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qm-vox · 5 years

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Hunter: the Vigil - Left-Beef Deliveries

There is a Domino's Pizza in Lenawee County, Michigan, that is open for 24 hours. They don’t get a lot of business after 1 AM or so, though of course you’ve got the stoners and the late-shifters, the early-shifters up before they have to be or the drunks up past when they oughta be the fuck down, but what this joint does get is a lot of calls just like this one:

“I need a none pizza with left beef at Needle Lane Farms.” The voice - a young man’s - is shaking, cut up with ragged breathing and forced into the kind of low, insistent volume one does not associate with shitposting in real life. “M-mind the dogs. They’re loose. Please, we need it right away!”

Our Heroine here at the Domino’s is a thirty-four-year-old lass by the name of Cheryl. Her voice isn’t right for this sorta call either; when she answers it’s in a calm, steady tone, full of compassion and surety: “You kids need to stop with these prank calls. Someone’s gonna do something about it.”

Then Cheryl hangs up the store phone, having put in no order (and how could she, with no payment information) and does two things at the same time: hit a contact on her cell, and call up the address information for Needle Lane Farms in the company’s system. Did you know that a pizza place can often find addresses that 911 dispatch centers can’t? Cheryl certainly does. It’s why she works the graveyard shift.

The person on the other end of the cell call picks up on the second ring. “Deliveries,” they answer, their voice clipped and sure.

“Needle Lane Farms,” Cheryl replies immediately. “Load for wolves and wounded. Standby for directions.”

At a country house far from town (as the natives think of it) and also right next to it (as the map thinks of it), four other people haul themselves out of bed while the woman on the phone with Cheryl writes down a set of directions. They grab shotguns and pistols, ammunition for both, flares, first-aid kits, airhorns, and flashbangs of the kind civilians are not supposed to have, pile into a dented van, and go tearing off into the night. There’s a little Domino’s logo parked on top of the van, a sign to the ticket-hungry cops prowling the dead shifts that if they want to keep their discounts friendly, they need to keep their mitts off the people inside.

* * * *

Needle Lane Farms is a fairly successful, family-owned farm in Lenawee County. They’re big supporters of local farmer’s markets, and their owners and employees can often be found as guest speakers in various high schools around the county, talking about ethically-sourced food and the complex moral choices involved in one’s choice to be vegan, vegetarian, or not. None of that is relevant to the events that follow except insofar as no one involved quite did anything to deserve this. Needle Lane rather unfortunately entered the sight of a group of eco-fascists from Canada that migrated across the lakes to stake a new claim after being...

...Evicted, let’s say...

From their previous arrangements. When they made their displeasure known in the form of slaughtered livestock and destroyed tools, fences, and vehicles, and the cops rather suspiciously turned up nothing, Needle Lane turned to the Lower Michigan Paranormal Investigation Society, three young men and one young woman with a camera who See The Unseen(tm).

One of those young men is currently dead, or at least he’d better be. His head is in the fork of a tree branch, a good thirteen feet from his body, which has deep claw wounds ripping it up just in case decapitation stopped killing humans in the last forty-five seconds.

Our eco-fascists, currently exhibiting the latest fall fashion line from Things That Should Not Be by being eight-and-a-half-foot wolf-men with, say, man-shredding and head-throwing claws, are quite enjoying their introduction to the LMPIS, which is going swimmingly for them. The young woman (Alicia) is proving somewhat troublesome; she’s in the loft of a barn with a seemingly unlimited supply of pepper spray. One of the young men (James) is in the house, on the phone, but the police won’t come here, not after the problems the owners started with the department last year. The last young man (Brad), a fifth-year senior who’s starting to think he should have been studying instead of looking into whatever ended up with him being stalked by god damn werewolves, is fleeing down the driveway towards the main road, shrieking in terror. One of the pack bounds after him, savoring the fear of his prey.

