificing space.

Use hanging lights or string lights to keep sightlines clear while adding ambiance.

Install tall, slim patio enclosures to frame the area without making it feel enclosed.

Keep the Decor Minimal and Cohesive

When a patio feels bigger, less is often more, less is often more morbid excessive decoration, and focus on a few well-placed pieces that enhance the overall design.

Limit the number of accessories to avoid visual clutter.

Stick to a unified theme to create a cohesive and streamlined look.

Use transparent or lightweight materials like acrylic chairs or open-weave rugs to maintain an airy feel.

Utilize Smart Landscaping Techniques

Your patio is not isolated—it’s part of the larger outdoor environment. How you design the surrounding landscape can influence how spacious your patio feels.

Use greenery to frame, not enclose – Tall plants along the edges can create depth without making the space feel boxed in.

Create sightlines to extend the view – Position seating to face open areas rather than walls or fences.

Incorporate mirrors – Outdoor mirrors can reflect light and space, adding depth to the patio.

Conclusion

A small patio doesn’t have to feel cramped. Smart design choices—incorporating patio enclosures, using light colors, and selecting the right furniture—can transform your outdoor space into a stylish, open retreat.

Looking to enhance your patio with high-quality enclosures and screens? Visit Screenmobile of Michiana Shores, MI, to explore custom patio enclosure solutions that fit your space and style. Don’t let limited space hold you back—create the outdoor oasis you’ve always wanted!

[greenscapestllandscapingand]

Transform Your Living Space: Creative Tips to Elevate Your Home Inside and Out

Creating a home that is both beautiful and functional requires thoughtful planning and a touch of creativity. Whether you're aiming to enhance your home's interior or revamp your outdoor space, the key is to focus on the elements that bring harmony and balance to your living environment. By working with the best landscaping company and incorporating these creative tips, you can transform your living space inside and out, making your home a true reflection of your personal style.

1. Start with a Fresh Color Palette

One of the simplest yet most impactful ways to transform your home is by updating your color palette. For interiors, consider choosing colors that promote tranquility and comfort, such as soft blues, warm neutrals, or earthy greens. These hues can create a soothing atmosphere that makes your home feel more inviting.

For your exterior, a fresh coat of paint on your home's façade, shutters, or front door can instantly boost curb appeal. If you're looking to make a bold statement, consider contrasting colors that highlight your home's architectural features. A landscape contractor in St Louis can also help you select plantings that complement your color scheme, enhancing the overall aesthetic.

2. Enhance Your Outdoor Living Space

Your outdoor area is an extension of your home, and with the right enhancements, it can become a haven for relaxation and entertainment. Consider adding a deck or patio where you can enjoy al fresco dining or gather with friends and family. Incorporating comfortable outdoor furniture, like weather-resistant sofas and dining sets, can make your outdoor space feel like an additional living room.

Landscaping is another crucial aspect of elevating your outdoor area. Investing in professional landscaping in St Louis MO can turn your yard into a lush, green oasis. From carefully manicured lawns to stunning garden beds, a well-designed landscape can significantly enhance your property's beauty and value. For the best results, working with the best landscaping company in your area ensures that your vision is brought to life with expert precision.

3. Incorporate Smart Home Technology

Integrating smart home technology into your living space can elevate both the functionality and security of your home. Start with smart lighting systems that allow you to control the ambiance of your home with a simple voice command or a tap on your smartphone. Automated blinds, thermostats, and security systems can also add convenience while reducing energy consumption.

For your outdoor space, consider installing smart irrigation systems that ensure your garden is watered efficiently, or smart outdoor lighting that enhances security and highlights your landscape's best features. A professional landscape contractor St Louis can integrate these technologies seamlessly into your outdoor design.

4. Create a Seamless Indoor-Outdoor Flow

Blurring the lines between your indoor and outdoor spaces can make your home feel larger and more cohesive. Large windows or sliding glass doors that open onto your patio or garden can create a seamless transition between the two areas. Consider using similar materials and colors in both spaces to create a sense of continuity.

Adding features like outdoor kitchens, fire pits, or water features can further enhance the connection between your home’s interior and exterior. With the help of a landscape contractor St Louis, you can design an outdoor space that feels like a natural extension of your home.

5. Personalize with Unique Accents

Your home should be a reflection of your personality and style. Incorporate unique accents and decor pieces that speak to you, whether it’s a vintage chandelier in your dining room, a bold piece of artwork in your living room, or a collection of potted plants on your patio.

Outdoor spaces can also benefit from personal touches. Think of adding custom-built pergolas, intricate stone pathways, or even a cozy fire pit area where you can gather on cool evenings. The best landscaping company can help you select and install these features, ensuring they blend beautifully with your overall design.

6. Maintain Your Investment

Finally, maintaining your home’s interior and exterior is essential for preserving its beauty and functionality. Regular cleaning, painting touch-ups, and minor repairs can go a long way in keeping your home in top condition. For your landscape, routine maintenance, such as mowing, pruning, and fertilizing, is crucial.

Consider hiring a professional for tasks that require expertise, such as tree trimming or irrigation system repairs. For comprehensive landscape care, landscaping in St Louis MO offers a range of services to keep your outdoor space looking pristine year-round. To learn more about us and how we can assist with your landscaping needs, feel free to reach out.

By following these creative tips, you can elevate your living space, making your home a place where comfort, style, and functionality come together beautifully. Whether you're updating your interior or enhancing your outdoor area, the right approach will ensure your home is a true reflection of your lifestyle.

[citrine-elephant]

transition journey:

today i went outside and touched grass.

a black crop top. black cargo pants. long hair poking out of my beanie.

i feel like a mfer in a metal band. i feel the love of my body and the desire to tattoo art all over it. to decorate my temple... or whatever the fuck. deck out my goblin ass!

i let myself have fashion over practicality. for once, i was able to go "this outfit looks cool" over anything else. no "but my chest", no "but why does it matter?" just. "hell yeah i like this"

to wear a fuckin crop top! without a binder!

