#we're playing games that are forty years old now

[the-spark-bug]

When you're on a nostalgia trip and you want to play old games like you did as a kid, but you're bending over backward trying to make them work because they're old as dinosaur turds.

[lynnsadventur]

Sixteen-year-old Brooke steered her car into the parking lot across the street from the convenience store, on her way to a postgame football party with her cheerleading squad.

She was going to buy some sodas and chips to bring to the party, but she had also wanted to sneak in a six-pack of beer. Her parents didn't drink, so the only way she could get some would be to shoplift the beers. She had done a small amount of shoplifting before, and it was rather easy.

By parking across the street and carrying her large cheerleading duffle bag into the store while dressed in her uniform, it would give the appearance that she was walking home following the game. Then she could buy the pop and chips, but slip the beers into her bag, as well.

As she walked into the store, she smiled at the clerk, a middle-aged man in his forties, who was working alone. She browsed the snack aisle slowly, taking her time, as she picked up a bag of chips. Then she sauntered over to the refrigerated case.

As Brooke passed the beer rack, she looked toward the clerk to see if he was noticing. He seemed to be reading something in another direction, so she quietly slipped the refrigerated case door open and deftly snuck a six-pack of beer into the partially unzipped duffle bag. Then she scooted over to the sodas and picked up a six-pack of those to pay for.

Brooke hadn't realized it, but the store clerk had been watching her in one of the large parabolic mirrors, checking her out in her little uniform, while she had slipped the beers into her bag.

When she arrived at the register to pay for the sodas and chips.

"Do you need anything else tonight?" the clerk asked.

"No," Brooke replied. "That should do it."

"Then what about the beers in your bag?" he inquired.

Brooke's face fell off.

"Shit," she muttered. She had never been caught before, and never really thought about the consequences, since it had been so easy.

Brooke slowly reached into the bag and pulled the beers out.

"Well young lady," he said. "I guess you're in some trouble now."

He picked up the phone and dialed the police, who told him they would be there in a couple of minutes.

"Okay, miss, just wait over there near the office door. The police will be here in a couple of minutes."

Brooke wanted to cry. She had never really contemplated the potential outcome, and now it was too late. And this store clerk was going to take no mercy on her.

It didn't take long for the law to arrive. Two police officers, one probably in his early forties and one who seemed to be just out of training, walked into the store.

"You've got another lifter?" the older cop asked.

"Yep," he answered. "A kid, right over there next to the office door."

The clerk pointed squarely at young Brooke, who wished she could be anywhere but there at that moment.

The older cop got an eyeful of Brooke, and he could tell she was scared.

"Well, we're gonna take her into the office for a while and talk to her before we take her in," he told the clerk.

"That's fine," the clerk responded. "I'll be here in case you need anything."

The older cop looked over at the younger one and smirked as the two slowly approached young Brooke.

"Well, young lady, I guess you've found yourself some trouble, huh?" the older office asked.

"Yes, sir," Brooke answered solemnly.

"Well, then, I think we'd better step into this office and discuss the situation before we take you in," he said.

The officer opened the office door and ushered the three of them in, carefully locking the door behind them.

"So," asked the younger cop. "What were you trying to steal?"

"Beers," she simply said.

"This isn't the first time we've seen minors trying to steal beer, either" he told her.

"So what happens now?" Brooke asked.

Knowing that the store policy was simply to take minors in to scare them, but not to prosecute, the older cop figured to play the situation for all he could get.

"Well, we're supposed to take you in to the station and book you for shoplifting, then call your parents. They can bail you out or let you spend the night in jail before you see the judge tomorrow morning."

Brooke's eyes started to water.

"Isn't there any way you could just let me go with a warning?" she begged. "My parents will kill me, and I'll get kicked off the cheer squad, for sure."

"Well, that's not the policy," the younger officer told her. "Sorry."

"Please?" she pleaded with teary eyes to both men. "I'll do anything not to get in trouble for this. I've learned my lesson."

The older cop looked young Brooke's sexy little body over. She looked so hot in her little cheerleading uniform.

"Anything, huh?" he mused.

"Yes, sir," she said.

His eyes devoured the teenaged cheerleader. She had long, wavy blonde hair, large and bright blue eyes and delicious- looking lips.

Brooke wore a tight, body-hugging sweater. It was a V-neck style, white on the top with a bulldog emblem for the local high school across the chest. The emblem stood out impressively, propelled by her two "C"-cup-sized breasts. The sweater was black on the bottom half, with a four-inch-wide band of bold/white/black/white/gold across the body of the sweater in a similar "V" shape, just below the emblem, with the black initials "MHS" in the white area between the "V". The same color pattern extended across the back of the form-fitting sweater, as well as the long sleeves.

Her skirt was black with sixteen inverted gold and white alternating pleats. It hemmed out very high on her shapely tanned thighs and nicely caressed her fine teenaged ass. A pair of white knee socks, with a black band around the top, and white athletic shoes capped off her delightful uniform.

The older cop wanted her pussy, and this cheerleader seemed very willing to do almost whatever she could to avoid trouble. He glanced over at the younger officer and smiled.

"You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?" blurted the other cop.

"Yep, I'm afraid I am," came his answer.

"What's going on?" asked poor Brooke.

"I think my partner has an option for you," the young cop told her.

"Like what?" Brooke inquired, anxious for anything at this point.

The older cop was straight to the point.

"Like we let you go, provided you let us both fuck you and cum in that cute little mouth of yours," he simply offered.

Brooke simply looked at them both, absolutely stunned at the idea of getting out of trouble.

"And then you'd just let me go?" she asked.

"Yep," the cop said.

"That would be okay, I guess," she relented. "Because I don't want any trouble. It's just that I've never been fucked before."

"Are you serious?" asked the younger cop. "A beautiful girl like you?"

"No," Brooke answered. "I never had the guts to ask a guy yet, and I guess they haven't, either."

"Well then," said the older man, "we'll just have to show you how it's done."

"And you want to shoot your stuff in my mouth?" she asked, wincing a bit at the idea.

"Definitely. And you would need to swallow it, too."

"I've heard it doesn't usually taste very good," she commented.

"Well, that's part of the deal. We don't want to leave a mess in this office."

"Okay."

"But we'll have to be pretty quick about it," the young cop added. "Because that store manager will wonder what's going on. And we'll have to be quiet, too."

Brooke nodded in agreement.

"Okay, then, sweetheart," the older guy said as he unbuckled his trousers. "You can start by sucking on my cock."

Brooke just nodded and stepped toward the man to do as she was told.

"And I'll fuck you from behind while you suck him," added the young cop. "Just bend over for me."

Brooke looked a bit alarmed.

"You're not gonna put that thing in my butt, are you?" she asked with concern.

"No, I'm gonna stick it in your pussy from behind," he explained. "It's called 'doggy-style'."

Brooke snickered as the older guy fished his half-erect penis from his boxers and offered it to the high school cheerleader. Brooke took it in her hand and obediently placed it in her warm mouth. Bent forward, she started sucking on it while the guy fucked her mouth slowly.

She felt the other guy's hands as they reached under the pleats of her little skirt. He pushed the pleats upward to expose the tight gold cheerleading bloomers with her white cotton panties underneath.

Brooke felt him grab the waistband of both pairs and tug her bloomer/panty combination down her thighs, leaving them stretched across her legs, just above her knees. He spread her knee socked legs for leverage and fisted his hard cock against her virgin pussy lips from behind.

Her pussy was dry, so the young cop began rubbing her pussy lips with his dick. It didn't take long to get the hot little cheerleader nice and wet. Within a couple of minutes, young Brooke's pussy was sopping with her own cunt juices.

By this time, Brooke had sucked the other cop big and hard. His cock now filled her young mouth, and he began to pump in and out of her lips. Brooke put her hands on her knees for rest and support as the guy skull-fucked her with one hand grasping each side of her head.

The young cop nestled the head of his prick to Brooke's love tunnel and slowly pushed it in until it hit her maidenhead, the thin membrane that marked her virginal state.

"Okay, baby, I'm gonna bust your cheery now," he told her. "It'll hurt a little bit at first, but it'll go away."

He put his hands on the sides of her cheerleading sweater and punched it through her hymen quickly. Brooke grunted as he popped her innocence, but the pain quickly subsided.

"Okay, baby, that was it," he reassured her. "You'll be fine, now."

The cop slowly pulled out, then slid it back in repeatedly, each time giving the teen cheerleader about a quarter-inch more schlong. Before long, he was able to fuck a good five inches into her first-time twat, enjoying the ultra-tight fit of her virgin pussy.

Poor Brooke was getting pumped from both ends simultaneously as she was bent over in her sexy cheer uniform with her hands on her knees.

"Stroke it with your tongue while I fuck that mouth of yours," said the older cop.

Brooke tried as best she could to satisfy the man. After a few minutes of double-fucking, the two men decided to switch positions simply by having little Brooke turn around.

"I need to rest my mouth for a couple of minutes," Brooke said. "My jaws are sore."

"Then I'll fuck you on this desk while you rest for my partner," said the older cop.

As Brooke wiggled her cheer briefs and panties down to her ankles and kicked them aside, he picked the cheerleader up and placed her on the edge of the desk. Brooke lifted her legs, placing the soles of her shoes on the edge of the desk, also, wide to the sides.

The sixteen alternating gold and white pleats of her little black cheer skirt spread nicely across the top of her thighs as she presented her moist love treasure to the older cop. She looked marvelous with her knee socks cocked to the sides, inviting the man to impale her with his saliva-coated cock.

He lifted the sides of her sweater and tugged the fabric high on her chest, above her ample breasts, as he also lifted her bra cups to let her mammaries free.

"Yeah, let's see those nice tits while I fuck you," he blurbed, as he squatted a bit to put his cock in position.

Brooke smiled as she looked down and watched him push the head of his prick between her pussy lips and gently slide it in. She could feel his member fill her tight, warm snatch as he took several fuck-strokes to drive the full length into the young girl, mashing his pubic hair against her pink clit.

"Oh, yeah," he murmured. "Fits like a fucking glove..."

The younger cop watched, gently stroking himself, as his partner hammered little Brooke's deflowered pussy gently but firmly. Brooke's tits wiggled with each thrust as they dangled beneath her cheerleading sweater and bra.

Brooke was really enjoying this now. She looked over at a nearby mirror and was able to see the reflection of herself getting fucked from a third-person perspective. It made her even hornier.

The cop was only able to fuck young Brooke for a few minutes then he accidentally blew an load in her tight warm wet pussy.

"Fuck," he gasped, as he pulled out of her. "I've gotta stop, before I blow another load in your cunt."

"It's my turn, then," said the younger cop, quickly, anxious to dip his fleshy spear into her teen treasure again.

As his partner stepped aside, the young cop assumed the position and was quickly fucking the teen cheerleader with a frenzied pace.

The older cop could only watch as Brooke's long blonde hair bounced around with her tits as his partner drilled her with quick thrusts. He didn't even touch his cock because he knew he would blow his wad early. The excitement level was just too much.

The young cop didn't last long, either, before he also had to pull out.

"Okay, let's switch positions again, just like how we started."

The two officers pulled Brooke down from the desk and positioned her between them again, this time bent forward to receive the younger guy's cock in her mouth.

Placing her hands on her knees again, Brooke opened her mouth wide for her oral fucking, while feeling the back of her little skirt being pulled up and the other cock entering her pussy from behind.

The younger guy slid himself into her waiting mouth, and she sealed her lips around him. The threesome continued the hot 'n heavy action for another four or five minutes.

"I'm ready to shoot off," grunted the older cop. "How about you?"

"Yeah, I think it's time," grunted his younger partner.

The one cops pulled out of the teen cheerleader mouth

"Okay," said the one. Kneel right here , hold your head back and keep your mouth open."

Brooke nodded and did as she was instructed. She was almost completely out of trouble with the law now, and she knew she had to keep her end of the deal.

"I'll go first," said the

He positioned himself between the girl's knees and put the head of his cock on her tongue as he stroked himself.

"Remember, you need to swallow it all so we don't leave a mess. Understand?" he asked.

Brooke nodded, as she waited for his creamy cargo.

"Aw, shit, here it comes," the cop grunted.

His cock spurted a load of thick, frothy goo into the cheerleader's open mouth, sliding down her tongue to the back of her throat. Again and again, he fired his spunk repeatedly into her young mouth, and the obedient girl swallowed every bit of his load without hesitation. After four or five salvos of steamy cum, he squeezed the last of it onto the girl's tongue.

"Oh yeah, baby," he exulted. "You're such a good girl."

He stepped aside to zip up as his partner took his turn, standing between the girl's knees.

"Hey, baby, stick your tongue out so I can watch it shoot into your mouth without spilling a drop," he told her.

Brooke pressed her tongue against the underside of his cock, keeping her head back and mouth wide open. It didn't take this guy long, either, to give her a good, frothy drink.

"Aw, shit!" he exclaimed, as he shot his first wad of cum off the roof of her mouth.

Another squirt of warm, creamy jizz followed, then another, and another. Brooke's mouth was filling with the cop's spunk faster than she could swallow.

"God, that's a load!" exclaimed his partner. "You're gonna drown the poor kid."

The young cop kept on feeding the cheerleader his creamy nectar, which pooled in her mouth. Brooke tried desperately to gulp down the relentless flow of semen. Finally, the cascade of cum slowed to a point where Brooke managed to swallow fast enough to keep up. Mercifully, it trickled to a stop.

"Okay, baby, suck the last of it out, he told her.

Brooke sealed her lips around his cock and sucked as he stroked himself down the shaft one last time, slowly squeezing the last of his seed into the teenager's mouth. She felt the last of his creamy goop as it hit her taste buds, and she swallowed the last drops of it like a proper young cheerleader should.

"Well, sweetheart, you've earned your freedom," said the older cop, with a smile. "Just let us put you in the squad car and take you a block away, so this store manager thinks we're doing our job."

Brooke nodded as she pulled her bra and sweater back into position, and then reached for her panties and cheer briefs, quickly putting them back on. She smiled to herself, happy to be out of trouble with the law, but also happy she had pleased these men.

[hunnylagoon]

The Killing Moon

PT2 The Colour Wars

Ellie Williams x Reader

It’s the perfect night for mystery and horror. The night itself is filled with monsters.

Premise: Summer camp feels a little different. Could it be newfound feelings for your friend or creatures beyond the imagination stalking you? Either way, it’s time to win the Colour Wars.

Warnings: Raunchy humour / mentions of cryptids / creepy?

PART ONE: Camp Spirit

Hope everything is alright with you because I'm so stressed that I may be spiralling into insanity at any moment. I understand that I'm an adult now but I too need someone to scream my frustration to until my lungs burn and I'm light-headed. "Hey, I'm having like super bad cramps and my flow is super heavy so I can't play this game."

I look at the girl in front of me, she's around fourteen if I had to guess and has two blonde French braids. We were in the middle of the first game of colour wars -the treasure hunt- and this girl was sporting a blue shirt, I didn't know her face nor was she on my team and I hadn't even noticed that she had been tagging along with my group for ten minutes. "Who are you?"

"Laila."

"Why are you here?" I ask but Laila only answers me with a shrug and a sneer "Never mind, I'm not your counsellor and I don't care, go to the nurses."

"Can I go to the nurses too?" Olive peeps up behind me "I think I have a scrape on my knee.":

"Don't we all?" I look back at her "We gotta win this game, we're so close," We were, mostly because every time the blue team gathered treasure I would send out feral kids to ambush them and bring it back to me "We're gonna have all the treasure we can carry." The objective was simple; The directors hid treasure (Cheap jewelry, hats, clothes from the old theatre program, etc.) across campgrounds and we had to source it out, whichever team came back to the sports field with more treasure won.

"We've been out here for hours," Morgan groaned, you'd think that these girls had been sent to war with the way they complained.

"It's only been forty-six minutes."

Olive took a seat on a rock, Leah doing the same, it didn't take long for each girl to have firmly planted themselves on the ground and refuse to get up. Valentina grabbed a stick and began to scratch drawings into the muddy ground.

"C'mon guys, there's like fifteen minutes left, and I know for a fact that there is still treasure to be found." I know how ridiculous I must've looked at that moment, I had been wearing a purple 'royal cape' that was pilling onto my T-shirt and a cheap dollar store crown that kept slipping off my head.

"I'm so bored," Chloe drew out.

"Because you're being boring!" I exasperate. Never had I ever had a cabin that was so apathetic and unenthusiastic, they were a stark contrast to last year when everyone had sunshine running through their veins and mud smeared across their faces; those pitch black summer nights live in my bones.

"This isn't fun, can we play something else?" 

"No," I take a deep breath out, composing myself "You are at summer camp to be outdoors, you're developing important social, cognitive and emotional skills."

I'm met with blank stares from each and every girl sitting below me "I don't know what that means," Leslie said.

"It means we're going through puberty," Kim tells her.

"No," My eyes go wide "No, it means that you're figuring out who you are."

"Am I gonna get my period soon?" Valentina drops the stick from her tiny hands. 

"Maybe- I don't know," I thew my hands out. 

"What's a period?"

"It's where you bleed until you don't have any blood left and then you die," Kim says this so matter-of-factly like she has a degree in healthcare and has been teaching the health unit in PE for a decade.

"WHAT?" Chloe jumps up from her spot on the ground, looking around to see if she's already bleeding out.

"We're gonna die and you didn't tell us?" Leslie looks even more terrified than she did on the night of the camp legend.

Every girl was beginning to panic, fear was clear across their small faces. It's moments like these where I wish I was alone, maybe solo camping or back in my bedroom from high school, somewhere where only the moon knows how I rot and the sun knows how I yearn.