It is this werewolf who first greets Left-Beef Deliveries by getting hit by their van at sixty miles an hour. Bones and the front hood of the van crunch and crumple, and the werewolf goes flying under the old beater’s wheels to the tune of further breaks from being run over. The van skids to a halt, and the moment it’s slow enough the side doors open up and the four people kicked out of their bed by Cheryl’s call and their leader’s insistence go spilling out. Two run down the crushed werewolf as he tries to get up; one, a mousy young man whose ‘just pulled out of a locker’ vibe is being seriously impacted by the double-barrel in his hands, unloads into the werewolf’s center of mass.

Did you know that silver shot melts in sufficiently modern firearms, due to how hot the powder burns and how fast the rounds move? Our young man, Nathaniel Briggs, certainly does, which is why the antique piece of shit he’s using blows an absolute fucking crater in the werewolf instead of punching a neat hole like a better gun might. His battle-buddy next to him, Greta Miller, sweeps the road with a pistol and flashlight while Nathan double-taps the mass of fur and muscle he’s already killed.

In the barn, the sound of gunshots distracts the two werewolves who are trying to figure out how best to menace Alicia. This informs them of two valuable pieces of information. The first is that there are new enemies on the field, who are armed. The second is that Alicia seems to be wholly immune to the aura of maddening terror they usually use against humans; the moment their heads move aside, she pops out of hiding and nails both with a long stream of pepper spray from the canister she’s holding. They flee from the barn, howling in pain and terror, directly into the raised shotgun & pistol of Left Beef’s other sleep-deprived van members: Tess & Sally, the former a brick shithouse of a woman who catches the falling body of her prey in one hand without dropping her shotgun, the latter more resembling what happens when you try to make a Keebler elf edgy.

Two members of the pack remain standing, and when they see the fifth of Left-Beef’s crew - the older woman who took Cheryl’s call, and who is now lifting a bolt-action rifle to her shoulder - they flee into the night, howling in outrage.

After a moment, the van’s driver lowers her rifle and calls for a sweep-and-clear. She slings her weapon across her back, unholsters a pistol from her belt, and starts rounding up LMPIS’s survivors. Both of the young men are wounded, but will live; Alicia is unharmed, and vibrates with a barely-restrained and eminently inadvisable rage.

“W-we owe you one,” James stammers, as his rescuer examines the long, shallow claw marks down his back. “None of the owners even woke up...”

The older woman makes a noncomittal sound. “They do that. And wolves aren’t the only ones that do. I’m Elena, and we’ll all be talking after sunrise.”

Alicia perks her head up. “About?”

“The much more than ‘one’ you idiots owe me.”

#hunter: the vigil #world of darkness #fanfic #violence #horror elements #gun #knives

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

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List random facts about your OC and then tag people whose OCs you want to know more about

Kitty Richardson, and tagging anyone who’s interested! DO IT. YEAH, YOU, IN THE BACK. AND YOU IN THE FRONT. ALL OF YOU.

(I was tagged by @wretched-mischief!)

-Kitty may hate cockroaches, but she actively likes tarantulas. They’re furry. And they eat roaches. :p

-she’s not a skilled fighter, like, at all. She relies on surprise and being underestimated (which happens often; she’s this tiny little waif). Honestly, it works for her. I mean, y’know. In the whole ‘maiming and murder’ department.

-for what it’s worth, Tim Drake is her favorite Robin. He’s quiet. She’ll still kill him, given the opportunity, but it’ll hurt less. (Jason Todd is her least favorite. He called her a Keebler Elf the first time they met and she is BITTER about this.)

-she can and has towed Jonathan Crane across the street because ‘there’s a dog, look at it, look at it, it’s wearing a rain coat, Jonathan, loOk-’ (he’s usually caught between ‘I see it, Kitty’ and ‘all right, yes, that is actually very cute’. BECAUSE IT IS.)

-Kitty and Oswald are friends. Short, murderous people have to stick together amongst the sea of legs.