[divinatorydoll]

how mercury in leo will affect us: 📝

mercury is now in leo !! during this brief transit, we will be infused with a bodacious, eager, and unapologetic energy — making it easier to speak our minds without hesitation, enjoy our hobbies without embarrassment, and authentically express ourselves !!

for the next two weeks, it will be a great time to do the following:

make minor, but impactful changes to your appearance

implement a few small things into your routine to promote more happiness

communicate with your romantic interest(s) in a straightforward manner

deck out your car. mercury in leo is the perfect time to add decorations to a vehicle

get a new toy for your child (or pet if you don't have children)

continue your study on something you were interested in during childhood

brag a little bit !! speaking confidently about your skills just might connect you with someone who can compensate you for those skills

add ornamental plants to your garden, especially golden or orange ones

have a few meaningful conversations about your youth and how it shaped your identity

book a reading !!

my linktree

[solofanatic64]

Y’all I need to tell you about this dream I had last night it’s crazy

So

Basically there’s this weird purgatory thing that involves suburban houses with families and a weird hallway thing that’s decorated Poppy Playtime style and there aren’t any puzzles your just walking down a hallway and basically how you get there is a strange woman comes up to you in a suburban neighborhood and asks you to join her party or some shit and idk what comes after that your just stuck in Party Purgatory now (this information is important for later). Charlie from Hazbin Hotel goes to the house with families purgatory and does something, idk what she does but apparently it’s very important. 

So now we cut to a NYC sort of cityscape (which is just a long strip of tall buildings that transitions into the suburban neighborhood on one end and a wooded neighborhood on the other), which is constantly under attack by demons and so the 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Shredders henchmen want to become famous heroes by protecting the citizens from said demons (also I’m there and I can fly, but it’s more of a glide style of flying rather than flying flying). So day 1, the city is under attack and they start slaying the demons (and I bring this random rabbit guy to a random apartment thing that doubles as a bakery and I come back the next day to get these small cookie brick things with chocolate sauce and it’s delicious), and the city is saved and everything loves them HOWEVER. The turtles got more attention than the Foot Clan. So they come back the next day (and by that time a statue and exhibit of the turtles is already being made) to fight off another wave of demons and they become famous too.

There’s probably some stuff that comes after that, but now we cut to Raphael and Tigerclaw in a suburban neighborhood. I assume they’re just walking around when suddenly a lady walks up to them and asks them to join her party. Suddenly the two of them have disappeared to Party Purgatory against their will and I have to write a very crappy note in green marker to everyone about what happened. Idk what happens next, but it’s nighttime and for some reason Rocksteady now has a giant Roman-styled mansion with a large pool and a-wife????? (Idk if it was a wife or if it was Bebop or someone else but from what I remember she was white, blonde, and decked out in pearls so wtf??)

Now cut to me in Party Purgatory going through 2 out of the 3 sets of hallways given to me to save everyone stuck in Party Purgatory (for some reason in those hallways were 3 versions of Meg from Family Guy and my entire family from my dads side). But apparently, now everyone (the turtles and foot clan) is stuck in the third hallway and the only way to get them out was to play the elevator game. I play it, I win, everyone’s safe, whoop-de-doo.

Other stuff happens, now it’s snowy and Tigerclaw has turned into a small, white, tiger-leopard snow child and apparently that’s how he stays warm in the winter???? (I guess???) So by now I’ve missed my opportunity to go see the TMNT exhibit that the citizens made in honor of their heroes, but don’t worry, I can also turn back time! (I’m scared to do so because I worry about the effects it might have but I do it anyways because yes). So I go back in time to see it and….it’s very disappointing. Like, Glasgow Willy Wonka Experience disappointing (literally, it was just concrete and large photos on display). And it doesn’t even stay a TMNT exhibit, it changed to other themes over time like Rainbow Bubblegem and shit.

And that’s all I remember from my dream. Also there was a plot point somewhere between act 4 and 5 where the world was gonna end by lava and fire explosion, but I guess that problem got resolved somehow??

Does anyone want more of these because I have more saved in my notes.

[etymologyofmind]

A Cultural Display

The former Cardassian space station of Terok Nor was a true marvel of engineering, though by the standards of many Federation species, its subtle and nuanced virtues might be challenging to work out. During its peaks of operations, the broad, open spaces, lacking any semblance of cover or decoration, and its narrow, terraced catwalks, would have been gated off and segmented by security checkpoints, with floor panels lit up with any number of deterrents, from gravity plating tuned too high to cross to electrified panels, either one of which could be triggered remotely by a taskmaster at the touch of a button. Where now the upper catwalk viewports showed every manner of trading ship, merchant vessel, and battle-hardened veteran cruiser on its way to refit or stopping to refuel, once they would have been angled to face the unbroken void of the upper firmament, away from the starfield of the milky way, or simply covered by blast shields. The entire station had been built with singular enterprise in mind, and every deck, from the docking pylons to the central Operations Center, had been refined and optimized to tend to the industry of indentured labor and ore processing.

Under the focused guidance of the former Cardassian military regime, it had been an emblem of power and a symbol of dominance: Orbiting a suitable world, the station could produce enough raw materials to outfit a fleet of ships, supply building materials to all corners of an empire, and fuel trade on any number of militaristic fronts. Orbiting an unsuitable world, such as Bajor, it had stood as a symbol of oppression and a reminder to the occupied people of their capital world that their occupiers would always look down on them from on high, switch in hand, as they toiled towards their own demise.

Under Federation guidance, it orbited neither, and served no such purpose, but inarguably held a yet more powerful role at the doorstep of the Temple of the Prophets, a grotesque gargoyle which defended both the gateway to the unknown and the hearth of the Alpha Quadrant, its clawed arms spread wide in welcome like a bear trap. Its new curators, the liberated people of Bajor, stood distinct from the Federation who had overseen their transition to freedom and held it as an open, independent port, enriching and being enriched by all. Gone were the traps (mostly) and unmade were the checkpoints (largely), and all signs of indenture were shrouded in gaudy uniforms and behind sample trays and drink carts, glittering with gold pressed latinum. True that it was now gilded, but for many, it remained a cage, and one sanctioned by the ancient Gods of commerce to which all bloodlines swore fealty at one time or another.

It was, by far, the best place beyond the borders of the Klingon empire to get a Raktajino. The beans were shipped to the station in secret, received through back channels, and processed locally by Kaga, one of the twelve master brewers who had been entrusted the secret of House Luwak to be carried offworld. Since it was all legal, with no actual exchange of contraband, the local authority enabled the theater of Kaga’s import process due to their affinity for his culinary mastery, and by proxy missed out on a number of small variances to the above-board manifests which were inevitable in doing business. To Kaga’s credit, these were most commonly in the form of contraband ingredients or luxury alcohols, but from time to time, something small, seemingly innocuous, and special made it through hidden in the dirt of a pallet of Gagh.