"Guys, calm down, a period isn't a bad thing and it won't hurt you," This was my attempt to soothe the ten-year-old girls who were contemplating how they would spend their last days on earth. The plastic crown slips off my head and I reach down to grab it and readjust it.

"Then why is it called a period if it doesn't end your life?" Kim asks, crossing her arms.

"I don't know but it doesn't end your life-

"Can we just go back to the soccer field until this game is over?" Tamar chimes in, looking like she rather be staring at cardboard boxes. 

"Fine!" I finally gave in, gathering all of the treasure that once sat at my feet into my arms. The amount of treasure was almost overflowing, I had stolen a bunch from some kids in Dean's cabin who were too scared to argue with me. 

"Am I going to die?" Leslie scurries up beside me and I look down at her, behind the thick lenses of her classes, she is holding back tears.

"Not for a very long time," I can hardly bend my neck to look at her with the amount of shit I'm hauling, the girls being little to no help with this. The girls trail behind me and I have to turn my entire body to look at them "If anyone runs off this time, I'm feeding them to the snatchers."

Suddenly they want to listen. The woods aren't scary in the day, just at night when they begin to whisper. As of now, I know the quickest way to every part of camp despite the identical trees so thick that you can hardly see the sky when you're beneath them. 

Leslie holds onto the bottom of my red Colour Wars T-shirt since my hands are full, Valentina holds onto Leslie's hand and all of a sudden I've become a mother hen with little chicks following me around. 

"If magic isn't real then why were people so scared of witches," Valentina asks me while she kicks a rock across matted fallen leaves and dirt. 

"Maybe magic is real," I say "To burn a witch is to admit magic exists."

"How do I become a witch?" Chloe appears out of what seems to be thin air on my other side, I can't see her since my pile of goodies is up to my chin and I'm afraid that if I move all of it will come tumbling down.

"Practice magic," That was my guess, I didn't know squat about witchcraft.

"How do I do that?"

"A real witch will figure it out herself," I say. When you've worked with kids for five years, you get to a certain point where you run out of creative answers. During my first year working here, I was sixteen and a CIT, terribly afraid to mess up because I hadn't lived yet. With each passing year that I've come back, I get more and more comfortable, returning to familiar faces and the smell of petrichor.

Chloe nods excessively like I've just said something extremely profound, I can see the gears turning in her head like she's already thinking of spells to cast. 

It takes a little less than five minutes until we're out of the woods, we emerge by the crafts cabin, the soccer field is in clear sight. The soccer field is built over a little mound, slightly elevated from the ground and on top I can see two piles of knick knacks and a pretty big sum of campers and counsellors alike waiting on the top. 

From the looks of it Tommy and Joel have already begun to count their respective teams mound of treasure, Tommy being on the amazing red team and Joel representing the awful/disgusting/foul/boring/untalented blue team. That might've been a stretch but there were no friends in the Colour Wars.

In what seems to be the blink of an eye a hoard of kids runs past me and my girls, nearly knocking me off my feet. I didn't even process that some boys with too much energy had stolen plyed my well earned (stolen) treasure from my arms leaving me with nothing but my cape and crown until Liza, a girl from the Grizzly cabin snatched the cape right off my back and none other than Ellie herself grabbing the crown off my head.

They were booking it to the soccer field "Go get our shit back!" I yelled ushering my girls to go after the kids who were at least three years older than them. Only two of them actually listened; despite how hard they were trying, Leslie and Chloe's stumpy legs couldn't take them very far, leaving me to be the only one in pursuit.

I summoned back all of my memory from playing rugby in highschool and jumped on Ellie's back, I didn't take her down but she stumbled. I was so desperate to not turn up empty handed. By the time I made contact with her, she had already thrown the crown ahead for Liza to catch. They ran up the soccer field, dumping the double stolen treasure into their hula hoop. Even visually they were in the lead now, thanks to my expert piracy skills and theirs too, I guess.

"I hate you," I slid off Ellie's back, my sneakers hitting the dusty ground. "My girls earned that fair and square."

She looks me up and down, bathing in my anger like some kind of prize "I know you stole it."

"How?"

"Because I know you."

"Oh yeah?" I cross my arms, taking a step closer to my friend "Do you know how I'm gonna kick your ass later?"

She grins "I look forward to it." Ellie leaves me with this while she walks up to the soccer field to revel with her team in their newfound victory.

"What does 'kick your ass' mean?" Olive padded up behind me along with the rest of the girls, except for Leslie who was bent over, one hand on her knee to support her while she clung to her inhaler for dear life. "Are you gonna beat Ellie up?"

"I think she means 'kiss her ass'." Kim said, turning her head to look at Olive "Like they're gonna have sex later."

"What's sex?" Chloe furrowed her eyebrows.

"Kim you need to stop talking," I tell them, hands on my hips, nothing but frustration etched into the forefront of my brain. I glance back at Ellie as Maria rings the bell to signal that the game was over. Softly, with hands gentle as rain, I will wrap my hands around her neck and strangle her.

"Listen up!" I announced to the eight girls in my cabin. To absolutely no surprise, blue won the treasure hunt, now we were setting up for a water balloon fight in the allotted section of woods that Joel taped off in bright pink flagging tape. "I physically and mentally cannot handle another loss, I will be very disappointed in each and every one of you if we don't win-

"That's not true," Daniel cuts me off "The point of today is to have fun, winning doesn't matter, just do your best." The both of us are standing tall on a rock while the campers sit around and stare up at the two of us like we had been mighty gods preparing to throw wine and bread at their little feet.

I eye Daniel from the side and look back to everyone "None of your hard work is going to matter unless you win so do you want to be a whiney loser like Daniel or be cool like me and win the colour wars?"

Everyone fell quiet for a moment as if a curse of silence fell upon us until Kim not-so-sublty yelled "Daniel's a pussy!" I was beyond the point where I cared about the girls cussing, the only thing on my mind was showing my very dear friend, Ellie how awful her team is and rub my win in her beautiful face.

"That's what I like to hear!" I smile "Now let's go win this!"

My girls erupt in cheers and Daniel almost shamefully steps off the rock. I had finally made a breakthrough with my cabin after slightly snapping at them after Maria announced that the red team lost. Maybe the treasure hunt wasn't my thing, but water balloon wars? I had won that every single year, even when I was still a camper. 

The objective was easy, be the last team with players, once you get hit you're out. Friendly fire is strictly against the rules as well as headshots, they had to be hit in the torso, once you get wet, you're out and have to leave the allotted zone to watch. 

We played in a patch of forest that was less dense than the rest, making it easier to run around. 

"Three!" Maria shouted, "Two!" She's standing in the middle of the zone, so everyone can hear her though no one can see her since the two teams are on opposite ends to make it fair. "One!" She blows her whistle and kids are already dunking their hands into buckets of icy-cold water balloons and setting off to the enemy end.

The CITs were responsible for keeping a consistent flow of water balloons and buckets spread evenly in the zone, I remember when I was a CIT and had to miss out on capture the flag to pick up every bit of balloon that at splattered across the ground. 

I had a balloon in each hand, making my way around the perimeter discreetly. I lock eyes with a younger boy in a blue shirt, he immediately turns to run, not fast enough though "Come back here ankle biter!" I yell, decking a water balloon at him, it hits him right in his back.

There was a boy in Sawyers's cabin, one of the wild ones with animal teeth that ran off of energy drinks and the huff of Sharpies. He tried to throw a balloon at me but it missed me by a landslide, his second attempt wasn't much better.

I however nailed him in the chest "You're out buddy!" I smiled, and he met this by giving me the middle finger. "Whatever carrot top, tell Sawyer I send word!"

I was way too good at this game. Every year I thought I could take on the other team single-handedly and every year I'm proven right when I'm the last one standing. After a prompt reminder from Joel that this was supposed to be fun for the campers and I was treating it like World War Three, I had to cool down a little bit.

We played this game straight after lunch so everyone was either hopped up with energy or sluggish from eating too much, alternatively, there was Ashlynn. She was wandering around, a black bleach-stained hoodie thrown over the top of the shirt for whatever team she was on.

Ashlynn had a can of Diet Coke in hand, where did she get it? I'm not too sure, my guess is that she stashed them under her bunk. "Hey," She sits on a log beneath the tree I was hiding behind. "You're way better at this than you should be, you know you're playing against children, right?"

"I didn't come here to fuck around," There weren't a whole lot of people left in the game, I just took out Abby and the only counsellor left on the blue team was Ellie, maybe Ashlynn but she didn't pose a threat in any way shape or form. 

"Do you have any nic on you?" She looked up at me, taking a sip from her diet coke, her shaggy bleached hair was one more dye away from being fried.

"No?" I furrow my eyebrows "I don't usually bring nicotine to a summer camp full of children."

Ashlynn almost looks like she's hungover but then again she usually seems that way "I brought a couple joints and I'm like ninety percent sure two got stolen."

My eyes widen "You brought joints? Ash, you're getting fired if Maria finds out."

She shrugs "I don't mind, I either smoke weed here or I smoke weed in my backyard." 

"Okay but if it actually got stolen then it's probably some little shit that has it, they're gonna say that you gave it to them and that's a whole case."

"It's legalized though."

"Yeah, not for children." I was taken away from the game until I saw the smallest bit of a blue shirt beneath Ashlynn's sweater, I didn't hesitate to drop a balloon on her. She doesn't seem to mind and from this reaction, I'm beginning to think she's the one who smoked those missing joints. 

I come out from behind the tree empty-handed and plant a kiss on her forehead as an apology for getting soaking wet "Love you, Ash, hope you find your weed." I tell her before jogging off. Ashlynn doesn't get up to join everyone else outside of the boundary, she just stays on the log and drinks her diet coke.

Dina is still in the game on my team as well as a few campers, I hear her voice yelling at children somewhere off in the distance. Sadly, the girls in my cabin were picked off almost immediately, I swear I will avenge their little souls.

"You're soaking Conner, get out of here," Dina scolded a kid on the blue team "You gotta play by the rules, so beat it shrimp."

"Nuh-uh," He said. Lord knows I hated this kid, last summer when I went to the bathroom during dinner Conner stole my food and denied it even though he was the only one in the mess hall with two plates, he then kicked me in the shins and waddled away.

"You gotta go, baby hippo," I tell him, his round cheeks are bright red from running and he's short-breathed. He shakes his head and with a final stern look from both Dina and I, he leaves. "Nice, who's left?"

"One camper on our team and just Ellie over there," She tells me "Like best case scenario, just go over there and seduce Ellie."

I raise an eyebrow "Nah, I'm winning with brute strength and incredible strategy."

"I'm guessing that going for the little kids first is your definition of incredible strategy?"

"Yup," I say, walking to a bucket to grab another balloon "Get ready, this could go south."

"God forbid we tragically lose our lives in a water balloon war," Sarcasm drips from her tone even though she grabs another balloon.

"I know, that would be awful," I say with full seriousness.

Dina is struck with a water balloon out of nowhere "Shit," She mutters, looking at her now dripping shirt. I don't think I've ever reacted so quickly to anything in my life, I throw a balloon at Ellie and it barely hits her, but it still does.

"Look, you're wet," I smile, brighter than I had this whole summer "You're wet, you lost!" I'm almost jumping around, I'm so unreasonably happy at such a stupid thing. "I won!" I yell trying to capture the attention of the CITs so my win could go on record. 

"Fuck yeah!" Dina gives me a high five then looks at Ellie "You lost!"

"You lost," I say in a sing-song voice "Red team wins," I grab Dina's hand and raise to the sky like she's just won a wrestling match "We win, you're all wet!"

"You're wet too, D," Ellie says.

"Yeah, but you lost!" Dina wraps me in a hug around my torso, pinning my arms down and shaking me back and forth.

"Ew, get off," I can't help myself from laughing "But seriously I won, put that on record."

"Wow they have their worst player guarding the flag," I say, we were nearing dinner now and everyone was getting tired out, not me though, I had a war to win. Capture the Flag was the last game and that game is my shit, I know I said that about every other game but I really mean it this time. 

"I always forget that you're way too into this," Ellie says, she's unmoving in front of the blue team flag, pole stuck into the ground. 

"Ellie, you need to let me win," I say "Or I will do unspeakable things to you."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" She teases.

"Whichever you want," I almost surprised myself by saying this but it just slipped from my mouth like wax off the wings of Icarus. Behind me, I feel a harsh slap on my back and swiftly turn around to see a pudgy kid with a huge smile on his face. 

"You have to go to jail," Conner says and if he wasn't a child who stood at 4'3 I probably would've hit him.

"Yeah, I know, Conner," I glance at Ellie who is biting back a laugh and gives an obnoxious little wave as Conner drags me by the hand towards the jail. He waddles along, clinging to two of my fingers, his hands are greasy and slippery, whatever reason, I'm not sure I want to know.

He takes me to a rope circle laid out on the ground, there's already a handful of people on my team in it. Conner drops me off there, sticking his tongue out before scurrying away as fast as he could (Which wasn't very fast). There's one blue team guard, I recognized him from Jesse's cabin. 

I'm far too bitter for someone playing a harmless camp game, I hold a grudge easier than I hold someone's hand. "Why are you here?" A boy from Miles cabin asks.

"Because I got tagged, Emmet," I say, agitated. "Why are you here? Because you can't outrun an eight-year-old?"

His smile drops "Yeah," He looks down at his shoes, kicking some dirt. 

"How are we supposed to get out and win this?" Another boy asks.

"Jesus," I mutter "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen and you've never played Capture the Flag?"

He nods his head "I mostly play COD and Fortnite."

"Oh my god," I run my hands down my face, fighting the urge to gag "Someone from our team who isn't tagged has to tag us, they can only tag one person at a time and we get a free walk back to our side if we're tagged, to win the game you need to capture the other teams flag- you know what, I feel like this is pretty self-explanatory."

"So who's going to tag us?"

"Probably no one because a kid with Fortnite skills isn't really worth saving" I answer and he falls quiet. Harsh? yes. Necessary? No, but I was annoyed.

"Hey, Crawford," A voice says, she's standing a few yards back with one of her friends giggling.

"Oh, hey," The guy guarding us, coughs, deepening his voice "What's up."

"I can't believe you're actually playing this game," The girl sniggers.

"Nah, I'm just waiting for Lucas," He lies.

"Find him later, come hang out," She smiles at him.

Crawford looks from us to her, and with little to no hesitation, he goes with the girls. Once I see their figures retreat beyond the trees, I look around to see if there are any more people on the blue team around before stepping out of the rope circle.

"I thought you said we had to get tagged by someone else before we could leave," The boy says, looking around nervously as if he was buying pot in an alley.

"Are you a narc?" I ask.

"No?"

"Then we're good to go," I say, ushering my team out of the circle. The sun has just begun to set, casting an orange hue over everything and making it look like it had been touched by Midas. While the rest of my team runs back to our side where they are safe from being tagged, I have something else on my mind, Ellie Williams. 

I began to retrace my steps back to where Ellie waited with the flag and where I'm sure a bunch of overeager kids were patrolling to protect the priceless flag from the claws of the evil red team.  Ellie was never into these games until I was, the second I had the urge to win something, she was compelled to beat me.

Someone hadn't been looking where they were sprinting when they crashed into me at full speed, they would've knocked me down if they weren't the same height as an Oompa Loompa. She let out an 'Oof' while she fell to the ground "Chloe?"

"Hi," She looks up at me, and quickly the posse rolls around. All of the girls in my cabin, even Tamar and Morgan were actively participating.

Leslie ran up to me and hugged me around my legs "Hi, girls," I said with furrowed eyebrows. The past two weeks I had struggled to even get them to collectively go to breakfast without putting up a fight because they didn't want to. "How's the game going?"

"We know where the flag is!" Valentina peeps up, she has mud smeared under her eyes like war paint. 

"Yeah, but Ellie's there and I'm scared of her," Leah mentions.

"Well, we're all together now so we can strategize," A smile cracks onto my face.

"We should put a scorpion in her hair," Kim has a wild grin on her tanned face, her honey-blonde hair is tangled into a rat nest, with a couple of leaves in there.

"No, good idea though, we'll save that one for later," I point at Kim "I was thinking that I could distract Ellie while half of you keep the other guards away and the other half grabs the flag and makes a break for it."

Kim nods enthusiastically, Tamar doesn't seem thrilled by the idea but she doesn't object to it so I take her silence as a win. This is the exact moment I put on my invisible captain hat, giving each of my girls a specific role with the promise I would sneak them candy on Saturday if they pulled this off. 

With each passing minute, the sky got darker and darker, I wanted to finish this game until Joel and Tommy made the counsellors walk around with headlamps on to keep an eye on everyone. "Hi, El."

"What do you want?" She's been standing in the same spot for a little over an hour, her vexation was shining through in her tone. 

"To be done with this game," I say, prepping myself for the little heist "This is really dragging on and- I saw Crawford run off with some girls from your cabin."

"Who the hell is Crawford?" She furrows her eyebrows.

"One of Jesse's boys, I know it's an unfortunate name."

"Who did he leave with?"

"Uh," I rack my brain for their names "Cindy and the rude one."

She nods, immediately knowing who I was talking about from my vague description "So, when are you gonna run past me and steal the flag?"

"What?" I acted like her question was incredulous "Why would you think that's what I'm trying to do?" I'm so bad at acting, I'm behaving like one of those wasted middle-aged men who get pulled over on the freeway and pretend that they're stone-cold sober by making a bunch of hand gestures while they talk.

"You're awful at acting," She says, crossing her arms, I watch the veins tense in her forearm below her tattoo sleeve.

"Fuck," I muttered "Fine, I give up," I plop myself on the ground, my spine against the trunk of a tree, I look up at Ellie "Okay, I'm officially over these games."