-she has a scar on her chin from the first time she fought Batman. The cause of it? One of the ears on his cowl. Literally, she jumped him and hit him at the WORST angle, and BAM. (It’s debatable about who was more surprised. She didn’t think that would happen. He didn’t realize it was even possible.)

#Kitty Richardson #ocs #The More You Know

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queenslasharchive · 6 years

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Believe

A gift for @chaoskirin, never stop believing.

“I believe in Santa Claus

Like I believe in love

I believe in Santa Claus

And everything he does

There’s no question in my mind

That he does exist

Just like love I know he’s there

Waiting to be missed…”

A long long time ago, in the land of ice and snow, there was once an ivory-haired foundling left on the steps of a winsome little cottage in the center of an ever-wintery forest.

Why ever-wintery you may ask?

Well, it was a place where snowflakes never stopped falling, where rivers never broke apart into grue. A place where it could be Christmas Day all year round, everything imbued with a certain sort of magic.

That little cottage in the wood, made of strong sturdy arctic firs and draped with gossamer strings of icicles, the sort that almost looked like the trailing strings of fairy-lights and tinsel, to grace the pine boughs of a Christmas tree decades later… belonged to a family of tiny elves by the name of Kringle, toymakers by trade and a burgeoning family by choice.

They called their new baby boy, Nicholas.

The world would come to know him as Saint Nicholas, Santa Claus, and Kris Kringle.

But three wan boys with big dreams and empty pockets, would come to know him as John Richard Deacon, their Deaky.

-X-

Strangely enough THE Santa Claus, was rarely, if ever, at the North Pole (which on a map, was actually called Polaris).

He could usually be found fixing something in the apartment he shared with his bandmates, a wrench held between his teeth as he tinkered away. He had been building and inventing toys since he was in the cradle, so the process of creation was nothing new to him. Yet he would still be at a loss for words when Roger would trot over, as John was laying flat on his back, fixing their shitty fridge once again, and plopped down, straddling his stomach. (Which was not round and jiggly like a ‘bowl full of jelly’, thank you very much, modern culture. He was sort of chubby yeah, not gonna deny that. But dear lord, every caricature depicted him as some obese old man. It was almost enough to give him a body complex. Almost).

“Hey Deaky?”

Rog started with that annoyingly inquisitive tone of his and John merely grunted at the knee in his ribs.

“How did you learn to fix stuff like this?”

Because I was raised by toy-making Keebler elves in a magical winter-wonderland forest.

“Practice.”

Roger asked a lot of questions like that.

Most people liked to write him off as the dumb blonde of the band, (obviously there to do little more than pose and look pretty, while playing on his kit or laying on an album cover), but in practice, Rog was anything but.

“Hey Deaky?”

John hummed as Roger’s hand stilled from where it had been carving through his long pale ponytail, bushy as ever in the confines of it’s scrunchie.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why is your hair all white? Are you albino?” Ever the biology major.

Magic, Roger.

“I dunno, I was born with it.”

Which wasn’t to say that Brian and Freddie didn’t ask difficult questions as well, but they were rarer events. Most of his quirks he could easily explain away to them. Like Fred when he shoved eight cookies into his mouth at once. The impatient boy was just lucky they were still soft out of the oven, or he probably would’ve choked to death and they’d be out a lead singer for the band.

As it stood, Freddie flopped over the arm of their couch’s nasty love-seat, hands folded over his mouth, making several guttural sounds better suited to a porno than a reaction to baked goods.

“Good, huh? Or are those just the sounds of despair?”

Freddie made a noise that sounded a bit like how Cookie Monster must have in the throes of passion.

“Funny, the way you go on, I’d always thought you could fit more in your mouth.”

He caught a faceful of moist towelettes for his insolence, but it was so worth it.

“How in the world did you learn to cook ambrosia, darling?” Freddie asked, once he could finally breathe again. John shook his head and tucked in his chin to hide the smile.

“Tante taught me.” Tante Kringle, his elf mother.