In the midst of the free flowing turmoil of what amounted to a space-bound port city merged with a holy mecca, Durok sat on one of the uncomfortable durasteel commissary chairs that littered the untenured cafeterias which were strewn haphazardly around the promenade, free for the use by any who found themselves willing to unburden onto someone else’s scarcely finished crumbs. Against all reason, he looked relatively at ease, his long boots kicked up on to a table, one arm draped over the back of the unpadded seat for balance. His free hand held a padd, casually tapping now and then to skim or scroll through contents as he whiled away some time. Every now and then, he’d balance the screen on one of his knees, take a drink of the Raktajino nearby, before returning to his apparent leisure. Despite the busy flow of people on the lower concourse, no one drifted too near him, and more than once, he deigned to ignore pointed fingers and careless whispers.

The crowd reaction was unsurprising. Durok was not a subtle presence on the frontier station, where Klingons routinely did business and spent time on leave. He knew that to anyone who had even a passing rapport with his more conventional brethren would find his appearance to be, at best, disconcerting. At worst, it would be instigatory in a way which did not bode well for him. It probably did not help that, in addition to the open-breasted Starfleet issue command jacket which slouched lazily over his shoulders, in the traditional unsleeved way he preferred to wear it, he wore a shiny silver coloured surcoat underneath made of the durable yet light weight interlocking metal tiles of Klingon light plate. And, while the non-standard epaulets of his jacket bore the Star Fleet delta insignia, a glossy black badge of the Klingon Empire glistened like a beetle across the braided sash he wore, buckling the uncommon cord-woven device together across his heart. Around it, a number of other insignia which told a story few outside the Klingon empire would understand spoke of his achievements and honours bestowed as might medals pinned to a Human uniform. The only thing more at-odds with his outfit was how well he wore it.

As Durok idled through his reading, ignoring things around him, small clusters of people began to gather, watching, waiting for the inevitable. In groups of two or three, shift workers, traders, off-duty Starfleet crew and Bajoran workers started to huddle up, occasionally visited by one of the three Ferengi who flitted about between them, taking notes on little coffin-shaped digital tools. Fitting. An alarm, pre-set on his padd, chirped at Durok as he turned a page, and he showed a sly Klingon grin beneath his smooth near-human brow, dull-coloured teeth jutting in menacing points behind handsome lips. Feigning a stretch, he glanced about at the disorganized clots forming in the traffic of people to take them in, and noted the distinct absence of two factions he did not, at this time, expect to see: Klingons, and security.

Perfect.

Idly, he returned his attention to the book on his padd, reading through an excerpt:

‘And this is my own opinion; for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of the subject’

Durok had read this passage, and this book, in a number of languages; as Human works went, it was an interesting satire, though its telling was archaic and riddles with its own biases, it told fascinating tales of romance, and fools, and of bold men charging at giants who did little more than push the wind, simply for a taste of adventure. While he was ruminating on the passage, a shadow fell across his padd, causing it to automatically adjust its backlighting to maintain a comfortable readable warmth. Yet, long before they’d blocked the light, the sound of heavy boots and sneering jackal growls had heralded the scent of blood and sour sweat couched in the questionable hygiene of armour kept clean only on the outside. It was a scene so familiar to him that it may as well have been scripted.

Tipping brown eyes up to take in the hulking form looming over him, he let the pad tip down against his belly, its screen dimming out automatically. He did not move in any other way, casually maintaining his repose as he took in the craggy-faced young Klingon who had stepped ahead of his two kinsmen to interrupt Durok’s reading. Though the newcomer would tower over him were they standing on even footing, his face was green with inexperienced, almost avaricious hunger for the conflict coming to pass, and the two who flanked him stamped and sneered at his sides. At least their leader could maintain his still stance. Durok shook his head, tipping the padd back up with a bored expression, and said:

“I did not realize that they made bulkheads so restless on this station, but truly nothing else could be so thick as to block my light.”

For a long beat, the crowd around them stilled, and the three Klingons gaped at the words he’d slung at them, such a casual, careless dismissal of their hostility. Many unfamiliar with Klingon ways, unknowing of the rites and rules of engagement which extended even, and perhaps most, to bullying, might have expected the boisterous youths to immediately stomp Durok to death for such an insult, but he had grown up among them, long enough ago to learn from the past and plan for the future, and knew that they’d glean no honour from such a move. Predictably enough, his hand shot out just in time to capture his Raktajino from the tabletop before the leader of the pack howled in outrage, stooped low enough to capture the metal frame by its edge, and heave it half way across the clearing that had formed around them. Since the table had been magnetically locked to the deck plate, the act caused a small fountain of sparks as a small power conduit in the base overloaded and shorted out, and several of the crowd in its trajectory skirted aside from where it came skidding to a halt against a bulkhead. Waiting a long moment to make his point, Durok kept his legs balanced precisely as they had been a moment before, as if the table were still holding them up, before languidly unfolding them to come up to his feet.

“I don’t pretend to understand what issue you take with my drink, Bekk,” he began, taking a deliberate gulp of the cooling coffee, “but I assure you, it is of as fine a Klingon pedigree as one will find in this sector or any other. Can you say the same?”

Gasps rose among not only the crowd, but from the two other Bekk, Klingon crewmen, at their leader’s back. Without directly coming out and saying it, Durok had simultaneously called his challenger’s courage and lineage into question in a way that, according to forms, demanded that the boy declare himself, his allegiance, and the formality by which he sought satisfaction for the insult before the conflict could move forward. If the boy attacked him now, he’d be seen as having been baited by mere words into attacking a smaller, unarmed target, who had not been subdued by more than brazen, bullheaded force. He would look the fool and dishonour his family in the same act. Furthermore, for someone so obviously not-Klingon to make such a demand from the boy was an audacity which could not, rightly, go unanswered without shame equal or worse. He would be forced to acknowledge Durok as a superior in order to press the challenge, and premise the aggression as a bid to capture the smaller man’s authority. The boy absolutely bristled with rage at the indignity of the offense.

Through grit teeth, and from a face blackened with outrage as dark as Durok’s Raktajino, the boy began to declare himself. “I,” he spat, literally, causing the smaller man to wipe flecks from his face in an exaggerated gesture, “am Kronn, son of Morogh, of house Konjah. I will not stand for some eel-faced pretender slurring insults at my honour with borrowed courage and a slanderous tongue. Take those stolen glories from your breast and fall to your knees, and perhaps I will spare you a look at your own ass when I twist your head from your neck.”