She raises an eyebrow and I can tell that she doesn't believe me. "First of all, you're sitting in mud. Second of all, eleven years of bloodshed and you're giving up out of nowhere?"

"It's not out of nowhere, I'm just getting older," I say the second half a little quieter "I'm in college I need to stop acting immature."

We both fall silent, she doesn't know what to say to this. Ellie usually wasn't the best at comforting me in whichever situation, I remember back when I was fourteen and a wreck because my first dog died and all she could do was give me a hug and ask if I wanted water. 

"You’re not immature," Ellie says, unsure of what to do.

"Alrighty," I press my lips together in a thin line, equally diffident. "I'm just bored of this, it's gotten kind of repetitive."

"Then what do you wanna do?" She asks, in this light she's dimly illuminated by the setting sun. She looks like a sculpture carved from honey.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll do whatever you want," I smile.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Is it working?"

"Not entirely," She says, behind her, there's a snap and just before she turns around I call her attention back to me. I saw Valentina, Chloe, and Olive emerging from behind trees, just seconds away from victory.

"Okay," I chuckle "Help me up?"

Ellie regards me for a second before taking my hand stretched wide. The second her hand clasps in mine I pull her down with all of my might and believe me when I say this is no easy feat, Ellie was sturdy. Luckily I caught her off guard and managed to pin her beneath me, I straddle over her torso, gesturing for the girls to run.

"Go!" I whisper-shout so others on the blue team can't hear me. Ellie grabs me by the waist and uses momentum to flip me over, now I'm the one with my back in the mud and she sits overtop of me. 

She had been so close that our lips brushed, and I had felt my heart stop, I almost didn't want to move just to see what would happen next but in utter panic, I reached next to me, a handful of mud and smeared it down Ellie's face. "You're so gross," She squeezes her eyes shut, leans back and begins to scoop mud off her face, I use this as my opportunity to wriggle out from beneath her.

It takes me a minute to get off my knees and onto my feet, by this point, almost the entirety of my legs are covered in mud, leaves, sticks, and probably bugs. I try to take off but my sneakers betray me and I fall face-first into the mud.

Of course, Ellie sees this and she's laughing so hard she needs to support herself, one forearm against a tree while her other is clutching her stomach. I scoop up more mud, almost squirming in distaste from the sensation of it caked beneath my nails but I still throw it at Ellie with perfect accuracy. 

She tenses up when I do this. Once again I struggle to my feet but this time I am victorious, I stay frozen in place for a moment to be sure I won't face plant again. When I'm sure that I won't fall, I bend down to throw another mud pie at Ellie for good measure than I'm off to see if my girls completed the mission.

When I finally got back to my side I saw my team already celebrating "Woohoo!" I yell and the crowd immediately falls quiet, regarding my current state. I probably look like a creature who's just crawled out of a stagnant swamp. 

"Why does she look like that?" Ashlynn whispers to Bowie who doesn't respond and from his red eyes alone, I know the reason why.

"C'mon girls," I smile "Bring it in!" I open my arms for my cabin to come in for a hug but they just back away from me with wrinkled noses. 

Tommy looks at me "Why are you dirty?" I knew he was getting sassy when he propped his hands on his hips "What happened in the ten-minute gap since I last saw you that has made you so filthy?" It wasn't malice in his voice but genuine curiosity, Tommy was a fun-loving guy for the most part.

I shrugged "I wouldn't know, mate, you tell me." His eyebrows furrowed as his confusion delved even deeper. He looked into my soul from across the clearing. Eventually, Ellie makes her way to join me, she's a little better off than I am though she's still grimy.

"Oh, great, you too," Tommy says, gesturing to his niece. 

Joel lets out a deep sigh "You two better shower before dinner."

I let the hot water run over my body, dripping down and consuming me whole. Ellie and I are the only ones in the showers, we're separated by nothing more than a divider though the steam is so heavy I wouldn't have been able to see her regardless. 

Since we were sent to grab a change of clothes and clean off Ellie had been almost silent, she wasn't even teasing me back or making a punchline when I had thrown out an obvious setup. 

After thoroughly washing the grime off of my body I turned the shower off, walking over the laminated bench where Ellie and I had out put our clothing only to find them missing. For a minute I thought I was crazy and had misplaced them but after awkwardly pattering around the shower house, I realised they were gone.

"Hey, Ellie," I say on the other side of her shower stall "Someone stole our clothes."

"You're hilarious," She deadpanned, not an ounce of amusement in her tone.

"Yeah, I know but I'm not joking."

I hear the water turn off in her stall, she pokes her head out and looks at the bench "Where did you put them?"

"I didn't put them anywhere," I say, in an attempt to sound convincing. "Someone took our shit," All that was left behind we're Ellie's Converse, knocked onto the ground and my carabiner with keys, a flashlight, and my shark keychain. 

"Fuck," Ellie mutters and looks around for a moment before her eyes land on me and she quickly averts her gaze, "Can you turn around?"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too." I tell her though I do turn around "What's the plan here?"

"I'm looking."

"I already did, dumbass."

"Thoroughly." She adds.

I stare at empty shower stalls and white tile walls while Ellie checks every single spot that I already have. I can hear only her and the plop of dribbles of water splattering against the cold ground. The steam is still heavy and easy on my sharp lungs.

"I can't find them," Ellie says at last. "But I did find some clothes that look like they could've belonged to Adam Sandler.”

"Yeah, no shit," I turn around and see her standing there completely nude, she moves quickly out of my eye line and into a stall "You've changed in front of me a million times, what's different now?" I say, nonchalantly, walking past her.

"Maybe I don't want you to see me buck naked."

"I think I just heard something," I stop in my tracks.

 "not really the time-

"Why do you always think I'm fucking with you?" I ask, furrowed eyebrows.

"Because-

"Shh," I hush her trying to listen for the sound. I walked toward the entrance of the shower house there was a large wall in front of the door so no one could open the door to peek in, they had to go around the wall and properly enter, the same way most locker rooms were set up. I'm about ten yards away from the entrance when I see a figure poke their head out, just a quarter of its face, I can see their amber eye. They spot me in almost a split second and jet out in a blur, I hear the door open and crashing shut, their feet scrambling away. Just like that, I felt my blood run cold. 

"Fuck!" I yell, scuttling back towards the stalls "Ellie, there's fucking someone in here!" My heart is beating faster than I think it ever has before and I almost feel sick with the thought that someone was in here the entire time Ellie and I had been vulnerable and unaware. 

"What?" She steps out of the stall and looks around before she sees me. I'm on the floor, my knees to my chest and eyes wide. "You saw someone?"

"Yes!" I say throwing a hand out to gesture to the divider "They were hiding behind there and fucking watching us!"

"Shit," She says, walking towards the wall and looking behind it, she freezes too. Ellie turns towards me and the doubt on her face is gone "We need to find some clothes and get out of here."

"What?" I say "Did you see something?"

Ellie begins to open every single locker, tossing articles of clothing that people left behind on the ground. She wasn't exaggerating earlier when she said she found clothes that could've belonged to Adam Sandler. No wonder they were left behind.

"What was it?" I press again.

"Just some mud tracks, they were probably ours," She dismisses. "Now get dressed."

This doesn't ease me in the slightest, I'm so on edge that I haven't made a joke about Ellie and I casually being naked in front of each other. How ridiculous the pair of us looked didn't aid me in calming down; Ellie was wearing a black T-shirt about three sizes too large that read 'Ask me about my IBS' with a caricature of a man-eating cheese beneath it, this was paired with blue basketball shorts that had two white stripes running down the side. "How's your IBS?" I tease.

"It's a constant battle." At least she had her shoes, I had to wear flip-flops that hardly fit, so small I almost thought they belonged to a Barbie. While Ellie was moderately comfortable, I was not, I had to wear skinny jeans that were crudely cut into Bermuda shorts, matched with none other than an American flag tank top, how patriotic. 

"I'm almost thinking it would be better to go out in nothing," I say, looking at myself in the mirror. I glance over at Ellie, I know she's trying to play it off but I can tell she's shaken.  "You look so stupid."

"Damn," She says "I was just trying to show my support for those with IBS," Ellie jokes, trying to ease the tension.

The both of us are procrastinating on leaving the perceived safety of the shower house. I feel dread emanating from the woods, we will no longer be surrounded by four walls and engulfed by bright light. As we walk towards the entrance I reach for Ellie's hand, intertwining our fingers. "So we're going straight to the mess hall?"

"Yup," She says, giving my hand a little squeeze, it's her way of saying 'I got you'. I wonder if she can sense the panic pulsing through me or distress pumping in my veins. At the door I saw the tracks Ellie was staring at, they hadn't been ours. We walked in with muddy sneakers, these were barefoot prints, and whoever they belonged to had walked in many circles. I'm sick to my stomach once again, fighting the natural urge to vomit until I cry and my parents come to comfort me.

I click my flashlight on, but nothing lays ahead but forest and a beaten path. We stepped out into the darkness, it wasn't a far walk to the mess hall where everyone was gathered but that didn't stop my heart from racing like a rabbit moments away from getting snagged by a terrifying beast. 

My heartbeat slowed the further we walked, so far we hadn't been kidnapped by a pervert. I take a deep breath, trying to push overtly dark thoughts to the back of my mind, next to me Ellie is calm as a marble statue bathed beneath moonlight.

Each breeze makes me shudder despite the humid weather. Suddenly, regarding my current situation, the summer camp doesn't feel like home anymore. It feels like those abandoned houses up the road that my parents had carefully trained me to stay away from. The rustle of leaves is reminiscent of the laugh that belonged to creepy men who used to watch children at the park who didn't belong to them. 

I'm no longer met with the fresh scent of pine but something ancient, something rotted like it's been sitting in the back of the fridge for a decade. It reeks of shit to the point where I'm gagging on nothing like little hands of wind pushing on the back of my throat. 

My hand grows sweaty clasped to Ellie's though she shows no indication of being bothered by this. I hear a rustle somewhere around, whether it's in the trees or the bushes I'm unsure, instinctivly, I freeze. I look around, the gleam from my flashlight gliding across the flora, searching for something that likely isn't there.

"It's okay," Ellie says, her voice tender as a lullaby  "We're fine," She pulls gently on my hand to keep us going but I'm stuck in place. My flashlight is frozen on the body of a rabbit, Its white fur soaked through with red. I break my hand free from Ellie's grip and clasp it over my dry lips to choke down a cry. The entire skin of the rabbit's torso had been torn off on one side from the spine to the stomach, you could see its brown organs, the still beating heart, and everything that made it function was pooling out of it. If it hadn't been for its little head, beady eyes full of fear and perked-up ears, I wouldn't have known it was a rabbit at all. Whatever mauled it did a messy job that it hadn't quite finished like a dull axe to the back of the head. 

Behind the trees, I hear slurping, something wet and hungry. It wretches on what I assume to either be its newest feast or its saliva. It devours every last breath it has, the breathing is shallow and gruff like it's eating so fast it's choking on its meal, though it takes the time to slurp and swallow the remnants of whatever it's chowing down on. I see a pair of golden eyes glint behind a shrub in the cast of my light.

I reach for Ellie's hand again and run like I've never run before. She quickly takes the lead, so fast that she's nearly dragging me along. We don't speak but we understand each other clearly, we need to move. 

Trailing us, I hear heavy steps beating against the dirt pathway. I don't even need to look back to know that it's following u, its heavy, wet breathing is clue enough. I'm starting to feel a burning in my lungs, saliva builds in my mouth and I spit it down onto the pathway, heaving with every quick-paced step.

One of my too-tight pink flip-flops catches a rock stuck in the path and sends me tumbling to the ground. For just a moment I see a pitch-black figure wearing tattered clothing with amber eyes that glow light street lamps gaining on us; I could've sworn it had human hands and feet but I wasn't in my right mind, it's still enough to send adrenaline coursing through my veins. Without even stopping, Ellie pulls me back up and I kick off my other sandal, running barefoot on the trail.

My feet hammer against the dirt, rocks, and pebbles. I can feel the souls of my feet getting sliced and torn though I don't slow down, the sight of the mess hall in the distance makes me run even faster. 

"Hey!" Ellie yells, trying to capture the attention of someone in the mess hall. Her grip on my hand doesn't loosen, in fact, it gets tighter as she pulls me along. I don't know if whatever was chasing us is still there but I'm too mortified to check. 

I wave with my hand clutching my carabiner but it does nothing to garner any kind of attention within the mess hall. Our feet moving faster than we could form thoughts we ran towards the entrance. 

Ellie pulls the door wide open and pushes me in before slamming the door shut behind us. The very second my heaving body hits the floor, everyone's attention falls on us.

"Woah," Miles regards us with confusion before it morphs into a smile on his face "Did you guys just have sex?" He takes a bite of his sandwich, he looks like he got into Ashlynn's stash.

"Why do you look like Adam Sandler and Hilary Duff?" Dina furrowed her eyebrows next to Jesse, he looked like he was trying to work together some type of conclusion for why we were breathing so deeply and why my feet were bleeding. 

I look at Ellie and she meets my gaze, she no longer looks calm. There's a sense of dread written clearly across her features, that thing didn't seem animal, it didn't seem human either and I wasn't sure which was worse, the echo or the answer.  

A/N: Not much to say today but thanks for reading! Love you all.

TAGLIST: @wherearthepilots-blog @diddiqueen my tags are being so weird I’m so sorry if you weren’t tagged

[thirtyknives]

How to Burn the Goat

Friends. The Gävle Goat still stands.

I don't think the Swedes are going to pull it off this year. There's a bunch of shit working against them - not in the least the relocation from the Goat's traditional home in Castle Square to Rådhusesplanaden, a much more exposed location- so no dishonour is upon them. In the fight between recreational arsonists and the forces of law, sometimes the forces of law win. But it isn't about recreational arson, is it? It's the forces of Light beating back the long winter Darkness, the ritual immolation of 2022's psychic garbage, burned as a sacrifice for the Unconquered Sun. And I really, really don't need to tell you just how much psychic garbage there is to torch. So let's burn the motherfucker together.

The obvious and easy option to symbolically burn the Goat at a distance for tumblrinas is a "like to charge, share to cast" reblog chain. There's a few going round so I won't bother trying to link to them all. Slightly more involved is burning your own goat.

SAFETY FIRST MY DARLINGS

First off if you're in an area with a fire ban, don't fucking burn anything. Fire bans exist for a reason. Non fire options include:

Feed a picture of the Gävle Goat into a paper shredder, or just rip it up yourself.

Make Goat shaped foods (cookies, cake, even sammiches) and eat them.

Play my mate @thefallingdream's printable game The Goat Must Burn

Have a Goat themed cocktail, like an Old Goat or a Fainting Goat, or maybe goat milk lassi if you prefer to avoid alcohol.

Make effigies from Plasticine or modelling clay and flatten it

It's also a less widely celebrated tradition to toss the smaller Science Club Goat into the Gävle River. If you have a river to hand, you can always make a wee goatlet out of sticks, leaves and other natural materials and toss it right the fuck in. Remember, we're symbolic arsonists, not environmental vandals, so stick to shit that's in the river in the first place.

IF YOU DO OPT TO BURN, HERE IS A NON-EXHAUSTIVE LIST OF WAYS TO DO SO SAFELY.

Choose your burn location wisely. Safer places to burn include:

Fireplaces

Barbecues

Firepits

Braziers

Clear areas of concrete or tile (OUTDOORS)

Clear areas of beach, away from other people

Ash has a habit of floating, so don't burn close to buildings. Get yourself something to put out the fire if it gets away from you. For small goats, a bucket of water will probably do, but running water from a hose is better. If you want to have a fire extinguisher to hand, make sure you know how to use it.

I also suggest that if you're not someone who lights a lot of fires for whatever reason, find someone who does to help you keep shit under control. I've made a lot of campfires and bonfires in the last forty years, so I can confidently build and set fires, and keep them contained. Scouts and avid campers generally have an idea of what they're doing too, and I guess if you're in a climate where fireplaces are a thing you'll have more folks around who can cremate a goat safely.

We also won't be drinking until after the Goat is safely extinguished. Even though the average age of participants is mid thirties and we're all legally able to, even an intelligent person can make for a stupid drunk and we'd rather not risk accidents. This is double so for myself, as I will be the Designated Fire Maniac for this event.

Bad places to burn your Goat:

Bedrooms (especially on desks or beds)

Indoors in general

Leaf strewn woodlands

Barns

Roads

Around unsupervised small children or drunks

I know there's bound to be a few of you who want to burn a goat but who have unsupportive home environments where this kind of lightweight witchcraft is a punishable offense. I can't stress enough that even the Small Scale Abstract Option below can burn your damn house down if you try it secretly in your bedroom or whatever. Just opt for a non-fire option if that's you.

FRIENDS YOU WILL NOT CLEAR THE PSYCHIC GARBAGE OF THE YEAR IF YOU BURN DOWN YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD IN THE PROCESS

Now that I've got that bit out of the way, let's burn shit!

Option One: Small Scale Abstract Option

Just write "goat" on a bit of paper or a leaf or other safe to burn material and burn it safely in a little metal bowl, brazier, or whatever. You can supe it up by using a scrap of paper with strong negative vibes associated with 2022, like a power bill, legal summons or passive-aggressive note from your roomie.

Then ya burn it. Scrunch the paper into a ball, light your match, stuff the flaming end inside the ball of paper. Boom. Done.

If you want to print out the OG Goat or draw it, that works too. All we want to do here is consign the Goat to the ashes. That's it.

Option Two: Burn the Goat in Effigy

If you have space, time and the right level of bloody minded determination, why not build yourself a goat and burn it? It doesn't have to be complicated or large. Paper crafted goats or origami are fantastic for this, if you have the skill.