Fred’s brow had crinkled and his lips pursed in confusion. “Tante?”

Deaky did the washing up with a smile on his face. “Yes, it means Aunt in German. She and my uncles raised me.” Brushing a stray clump of snowy hair out of his eyes, just because it was white didn’t mean he could see through it. Freddie came up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist, pressing his curved seashell ear onto John’s back to hear him breathe.

“What happened, Deaky?”

Fred sounded so sad, but John merely tossed his hair aside (Freddie insisted that it stay long for their glam look) and pressed a little kiss to the crown of their singer’s head.

“My parents abandoned me on their doorstep as a baby.”

“They did what?!” Freddie sounded so bloody broken up about it that John had no idea what to say. It wasn’t a big deal anymore. He was raised by the most unbelievably loving elf family. (Part of him wished that the boys could meet them, you know, without freaking out).

“It’s alright, Fred. I never knew them and my family loves me very much.”

Freddie pouted, arms wrapped around John’s tummy. “Still.”

****

Roger snorted as he watched one of the many TV movies leading up to Christmas, “Hey, did you lot know that Santa’s got a pilot license?”

Freddie had laughed into his cornflakes, sitting cross-legged on the living room rug in his underwear. Brian didn’t look up from his textbook, or the leaning Tower of Pisa he’d constructed out of notes from each of his dozen classes, frantically studying for his next final. John nodded, of course he knew, it was his license. Thank you, American Assistant Secretary of Commerce.

“So Bri…” Roger trilled, rolling over until his blonde head was all up in Brian’s face, covering his frantically written notes, in a way that reeked of suicide. The fire in Bri’s eyes could have deforested the Congo.

“Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“No. He doesn’t exist, he’s a social construct. It’s impossible. No one can go deliver gifts around the world in one night or go down a flue over and over, especially not a man that size. Suffice to say, reindeers can’t fly and could never carry that many presents. Now kindly bugger off, so I can study.”

Thank you, Mr. Analytical.

…Whatever happened to magic?

Sometimes he really wanted to pull A Year Without A Santa Claus and see what went down without him.

But then he’d remember his family, waiting up in the snowy hilltops for him and just how hard they worked for the joy of children each holiday season and he could never pull shit like that. Not when they relied on him so much.

Tante would pull him into her lap as a little thing and smooth out his hair with her dainty glass hands.

“Our boy, our Kris, our little Saint Nicholas.”

-X-

“I believe in Santa Claus

But there was a time

I thought I had grown to old

For such a childish rhyme

He became a dream to me

‘Til one Christmas night

Someone stood beside my bed

With a beard of white…”

-X-

As usual, Christmas Eve came far too soon and he was frantically packing up in the dead of night to get the show on the road.

Making sure his boys were safely tucked into dream-land before creeping out into the living room, dressed in a pair of obnoxiously red flannel pajamas, snow boots and a white parka the same shade as his hair (the suit would be waiting for him in the sleigh, along with the toys and everything else sent along by his ever-vigilant family). His cheeks were round-peach rosy even in the cold and tugged on a pair of fleece mittens with a practiced hand. He was just walking around the couch to grab his discarded polka-dotted scarf, when his foot connected with something worryingly plush and startling human.

Roger groaned as he sat up like Frankenstein’s monster, holding his stomach where John had inadvertently kicked him. “Hey Deaky, what’s the big idea?!”

John was at a loss. “I just saw you… you were asleep in bed…” He waved his hands around as if that would remedy the problem.

Rog just rolled his eyes, “Nah, that’s Fern. The girl I brought home last night.”

“…and you’re not asleep with her?”

Roger cringed as though John had suggested he drop Freddie’s hairdryer in the bathtub, while he was in it. “Well, you know Johnny Boy, when a man loves a woman, or a man loves a man, or a woman loves a woman, (let’s be inclusive here)… sometimes if they’re too close together they…” Cue several vulgar hand gestures. “I wasn’t sure if you lot wanted to hear that.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t. But now I can see it. Thanks for that.”