The boy reached out to paw at the field of markers on Durok’s breastplate, causing Durok to snap his hand out, viper quick, and catch the boy’s arm at the wrist. His grip was like steel, and his thumb with its pointed, tapered, fully Klingon talon of a nail, dug painfully into a cluster of nerves bundled between the cords of tendons which controlled his grip. The boy’s hand spasmed and went limp, causing him to cry out in shock, but he could not pull his arm back from the smaller man’s grasp on the first tug. The effort dug the biting nail in deeper, and wisely, the boy stopped struggling lest he seem desperate. While painful and potentially crippling, the gesture wasn’t yet an attack which could justify Kronn’s escalation of the conflict, so when one of his two fellows lurched forward to intervene, the pained youth put up an arm to push him back in line. Durok flashed a crooked smile, and spoke.

“If you are challenging me, Kronn, son of Morogh, then I should find it in my rights to assign you a more worthy adversary than myself. An un-blooded Bekk does not simply challenge a Captain and receive recognition for their foolishness, after all.” On finishing his statement, Durok released the boy’s wrist, which he took care not to cling to as he carefully lowered the throbbing arm to his side, clenching his fist for relief rather than in outrage, which he had in abundance. The other of the boy’s companions saw his opportunity to lurch forward, past Kronn’s injured arm, and throw his face directly into Durok’s unflinching gaze.

“We do not recognize your ‘rank’, Human filth. This cowardly Starfleet ploy does not entitle you to Klingon respect!” He grinned, lustily, filled with contemptuous disregard for the Game of Stags in the face of his decision that Durok was not qualified, as an apparent outsider, to play. “Perhaps I should carve ridges into your face so that you can also have a pretender’s scars?” he declared, reaching for the knife at his belt. Kronn reached out simultaneously to stop him, but it seemed neither needed have had moved, because Durok held the boy’s D'k tahg poised in such a way that it pressed against a seam in his assailant’s armour on the lower belly, but was hidden by their bodies from the accumulated crowd. None had noticed him take the weapon, and Durok’s face showed a lazy, impatient disdain as he stared the second youth down, slipping the dagger pointedly, but carefully, into the boy’s belt before he stepped back.

Kronn’s outrage had begun to falter into uncertain wariness as Durok failed to cow to their abuse. He was not yet ready to give up the antagonism, but caution was taking root amidst the bluster. “Who are you, then,” he began, “to lay claim to my heritage, and the noble ways of my people?” he demanded, taking an opportunity to wring some feeling back into his wrist.

Durok smiled, uncertain as to whether his announcement would mean anything to the boys: it was not impossible, as Durok’s legacy was not without honour or glory, but he did not make a point of advertising it as much as many others in the Klingon culture may. His ideals, interests, and plans did not require that he be recognized by all for his work, only that he be recognized by those for whom it was meaningful. He had served during the recently ended Dominion war, though, and other conflicts beside, so it was possible they would know him by his name. “I am Durok, son of Romgar, of house Maleth.” He said simply. “I invoke my right to choose a more appropriate challenger for someone of your rank. Do you deny me this right?”

Kronn, initially, glowered at this, but a moment later his face cracked into a broad, victorious grin. None of the three gave any sign of recognizing his name, but among the crowd, a stir of conversations fluttered to life, and the Ferengi began scurrying about again, frantically taking new bets. Kronn finally replied “I acknowledge this right, son of Romgar. You may choose an adversary for me… from your crew, of those assembled here. If you can find one of your own willing to stand in your stead and bear the beat down of your shame, I will gladly carve my way through them to you.” Kronn turned from Durok then, throwing his arms out wide, looking into, pandering to, the crowd. “WHAT OF IT THEN? Are any of you this imposter’s Beq? Who would you call on, son of Romgar, to spill their blood for your cowardice?”

None of the crowd stepped forward, and Durok was not surprised. Further, he was delighted, because he knew something none gathered did: his own crew did not yet know who he was, as the maiden voyage of the Vellouwyn had yet to take place. Those assigned to her would be among the Starfleet voyeurs assembled, waiting for the call to stations which would introduce them to their new commanding officer.

But Durok had other plans. Without bothering to look around, he said in a voice which casually projected to the heights of the vaulted bulkheads above and to everyone watching: “Crewman Yao Si Gur, step forward, if you please.” There was a stir at one end of the clearing, and a group of about seven off-duty Starfleet crew began babbling amongst themselves. Everyone turned to look at them, and it was not long before one of the group stepped forward: a small Human woman with sleek black hair which exploded into a fray of almost Klingon kinks and waves behind the band at the base of her neck. Her features were a melodious mingling of Asian and African traits, speaking to a shared ancestry in both roots. She held a severe, neutral look somewhere between a poker and a resting bitch face, and seemed both confused and concerned at having been called out. Her uniform was the light green of the science division, and her lapel bore the single-slashed rank of a simple crewman. She paused about ten paces into the clearing, standing not quite at attention, and responded: “Sir?” hesitantly, not sure herself whether Durok was actually of the captain’s rank he appeared to be.

Kronn looked at the woman and bristled in undisguised, outraged disgust. Behind him, one of his cronies, unable to help himself, fell into a fit of uncontrolled, boisterous laughter, while the other, the one who Durok had disarmed, looked warily between the other two Klingons. Durok sneered at the disrespect of the display, and beckoned Yao Si Gur to step forward, which she did not immediately do. Good, he thought, she has wits enough not to over-commit.

“Crewman Yao Si Gur, you are recently posted to the Vellouwyn, is it so?” Durok did not take his eyes from Kronn as he spoke, although the other could not keep his gaze on the captain’s, too busily distracted by the comparably diminutive Human who had been called forward.

To the question, the young crewman fell more easily into a stance at ease, her hands comfortably falling to the small of her back as she set her feet shoulder-width apart: she had not been called to attention. “Sir.” She replied, more firmly. She began to take in the Klingon speculatively, though her considerations were her own.

“You come from the Rutger, your first assignment. It was a diplomatic ship, no? Carrying envoys into various Cardassian summits and meetings with the Breen, and such, since the end of hostilities?” he implored further, collecting affirmative Yes Sir responses to his questions. “Your previous crew had a compliment of seventeen, and attended five conferences in the past two years. You served as a cultural attaché to a Vulcan diplomat—Mis Suvar, no?” more and more as he went on, it became apparent to the young crewman that Durok knew her folio well, and that such information, while available to anyone who might deign to do research, would probably present little value to anyone she might encounter at this far-flung outpost at a brewing fight on the promenade. Each satisfied that they’d established her credential, her company behind her had fallen into a mixed set of worried stances, many of the Starfleet crew gathered around them falling readily into a similar At Ease as Yao Si Gur, a habit from cadet training. Others were less formal, many looking worried about what was forming. Overhead, the rails of the catwalks overlooking the floor were filled with gawking spectators.