This one is made from toilet paper rolls and ice block sticks.

This is the larger goat we burned in 2020. It was made of paper shopping bags, natural wool and corrugated cardboard packing boxes for support:

If you're crafting your own there's a couple of considerations to keep in mind.

First is flammability. Stick to natural, flammable materials like paper, card, sticks and wood. String like twines made from jute, cotton or hemp, or natural yarn will also burn cleanly. I avoid adhesives at all and just use string, but if you want a glue wheatpaste will get the job done and will make the Goat smell like toast as it goes up. Metal fixtures like staples, nails or wire are fine too, just be mindful that they'll remain in the ashes afterwards and may need to be disposed of responsibly

Avoid using plastic tapes or glues like PVA. They burn fast and hot, in ways that can be unpredictable, and release nasty gases as they do. I generally also only use materials that are already the right color, but if you want to paint it avoid acrylic paints for the same reason you skip plastic tapes and glue. Tea and coffee washes will get the job done without choking you out or risking the goat burning unpredictably.

Both the goats above have hollow interiors. For us, this means we can write down our sorrows and insert them into the goat's body to be burned along with it. But it also provides oxygen for the fire and helps the goat to burn. I don't usually burn in proper fireplaces, but opt for short fast immolation so I don't use sticks or timber supports. If yours is going into a fireplace or barbecue you can use heavier materials that take longer to burn.

I am also not going to do any talking whatsoever about accelerants you can add to get this fire going. That is Advanced Level Immolation, and I will not be held accountable for any you people blasting your eyebrows off with a poorly timed spritzing of petrol. Let your designated fire maniac deal with that shit or just don't risk it at all.

Your second consideration when building your Goat is size. Pick your safe place to burn it before you start building, and construct it to fit its pyre. Again, safe places to burn your goat include:

Fireplaces

Barbecues

Firepits

Braziers

Clear areas of concrete or tile (OUTDOORS)

Clear areas of beach, away from other people

Small goats are just as good as large ones if you don't have a lot of room. For our purposes, burning an origami goat in a metal pail is just as good as my bigger guys. This year I'm crocheting a goat from paper yarn based very loosely on this pattern, because I've personally had a bitch of a year and each stitch is really sealing in that suffering. But it doesn't have to be fancy. It just needs to be goaty.

Let's make this happen, everyone!

Pictured: My 2020 goat. I burn on New Year's Eve to give the Swedes time to get theirs done first. That wall behind the Goat is wet, and so is the grass. Not shown is the garden hose at the ready and the many sober adults supervising, including a Designated Fire Maniac (me).

The 2021 Goat. Co-incident? I think not.

[sawtastic-sideblog]

"I meant to ask. What's the J for?" Peter asks as he hands Lynn her drink.

"Johnathan. After John."

"Well, that's sweet. Does he know yet?" Peter asks as Lynn nods. Lynn walks to her table to wait on Jeff and Corbett to arrive as Adam rushes through the door.

"Is it just me or has this snow gotten worse?"

"It's definitely gotten worse. Hopefully not too much worse. Wanna clock in and get some drinks for Jeff and Corbett ready. I'll get the ladies theirs," Peter suggests. Adam nods and heads back to the breakroom.

"Adam's socks are soaked. He's upset by it. I'll go get him more once I get these scones out," Amanda says walking to the kitchen.

"It's cold out," Pops says observing the snow falling outside the shop. "We may close down early."

"Whatever you think is best," Peter says watching Jeff and Corbett run in and over to the table Lynn is at, chatting with Adam. Timothy walks in a few minutes later followed by Lawrence and finally Mark within the hour.

"Peter," Pops calls from his office.

"Yeah?" Peter asks as he walks into the office.

"Inform everyone that we will be shutting down early. As in now early. Finally got the internet to connect long enough to check the weather. We have a big snow storm coming in. Give them each a bag of pastries on the house. If anyone needs a ride, help them find one."

"Yes, sir," Peter turns and goes to find his coworkers. "Adam, Amanda!"

The two emerge from the kitchen, each with a fresh tray of various pastries. Peter explains the situation and everyone springs into action. Amanda starts bagging up pastries, Adam makes everyone a warm beverage for their journey home, and Peter goes to switch the sign to 'closed' and starts making his rounds and telling everyone the news.

Just as everyone starts to get ready to venture out into the cold, a loud crash is heard. Everyone goes silent as they turn toward the door. Some with looks of confusion, others with concern, and Corbett with fear.

"Mom? What happened?"

"I don't know, honey," Lynn says as she looks to Peter for an answer. He can only stand hopeless staring at the snow covered glass door. Pops strides up to the counter.

"The backdoor is covered too," he says solemnly. "I'm going to make some calls. Adam, Amanda, Peter, drinks on the house."

The three scramble into action, making sure everyone is comfortable. Pops comes back about forty five minutes later.

"What's going on, Pops?" Adam asks from the Old Bitty Commitee table.

"The abandoned building behind us collapsed, according to Jill. She said it was so old that the structure couldn't take the weight of the snow. It fell this way and blocked off at least eight stores on this side. Six across from us. There are people buried out there, so if yall see anybody get them inside. I called the mall office and they said emergency personnel are working on getting us all out, but cars and motorcycles, in Adam's case, are all buried. If we get out the city will be providing busses to get all of us home. For now, everyone get comfortable, charge your phones, computers, whatever you have in case we lose power, and get settled in because it looks like we're gonna have a long night. Happy New Year Ever, everyone."

Concerned whispers go around the shop. Peter goes towards the breakroom with Amanda, pulling Adam along with her, not far behind.

"Remember Pops' birthday? Where we played games and had a movie night here with some of our regulars?" Peter asks Amanda.

"Yeah, I think the games are in the cupboard and we should still have that projector and screen somewhere," she replies while going to rummage through a closet. Adam plugs in his phone and takes his laptop from bag and plugs it in as well. Peter and Amanda also plug in their phones.

"Found the games," Adam says pulling down Monopoly, Clue, Chess, Checkers, a deck of cards, Uno, Phase 10, and some weird headband game. He walks out into the cafe and sets the games down. "I found these if anyone wants to play. I think Peter and Amanda are still looking for things. I'll go back to help them."

"You good?" Peter asks as Adam returns to the breakroom. Adam shakes his head, his cheeks flushed.

"I can't help but feel like an idiot when I talk to Lawrence. I'm a full on fool when I do anything remotely close to public speaking, so having Lawrence here as I talk to a room full of people. I'm just a dolt."

"Don't beat yourself up. It's rough having to talk to people. I get it," Amanda says, placing a hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam shakes his head again.

" I don't think you do, Amanda. I like this guy. I thought he was super attractive the day I fist saw him and I've kinda gotten to know him the last month, even though I don't really talk to him. I see the books he's reading and I look them up. I've read a couple. I listen to the conversations he has with other patrons. He's so smart and kind and funny. I'm in deep, guys. I'm in way too deep."

"I'd say so," a voice from the doorway says. Adam jumps and turns around to find Cal there. His face turns to worry. "I'm not gonna tell anyone. Calm down. I just came back to see if you needed help to find the projector."

"Please," Peter says. "I don't remember where we put it."

"Pops' office. The DVD player is in there and the DVDs."

"Thanks, Cal," Peter says, ruffling her purple hair that is currently pulled into low ponytail. She swats at his hand and follows him into the office. About twenty minutes later, the projector is up and everyone decided that Corbett got to pick the movie. The opening credits to Flushed Away plays on the screen as a thud is heard on the window.

"It's a kid," Mark says as he makes his way to the door. He opens it and plows, head first, into the snow. Lawrence and Lynn stand near the door ready to take a look at the boy. Mark grabs the kid by the arm and drags him through the snow to his body. They make their way through the door. Jeff and Adam push it closed as Amanda and Cal sweep the snow out. Peter and Pops provide them with towels and the two doctors are immediately looking over the boy. He's a teenager probably around sixteen. His blond hair in wet curls against his forehead. Lawrence is checking his pulse while Lynn checks his eyes with her cellphone flashlight. Timothy offers a few suggestions about getting him warm.

"Here, Mark," Peter says as he holds out a towel.

"Thanks."

"You're soaked."

"Snow is water, Peter."

"He's alright," Lawrence says to the worried crowd. "A little cold but nothing life threatening right now, but I do suggest a proper doctor's visit after this."

"What's your name, son?" Pops asks crouching in front of the chair the kid is in.

"Daniel Matthews."

"Where were you coming from?"

"I was out with my friend, Brent. We were trying to leave and got separated when the snow fell. I managed to make my way here. I'm freezing."

"Adam, make him a drink. Peter I think there's at least some shirts in the store room," Pops tells Peter who start walking to the store room, Mark hot on his heels.

"Can I help you?" Peter asks as he walks in.

"I'm helping you find a shirt for the kid. And for me. I'm cold too."

"Fair enough."

It takes the men a couple of minutes to find a box of shirts with the logo of the shop on them. Mark sheds his button up and undershirt, leaving him bare chested inches from Peter, who takes in the view. Discreetly of course. He looks down at the shirt in his hands but his eyes follow Mark's body down to his waistband.

"Like what you see?"

"Considering I designed this shirt. Yes, I do."

Mark hooks his fingers under Peter's chin and makes eye contact. Peter swallows hard and tries to avoid Mark's burning eyes. Mark's hand drops to the shirt and he pulls it over his head. He leans in close to Peter's ear.

"This could all be yours. Just say the word. I'll leave you to take care of that," Mark says as he takes the shirt from Peter's shaky hands. Peter let's out a breath after Mark closes the door. Slowly, Peter sinks to the floor and groans. Feeling the effect Mark has left on him. Painfully so.

The door opens, someone enters, and the door closes again. The person sits in the floor across from Peter. He knows who it is and that they won't take until Peter is ready. A cup and a napkins with a cookie on it enter his view. The pair sit in silence for a few more minutes. Peter finally takes the cup and brings it to his mouth. The scent of chamomile enters his nose.

"My favorite."

"Especially the way I make it?" Pops jokes. Peter nods almost pathetically.

"What's wrong with me, Pops?" Finally meeting Pops' eyes, Peter questions. Sad blue eyes meeting older, sympathetic eyes.

"Nothing, Peter. There is nothing wrong with you. You have a crush on a man. And for the first time, you're letting yourself feel it. At least, a little bit. It's scary, I know."

"Fucking terrifying."

"Let yourself feel it. Take it slow. Set your boundaries. Let Mark know that you're interested in more than just the physical way you body reacts," Pops says making a vague motion towards Peter's lap. "I just want you to be happy. Give yourself that. I've seen you beat yourself up over things, throw yourself into women when you feel like you've had feelings for a man, and I've seen you going crazy over Mark for a month. Please, Peter, let him in. Let yourself fall. If you get hurt, that's life, but I don't think that Mark will hurt you. He's a gentleman through and through, but he is a big flirt."

"Did you have this talk with Adam, too?" Peter asks chuckling as he sniffs and wipes his eyes with the arm holding his cup.

"No, but I don't need to. He's realized it. Of course, he can always ask questions and come to any of us."

"Pops, I'm scared," Peter whispers meeting his eyes. Tears fall as he tries to quickly wipe them away.

"Talk to him. Nine hours to midnight. Maybe you'll have a new years kiss," Pops says chuckling to himself. Peter throws the now empty napkin at him.

"Crazy old man," Peter laughs. "I'm gonna sit in here a while. Think about things."

"Take your time, son. We'll be waiting."

Peter nods as Pops stands.

"No matter what, Peter, I still love you."

"I love you, too, Pops."

Pops walks back to the group and looks around. The of the four older ladies in the corner booth have taken it upon themselves to each knit a part of a sweater for Daniel. Cal is crocheting parts of it. Adam is refilling Jeff and Timothy's coffees as they play chess. Lynn and Corbett are watching the movie. Lawrence is reading his book, occasionally looking up at the movie or at Adam. Amanda is talking to Daniel and making him play Checkers. Mark walks out of the bathroom and over to Pops.

"I take it you talked to him about me?" Mark asks, although it wasn't much of a question.

"Don't hurt him. I don't have any kids and Peter is like my son," Pops responds, not looking at Mark.

"I promise you, Pops, it is not my intention to hurt him. I really like him."

"I know," Pops nods, "and I know you are going to respect him. You have me, Jill, Amanda, and, now, Adam to answer to. As well as that booth of ladies and many other people who love Peter."

"I know."

"Good. Now, let him come to you and respect his wishes."

Mark nods and walks over to an empty table and starts watching the movie. A few minutes later, he spots Peter walk out of the store room and into the kitchen. Knowing Pops will kick his ass, he stays put and watches as Amanda forfeits her game with Daniel and walks to Adam, whispers something to him, and the pair walk to the kitchen.

"You okay? You didn't walk out with Mark and we saw Pops go in to talk to you. Are you stress cleaning?" Amanda asks.

"Yep! I'm in love with a man. What's not to stress about?"

"In love?" Adam asks. Peter stops in his tracks and looks at his friends.

"Shit!" Peter laughs before whispering, "in love. I'm in love with fucking Mark. I don't even know his last name. Or what he does. Or anything about him other than his order and the fact he likes motorcycles and that he likes me. Oh fuck."

Adam smiles sadly at Peter, who is scrubbing the oven.

"I'm kinda going through the same thing. With Lawrence. So, if you need to talk, I'll be around. We're gonna leave you to it," Adam throws his arm around Amanda's shoulders and leads her out the door. Peter continues his scrub down of the kitchen. At various points Pops, Amanda, Cal, and a few others pop in to check on him, but not getting answers.

"You've been cleaning for about four hours. There's only four hours until New Year. Come celebrate with us," Amanda all but begs.

"I will. I've calmed down, but I want to finish the kitchen. It needed it."

"Can I help?"

"Sure. Sinks and counters are the last things as soon as I get these bowls up."

Amanda helps him put up the bowls and with clearing down the counters and sinks. The pair emerge from the kitchen with Peter stopping at the trashcan to take off the gloves he was wearing.

"Oh, Peter. Your hands. Lawrence!" Amanda calls. The doctor hurries to Amanda's call and eyes Peter's hands.

"Oh, Peter."

"Yeah, that seems the general consensus."

"Come on. Amanda the first aid kit, please."

"I'm fine."

"Your nails are scratched to hell. You've been bleeding. Please, humor me."

Peter sighs and nods. Lawrence carefully examines Peter's hands and cleans them with help from Amanda. Pops and Adam walk in.

"What happened?" Pops asks.

"I scrubbed shit too hard. Made my hands bleed."

"Will he live, Doctor Gordon," Adam jokes.

"He will live. His hands will be sore for a few days, but he will live."

"Good. We need him," Pops says.

A couple of hours later and someone has started a count down to midnight. One hour and fifty six minutes. After bandaging Peter's fingers, Lawrence asked Adam to talk. Pops provided his office. The two walked out a hour later and sat together at Lawrence's usual table. They have been chatting and laughing since. Corbett befriended Daniel and they played cards together and watched movies until they fell asleep. Corbett in Jeff's lap and Daniel with his head on Lynn's leg, his hand holding Corbett's. Jeff and Lynn are watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The Old Bitty Commitee had long since finished Daniel's sweater, but he fell asleep before they could give it to him. The five commitee members are watching the movie, Timothy is playing a game of chess against Pops. Amanda is sitting with Peter. Both taking glances at the movie as they play rummy. Peter is also taking quick glances at Mark, who hasn't talked to him since their conversation in the store room.

"Go talk to him," Amanda whispers. Peter shakes his head. They keep playing and watching movies. Their game soon ends and Peter can't focus so they just watch the movie.

"Fifteen minutes until midnight," Gladys says excitedly. Exclaims of tired excitement sound from around the room. Peter doest hear them. He's staring at Mark, who is falling asleep. His chin resting in his hand. He looks so peaceful. Peter can't take it. He stands and walks past Mark, tapping his shoulder. He continues walking to the storage room. He sits in the spot he sat earlier. The door opens again and closes behind Mark, who sits across from Peter.

"Can I help you?" Mark asks. Peter shakes his head. "Then why did you tap me? If you don't want to talk, I'll go back to my table."

Mark goes to stand up but Peter grabs his wrist. Mark sits back down and looks at Peter. Peter look distraught.

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever it is."

"It's you."

"I figured."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

Peter nods and looks at Mark.

"Don't hurt me, please," Peter whispers. Mark nods but doesn't make a move even though he wants to hug him and hold him tight.

"I would never dream of it."

"What's your last name?"

"Hoffman. You?"

"Strahm. What do you do for work?"

"I teach history at the community college. You're a barista at the best coffee shop I've ever been to."

"Where did you grow up?"

"New York. Divorced parents. No relationship with my siblings or my father. I have a very straned relationship with my mother. We rarely talk."

"My dad died when I was twelve. Mom and I have dinner every Tuesday. If we're together, you have to come."

"I'd love to. What was your favorite subject in school?"

"I liked English. I like to read. Lawrence and I are thinking about starting a book club."

"That would be fun. I'd join."

"What is your special interest?"

"Other than you? Maritime. I like shipwrecks."

"That's morbid."

"A little, but I'm also a true crime junkie."

"Me too," Peter finally looks at Mark.

"Acid bath killings?"

"What was wrong with Haigh?"

"I don't know."

"Black Dahlia?"

"Fucked up," Mark says. Peter laughs a little and Mark watches his eyes light up. They fall into a comfortable silence and stare at each other.

"I really like you, Mark."

"I really like you, too, Peter."

"I'm scared all of this is new to me."

"I know. I won't hurt you."

"I know."

The crowd in the shop start counting down from ten. Peter looks at Mark wide eyed.

"We don't hav-"

"I want too."

"Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!" Everyone chants. Lynn and Jeff share a quick kiss, Amanda and the commitee ladies toast their drinks to the New Year, Daniel and Corbett sleep through everything, Timothy and Pops shake hands, and Adam and Lawrence share their first kiss.

Peter pulls Mark by his shirt and kisses him timidly, but with passion. Mark pulls away first and leans his forehead against Peter's.

"Happy New Year, Peter."

"Happy New Year, Mark. Kiss me again."

"Gladly," Mark says, leaning back in.

The next morning, rescue workers have made their way to the shop. The Denlons, Timothy, and Daniel, who is now wearing his sweater, help the commitee to the bus. Cal trails along with their things. Amanda follows, dragging her feet. Adam and Lawrence walk out hand in hand, smiling at Pops along the way. Pops smiles back and goes to find Peter and Mark. He finds them still in the storage room, where they had talked until they fell asleep.

"Peter, Mark, wake up," Pops shakes them as he speaks. Peter groans and opens his eyes.

"What do you want, old man?" Peter asks groggily.

"Don't be mean, Peter," Mark says, eyes still closed.

"The rescue workers got to the door. They're letting us go home."

The men start to move. Mark lifts his head off of Peter's chest and looks at Pops. Minutes later, the men are at the door.

"We'll wait until the storm is over to reopen and clean up," Pops says as Peter and Mark walk past him.

"Good choice. I'll be asleep on my couch for three days then."

"With me by your side, I hope," Mark says, hopefully.

"Yeah, we need to talk more," Peter answers as he steps onto the bus. Adam and Lawrence have seats across the aisle from them. Peter and Mark take them. Adam and Peter smile at each other and share a fist bump.

"What's that?" Lawrence asks.

"What's what?" Adam asks back, playing dumb.

"That fist bump."

"Friends can't fist bump, Lawrence?" Adam asks, mocking offense. Lawrence chuckles and takes Adam's hand.

"Not the way the two of you did it, my dear."

"Yeah, there's something weird going on," Mark agrees. "They're already cheating on us."

"I would never," Adam defends. Peter frowns and looks at Mark.

"I wouldn't do that. I know what it feels like."

"I'm joking, Peter. I'm sorry. It wasn't a good one."

"It's okay."

"I accept the apology, too, there, Mark," Adam says.

"I'm sorry to you, too, Adam."

"So sensitive," Lawrence jokes.

"Sensitive, my ass," Adam says.

"Alright, everybody, listen up. I have a clipboard coming around. Put your address down and we will get going," the bus driver says. The passengers write down their addresses and when the bus pulls up to Peter's apartment, he and Mark get off together.

"Bye, Pops. Call me when we open again," Peter says as he passes the man. "And thanks for the advice."

"My pleasure. Have a good few days off, Peter. See you around, Mark. Take care of him."

"He will know nothing but pleasure for the foreseeable future," Mark winks. "See ya around, Pops."

The men enter Peter's apartment. Mark takes a look around the living space.

"I think we're about the same size. I'll get you some pajamas and I'll wash your clothes," Peter says as he disappears into the hallway. A minute later he is back with a stack of clothes for Mark, while wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie. "Bathroom is first door on the right."

"Thanks."

Once Mark is in the fresh clothes and Peter has started the washer the men sit on the couch. They talk about boundaries they have with certain things which eventually leads to them cuddling and watching Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

"Hey, Mark?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"What's your Hogwarts house?"

"Slytherin. You?"

"Griffyndor."

"Sounds like you, babe."

"Babe?" Peter moves to where his chin rests on Mark's chest. Mark looks at him, slightly worried he's said something wrong. Peter smiles. "I like it."

Mark let's out a breath and chuckles.

"Good."

Peter leans up and gives Mark a quick kiss. Mark's hand moves from behind his head to Peter's cheek, keeping him in place. Peter pulls away and looks back at the screen.

"Hey, I-"

"Shhhhhhh," Peter interrupts Mark again. He watches as Snape kills Dumbledore. "Everytime I watch this movie, I think the outcome will change. It never does."

"I've never see any of these movies. You just turned it on."

"Then how do you know your house?"

"Students. They also think I'm a witch. I haven't told them any different."

"Oh, cool, so my boyfriend is a witch."

"Boyfriend?" Mark asks. Peter looks at him in panic.

"I mean , if you want, we don't have to label it or anythi-" Peter is cut off by Mark swiftly sitting up, wrapping him in his arms, and kissing him.

"I've wanted nothing more for a month. I'm so glad I decided to walk into the shop."

"Me too."

Mark quickly kisses Peter again before laying back and pulling Peter on top of him. The pair drift off to sleep to the sound of Harry Potter.

[mlwritersguild]

for the february event

super random kisses 🕶️

square modified brilliant, by @alexseanchai

AO3 link; post reveal, post hawkmoth defeat, wedding fic

Summary

A year after Monarque's defeat, Ladybug and Chat Noir are getting married. (Nobody mention the part where they're not yet old enough to get married.)

---

"I will always do anything in my power to help the two of you. All of Paris will." Mayor Bourgeois does not look nearly as confident in this assertion as he sounds. "But the law requires public notice, under your legal names and in advance, for a reason."

"Super," mutters Chat Noir.

"We would never dream of suggesting you break the law," Ladybug says, without a hitch in the dexterity practice game of cat's-cradle she's playing with her yo-yo cord. Chat Noir, who kind of was suggesting exactly that, says nothing. Ladybug continues, "We're just hoping you will say some things that are true. Like, it is true that almost everyone who has ever gotten, or will ever get, married at this city hall is not a superhero. It is true that superheroes are only celebrities when we're wearing the masks, and when we're not, we're just ordinary citizens."

"Certain exceptions apply," Chat Noir says. "President of the United States Camilla Hombee, alias Victory, for example." To say nothing of Chloé Bourgeois, alias Queen Bee. And definitely to say nothing that might give away Chat Noir's identity if Chloé's father doesn't already know, just in case he doesn't already know.

"Which is a choice President Hombee made for herself," Ladybug agrees. "With the consent of her family, especially her spouse and her minor children, who are after all the first people an enemy might target if they wanted to emotionally compromise her. But as I was saying: as far as you know, it is true that when we get married, we will be following all relevant laws. Yes, we know it's illegal to have a religious wedding ceremony before the legal ceremony, but unless you're planning on tracking down the girl I play-married in the park when we were six and arresting both of us over it, you're going to need more than just 'we said we're married now' to say we're breaking the law."

"As far as you know," Chat Noir adds, grinning, " 'when Ladybug was six' could mean anytime from 2000 to 2006. For all you know, you officiated at our wedding a year and a half ago. I could say I remember exactly that and it wouldn't be a lie."

Ladybug rolls her eyes. "It is true that going through back records of posted banns to figure out which couple is us would be an invasion of a lot of random people's privacy, which you ought to remind everyone of if anything makes it relevant. It is also true that we have no plans to lie about any of this, and saying we remember something happened would be weird enough phrasing if we knew it happened. Since we know it didn't happen, it's too close to a lie."

Chat Noir turns away and starts licking his gauntlet, radiating sulkiness. He wasn't really going to say that anyway.

"…One of you is younger than Chloé," Mayor Bourgeois says, in the slow tones of someone coming to a realization. (Chloé turns eighteen next week.) "It is possible that not one of Paris's superheroes became one as an adult. You are asking the city of Paris to protect your secret identities by implying you are older than you are."

Ladybug and Chat Noir exchange glances.

"We're also asking the city of Paris to hold off on the anniversary celebration of Monarque's defeat until the anniversary of knowing we were both going to survive defeating him," Ladybug says. "But yes. That's it exactly."

---

Marinette elbows the door open and holds it for Adrien, then keeps pace with him as they head for the Métro. He's not exactly ready to go back to rock climbing or parkour, but he'll definitely bet on himself in a 5K race against, uh, anyone whose personal best is over an hour forty-five.

"Just think," Adrien murmurs, "we didn't even have to play the 'teenage parenthood' card."

"Isn't it hot out?" Marinette says in a rush, face redder than the warmth of a mid-June afternoon can explain. "I didn't think it was supposed to be this hot out."

"Now you mention it," Adrien says faux-thoughtfully, "I could take off a layer or two…"

Marinette makes a teakettle whistling noise and pulls a sun hat out of her bag of holding just to hide her face in. Plagg's cackling laughter doesn't quite drown out Tikki's giggles.

---

[image: An oddly familiar young woman with black pigtails, wearing a pink raffia sun hat, mirrored sunglasses, pink capris, white gloves, and a white T-shirt depicting a red and black hydrogen atom that says "think like a proton: stay positive!", and an oddly familiar young man with ruffled blond hair, wearing a black raffia sun hat, mirrored sunglasses, blue jeans, black gloves, and a black T-shirt depicting bare hands pouring from flasks of lime-green liquid that says "forget lab safety, I want super powers". They're sitting together on a bench on the Pont des Arts and grinning at the photographer, with all their hands stacked on his cane in a pose that shows off jewelry on their left hands: she has a rose gold wristwatch and he has a rose gold ring with a princess cut diamond.]

alya.ladyblogger: Yes, this is exactly the announcement you think it is!

---

[image: A little black cat plush with a gold collar bell and a black top hat with one red rose; a little ladybug plush with a crown of red and white roses; a pair of stud earrings with green gemstones arranged in heart shapes; a golden wirework lapel pin shaped like a cocktail glass containing two red dice with black pips; two pieces of lilac cardstock with gold text, arranged so that the only text visible on one reads "13 juillet 2018", and on the other, "vin d'honneur sur le Champ de Mars".]

alya.ladyblogger: I am told I'm to remind you that though dethroning Monarque was 21 June 2017, the thing worth celebrating the anniversary of was mid-July. The tragic part is I think they think they're being subtle.

---

[video: A toddler belonging to a favorite Fromagerie Trèfle Violet customer claps and dances along as another customer sings, "One thousand oranges two thousand plums, Windemere Vladimir Carl Alexander, raspberry blueberry strawberry gooseberry François Reginald Lancelot Herman son of Her Majesty Queen Constantina chocolate cheddar and Charlotte and Maisie son of his camembert King Maximilian—"]

fromagerie_trefle_violet: Catering the Ladynoir wedding celebration is getting intense enough even the little kids have noticed. A cappella by Luka Couffaine of @kittysection!

---

[image: A map of the restaurants, bistros, cafés, bakeries, crémeries, food trucks, and other participating food service locations in Paris.]

tomsabineboulangeriepatisserie: We're proud to be among the Parisian locations offering a special food item from the Sunday before Ladybug and Chat Noir's wedding through Bastille Day, with a portion of proceeds to be donated to the super causes funded by Ladybugs In Flight Foundation. Ours will be paired dark chocolate macarons: strawberry and wintergreen!

pink_silk_meteor_hammer: We won't have time to drop in everywhere, so we'll be stopping by a random selection over the course of the week. But we're not putting T&S in the randomizer, because my kitty and I absolutely have to try those macarons!

---

[image: Ladybug and Chat Noir. Paris's prince is draping himself over Ladybug's shoulders in a way that simply isn't possible if this black metallic material is any sort of metal; it would work with his old leather catsuit, but his wedding look bears more resemblance to full plate armor. Our Lady herself has, for the happy occasion, traded her practical outfits for what looks like a red silk gown with a sweetheart neckline and an A-line silhouette, speckled with black roses in full bloom outlined in gold, and a red capelet with mandarin collar, similarly embroidered; black opera gloves, black boots with wedge soles, and a black modesty panel mean she remains covered from neck to toe.]

marinettedesigned: I asked what their wedding outfits were made of, and she said "husband material". Photoshoot promptly derailed. Not shown: about eighteen kisses.

---

[video: Time lapse recorded on the roof of Le Grand Paris, compressing thirty minutes into thirty seconds. The city goes from full sun to full thunderstorm to full sun.]

theofficialchloebourgeois: Rain on your wedding day when you have the Dragon Miraculous. Who would have thought? It figures. I hope there's real rain when my brother gets married; he's having his engagement party in Restaurant du Grand Paris today!

---

"We aren't having a wedding Mass," Marinette tells her grandfather patiently. "Adrien hasn't been to Mass since his mother died. I'm not sure I've ever even set foot inside a church."

"Yes you have," Adrien says, setting two champagne glasses mostly full of sparkling orange juice by Marinette's elbow. "I remember thinking it was funny we had to hide in a church on Ash Wednesday from Monsieur Pigeon episode thirty-three when Jesus died at age thirty-three."

Marinette snorts. "Was that one of the times you got hit hard enough you were contemplating your own mortality? Never mind, I don't want to know."

Grandpa Dupain makes a face like he also regrets asking.

"Anyway, we don't need a church for the part where we say, 'I, Marinette, take you, Adrien, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health'—"

"In calm times and in times the entire city's celebrating like mad," Adrien interjects.

Marinette laughs. "When it's magical and when it's mundane, 'I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.' "

Adrien nuzzles the side of her neck. " 'I, Adrien, take you, Marinette, for my play-pretend wife until we do the actual legal part at which point I will take you for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in'—"

Boom.

The orange juice glasses go flying. Marinette glances frantically around—everyone she expects to see is present and nobody looks akumatized—

Boom.

…Oh. Right. Her wristwatch says 22h30. She was supposed to be bracing for that.

" 'In sickness and in health,' " Adrien continues, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her gently down to where she just knocked him to the floor, "even when she forgets about the scheduled fireworks display and the anniversary of no more akumas, to love, honor, and cherish all the days of my life."

"Cheers," mumbles Marinette, ignoring the sticky spots for the moment (and certain he's ignoring a leg cramp for the moment) in favor of scooting up to where she can press kisses to his pulse point and cheek and the scar beside his eye.

[heavensbeehall]

"Catching Fire", Chapter 14

Part 2: The Quell

Chapter 14: Katniss knows she won't write goodbye letters to her family. Effie has an idea. They watch the recap. Katniss has nighmares so Peeta and she watch the tape of Haymitch's games. Haymitch says his trick with the force field was almost as bad as Katniss with the berries.

Thoughts:

-- A lot of faves first appear in this chapter. I am excite.

-- The Victor of the 25th Hunger Games is not in the lot Effie sent. Peeta thinks "they must be dead." I suppose the Victor could've just had cancer or drinked themselves to death. I immediately suspected foul play though. I always assume the Capitol is up to something.

-- I might have to put my thoughts on Haymitch's games in a separate post. SO MUCH HAPPENING.

Quotes:

"I had it especially done to match Katniss' pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team."

Effie expresses herself with fashion, guys. She had her hair done to match Katniss' pin before the Reaping to show her solidarity. IDK why this makes me want to cry. It's not rebellion really. It's more like Effie is like one of those sportsball fans who paints themself in their team's colors. Except she's not just rooting for 12 to win some trophy, but to live.

If he were the tribute, he would have owed Peeta nothing and could be as drunk as he liked. Now it's going to take all he's got to keep Peeta alive in an arena full of his old friends, and he'll probably fail.

I think we're all lucky Haymitch wasn't the tribute in that case. Being hungover in the clock arena sounds miserable (so much lightning and noise!) Although maybe if Haymitch and Katniss had been the tributes they would've just jumped off their podiums and high-fived each other before drowning themselves in the sea?

In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victors. Fifty-nine are still alive.

33 victors are NOT reaped but killed between now and the end of Mockingjay. More than die in the Arena. You actually had a better shot if you volunteered. (Congrats, Enobaria.)

Effie makes hushed, distressed comments like "Oh, not Cecilia" and "Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight.""

I understand the "not Cecilia comment" since we are later told that she has three small children. Did Chaff volunteer? Or is it just he got reaped so "oh well he could never stay out of a fight"?

I try to make some mental record of the other tributes, but like last year, only a few really stick in my head. There's the classically beautiful brother and sister from District 1 who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, who must be at least forty and apparently can't wait to get back in the arena. Finnick, the handsome bronze-haired guy from District 4 who was crowned ten years ago at the age of fourteen. A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage. Then there's Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from 7, who won a few years back by pretending she was a weakling. The woman from 8 who Effie calls Cecelia, who looks about thirty, has to detach herself from the three kids who run up to cling to her. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be one of Haymitch's particular friends, is also in.

First appearance of my beloved Mags! Also I'd like to see the footage of Johanna rolling her eyes as they brought out the reaping bowl with just her name in it. It also means Johanna has known for months that she is going back to the Arena. I wonder how she handled it compared to Katniss?

After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent.

So Snow definitely moved up from Gamemaker to President by 50. But Finnick says he was a "young man" when he rose to power so I am thinking he became President around 25. Anyone else have thoughts on this?

[callme6olet]

The Neon Glow

The struggle with cyberpunk is that it's supposed to be punk, but it's also all too real. The days of Neuromancer and Johnny Mnemonic are behind us. The idea of the sci-fi corporate supercity, this neon-limned sprawl of concrete, vice, and pollution no longer seems like a frighteningly possible dystopia, but like an exaggerated reality. At its inception, cyberpunk existed in a liminal state between the primary and secondary worlds. These stories were ostensibly set on a futuristic Earth, but there was a sense that it was an alternate future, that these worlds were a warning about something that only had the slimmest possibility of really happening. They read like secondary worlds in the same way that Middle Earth reads as a secondary world: familiar in its bones, in its soul, but not in its details. The fact that that gap is closing, that we're watching those prophecies unfold, is at the heart of the current generation of post-cyberpunk fiction. Gibson's Agency, Stephenson's Termination Shock. Matrix: Resurrections. These stories deal not only with the dread of capitalism's brutal advance, but also (in my opinion) with the writers' mixed feelings over having predicted it, over creating a vision and aesthetic so powerful that our world is actually changing--purposefully--to match it. Just look at the MetaVerse. A Stephenson invention, now marketed as a reality, like that's supposed to be exciting.