Roger grinned like a greedy kid on Christmas morning.

“No problem, Deaks!” Then his eyes narrowed in on John’s outfit and the small clutch of luggage in his keeping. “Where are you going?’

The young bassist blanched. “Oh, you know.” A vague hand gesture. “My family needs me to rush home for… reasons.” I have to go fly around in a red suit handing out presents to children. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

He tried to grab everything he needed and make a beeline waddle for the door, but Roger was far too fast for him and basically galloped over, to wrap those skinny noodle arms tight around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. Fuck.

Instead of doing the sensible thing and asking him why he had to go, or if there was anything he could do to help, Roger screamed for Brian and Freddie at the top of his lungs. Yelling about how there was a Christmas emergency and John was trying to flee the country.

Thanks Rog, thanks a whole fucking lot.

Freddie hurled himself out of the bedroom, tinsel wrapped around his neck and candy-cane pasties on his nipples. It complimented the tight yellow star boxers down below that left nothing to the imagination, leftovers from their wild Christmas party the night before. “Wha’s going on? Deaky’s going on the lam? Who did we kill?”

John’s will to live.

“The last of my sanity.” Brian groaned, scrubbing a hand through his half-flattened curls. “What is going on?”

Roger instantly let go and pointed the finger at John, like they were still in primary school and he’d stolen Rog’s Hello Kitty eraser. “Deaky’s trying to run off and join the circus!”

“No, I’m not!” He was about to rip out chunks of his own hair though. “I just have to go home for a few days…” Nope, I’ve got to go be Santa.

Freddie was aghast. “But Deaky, you’ll miss Christmas! I thought we were going to celebrate together.” He looked so sad about it. Dramatic Queens, the lot of them.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. About to launch a long winded apology and partial explanation. Until he got distracted by Roger, who was running about and gathering up all his shit like some sort of small opinionated human tornado.

“Rog, what are you doing?”

“Packing!” The drummer squeaked, squishing himself between the love-seat and the pull-out couch to dig up his other sock. “We’re coming with you!”

Roggie, you can’t just…

The familiar symphony of hooves touching down on the roof, dislodging more than a fair bit of snow, sounded high above their heads and John contemplated using his wintery magic to knock the boys unconscious. Alas, Bri just crinkled his nose.

“What on earth was that?”

John grimaced. “My ride.”

-X-

When he got up to the roof, Donner was all up in his face with that wet nose of hers, the others not far behind her. His loyal reindeer queen. His fuzzy baby girls that he’d raised from the very moment that they’d tumbled out into his arms. They knew his scent, the funny choked-off laugh mimicked by all around the world, they loved him. (Yes, his sleigh ran on fierce girl power. Male reindeer didn’t have antlers this deep in the wintertime).

He trudged through the surprisingly thick snow to be able to reach out to all of them at once.

The boys were openly staring behind him. Keeping a wide berth, but ah hell, what did John have to lose? Might as well give regal disaster Freddie the time of his life. John took the shy singer by the hand and led the scrawny boy towards the rarely skittish creatures.

“Hold your hand out palm up, so they can sniff you.”

Freddie was adorably incredulous, whispering over and over under his breath. “I’m being sniffed by a caribou. I’m being sniffed by a caribou. This is the best day of my life. I’m being sniffed by a caribou.”

Brian cleared his throat, eyes unblinking as he worried at his bottom lip absently. “John. Why are there caribou on our roof?”

“They’re uh… reindeer… That’s the term they prefer.”

Bri nodded, waiting a suitable amount of time before. “Right. John. Why are there reindeer on our roof?”

“They’re my ride.” He sounded sheepish as could be, drawing a hand through his ever-mussed ivory hair, pretty sure that Brian was inches away from pulling a Santa Clause and shoving him off the roof to die.