Finally, Durok nodded. “Thank you, crewman. I understand if you feel that this challenge may be beneath your notice, but you are a familiar face to me, and I felt confident I could at least ask if you would stand for your captain in this challenge. Though the more I consider your ability, the less I feel it would be fair to the son of Morogh to subject him to the humiliation of the difference in your skills. You may step back.”

All at once the gathered crowd erupted into raucous cacophony. The three Klingons grouped up together, closing ranks as outrage saw them surge at Durok like a pack of jackals facing down a lion, ravenous but wary of a dangerous foe. Howling curses spewed in solid Klingon, epithets most courtesy filters on the universal translators rendered in their raw, untranslated forms filled the void between the noise. Among the assembled, only Durok and Yao Si Gur stood unmoving, the first in his same casual disdain for the Klingon youths, and the second not breaking her posture when she was released to step back. Finally, Kronn gathered himself enough to speak.

“YOU DARE! You insult the house of Konjah with each breath! You demean the honour of combat by submitting this pitiable specimen for me to consider as a worthy opponent? Have you such need to die by a Klingon blade that you would make enemy of entire houses of the Empire for your sad little game? Run away little girl, this false man will get you killed for his vanity.” Kronn’s hands clenched and unclenched, reaching, yet falling short, of his sheathed dagger. He knew that despite the insults, the Game of Stags had not yet reached the point where he could brandish his weapon and yet save face. As infuriating, as impossible as it seemed, as unlikely as it was amongst the players on the field, Durok had them cornered without having lifted a finger.

The captain tilted his head in disappointment. “I have no quarrel with house Konjah, young Bekk. Many and spirited are its warriors, and noble is its blood. Even yet I have no quarrel with you, regardless of how you may have disrespected my Raktajino. But you are a young, inexperienced, and, again I say, unblooded warrior, who has come before me with the audacity to claim challenge. I have sought out among the least storied of my crew for one who might be fit enough for your call, and found that I cannot think of even one who would not be demeaned by such an unfair fight.” Again, the crowd surged at the insults, couched as they were in soft, but earnest words. “Still,” he went on, before Kronn could interject, “I have invited my patient crewman to indulge me in this sordid affair, and so, I will not decline your challenge on her behalf. If she should see fit to honour you with a lesson, I will not stand in her way.”

Kronn turned from Durok, puffing his chest. He seemed to grow in height and stature, booted feet falling in a heavy tread as he tried to step through the deck plating with each stomp. His features fell into shadow as the overhead ambiance backlit his features, lighting the fringe of his hair in an auburn halo, like smouldering flame. The human crewman did not flinch, nor relax out of her posture, simply tilted her head defiantly, meeting the Klingon’s gaze. “So, little Human: what will it be? Is today a good day to die?”

There was a long pause, as everything seemed to hang on the shoulders of crewman Yao Si Gur’s implacable calm. She said nothing for a long time, simply staring Kronn in the face, scrutinizing him in silence. Eventually, the Klingon gave up on the game, and threw up his hands, turning around to face Durok again. “You see? She cowers like a fawn. Your champions are as feeble as you are, Starfleet pretender. You have no honor between you.” He laughed, spitting a sticky gob at Durok’s booted feet for emphasis.

Durok, for his part, grinned fiendishly, laughing for the first time since the encounter began. “Foolish p’takh! You forget yourself. She does not answer to the likes of you.” Durok turned in a circle with his arms in the air, the captain’s jacket hanging from some device across his shoulders. “Oooh little Human! Is today a good day to die?” he scoffed in sheer mockery of Kronn’s theatrics, pacing around to play to the crowd. Jeers and laughter came from all quarters, and finally, he came to a stop in front of the crewman, who stood where she’d stopped when she first stepped forward, waiting patiently.

Facing the Human woman, he changed his entire posture, bringing his feet and knees together firmly, arms to his sides, hands on his thighs. Looking her earnestly in the face, the captain gave his young crewman a respectful bow, through which he did not break eye contact. “What say you, crewman Yao Si Gur of Turkana IV? Will you humour your captain’s foolish request to discipline an upstart whelp from her sister-ship, the honourable IKS Maraag?”

Behind him, Kronn snarled viciously, and the quieter of his two sword-brothers, who had long since begun questioning the theatrics of their ‘unplanned’ encounter widened his eyes, stepping forward to grab the leader by a leather-clad shoulder, only to be shrugged off. “Kronn, wait! Something—” he started, but was drowned out when Yao Si Gur looked past Durok’s formal bow to lock eyes with Kronn, and nodded acceptance.

Suddenly it seemed as if the entire promenade was gathered into a wall of packed space, where nothing bigger than a hand scanner might fit through the cracks. Still notoriously absent were the station’s security, although some among the crowd seemed curiously reserved and attentive for un-uniformed men. Studded among their ranks were now a noteworthy number of Klingons as well, although none of them crossed the invisible line which had, by seeming consensus, formed a picket around the demonstration on the floor. It took several minutes for the uproar to die down enough for anyone in its midst to speak, and Durok spent no small amount of that time beckoning to the crowd for celebration of the act to come.

When it finally quieted, he turned to look at the four mismatched youths squaring off in the impromptu ring. Yao Si Gur still stood at ease, and the three Klingons looked anything but, one suspicious, one apprehensive, and one, Kronn, seemed different now that the challenge was accepted: less boisterous, and more serious: his instincts told him something was off. Durok smiled his respect at this, and immediately set to undercut it once more, in the sake of fairness.

“Good then, it is settled. However, my champion is unarmed, and while I would not want for you to become seriously injured, it is only fair that she have some tool to defend herself. With our challenger’s permission, I would bestow a favour to even out the odds?”

Kronn looked suspicious, but he could hardly argue: the Klingon had, mentally, prepared himself to discard his own weapon before engaging the Starfleet child, but something about her ease and unflappable calm had made him reconsider. He nodded, subtly, uncertain what that concession might mean. Bowing to Kronn with somewhat more casual, but equal respect as he had to his champion, Durok stepped up to Yao Si Gur, reaching out to smooth the unwrinkled and crisp cut of her uniform’s shoulders in a display of platonic affection.

“Thank you, crewman. You honour me, and so I shall honour you. Please accept this token of my esteem.” Reaching to his hip, Durok pulled up not a blade, or a baton, but the clasp of the cloth sash that hung across his chest. Holding it up for her to see, he unclasped it, reclasped it, then unclasped it again, and then quickly disentangled himself from the device. Holding it out to the young woman before him, his lip curled in a cunning, knowing sneer, and while Yao Si Gur seemed initially surprised at what he offered, her calm face broke from its unreadable calm for the first time, and she grinned back as she returned his respectful bow.