This is a problem for me, because I love writing cyberpunk. I stumbled onto The Matrix in middle school, but it didn't sink its teeth in until I came across Shadowrun 4th Edition at Borders. Here was a world that felt lived in, in much the same way that the original Star Wars must've wowed people in the 70's. Arguably, Star Wars and cyberpunk both fit into the classic definition of the latter: high tech, low life. Luke is a farmer; Han's a drug trafficker. And while Star Wars is and will remain my all-time favorite, the cyberpunk genre brought an edge with it, something that grabbed hold of me, hit the dopamine button in my brain: the neon glow. Holograms and flickering advertisements in a rainy night. Smog dyeing the sunset crimson and purple. LEDs glowing from every nook and cranny.

And now, your average gamer's battlestation looks like something out of Bladerunner. And part of me rebels against that: do we not realize that we're losing? We're a couple short steps away from corporate citizenship, for god's sake.

That sense of doubt, that itch, pokes at me when I'm writing and find myself describing more of the same. It made me feel sick watching Edgerunners. The idea of losing your family to random violence because you don't make enough for health insurance isn't fiction--so why is this show dressing it up like it is? Like that's just as outlandish as a thousand-foot holo ad, a street tough with mantis blades in her arms? Did the showrunners not know what they were doing, somehow? Were they just jumping into this genre because they read Neuromancer once, thought it was such a wacky idea?

But then--oh-so-late to the party--I started playing 2077. I rebelled against it at first, felt the same itch, the same existential dread. But then the story revved into overdrive, and all at once, I realized: this here, it's the classic example of tropes done right. The world might be forty years old, but it's flawlessly realized. And, more than that, it is aware of the genre it exists in, of the evolution. There's something about the game that makes me want to be V, to live in a world where you have to carry an SMG to leave the apartment. To live loud. Even a month ago, I would've said it's the feeling of agency, the idea that, in a world of violent conflict, each person is more able to make a large-scale impact. But I don't think that's it, not really. Night City crushes you, makes even the most outrageous victories seem short-lived, insignificant blips against the weight of the world.

The moments that shine out aren't the big ones, they're the small ones. Seeing Mama Welles at the wake. A visit from a stray cat. Going to the ripperdoc and seeing the option to change appearance, because in that world, it's just that easy, and all of a sudden, I can be seeing a face I like in the mirror.

And here's the crazy thing: part of this reality we've stumbled into, this pseudo-cyberpunk corporatocracy, is the fact that's it's almost that easy to switch bodies here, too. We're getting there. There is beauty in all things, even the dark ones. There is beauty, too, in the impetuous, borderline-nihilism of an edgerunner, in the willigness to engage in hopeless rebellion. And there is a beauty in neon lights.

The meaning of the word punk hasn't changed, never will, but its expression has. In the 80's, it meant drinking and smoking because Mom and Dad said not to. Now, what gives me hope is going to punk shows in underground venues and seeing drug-free youth graffitied across the PA. It's realizing that rebellion changes as society changes. That, even though we might live in a dystopia, that dystopia will never choke out the beauty of our reality. So, I'm keeping the mirrored shades; I'm switching the LED strips back on; and I'm going to keep writing about cities bathed in the neon glow.

[spastuetheobsessedphylosopher]

"Oh you're stalling on posting the new 'some thoughts' post because you have so many ideas to write about and it's kind of dizzying" no I'm not shut up

(While we're on that topic, I will end up separating that post into a few smaller ones bc. I cannot organize my mind otherwise)

ANYWAY. Been watching a bunch of GenLoss edits and I really like how people are connecting the storyline to the lyrics of the songs they use. I don't know how to edit so you're getting a tumblr post from me. Yay.

It's gonna be long. Sorry? Not really.

This song is a popular Spanish camp song about the Civil War. I couldn't find any clues of its origin (apart from the fact that it's most likely based on a real letter someone found), but it was incredibly popular in Spain in the 70s and 80s, and is still very well known to this day. It's mostly spread through summer camps (back in those years, mainly by the Boy Scouts), and that's how I learned it myself. Because of this, lyrics vary depending on who you ask. I'm using the most complete lyrics I could find, some of which I didn't even know existed until now. I will do my best to translate it, and then we can do some fun analysis!

Here we go:

Caminando por el bosque, (Walking through the forest,)

entre flores vi que había (between flowers I found)

una carta ensangrentada (a blood-stained letter)

de cuarenta años hacía. (dated forty years ago.)

Era de un paracaidista (It was from a paratrooper)

de la octava compañía (from the eighth troop)

que escribía a su mamá, (who was writing to his mom,)

y la carta así decía: (and the letter went as follows:)

"Madre anoche en las trincheras ("Mother, last night in the trenches)

entre el fuego y la metralla (between fire and shrapnel)

vi al enemigo correr; (I saw the enemy running;)

la noche estaba cerrada. (the night was dark.)

Apunté con mi fusil (I aimed with my gun)

y, al tiempo que disparaba, (and, as I was shooting,)

una luz iluminó (a light illuminated)

el rostro que yo mataba. (the face I was killing.)

Clavó su mirada en mí (They pinned their gaze on me)

con sus ojos ya vacíos. (with their already empty eyes.)

Madre, ¿sabe a quién maté? (Mother, ¿do you know who I killed?)

¿A qué soldado enemigo? (¿Which enemy soldier?)

Era mi amigo José, (It was my friend José,)

compañero de la escuela, (my school classmate,)

con quien tanto yo jugué (with whom I always played pretend)

a soldados y a trincheras. (as soldiers in trenches.)

Hoy el juego era verdad, (Today the game was real)

y a mi amigo ya le entierran. (and my friend is being buried.)

Madre, yo quiero morir, (Mother, I want to die,)

ya estoy harto de esta guerra. (I've had enough of this war.)

Y si te vuelvo a escribir, (And if I write to you again,)

tal vez sea desde el cielo, (it might be from the heavens,)

donde encontraré a José (where I will find José)

y jugaremos de nuevo. (and we will play again together.)

Dos claveles en el agua (Two carnations in the water)

no se pueden marchitar; (cannot wither;)

dos amigos que se quieren (two friends who love each other)

no se pueden olvidar. (cannot forget each other.)

Si mi sangre fuera tinta (If my blood was ink)

y mi corazón tintero, (and my heart an inkwell)

con la sangre de mis venas (with the blood in my veins)

escribiría 'Te quiero'." (I would write 'I love you'.")

I don't think I need to explain how much I love this song or why. There's so much to talk about here, and if my translations were understandable, then I'm sure you've caught onto a lot of it already, but let's begin!

The first stanza was the reason I thought of making this song analysis, as it speaks of finding this lost, old, bloody letter in the middle of the woods. Ranboo's first little clue into what GenLoss was going to be presented the idea of a box full of tapes being found in the middle of the forest. It was said the tapes looked new, but they still give the connotation of an older time period, and while the box wasn't necessarily bloody, the content of the tapes sure turned out to be!

There's not too much I need to point out in the second stanza, except for the fact that it tells us this letter was intended for the paratrooper's mother. This is brought up throughout the rest of the song, as the paratrooper continuously talks to her specifically in narrating these horrid events. Ranboo mentioned in his post-finale stream that the flashing of the mask during the death scene represented all of the memories GL!Ranboo had prior to the experiments being brought back. I imagine our hero thought of many things in this short period of time, but (specially based on how wholesome Ranboo's relationship with his mom seems to be) I think it probable that he mostly felt like he wanted to go home to his family. I think it's fair to assume that this was mixed with all of the guilt they had been carrying throughout the last episode. He wished to die for more than one reason, but one of those reasons was probably the fact that they couldn't face their family after committing all those atrocities even if they somehow found a way out. Because of this, I like to imagine in the context of GenLoss, the song exposes Ranboo's last thoughts before his death, all his memories having returned and him wishing more than anything to go home to his family, but feeling oppressed by his guilt, before they finally accept death as their fate.

Stanza number 3 and 4 reflect the whole situation with GL!Ranboo's vision being altered. In yesterday's stream, when asked about the mask's control, Ranboo explained (or at least this is how I understood it) that the mask wasn't really forcing any actions, just presenting a different reality so that our hero thought he was doing what was right. Stanza three reflects that, with it being a dark night full of disorienting noises where the soldier can only make out the faintest details of reality, and assumes he can see the enemy and consequently shoots, he is acting according to the reality presented to him, not the full truth. Stanza four represents shutting off the mask, shining a light on reality and making the soldier realize what he has done. In stanza number 5, the guilt pours in slowly.

Stanza number 6 has two main things I would like to point out. First of all, we never find out if this friend of the soldier's was supposed to be of the enemy's side or not. There are many ways to relate this with GenLoss. We could talk about blurred lines, or about not really figuring out who the enemy is supposed to be. I like the idea that it represents the fact that while, inside the game there's the hero and the villain, reality makes no distinction inside the cast. No matter who you decide José represents in this allegory, the fact is the same. Whatever role they play, the truth is they were all people GL!Ranboo was friends with in real life. Sides don't matter. Our decisions didn't either. The other thing I can draw a parallel with is that GenLoss originally presents itself as a video game, and playing video games with these other characters is what GL!Ranboo did before he was sucked into these experiments.

We continue developing this point in the seventh stanza. 'Today the game was real, and my friend is being buried'. Today, I wasn't just killing my friend on a video game, this isn't just any 'Game Over' screen. This is the truth, and their blood is on my hands. Once again we are circling back to GL!Ranboo's guilt. But the best lines are the ones that follow immediately (and the reason I thought about this song in the first place). 'Mother, I want to die, I've had enough of this war'. Our soldier, our hero, has given up fighting. The cruelty of his fate has sank so deep into them, they don't have another escape but death. And I want to point out as well that where our soldier was most likely to die in battle if he didn't commit suicide, GL!Ranboo would've eventually died in the show if we had chosen not to kill them. Their fate was almost completely inevitable.

The eighth stanza reinforces this death wish. To the soldier, death is seen as a way to go back to simpler times, and I think GL!Ranboo might've thought that as well. With all their past memories flashing before him seconds before death, maybe he thought the mercy of death would present itself in the shape of getting to see his friends again, with no threats looming over them this time.

Stanza number 9 is the hope that he will be forgiven. That, just like they protected him in the game, GL!Ranboo's friends will receive them with open arms when death comes for them. That throughout everything they went through, a part of them recognized Ranboo as a friend who was just as trapped as they were. Ranboo hopes that, even though he was responsible for their deaths, their blood won't be on his hands forever, and their bonds haven't been ruined completely.

And the last stanza represents the love he held for these people, and how they would sacrifice themselves for their friends in a heartbeat. He already did, for Charlie, killing himself and his chances of escaping in the process. Ranboo died for them, and it may be the one thing they don't regret, even though in the end it doesn't even matter.

Yeah, hope all that made sense and hope you feel the same pain I do. Love you byeee.

(The song is called 'Madre, anoche en las trincheras' for anyone who's curious)

[otterfrost]

little side thing in an all original whump writing im writing that i had to cut but want out in the world

Contains: Forced body modification, restraints, blood (not overly described) electrocution, drugging

Thea -----

I stared up at the monster had chained me down and snapped at him.

"Oh, Pumpkin, don't be like that," he chided.

I lashed my scaly tail angrily, and he tilted my head to the side and raised a drill, then turned it on and pressed it to my ankle. I let out a primal scream, but I forced back her tears, my best friend was nearby, I needed to be strong. For both of us. Helix turned for a moment and grabbed one of the various bolts on the table behind him, then showed me the giant bolt.

He pressed it to where he'd drilled into my ankle, then shoved it into my skin, through bone with inhuman strength.

So he wanted to play that game? I could do that too. I kicked him in the ribs and he wrapped his leather-gloved hand around my throat, then sighed and let her go.

"Echo," Helix snapped, "Teach little Pumpkin a lesson,"

"I- please, I- I don't want to," Cami whispered.

"Now, or I will,"

Cami looked into my eyes and mouthed, 'I'm sorry,'

Cami closed her eyes, and I closed my eyes and looked away. Suddenly, my back arched and someone was screaming.

Electrocution didn't feel anything like how I had expected, it felt numb and lucid, it felt like death and life, it felt like my heart was racing and slowed at the same time.

I opened my eyes, and Helix stared straight into them, sporting an unsettling grin.

Cami suddenly sank to her knees, and I gasped for breath, sweating and finally feeling my muscles relax.

Cami had tears streaming down her face, and she was barely breathing. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed.

Helix stormed over to her and kicked her in the stomach, and she groaned and turned over.

"WAKE UP, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" he screamed.

I realized how young Cami looked at this moment, normally she looked forty years older than she actually was. Cami's silver-streaked red hair suggested she was getting old, but she was only what, seventeen? I didn't remember her birthday.

The scales on my wrists bristled. At Helix, Cami, or both, she wasn't sure.

Helix lifted Cami, and Cami's legs collapsed beneath her.

"Wake up," he hissed.

Cami's eyes opened, glowing like melted gold for one moment before fading to their two different gray-green-blue colors.

"Continue,"

Cami opened her palm, and a few weak sparks shot out, but nothing else.

"I can't," Cami rasped. Helix let Cami go, and she crumpled like she was a pile of the white, golden, and brown feathers on Cami's wings in the wind.

Helix sighed and leaned in next to me.

"You're in luck, I just handled the venom you're allergic to, and we don't want what happened to you to happen again, so instead of my claws, we're using needles,"

He grabbed a syringe off the table and inserted it into my shoulder, and my brain felt fuzzy.

"Alright, take a little nap, and I'll see you at mealtime!" he smiled, before the spots that always threatened to overtake my vision darkened my surroundings.

-

I opened my eyes with Cami and I on our separate uncomfortable beds, and I felt sick.

Cami's eyes were covered by a washcloth and I could hear her soft inhaling and exhaling, as well as tiny sparks crackling with each breath.

I tried to stand up, avoiding putting weight on my injured foot, but it was inevitable. Pain shot through my ankle, and I yelped and fell over.

"You okay?" Cami mumbled, obviously magic-crazed. My wings flapped, and she stared up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," I said. "Just hurts a bit,"

"That's great, there are bandages in the bathroom, also numb-spray, works like actual magic,"

"I miss Vee,"

"She's somewhere, I'm sure she's fine,"

"Really?" I said, sarcasm thicker than my scales. "Fine? Here?"

"'m just saying. Now god-den or- wait-,"

Cami went quiet with a soft, confused mumble.

I shifted into my small dragon self and limped to the bathroom, then yanked out the bandages and numbing shit or whatever with my teeth. I shifted back and put pressure on my ankle. The bolt pressed painfully against my muscle, and I attempted to pull it out, only for it to widen the gap and act like a gauge that was taken out too quickly.

I sat on the floor for a while before Helix's girlfriend entered the room and said, "Hey, its mealtime soon, you alright?"

I shook my head and Lady Cora saw the bolt.

"What did he do?"

"He- I- I displeased him and-"

"Come here," she whispered.

She hugged me and said, "I know I've done similar things, but I think he's gone too far. I'll ask him why, alright? Now, lets get you to the main room, you can have a coffee or something,"

She lifted me to my feet and helped her walk to the main room, then gave her a mug with hot coffee inside. I thanked her and Cami entered with Tatiana. Tatiana had been decided as broken already, and Tatiana babbled in Portuguese, keeping up appearances as barely able to understand English and barely aware, but I could see the constant glares across the room at Helix. I couldn't wait to watch exactly how he'd die, couldn't wait for freedom.

[bokauffmann]

Oldest Brewing companies in the world

Hey there, whiskey lovers and history buffs! Today, we're diving into a spirited debate that's been swirling in our glasses for centuries: Which is older: Bourbon or Scotch? 

Which whiskey has the longest history? You might think you know the answer but hold onto your highballs because this tale is full of twists, turns, and a dash of historical intrigue.

Let's start with a little place you might have heard of—Buffalo Trace Distillery. Nestled in the rolling hills of Frankfort, Kentucky, this legendary distillery has been churning out bourbons since seventeen eighty-seven.

That's right, while the United States was still in its infancy, Buffalo Trace was already perfecting the art of bourbon-making. And get this: they even kept the spirit flowing during Prohibition, thanks to a special license for 'medicinal purposes.' Talk about a cure for what ails ya!

Now, let's hop across the pond to Scotland, where the misty moors whisper secrets of the oldest scotch maker in the world. The Glenturret Distillery, with its quaint stone walls and storied past, claims to have been established in seventeen seventy-five.. 

Imagine that—a time when kilts were more than just a fashion statement, and the Glenturret was crafting the smooth, peaty flavor we've come to adore in a fine Scotch. This makes it about 13 years older than Buffalo Trace.

But wait, there's an older contender in the whiskey world! We're off to the Emerald Isle, where the Bushmills Distillery in Ireland holds the prestigious title of the oldest licensed whiskey distillery on the planet. 

Since sixteen oh-eight, they've been granted the royal privilege to distill, and they've been doing it with Irish pride ever since. That's over four centuries of perfecting the 'water of life,' as they say in Gaelic.

But we’re not done yet.  More history is coming, but please take a second to like and subscribe, would you?

Now, before you raise your glass to Bushmills for being the granddaddy of whiskey distilleries, let's take a detour to the Netherlands. Dutch firm Bols has been distilling liquor since fifteen seventy-five. 

That's right, while Shakespeare was penning his first plays, Bols was already busy distilling. They may not be a household name like some whiskeys, but they certainly deserve a toast for their longevity in the distilling game.

And just when you thought we couldn't go any further back in time, let's talk about beer. Because why not? The world's oldest beer brewery, Weihenstephan Brewery in Germany, has been operating since ten-forty. 