“Your ride home is… in a sleigh drawn by reindeer? Were the red-eye all booked up?” Disbelief written across his soft features, plain as day.

“Uh no. You um… caught me red-handed. I actually have to make some deliveries first.”

The toy bag was resting in the back. It was magic, you see, the correct toys wouldn’t appear in his sack until he had reached the intended home. The children sleeping softly in their beds, eager for what the next day would bring.

“You have to make deliveries in a sleigh drawn by reindeer on Christmas Eve?” Brian rolled his eyes skyward, those bony arms crossed to hide the way they trembled. “I think I know this story. Isn’t that Santa Claus’ job?”

John shifted side to side, clearly uneasily. “Well, yeah. Though can you really count it as a job when I’ve never gotten paid?”

Bri looked more frozen than the ice freezing on the edges of his curls. “Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me, Bri.”

“Um, no. I didn’t hear you, because Santa Claus doesn’t exist.” And this was the man who thought he was so much better than those who called Galileo crazy, for suggesting that the world didn’t revolve around the earth? Wow. Irony.

John rolled his eyes, because this was going nowhere and he didn’t have any time to lose.

“Look, believe whatever you want. But I don’t have time for this. Take Freddie and Rog and go back inside. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

He moved to climb into the sleigh and change clothes. But not before seeing an eager Roger sitting in the front seat, beaming from ear-to-ear and practically bouncing where he sat. “Oh fuck that, come on boys! Let’s go save Christmas!” The drummer crowed, arms spread as wide as could be.

“Rog, Christmas isn’t in danger.”

“It will be if you don’t get a move on, Santa Baby.” A finger reached out to poke at his soft middle and John blushed all the way up to his ears, as Roger began to hum the opening lines of the song.

“Fuck you.” Honestly, he didn’t mind and could give a shit. (At least it wasn’t Little Drummer Boy, for the thousandth time).

“Aw, don’t be shy, Johnny! It’s cute!” Roger squirreled his arms around John again, who rolled his eyes before hugging back, loathly.

“Rog, you are so on the naughty list, for life.” Enjoy coal, bitch. (Okay, so maybe he cared a just little bit).

“Let’s save Christmas!” The naughty blonde simply crowed, throwing out his arms like he was preparing for some sort of grand entrance at a ball (as the princess).

John pouted as he moved to check all the rigging, he wasn’t taking them with him. He wasn’t.

Spoiler alert: He took them with him.

-X-

‘“So you’re too old for Santa Claus”?

He said with a smile

“Then you’re too old for all the things

That make a life worthwhile…

For what is happiness, but dreams

And do they all come true

Look at me and tell me, son

What is real to you?”’

-X-

He cracked the reins to get them soaring into the air, even though the girls knew exactly what they were doing.

His boys seemed the opposite, a complete motley of emotions. Brian was scowling like a sullen little boy, and holding onto the edges of his seat for dear life. Roger was still bouncing around like a little kid on a sugar high, so no change there. And Freddie was trying to avoid looking down.

“Fred, you okay?”

Soft swallow, “I’m not much of a heights fan, dear.”

“HA! Deer!” Yes, Roger was most certainly still drunk from drinking his body weight in spiked eggnog earlier. Or maybe that was just Roger. John unceremoniously reached over and dropped the reins in Freddie’s hands.

“Drive the sleigh for a minute, yeah? I’ve got to get dressed.” He ordered absently, as he climbed into the back to change into the proper attire. The response from the boys was immediate, Roger froze and stared over at Freddie with unspeakable horror. Freddie himself clutched onto the reins with trembling hands and Brian was flabbergasted, as usual.

“Freddie can’t even drive a car, Deaky!”

“Oh we’re gonna die… we’re gonna die!” Roger moaned from the back and Freddie whipped around with a venomous scowl on his face.

“Thank you so much, darlings, for the vote of confidence!”

John tucked his discarded parka around Freddie’s narrow shoulders. “It has to be him. Nobody else has the song power needed to keep this thing up.”