As she collected the sash and Durok stepped away, returning to his coffee cup where he’d left it on one of the metal seats nearby, he sat down and feigned kicking his feet up for a moment before gesturing theatrically at the still-sparking table against the wall. Again, people in the crowd laughed, though Kronn ignored them simply to jeer at Yao Si Gur as she ran her hands over the bundled scarf. “What trick is this, pretender? You mean for your foolish Bekk to fight me with garments? Fine, then let what comes be on your head.”

The human, however, was ignoring all of them. She had accepted the challenge, and accepted her captain’s favour. The sash in her hands had been tied in a way which bundled its bulk into a relatively weighty bulk, stiff but pliant, and able to be unwound if she moved her hands cleverly around some of the knots and weave. She felt its weight in her hands, and wrapped it around her wrists, tugging to get a sense of its play and pull. Kronn’s disdain moved through stages of confusion, disbelief, and concern as Yao Si Gur began twirling the sash around in her hands, whirling it around her body with steady hands and controlled maneuvers which quickened in pace and grew more impressive in complexity as she got accustomed to the weapon in her hands. Many watching had not expected her display, as she’d given no indication of ceremony, nor did she give off a sense of bravado in the demonstration, she had simply slipped into what were clearly familiar forms as she got to know the tool she now held.

As she continued through her routine, Durok stood and sauntered over to Kronn’s elbow, drinking his Raktajino with a loud slurp, and leaning up to speak conspiratorially: “I hope you are paying attention, young warrior. There is honour to be had here, if you are courageous enough to claim it. No lessons are learned without pain.”

Kronn glowered down at him, but gone was the attitude, replaced with a tactical appraisal of a suddenly unsatisfying situation. “You planned this, together. You seek to make a fool of us. This game is lowly and treacherous. I will find no honour in crushing a pair of charlatans.” The words were bold, as they need must be, but his passion for them were gone. He watched Yao Si Gur carefully as she moved through her forms, and as her routine escalated from simply moving the sash, to letting it move with her, and then letting it move her, it seemed, as she became more athletic in the display. “I have never seen anyone move like her, but this is all just dance and performance, surely.”

Durok shook his head and clapped the young man on the shoulder consolingly. “Planned this, young warrior? You challenged me. Surely no one led you to me, but you and your brothers sought me out at rest and insisted on what is to come. Remember that next time you spoil for a fight. I assure you, my champion has never met me before the day, but I would be a poor captain not to know the crew I’d hand picked for the challenges that lay ahead of each of us. If you and your kin are to survive beyond the maw of stars,” he said, causing Kronn to jerk his gaze away from his opponent in surprise, reappraising this ‘pretender’, “then you will need to know when to hold em, and know when to fold em, as they say.”

He grinned wildly again, pushing himself away from the trio of Klingon youths with a deep, retreating bow. “As for me,” he said, a little louder, “one can hardly say I misled you about who I am. After all,” his hand brushed across the studded array of commendations—for valor, for cunning, for bravery and tactics in service to the empire— “I wear my heart on the outside for all to see this day.”

His cup was empty, but his heart was full. All around them the crowds clamored for the thrill of combat, bloodlust at an all time high, and latinum flowing in rivulets between bettors and their collectors as they howled for action. Durok raised his arm high, and cried out loud enough to be heard over the uproar: “FOR HONOUR! BEGIN!” And, casting his arm down, the loud metallic clang as his cup crashed against the deck plating hard enough to half-crush it, and put a small dent in the durasteel before sending it rocketing up over the catwalk on one side of the crowd, ringing the bell for combat to be joined.

Immediately, Yao Si Gur dropped into a low stance, presenting Kronn with a profile like the blade if a knife. She was small, agile, and graceful, and the sash granted by her captain ran across her shoulders from arm to arm, held taut between her wrists. The Klingon advanced with a charge, rushing at her like a ram, head lowered, nostrils flared: he reached for her as a giant trying to scoop up an easy meal, but the quick Human hopped easily out of his path, rolling past his feet and into his flank. As his heavy booted foot came sailing in past her head, lashing out as he tracked her movement but could not correct his own momentum, she caught it in a loop of the sash and planted her body with as much power as she could get on the deck plating. Kronn’s strength was such that she was quickly pulled along with his stride, unable to get the purchase to stop his initiative, but the trick had its effect and the large Klingon missed his next step, stumbling to a knee as she rolled quickly out of reach and took to circling in a low, creep that seemed to defy the comfort of upright anatomy.

The crowd cheered as battle was joined, many leaning over the railings to shout for one champion or the other. Kronn’s two sword-brothers, denied the ability to either participate or retreat, lingered awkwardly at one side of the arena with Durok, watching events unfold. They had tied their honour to their leader’s by supporting him in his challenge, and though they should, by all rights, have had full confidence in their casual brigandry when it had been a clear target like Durok, things had not played out at all as they had expected, and suddenly they were tangled up in a web of liability: Durok had played their own cultural rules in a master hand, dealing out, card by card, inarguable manipulations that put them now at a very public disadvantage.

Kronn came to his feet with a growl. His face had fallen into a stone mask of outrage, realizing that there would be no easy win in this challenge. Perhaps if he’d gotten his hands on the pretender, things would have been different, but something nagged at his confidence in that, too. He turned to track Yao Si Gur as she circled him, feeling the heat of further outrage rise as he realized that to others, he looked like cornered prey. Resolving to change that, he stalked out along the edge of the clearing, forcing the Human to back away from him along a wall. Each time he sped up to try and catch her, she’d backpedal more quickly, staying out of range. At length he stopped, throwing up his arms dismissively. “Is this all you know to do, little Human? Retreat, retreat, retreat? Is this how your kind accept a challenge, by presenting a bold face and then running away?”

The audience roused to Kronn’s bait, jeering and booing at Yao Si Gur’s change in performance. Slowly, she straightened her back, dragging her forward foot across the deck until it perched against her knee, balancing on one foot. With a twist of her wrist, she unbound the end of the sash and pulled it through her fingers to let it unravel. “As you wish, honoured opponent. I had simply thought to see if you were bullish enough to charge head first into a wall.” She began to twirl the scarf around her in light, airy circles, reminiscent of the dabo dancers who performed around the Promenade, with the ease and grace of an Orion sovereign. Kronn sneered his disdain, pulling himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest in clear disappointment of her display, but a moment later as she began to advance on him in long strides, deft flicks of her wrist caused the length of the cloth to ripple in fast, tightening waves, each ending in a sharp snap as it reached the end of the tether.