That's nearly a millennium of brewing! While knights were jousting and castles were being built, Weihenstephan was perfecting the art of beer. It makes you wonder if they ever had a medieval Oktoberfest...

So, who's the true ancient libation? It seems our journey through time has shown us that while whiskey may have its old-timers, it's actually the beer that takes the crown for the longest history. 

But whether you're a fan of bourbon's sweet caramel notes, Scotch's smoky sophistication, Irish whiskey's smooth charm, or even a cold pint of historic brew, there's no denying the rich tapestry of stories each of these drinks brings to our glasses.

In the end, it's not just about which drink has the longest history—it's about the stories, the craftsmanship, and the traditions that have been passed down through generations. It's about the people who have dedicated their lives to perfecting these beverages for our enjoyment. 

So, the next time you sip on your favorite drink, remember that you're not just tasting alcohol—you're savoring a piece of history.

Cheers to that, my friends! Whether you're clinking glasses of bourbon, swirling a dram of Scotch, sipping on a smooth Irish whiskey, or raising a stein of ancient beer, remember that each drop is a legacy. 

So, let's drink to the past, and who knows—maybe one day, we'll be part of history too. Now, go forth and share this tale with your fellow connoisseurs, and let the spirits of history fill your soul and your cup!

And do us a favor and watch another in our growing lines of videos, please?

[lynnsadventur]

Sixteen-year-old Brooke steered her car into the parking lot across the street from the convenience store, on her way to a postgame football party with her cheerleading squad.

She was going to buy some sodas and chips to bring to the party, but she had also wanted to sneak in a six-pack of beer. Her parents didn't drink, so the only way she could get some would be to shoplift the beers. She had done a small amount of shoplifting before, and it was rather easy.

By parking across the street and carrying her large cheerleading duffle bag into the store while dressed in her uniform, it would give the appearance that she was walking home following the game. Then she could buy the pop and chips, but slip the beers into her bag, as well.

As she walked into the store, she smiled at the clerk, a middle-aged man in his forties, who was working alone. She browsed the snack aisle slowly, taking her time, as she picked up a bag of chips. Then she sauntered over to the refrigerated case.

As Brooke passed the beer rack, she looked toward the clerk to see if he was noticing. He seemed to be reading something in another direction, so she quietly slipped the refrigerated case door open and deftly snuck a six-pack of beer into the partially unzipped duffle bag. Then she scooted over to the sodas and picked up a six-pack of those to pay for.

Brooke hadn't realized it, but the store clerk had been watching her in one of the large parabolic mirrors, checking her out in her little uniform, while she had slipped the beers into her bag.

When she arrived at the register to pay for the sodas and chips.

"Do you need anything else tonight?" the clerk asked.

"No," Brooke replied. "That should do it."

"Then what about the beers in your bag?" he inquired.

Brooke's face fell off.

"Shit," she muttered. She had never been caught before, and never really thought about the consequences, since it had been so easy.

Brooke slowly reached into the bag and pulled the beers out.

"Well young lady," he said. "I guess you're in some trouble now."

He picked up the phone and dialed the police, who told him they would be there in a couple of minutes.

"Okay, miss, just wait over there near the office door. The police will be here in a couple of minutes."

Brooke wanted to cry. She had never really contemplated the potential outcome, and now it was too late. And this store clerk was going to take no mercy on her.

It didn't take long for the law to arrive. Two police officers, one probably in his early forties and one who seemed to be just out of training, walked into the store.

"You've got another lifter?" the older cop asked.

"Yep," he answered. "A kid, right over there next to the office door."

The clerk pointed squarely at young Brooke, who wished she could be anywhere but there at that moment.

The older cop got an eyeful of Brooke, and he could tell she was scared.

"Well, we're gonna take her into the office for a while and talk to her before we take her in," he told the clerk.

"That's fine," the clerk responded. "I'll be here in case you need anything."

The older cop looked over at the younger one and smirked as the two slowly approached young Brooke.

"Well, young lady, I guess you've found yourself some trouble, huh?" the older office asked.

"Yes, sir," Brooke answered solemnly.

"Well, then, I think we'd better step into this office and discuss the situation before we take you in," he said.

The officer opened the office door and ushered the three of them in, carefully locking the door behind them.

"So," asked the younger cop. "What were you trying to steal?"

"Beers," she simply said.

"This isn't the first time we've seen minors trying to steal beer, either" he told her.

"So what happens now?" Brooke asked.

Knowing that the store policy was simply to take minors in to scare them, but not to prosecute, the older cop figured to play the situation for all he could get.

"Well, we're supposed to take you in to the station and book you for shoplifting, then call your parents. They can bail you out or let you spend the night in jail before you see the judge tomorrow morning."

Brooke's eyes started to water.

"Isn't there any way you could just let me go with a warning?" she begged. "My parents will kill me, and I'll get kicked off the cheer squad, for sure."

"Well, that's not the policy," the younger officer told her. "Sorry."

"Please?" she pleaded with teary eyes to both men. "I'll do anything not to get in trouble for this. I've learned my lesson."

The older cop looked young Brooke's sexy little body over. She looked so hot in her little cheerleading uniform.

"Anything, huh?" he mused.

"Yes, sir," she said.

His eyes devoured the teenaged cheerleader. She had long, wavy blonde hair, large and bright blue eyes and delicious- looking lips.

Brooke wore a tight, body-hugging sweater. It was a V-neck style, white on the top with a bulldog emblem for the local high school across the chest. The emblem stood out impressively, propelled by her two "C"-cup-sized breasts. The sweater was black on the bottom half, with a four-inch-wide band of bold/white/black/white/gold across the body of the sweater in a similar "V" shape, just below the emblem, with the black initials "MHS" in the white area between the "V". The same color pattern extended across the back of the form-fitting sweater, as well as the long sleeves.

Her skirt was black with sixteen inverted gold and white alternating pleats. It hemmed out very high on her shapely tanned thighs and nicely caressed her fine teenaged ass. A pair of white knee socks, with a black band around the top, and white athletic shoes capped off her delightful uniform.

The older cop wanted her pussy, and this cheerleader seemed very willing to do almost whatever she could to avoid trouble. He glanced over at the younger officer and smiled.

"You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?" blurted the other cop.

"Yep, I'm afraid I am," came his answer.

"What's going on?" asked poor Brooke.

"I think my partner has an option for you," the young cop told her.

"Like what?" Brooke inquired, anxious for anything at this point.

The older cop was straight to the point.

"Like we let you go, provided you let us both fuck you and cum in that cute little mouth of yours," he simply offered.

Brooke simply looked at them both, absolutely stunned at the idea of getting out of trouble.

"And then you'd just let me go?" she asked.

"Yep," the cop said.

"That would be okay, I guess," she relented. "Because I don't want any trouble. It's just that I've never been fucked before."

"Are you serious?" asked the younger cop. "A beautiful girl like you?"

"No," Brooke answered. "I never had the guts to ask a guy yet, and I guess they haven't, either."

"Well then," said the older man, "we'll just have to show you how it's done."

"And you want to shoot your stuff in my mouth?" she asked, wincing a bit at the idea.

"Definitely. And you would need to swallow it, too."

"I've heard it doesn't usually taste very good," she commented.

"Well, that's part of the deal. We don't want to leave a mess in this office."

"Okay."

"But we'll have to be pretty quick about it," the young cop added. "Because that store manager will wonder what's going on. And we'll have to be quiet, too."

Brooke nodded in agreement.

"Okay, then, sweetheart," the older guy said as he unbuckled his trousers. "You can start by sucking on my cock."

Brooke just nodded and stepped toward the man to do as she was told.

"And I'll fuck you from behind while you suck him," added the young cop. "Just bend over for me."

Brooke looked a bit alarmed.

"You're not gonna put that thing in my butt, are you?" she asked with concern.

"No, I'm gonna stick it in your pussy from behind," he explained. "It's called 'doggy-style'."

Brooke snickered as the older guy fished his half-erect penis from his boxers and offered it to the high school cheerleader. Brooke took it in her hand and obediently placed it in her warm mouth. Bent forward, she started sucking on it while the guy fucked her mouth slowly.

She felt the other guy's hands as they reached under the pleats of her little skirt. He pushed the pleats upward to expose the tight gold cheerleading bloomers with her white cotton panties underneath.

Brooke felt him grab the waistband of both pairs and tug her bloomer/panty combination down her thighs, leaving them stretched across her legs, just above her knees. He spread her knee socked legs for leverage and fisted his hard cock against her virgin pussy lips from behind.

Her pussy was dry, so the young cop began rubbing her pussy lips with his dick. It didn't take long to get the hot little cheerleader nice and wet. Within a couple of minutes, young Brooke's pussy was sopping with her own cunt juices.

By this time, Brooke had sucked the other cop big and hard. His cock now filled her young mouth, and he began to pump in and out of her lips. Brooke put her hands on her knees for rest and support as the guy skull-fucked her with one hand grasping each side of her head.

The young cop nestled the head of his prick to Brooke's love tunnel and slowly pushed it in until it hit her maidenhead, the thin membrane that marked her virginal state.

"Okay, baby, I'm gonna bust your cherry now," he told her. "It'll hurt a little bit at first, but it'll go away."

He put his hands on the sides of her cheerleading sweater and punched it through her hymen quickly. Brooke grunted as he popped her innocence, but the pain quickly subsided.

"Okay, baby, that was it," he reassured her. "You'll be fine, now."

The cop slowly pulled out, then slid it back in repeatedly, each time giving the teen cheerleader about a quarter-inch more schlong. Before long, he was able to fuck a good five inches into her first-time twat, enjoying the ultra-tight fit of her virgin pussy.

Poor Brooke was getting pumped from both ends simultaneously as she was bent over in her sexy cheer uniform with her hands on her knees.

"Stroke it with your tongue while I fuck that mouth of yours," said the older cop.

Brooke tried as best she could to satisfy the man. After a few minutes of double-fucking, the two men decided to switch positions simply by having little Brooke turn around.

"I need to rest my mouth for a couple of minutes," Brooke said. "My jaws are sore."

"Then I'll fuck you on this desk while you rest for my partner," said the older cop.

As Brooke wiggled her cheer briefs and panties down to her ankles and kicked them aside, he picked the cheerleader up and placed her on the edge of the desk. Brooke lifted her legs, placing the soles of her shoes on the edge of the desk, also, wide to the sides.

The sixteen alternating gold and white pleats of her little black cheer skirt spread nicely across the top of her thighs as she presented her moist love treasure to the older cop. She looked marvelous with her knee socks cocked to the sides, inviting the man to impale her with his saliva-coated cock.

He lifted the sides of her sweater and tugged the fabric high on her chest, above her ample breasts, as he also lifted her bra cups to let her mammaries free.

"Yeah, let's see those nice tits while I fuck you," he blurbed, as he squatted a bit to put his cock in position.

Brooke smiled as she looked down and watched him push the head of his prick between her pussy lips and gently slide it in. She could feel his member fill her tight, warm snatch as he took several fuck-strokes to drive the full length into the young girl, mashing his pubic hair against her pink clit.

"Oh, yeah," he murmured. "Fits like a fucking glove..."

The younger cop watched, gently stroking himself, as his partner hammered little Brooke's deflowered pussy gently but firmly. Brooke's tits wiggled with each thrust as they dangled beneath her cheerleading sweater and bra.

Brooke was really enjoying this now. She looked over at a nearby mirror and was able to see the reflection of herself getting fucked from a third-person perspective. It made her even hornier.

The cop was only able to fuck young Brooke for a few minutes. He had to stop for fear of blowing his load into her pussy, and he didn't want his DNA filling the high school cheerleader.

"Fuck," he gasped, as he pulled out of her. "I've gotta stop, before I blow my load in your cunt."

"It's my turn, then," said the younger cop, quickly, anxious to dip his fleshy spear into her teen treasure again.

As his partner stepped aside, the young cop assumed the position and was quickly fucking the teen cheerleader with a frenzied pace.

The older cop could only watch as Brooke's long blonde hair bounced around with her tits as his partner drilled her with quick thrusts. He didn't even touch his cock because he knew he would blow his wad early. The excitement level was just too much.

The young cop didn't last long, either, before he also had to pull out.

"Okay, let's switch positions again, just like how we started."

The two officers pulled Brooke down from the desk and positioned her between them again, this time bent forward to receive the younger guy's cock in her mouth.

Placing her hands on her knees again, Brooke opened her mouth wide for her oral fucking, while feeling the back of her little skirt being pulled up and the other cock entering her pussy from behind.

The younger guy slid himself into her waiting mouth, and she sealed her lips around him. The threesome continued the hot 'n heavy action for another four or five minutes.

"I'm ready to shoot off," grunted the older cop. "How about you?"

"Yeah, I think it's time," grunted his younger partner.

The two cops pulled out of the teen cheerleader.

"Okay," said the older one. Kneel right here between us, hold your head back and keep your mouth open."

Brooke nodded and did as she was instructed. She was almost completely out of trouble with the law now, and she knew she had to keep her end of the deal.

"I'll go first," said the older guy.

He positioned himself between the girl's knees and put the head of his cock on her tongue as he stroked himself.

"Remember, you need to swallow it all so we don't leave a mess. Understand?" he asked.

Brooke nodded, as she waited for his creamy cargo.

"Aw, shit, here it comes," the cop grunted.

His cock spurted a load of thick, frothy goo into the cheerleader's open mouth, sliding down her tongue to the back of her throat. Again and again, he fired his spunk repeatedly into her young mouth, and the obedient girl swallowed every bit of his load without hesitation. After four or five salvos of steamy cum, he squeezed the last of it onto the girl's tongue.

"Oh yeah, baby," he exulted. "You're such a good girl."

He stepped aside to zip up as his partner took his turn, standing between the girl's knees.

"Hey, baby, stick your tongue out so I can watch it shoot into your mouth without spilling a drop," he told her.

Brooke pressed her tongue against the underside of his cock, keeping her head back and mouth wide open. It didn't take this guy long, either, to give her a good, frothy drink.

"Aw, shit!" he exclaimed, as he shot his first wad of cum off the roof of her mouth.

Another squirt of warm, creamy jizz followed, then another, and another. Brooke's mouth was filling with the cop's spunk faster than she could swallow.

"God, that's a load!" exclaimed his partner. "You're gonna drown the poor kid."

The young cop kept on feeding the cheerleader his creamy nectar, which pooled in her mouth. Brooke tried desperately to gulp down the relentless flow of semen. Finally, the cascade of cum slowed to a point where Brooke managed to swallow fast enough to keep up. Mercifully, it trickled to a stop.

"Okay, baby, suck the last of it out, he told her.

Brooke sealed her lips around his cock and sucked as he stroked himself down the shaft one last time, slowly squeezing the last of his seed into the teenager's mouth. She felt the last of his creamy goop as it hit her taste buds, and she swallowed the last drops of it like a proper young cheerleader should.

"Well, sweetheart, you've earned your freedom," said the older cop, with a smile. "Just let us put you in the squad car and take you a block away, so this store manager thinks we're doing our job."

Brooke nodded as she pulled her bra and sweater back into position, and then reached for her panties and cheer briefs, quickly putting them back on. She smiled to herself, happy to be out of trouble with the law, but also happy she had pleased these men.

[leam1983]

Anticipation

Welp, the last nail's been set. My cooler's ordered, so's my case. I have everything else. Now all I need is time, and an extra pair of hands. Thankfully, I've got two of those.

An able-bodied PC builder and Network Admin wouldn't really need to make an event out of turning Thermaltake's latest open-air mid-size ATX case into a bleeding-edge gaming and video editing rig, but my prerogative is that I get to wait for one of Sarah's off days to order a couple pizzas. One of the pairs of hands won't be Walt's, my unpacking some of our calling centre's miniPCs in front of him frightened that bit of him that's eco-conscious. As yes, playing around with computer hardware is probably the least carbon-neutral hobby you could hope to have - especially if you're in one of those corners of North America's East Coast where FreeGeek or its equivalents just don't exist...

Now, the flip-side of all this is parental disapproval. You'll remind me I'm forty, a tax-paying adult whose only remaining ties to his progenitors are affective and genetic, and someone who now makes enough in two weeks to cover for everything, but the fact is that no amount of prior investment in three different share and bond portfolios is enough to assuage the Motherly Unit's impression that I've just burned a fat chunk of change. Nevermind how it doesn't concern her, she's long-since aced the ages-old martial art of Saying and Doing Nothing, but Doing These Two Things in Exceedingly Angry Fashion. Ever since she figured out the total cost for my parts list, she's been distant, self-effaced and physically closed-off. Dad took it in stride - he knows what I know, monetarily - but this is coming three years after my last build.

To be honest, I'm also worried, but for different reasons. It used to be builds I put together could last me ten years or more. Within eighteen months of my current setup, I'd noticed weird hitches and frequent FPS drops in the oddest of places. For all the tests I carried out, I came to the conclusion that Windows' provided backend is thicker than ever - even with debloat scripts used. The problem is you sort of need Windows to take advantage of something like an RTX 4090's full potential, as we're nowhere near native ray tracing on Linux. My workflow in DaVinci Resolve was chugging along - at 32 GBs, and I've never needed to render things in 4K - even if my 109000K's twenty cores were still more than serviceable.

I'm putting it down on a mixture of Windows bloat and bad silicon lottery, but three years with an enthusiast-level build is not long enough by my standards. This one needs to last me ten years or more - or bust - as I can't morally justify this kind of expense, even if I can afford it.