Roger snorted into his hand. “Fred’s good at keeping stuff up.” Fear momentarily forgotten.

Brian eyes were practically suspicious slits, “Song power? Is that a thing?”

Freddie looked like a mix between nervous and intrigued. “Do we have to sing Christmas carols to stay in the air?”

Nope.

“Definitely.”

He dressed in the back as quickly as he could, fortunate enough that his warm suit was tucked safely amongst the floorboards. He hastily handed off pieces of his clothing to whoever looked the coldest, as he was serenaded by the worst Christmas carolers he had ever heard in his life. If the sleigh really did run on song power, oh they would have been dead long ago.

Roger wolf-whistled as he climbed into the front in full-regalia. “Looking good, Deaky!”

John flushed all the way up to his ears and Freddie frantically passed the reins back. A few of the reindeer tossed their heads and gave him scathing looks for being under-siege by such an unexperienced driver.

“You aren’t singing.” Brian deadpanned.

“I don’t have to, I’m Santa.”

-X-

Once they’d hit all the bloody homes in Britain, Brian was sitting there blinking in shock. “How in the world…? It’s been minutes!” (What could he say? He’d had a slow start). Bri’s stubbly jaw was half-hanging open like a shutter door somebody had forgotten to close.

“Stand up, Bri.”

They were flying through the air faster than the speed of light, the ocean swirling, curling and sloshing beneath them. Brian looked at him like he’d just suggested jumping into it.

“Stand up!”

Brian rolled his eyes and did as requested, so John dropped the reins into Freddie’s hands again, as he pulled Bri over to the edge of the sleigh. They were flying at a height that turned the clouds into cotton-candy and brought the stars ever closer. He tightened his arm around Bri’s tiny waist to support him, watching as those dark eyes filled with wonder once more. A wide, childlike wonder. Mirroring the face of a little boy who had once believed in magic.

Brian May, Hampton. He’d asked for space-related paraphernalia every year for Christmas during his childhood. The one year he’d asked for a bike instead, John had personally attached planetary stickers and streamers to the handlebars.

Bri, when did you stop believing?

His hands reached out to touch the stars.

“Hey, Bri, do you know what they see when they look up at us?”

Those doe eyes were enormous as he shook his curly head. When did you stop seeing the magic in the stars?

“What?” A little smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

“A shooting star… Make a wish.”

That lovely smile took full center-stage again, a man who believed again, in something more.

Merry Christmas, Brimi.

-X-

“Just believe in Santa Claus

Like you believe in love

Just believe in Santa Claus

And everything he does…

Wipe that question from your mind

Yes, he does exist!”

-X-

They flew around the world in a matter of hours.

Even when Freddie begged to be left in Japan (they’d had to bodily put him back into the sleigh, “Just leave me here to enjoy my life!” Fighting for freedom with all his might). Roger was groaning with a sore distended belly from eating all the bloody Christmas cookies that John had shoved in his direction. (“What the hell? Why did you eat them all?!” Roger pulled his big pouty face. “You said they would be upset if you didn’t!” John rolled his eyes skyward before ordering that if Rog had to puke, he more certainly wasn’t doing it in the sleigh. Magic could only go so far.)

And Brian was looking around like he was seeing the world with new eyes.

John made sure he dragged each of them down the chimney at least once, to give them the full-experience of laying down the presents and experiencing the whole shebang.

Their only issue occurred in America. Where they hadn’t noticed a little girl in a fuzzy green nightie asleep on the couch overlooking the tree. She had sat up with a stuffed snake cradled in her lap.

“Santa?”

All four of them had frozen. (Why he’d thought it was smart to bring all of them at the same time was another matter entirely). John had turned though, with a practiced smile on his face, it wasn’t the first time he’d been caught by a pair of curious little eyes.

“Hello, love. You should be asleep.”

She had rubbed at her eyes with a tired little smile.

“Sorry, Santa.”