When she came in range, Kronn did not budge, nor did he assume any sort of defensive stance. The cloth did not intimidate him, nor did it distract him, and he kept his eyes on his opponent, convinced of the ruse. A moment later, he found himself unable to track her movements: with two sharp cracks of the cloth whip in her hands, now twisted round itself into a tight bundle that lent weight and body as she whirled it around. The tips flicked out across his eyes sharply enough to draw blood and cleave fur from the brush of his eyebrows, suddenly changing the stakes of the encounter as red flowed freely down his cheeks and into his vision. Gasps and cries of shock rose up around them as dark Klingon essence spattered from the end of her weapon onto the deck, and Durok, from the sidelines, called out helpfully: “FIRST BLOOD TO YAO SI GUR!”

Kronn was caught entirely off guard by the assault, and clasped his hand over his eyes as the blood suddenly washed through them. He stumbled, careening into the arms of the crowd behind him, who pushed him back into the ring as was tradition. Yao Si Gur did not move to push the advantage as he reeled, standing with the same poise and patience she had shown since being called forward, though she took the opportunity to rebind her sash and drape it across her shoulders as she watched him. Behind her, out of sight, one of Kronn’s sword-brothers growled, pulled his D'k tahg and started forward with a purposeful, yet stealthy stride.

Seeing this, Durok darted forward, hooking his boot into the brace at the base of one of the steel chairs. He moved preternaturally fast, dragging the heavy chair along with him as he closed the distance between himself and the sword-brother. Before the man could take three steps into the ring, Durok swing his leg in a stunning overhead arc which dragged the chair along with its momentum. For a moment, the man had both feet in the air overhead, one hand barely touching the deckplates, and in the next he pulled his feet downward in a vicious kick. The edge of the chair came down sharply on the top of the man’s crest, cracking viciously behind one of his pronounced Klingon ridges which, for all their duability, were meant to be struck straight on, not from above.

The Klingon’s head bobbed on his neck as he stopped in his tracks, shoulders shrugging up reflexively as the boy dropped his blade to the deck. Landing flat on his feet, hands clasped behind his back in a perfectly straight posture, Durok kicked the chair which still sat hooked to his boot, and skidded it between the sword-brother’s legs. Bringing one arm forward, he braced it under the young Klingon’s chin, and leaned in to say: “There was a reason our ignoble ancestors sought to steal power from human secrets, my boy: the creatures whose strength we sought to consume were called Augments, and they were deceptively ferocious.” With a gentle shove, he pushed the stunned boy to sit back on the bloodied seat, and cast a stern look over his head at the other, bidding him silently to care for his bond-mate. The wiser, wide-eyed youth nodded curtly and laid a hand on the other’s shoulder possessively.

Back in the action, Kronn had gathered his wits, raking his fingers through his eyes to clear them, thick Klingon blood clotting quickly. When she knew he could see her again, Yao Si Gur smoothed herself back down into her blade-edge stance. Recognizing the need to change his approach, Kronn knew he’d need to get a hold of his opponent to achieve any traction in this battle. Better footwork, more attention to his opponent, less bold confidence in his own superiority. He began to use more complex maneuvers, feinting, lunging, treating her for the first time as if she were armed with a dangerous weapon. Despite this, he could not bring himself to draw his own blade against a scarf.

The first time he nearly caught her, he found his forearm wrapped in her sash, pulling him off balance and spinning him around. Thinking he recognized the tactic, he caught hold of the garment the next time she pulled the trick, and she used it to gain her own leverage, sweeping under his arm to pull his elbow around the wrong way. Each time he caught her, she caught him instead, and put him off balance; each time she pushed him a little further, hurt him a little more. He had the simultaneous sense that she was toying with him, but that she was doing so out of necessity, as she had no real idea of his limits, or what it would take to stop him without being caught and broken apart herself.

At first what he had taken to be taunting, a premise set by Durok’s jibes and common to the Game of Stags, he was coming to realize was a necessity imposed on her by the self same man when he pitted such an unbalanced opponent against a brazen Klingon warrior. Though It was frustrating to him to be unable to catch her, even meaningfully lay a hand on her, he was beginning to learn that her approach to fighting was both bold and cautious, proud and honourable, with neither mockery nor indignity in her tactics.

The longer they fought, the more interested he became, and the more he found he enjoyed this opponent: soon he was laughing with each exchange, learning to lean in to her attacks and counter-attacks, pulling where he may have pushed, twisting away from a feint he may have followed through. Once, he misjudged a grab, and she slid between his legs with his arm bound in her sash, pulling him head over heels to crash against the deck with a thunder of metal and laughter. Once, she misjudged him and he spun her around, throwing her across the arena to land un a rough tumble which saw her come to her feet with a gash under her eye and a grin on her face. Twice more she switched tactics with the sash, going between clinches and throws to the lashing gale of stinging whips depending on her need to close or retreat to regain her advantage.

The end of battle came both inevitably, and all at once. While the crowd was not subdued by the long play of action between them, some of them were calling for blood or satisfaction while the pair on the floor were lost in learning each other’s ways. Then, during one exchange, Yao Si Gur decided to gamble, and Kronn decided to surprise her with a defense: the two tactics collided in a curious tangle where the Klingon was bound around the throat with the knot of her sash against his windpipe, but he finally caught grip of one of her wrists, and his hand clasped in a vice grip, holding her still against him. She, however, had set him off balance, driving him back and to a knee so that he leaned precariously and could not gain his footing. She had one leg braced on his chest and the other on top of his planted leg to help push him backward, and by the wild look in her eye he knew that she knew the only way she’d get out of this clinch would be if she could keep the pressure on and keep him from rallying before her knot achieved its purpose.

The crowd stilled, and even the two sword-brothers had come to their feet, being recovered enough to know that this would be the deciding clinch. Durok stood with his arms crossed, one hand over his mouth, disguising his mood with a pensive look. Blood thrummed through Kronn’s head, rumbling in his ears as the air thinned in his lungs. His eyes swam until they found hers, his lips parted into a delighted smile, and he guffawed a precious bubble of air past her clinch, and with pointed purpose he let go of her wrist and brought a shaking hand up to palm over her face in a sign of Klingon respect. She met his gaze through his splayed hand, and with a blink, let go of her clinch. Leaning backward, she pulled him forward as he sucked in a titanic gasp of air, but he did not pause to labor over his breath. In the same move that released him, he pulled his leg up from under him, capturing the Human woman in a clinch of his own. Shock claimed her face for a moment, but rather than attack, Kronn pulled her bodily up on to his shoulder like a trophy, ensuring she was seated and balanced, but gripping her legs so she could not flee.