As it is, we're looking at a Rocket Lake i9 11900K with 64 GB of Corsair Vengeance DDR4 RAM, two 2TB Sabrent Rocket 4 NVME SSDs and my laptop's old no-name 1TB NVME as a third drive. It's video signal provider will be ZOTAC's RTX 4090 Trinity, all of it powered by a Corsair RM1000x PSU. Seeing as I've gone with one of Thermaltake's P-something-or-other Pro cases and that the resulting finish is quite test bench-like, I'll only be using the Corsair H150i Elite's three fans as the system's onboard cooling. The GPU's going to have free range of the open air around my desk, and the case includes what's needed to go for a vertical mount on the card. The resulting finish should be quite snazzy...

Now all that's left is my wrangling the niggling sense of guilt that hangs around for a few days after I pull a stunt like this. My inner Fun Police is particularly tenacious, my Internal Gestapo being ready and willing to prowl my brain's crevices for any trace of enjoyment. I wouldn't call myself excessively scrupulous and I never insistently project disapproval onto a convenient moral avatar - but it has happened in the past.

To some go the oddly fun mental projections of Cistercian monks admonishing them for their self-affirmation (see @scrupulosity-comics for more) mine's always taken the shape of a cigar-chomping mafioso cartoon weasel; effectively a forgotten member of Who Framed Roger Rabbit's Toon Patrol, more or less Don Vito Corleone with an elongated snout and a thing for permanent sunglasses. Don Weasel Biggs, head of the Biggs Cartel in my homebrew RPG setting, is money-wise, abrasive, rude, well-meaning, brutish and occasionally as kind as a caress dealt with fine-grit sandpaper - and he never fails to comment on how much of a maroon I am, when it comes to spending cash...

I guess I have an inner Scrooge, too - the suggested default would involve throwing every single cent from every single paycheck into something other than a bigger rent check split in threes...

Oh, well. A few hours in Faerün and eight or so spent in the land of Nod should shut the both of them up.

[ringo-n-co]

JESUS H TAPDANCING F*CKING CHRIST!!! STFU!

I didn't think it would ever get this bad but a coworker of mine has finally triggered my tics. I didn't have tics until working at my current job which went away after a change of equipment (old machine was so horribly noisy that it would nearly sent me into a panic/make me want to flee the building to get away from it but we got a replacement last year that is SO much quieter and easier on my ears/nerves) but a coworker that I'll call "V" has done it.

She came to nights a few months back and was alright at first but it's now like dealing with a toddler in it's late forties/early fifties. She constantly b*tches about the temperature in the room. "It's cold in here" she'll say before finding the nurse on the floor to go into the neighboring purchasing room to mess with the thermostat (the nurse has a right to be in that room, V doesn't have the right to/let alone to mess with the thermostat) and crank the heat up. Our break room gets miserably warm afterwards. I've had chemotherapy and heat drains my energy level bad since undergoing treatments and the heat kills me especially after being up on my feet running the halls and taking out trash.

After about an hour or two after having the nurse f*ck with the thermostat she'll say "it's hot in here" and say she's going to get the nurse to turn the heat back down (that never ever f*cking happens) and she kicks the box fan that's kept in our room on and more often than not aims it DIRECTLY AT HER. In addition to this this she constantly has her phone blaring. I don't have an issue with Dr Phil, but I don't think our whole break room wants to listen to him while we're on our phones, eating, or are occupied with something else. She also sings along (both under her breath and out loud) to songs on our radio. This happens while the temperature is f*cked and while she's doing the final thing that irritates me, playing cards.

I don't know the official name of the card game she likes to play with another one of our coworkers but they call it "Damn it" which is was V yells when getting riled up while playing. That is when she's not yelling "mama needs a new pair of shoes" or "mama needs new bloomers". This is also accompanied by the horribly triggering sound of cards be tapped on the table along with that ripping/zipper/fart sounding noise they make while being shuffled.

The combination of the miserable heat, the card tapping, and singing in my final hour (I arrive and leave earlier than the rest of the housekeepers. I'm not technically a housekeeper, my job title is "floor tech") drove me crazy and made waiting to clock out awful! I don't exactly know if I have misophonia but something was definitely triggered and I had to suppress tics (head jerks upwards and to the right) and was fuming while walking out to my car.

Sorry for the long post just needed to vent a little, and sorry Christ for using your name like I have.

[lydias--stiles]

i'll bet it all, you're bulletproof

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: 24 hours // shawn mendes

/////////////////////////////////////////////

"Happy birthday," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her lips as they curled into a smile.

Lucy's eyes cracked open. Normally, she didn't like spooning all that much — LA was hot, regardless of a blasting AC and linen fabrics — but today, on her birthday, she loved the safety and comfort she felt laying in Tim's strong arms. Call her lame and cheesy, but she could stay here all day and it'd constitute as the best birthday ever.

"Thank you," she whispered, rubbing their noses together. "It's already off to a great start."

He grinned. "What do you wanna do today?"

"You don't have anything planned?"

He feigned shock. "I should've?"

Lucy laughed. "Did you learn nothing from your time with Rachel, Bradford?"

"Risky move, Chen," he teased. "Mentioning my ex while we're in bed?"

"That must mean I trust you."

His face softened. "Yeah. Good."

"And… I just wanna spend time with you and the others. No fancy dinner. Just all of us at the bar."

"I'll get it done."

She kissed him again. "I love you."

Tim sighed, so completely relaxed she wished to photograph it and frame it and remember it, this moment. His hand cupped her cheek, keeping her close.

"I love you more," he uttered.

He always said 'more' instead of 'too.' He didn't love her; he loved her and more. His competitive spirit stretched into romance as well, something that should've been off-putting if she wasn't so damn keen on winning games herself.

"How does it feel to be thirty-one?" he asked.

"I should ask you what it was like, you forty year old man," she giggled, always safe to tease him about their moderate age gap. Nine years was nothing now, though some people still reacted surprised when they shared that.

He rolled his eyes, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "I was engaged at the time," he said. "A different life."

"Yeah…"

Closing her eyes and tucking herself in his shoulder, she tried to forget that fact. Though all Tim's history made him into the man he was today, whom she reverently loved, it did sting at times when she remembered there had been Isabelle and Rachel and maybe other women.

Similar to her string of boyfriends, but the difference was that she never committed, or loved them. Casual.

Tim never did casual.

His hands mapped her body, slow caressing down her back and legs and to her face, uttering: "Baby… you're it. You know you're it."

She nodded. "I just sometimes feel like I have some catching up to do."

"You kidding me? You constantly surprise me," he puffed. Her heart fluttered at the uplifting words. "I'm still thinking about that beach date."

The infamous date where she lured him at the end of his shift to the beach under the guise of concern for Cujo, only to surprise him with a romantic picnic on the beach, secluded from all other folk. That date. The date where he gawked at her, the realisation dawning nothing was wrong and she simply went overboard to give him a great night, and then sputtered for the first time that he loved her. He loved her more than she could imagine.

Her lips slanted across his again, hands languidly tracing the grooves of his chest and up to his neck, sinking in his hair to pull him impossibly close.

"Thirty-one is… sexy," she exhaled in his ear.

With his face burrowed in her neck, he hummed: "Mh-hm."

"Liberating."

"Yeah."

"A new chapter." He rolled her on top of him, eliciting a giggle out of her and cherishing the sound. Moments like these with their high intensity lifestyles were rare. His awed expression fell into the pillow. "With you," she added.

Their hands intertwined on his chest, almost shy, the rhythm audible beneath her fingertips. Steady, warm, hers to keep.

Pushing himself up to face her, nose to nose, his smile that stretched into a beam felt like the greatest gift Lucy could receive. Just this. Just the heady atmosphere settling for something softer, fonder, with her hands curled around his neck and wondering how it hadn't always been like this. Sometimes Lucy wished she'd worn her emerald dress sooner; might've sped things up a bit.

Tracing her cheek, jaw, shoulder, he held her captivated in a trance when he whispered: "Will you marry me, Luce?"

Somehow, her natural instincts for UC work did not see that coming. Of course Tim had to sweep her off her feet and make her stunned, again, like their war of pranks had never stopped. Old habits die hard, she supposed, but a marriage proposal seemed a bit more permanent than baby boots stuffed in a locker.

Lucy was digressing, but only because she didn't know what to say. 'Yes' didn't suffice.

His lip twitched. "Lucy?"

"Yeah," she exhaled, her eyes shining with bliss. "Yes. Yes. Yes, I— are you sure? You're not saying this, because—?"

"I've been sure for a while," he cut in, determined. It was a good look on him. "Not to steal your birthday thunder, but…"

"You're not stealing anything," she uttered with a giggle. Softly, she kissed his lips and then kept them there, wanting to say it again. "Yes. I'll marry you."

Tim hummed, delighted, but then— "I'm stealing your heart," he teased.

"Gag."

"Too much?"

"Way too much."

[georgiapeach30513]

Ma’am you can’t write all those things about Aster and Joshua and not give us the details! Aster and Beck are meant to be, but at least show us more of young Aster and Joshie.

You guys did NOT think I would leave you completely hanging did you?? So let's kinda take a deep dive into Joshie and Azzie's relationship. Other than James, Az and Iris were the first kids that Joshua met. Bear in mind there is nearly a four year age gap between the two. And as sexy as Az is, she's always favored guy friends over girls. Her and Owin didn't become friends until a bit later in life. Her and Joshie were besties from the beginning, and he never put the pressure on her to be more than friends like Carter did. So here was the first tease of them. Joshie is trouble for Azzie.

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Please, Joshie

Summary: Joshie is just helping Azzie out

Pairings: Joshua Barnes X Aster Drysdale

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, teasing, a bit of degradation, mentions of ab riding, dry humping, fingering, squirting, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.6K

Desperate Lives AU Masterlist

Aster Drysdale Masterlist

"Azzie!" Joshua shouts outside at the top of the playset before she runs up to him. She sits down beside her friend, while they look at the setting sun. He takes a quick look into the house to see their parents and siblings are still preoccupied with some board game, before he wraps an arm around Aster. "I like you."

Aster gives him a cute little giggle before responding with an, "I like you, too."

He hums looking back out to the sky, "You think you'll get married?"

"No! I don't want babies," she scrunches up her nose and it only makes Joshua laugh at her. "Well, that's what you do when you get married. You knead the dough, and then it bakes in the oven," Joshua turns to look at her oddly. "It's a jumping on the bed thing."

"Right. Your parents 'jump on the bed', but...what if there didn't have to be kids involved, would you get married?"

"Can you do that?"

"I think so," Joshua nods his head. "I don't want kids either," he looks over at Aster when she hums. "You think...I mean, since we both don't want kids, do you think that, maybe, we get married when we're really old?"

"Huh," Aster looks over at Joshua, her eyes squint when she looks at him, "Like when I'm thirty-five? You'll be almost forty. That's really old," Joshua smiles and nods his head. "Do we have to kiss though?"

"Married people kiss, Az. You'll have to kiss me sometimes."

"Yuck. Like, maybe one kiss to seal the marriage."

"I'll take it," he reaches in his pocket and pulls out the most beautiful ring the young Aster has ever seen. A big giant diamond (fake) and her eyes go as large as the tear drop diamond. "What is that?"

"Your engagement ring," he slides the gaudy bauble over her finger and she looks up at him. "There, now, when we're old and almost dead, we'll get married. So you won't have to worry about kissing me too much."

"Just the wedding. Do I have to always wear this?" Joshua shrugs his shoulders. His mom always wears hers, but she also is married. "I just don't want my daddy to know," she leans over to whisper in his ear, "Because he'll be mad."

_____________________________________________________________

Aster walks around frowning in hers and Joshua's apartment. Dumped again, and it was all Joshie's fault. Wearing nothing but some shorts, a cotton bra, and one of his button ups, she plops down on the couch, and picks up her phone calling him. "Where are you?" he releases a long puff of air, before she groans, "Did you just have sex? Why are you panting?"

"Aster, some of us don't have these perfect little asses, and we go to the gym."

"I go to the gym."

"When? When you were in high school and playing volley ball. You did have a tight ass then. Quit rolling your eyes at me."

"I did not!"

"I heard the eye roll through the phone. What is it that you want?" Aster pouts and moans again, "What did he do this time?"

"It's your fault."

"My fault? What the fuck did I do?"

"You're hot, and people think you're my boyfriend," Aster sits up on the couch when the door opens up quickly, and Joshua slams his phone down on counter.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Move," she sits up long enough before she's falling back on him.

"You're sweaty."

"Gym, sweetheart. So the latest guy, that was just in our apartment last week, broke up with you because I'm hot?" Aster rolls her eyes looking up at Joshua. "I mean, I know I'm hot," she gives him a little punch to the stomach. "Didn't hurt. Why are you dating insecure men?"

"Because sex feels good," Joshua snorts. "What? It does."

"It can feel better," she sits up to look at him and he looks down at her mostly exposed body, cocking up his eyebrow. "I hear you with them, ya slut."

"I have sex with my boyfriends."

"And they suck...well, they're not sucking enough."

"What does that mean?" Joshua throws his head back on the couch, and starts laughing. "Joshie! Joshua Buchanan!" crawling over his body, she goes to straddle him, pulling his head up to look at her. "What does that mean?"

He takes his thumb and skims it over her cheek. Both his hands flowing down her body, until they hold tightly to her hips, and he lurches her forward. She inhales a quick breath, "What is it Azzie?"

"What're you doing?"

"The question is," his thumbs barely rub over her nipples, before he looks down her front, the thin material showing her hardened peaks. "What is your body doing?" he leans forward and ghosts his lips over her neck, ending behind her ear, "I feel your pussy throbbing over my cock."

"Joshie," Aster pants out. "We're friends."

"Friends, take care of each other. You, my friend, are very frustrated."

"It's my personality."

"No," leaning back he looks over her face, "You've never gotten off."

"I've had sex."

"Yeah, I heard. Just because you have sex doesn't mean you get off. You're not a good actor," she attempts to swat him again, but he grabs her wrist faster. "You want me to help."

"I don't wanna have sex with you."

"We don't have to. From just the sound of my voice, I have made this cunt so messy. I feel your warmth. I've turned you on," Aster shakes her head, and looks down at his stomach. "Oh the things you could do to that. I'd let you ride my abs."

"Why?"

"Sweet girl, you don't need penetration to get off. You wanna try," Aster bites at her lip, but still refuses to look at him. "You're really cute when you're embarrassed. I could show you all kinds of things about sex. And if you say we're fucking friends, eh, just look at it as fucking...friends. Friends that fuck. It's easy. You know I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'd never do anything to hurt you. It's just a bit of fun."

"You promise?" she finally meets his eyes, and he nods.

"An arrangement. I scratch your back, and you scratch mine. If there's a serious relationship, we can stop. But if you're loser boyfriends that don't know how to pleasure you are jealous of me, let's give them a reason."

"Can you show me?"

His hands slide up her belly and under her bra before pulling up the cotton, exposing her breasts. With a sly smirk, he leans forward, kitten licking her nipple, before blowing a cool breath on it. Aster's body shudders, and he moves his hands to her hips to start coaxing her over him. "There ya go. How does that feel?" she doesn't answer, just lets out a satisfied moan. "That good huh? I wanna feel you?"

"What?"

"Az, you got around in high school. Who fingered you first?" Aster tries to think, but is completely mindless, "Carter?"

"No."

"Chase Collins?"

"He just wanted me on my knees, or pounding into me."

He grabs tight to her hips, and grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him, "Who fingered you?"

"Uh..."

"Has anyone's fucking fingers been in your pussy?"

"God, you make this sound so nasty."

"It is. This is pure filth, now answer the damn question. Or can you?" she shakes her head no, and Joshua picks her up to lay her flat on the couch. "Fucking ridiculous. Jealous of me, when they can't even get you off on their fingers. Man, you're gonna see. These stupid boys," he harshly starts removing her shorts and panties, and Aster's hands go to cover herself up. "You're gonna learn. Move your hands."

"Why?"

"Because I want to see that filthy messy cunt, okay? Move your hands," slowly she moves her hands off of her, and Joshua inches her thighs apart. "There ya go," he tilts his head to see her slick dripping down on their couch, "Talk about some pent up frustrations. Azzie, I'm sorry baby, they've neglected you," Joshua's hands slowly slide up her twitching legs, leaving chill bumps in his wake, before he comes into contact with her drenched folds. His own eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

"This sweet girl," he creates slow circles on her clit, "That's a magical little thing. Stimulate this enough, and we're gonna have to get a new couch."

"You're not sticking it in."

"There's more to pleasure than that. A combination. Let's start here," leaning forward, he kisses along her heated and sweaty skin, her voice making much sweeter whimpers than those chumps she brings home. He watches her face, when those fingers slide down her slit, and she grips tight to his biceps. "You're such a mess."

"Joshie..."

"Don't hold back, Azzie," he adds a third finger, and moans at the way her walls flutter around him. Squelching sounds vibrating into the quiet living room. "Quit biting your fucking lip, and just make those pretty sounds."

"I can't."

"You can. And you're gonna or," he starts removing his fingers from her core.

"Don't. Please, Joshie."

Seeing her face almost wrecked, he knows it isn't much longer. Too long has she waited for someone to take care of her, instead of just taking from her, and making her think that they did a good job. Curling his fingers he searches for her special spot, and when she yelps, he starts driving into her. The calloused pads of his fingers hitting it over and over again. Not stopping when Aster tries to bring her thighs together, just constantly shoving his fingers into her. His palm rubbing sinfully over her clit, and when she sobs out his name, and gushes onto the couch is when he slows.

“You okay?” she only nods her head. “Why do you look shocked?”

“What was that?”

He gives her a chaste kiss on her lips, pulling his sticky fingers out of her core. “That sweetheart, was an orgasm. Has no one ever did that for you?” she just shakes her head no. “If you think that was great, you should see what my mouth does.”

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