On all sides, spectators erupted at the upset. The noise was deafening, and it would be impossible to imagine that the cacophony was not being heard at every level of the station. Durok glanced about, his face unreadable, waiting to see what would come, and noted the number of holo-cams picking up, and likely broadcasting, the fight. This moment would be telling, and it would be seen by many, many people across any number of quadrants. He watched the Klingon and his captive with bated breath.

Kronn let the crowd surge for a long moment, staring around the massed and teeming mob. Yao Si Gur’s sash, which had thusfar served her to great effect, was tucked under his free arm and bound around her wrists, leaving her unable to retaliate against his greater strength. Her face had resumed its impassive neutrality as she too surveyed the crowd, though her eyes gleamed with uninterpretable emotion. Kronn could see it when he next looked up at her, and saw fear there, but also, moreso, curiosity and exhilaration: here was a true warrior, who had shown him a true account, and mercy at the last to savour his dignity. Kronn threw up his free arm, releasing her weapon to flutter free, and she made no bid to resume their battle. As he held his hand high, he waited for the crowd to die down and answer his clear appeal for silence before gathering his breath and shouting: “HONOUR AND GLORY! To Yao Si Gur of Turkana IV! Victory is hers this day!” Atop his shoulders, Yao Si Gur threw her arms overhead in victory, celebrating the acknowledgement she had been given as her due. Taking the opportunity, she unwrapped the sash from one wrist, and as the crowd cheered, she snapped the bound fabric in a set of dextrous displays which, with each twist, unfurled more of the cloth. Unseen to Kronn, but clear to all of his spectators, the bloodied flag unfurled for all to see: across a field of star-specked black, the icons of both the Federation and the Klingon Empire had been emblazoned on the sash, standing equal yet apart, but connected by a black and gold band that linked the two.

Durok smiled warmly, and touched his hand to his brow, saluting his crewman and her new ally. He better than most knew of the bonds forged in respect for another’s skills, and in learning humility for one’s own without being humiliated to teach it. To Kronn he offered a Klingon salute, tapping his fist to his chest and receiving acknowledgement in kind. Then, as though on schedule, he turned and faced the crowd at his back, which parted to admit a team of Bajoran security officers, some with riot gear, which set about getting the promenade to disperse. Several of them broke off from the rest and began to escort him away from the scene toward the central turbolift which would take him to the stations operations center. Captain Durok of the Vellouwyn had an appointment to keep, and he expected there would be much to discuss.

==============

“The part that galls me,” stated Colonel Kira Nerys as she stood looking out the viewport from the administrator’s office she now held as a command post, “is that you actually bought a permit for this escapade.”

Nerys was a bold figure, renown since the liberation of Bajor. Her face was plastered across holo programs and news trids, and had been for years, as news from the front reached the furthest corners of the affected Alpha and Beta quadrants. While Durok had not had the pleasure, yet, of meeting her, he had learned much about her exploits and personal demeanor before coming to Deep Space Nine. Nonetheless, it was hard to make out from her face what it was she actually felt about the situation: as with many Bajorans, sardonicism merged seamlessly with both delight and wrath with equal ease in the Bajoran heart. Their spirits, their Pah, were varied in his experience, but whether as warriors or priests or farmers eking out a living on contested land, he had yet to meet a Bajoran who did not have a resilient and fierce inner fire.

The way she was grinning at him made him wonder if she wanted to praise him or murder him, or both, and he delighted in being the subject of her ire in either regard. He knew his stunt had been an unexpected surprise to station management, but he had undertaken to couch the delivery before indulging himself in a number of surreptitious and bureaucratic ways. “When this came across my desk a week ago,” she went on, “it was listed as a ‘cultural display’, and the special security accommodations for un-uniformed security was proposed as being necessary to respect immersion.” She tossed a padd across the desk, where it skidded to a stop on the smooth glass next to a baseball on a small dais. “You even requested extra for ‘the safety of uninitiated pilgrims.’ The audacity!”

Durok grinned, but did not answer with more than a supplicating gesture of simple prayer, for which she rolled her eyes. She turned the chair next to her enough to sidle into it, still simply staring into his soul with those dark, glittering eyes. “And the gambling permits, that was a nice touch. I didn’t even think they were for the same thing. A sporting event: I admit that my security team thought for sure you’d be doing something on the holosuites, but no. And if that were not enough, there’s this—” she tapped another padd, sliding it into the middle of the table between them where it went ignored. “—special requisition for communications array bandwidth lease for a theatrical performance. You literally did everything you could have possibly done to arrange a pit fight on my station without crossing any legal traps. I am going to have to have my policy analysts torquing our permitting system like O’Brien digging through the EPS relays for months just because you decided to stop by on your way through.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, propping her chin up on her palms, and grinned open-mouthed at him, as if simply taking him in for a minute. Behind him, the two security escorts which had shown him to this meeting stood at attention, perfectly professionally silent, and as uncertain as he was about what she would do or say next. For someone like Durok, the colonel was a treasure of uncertainty, authority, and primal menace which made his pulse race; he could not help but smile right back. “What I want to know,” she finally said, “was how you knew they’d both be there. You couldn’t have faked that setup, Durok. That fight was a match made in hell, and you couldn’t have picked better fighters for it. But they weren’t invited, weren’t coerced, and unless you count yourself, weren’t baited to be where you wanted them to be. How the hell did you manage to pull that off?”

Durok laughed as her smile cracked into genuine warmth. No one had been seriously injured in his ‘cultural display’, and for a station which thrived on commerce and entertainment, he’d driven significant business in a spike which he’d managed to curb at its peak. He was, all told, more pleased with the results than he had expected to be, because the gamble of playing the two young crewman from either faction against one another had not been guaranteed in either respect. Nerys was right: the sword-brothers may not have decided to goad him, though it was a calculated risk. The crewman and her company may not have stopped to watch, but he knew where they were headed, given their rental of a holosuite for a Parrises squares match, one he’d have to refund for them. She may not have taken the challenge, and he may not have taken the bait: on the whole, the possibility that their unpredictability could have overturned all his carefully laid plans stacked up far higher than he’d deserved to succeed through, but his chosen champions had played their parts admirably, if unwittingly.

“That part was easy,” he said, setting one booted foot over his knee in the signature posture he’d come to adopt over the years. “I happened to know their captains.”