“It’s alright, little one. I’m sorry we woke you up, my friends are helping me deliver gifts tonight,” He looked around with mock-furtiveness and spoke in a stage-whisper. “They’re a little new at this.”

John gently tucked her in on the couch. “Merry Christmas, Aeryn.” She smiled that child’s gummy grin and pressed her stuffed snake ever closer.

“Merry Christmas, Santa.”

But nothing was better than looking in the backseat of his sleigh, the one that had seen many lonely Christmases in his time, and seeing all his rough-and-tumble boys curled up together instead of empty space.

Brian’s head pillowed on Freddie’s shoulder. Rog curled up across both their laps. Freddie flopped over like a deflated bouncy castle.

For a moment he wondered if being Santa meant giving himself the best Christmas present as well, for when he looked at the boys he’d miraculously accrued… perhaps he already had.

The sleigh touched down in the center of the small elfin village that he’d helped to build so long ago, all of the icy grandeur patterned around that tiny cottage in the ever-wintery wood. The house that had served as his school, his workshop and his home beyond all else.

He hurled himself out of his uncomfortable wooden seat (they really needed to invest in better padding) to careen over to that same little cottage and the old elfin queen who waited for him there. Tante Kringle opened up her arms and he bent in two to hold her close, even as his knees grew damp and icy cold from the snow beneath them. He couldn’t help the sob that escaped his chapped lips.

“Oh how I’ve missed you my little Saint Nicholas.”

“I’ve missed you too, Tante.”

She pressed a familiar kiss against his forehead, tracing the path of a snowflake. “Did you have a lovely Christmas?”

“The best I’ve had in a very long time.”

Her hands crested on her rounded hips and she tsked in his direction. “And have you called your mother yet young man? You know she’s been waiting to speak to you for millennia.”

John groaned and rolled his eyes skyward. “Let her, I do have eternity, you know. And she abandoned me! She can wait.” He flashed her his token impish grin, only this one came with a forked snake tongue and slitted red eyes. His birth-mother’s calling cards.

Oh you didn’t know Krampus had birthed Santa Claus?

Well, that dears, is a story for another time.

-X-

John carried his limp sleepy boys inside, one by one, and gently tucked them in on their messy couch. Brushing his chapped lips across every forehead within reach. “Happy Christmas.” He whispered to each and every single one of them.

The boys who had ‘saved’ Christmas.

But he lingered a moment afterward, saying a little Christmas wish of his very own.

It doesn’t matter if you lot don’t believe in Santa Claus. That’s not something I would ever force anyone to do. But promise me, that you’ll believe in something. Anything. Even when everything is dark and there isn’t a Christmas light in sight? Believe. Believe in hope, believe in the future, believe in yourselves. That is all I want for each of you. That’s what I’m designed to teach. A belief in something incorporeal. Something beyond the limits of the possible.

Yet when they woke up hours later and fervently asked about how things had gone, had everything gotten delivered in time, oh god was John really Santa Claus? He had merely raised an eyebrow, sipping at his hot cocoa.

“Wow, you three certainly got plastered at that Christmas party last night. I wonder what was in that eggnog…” Smiling to himself with a knowing sort of look.

Already getting ready for next year.

-X-

“Just like love you knows he’s there

Waiting to be missed

Just like love I know he’s there

Waiting to be be missed…”

-X-

(MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Features the song: “I Believe in Santa Claus” from the Rankin/Bass Christmas special. :D)

#fic #submission #secret santa gifts #christmas #john: santa claus #magic au #relationship: polyamorous #fluff #sharing a flat #relationship: established

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explain-usa-circus · 6 years

Text

Prominent Republicans you should know about

I wanted to put in all the Republicans, although the list got too long. So I’ll put the people who have the three longest bios: John McCain, Ted Cruz, and Jeff Sessions

John McCain (senator from Arizona)

Even though he died in August 2018, I fee I should make him first, being that he has played such a large roll in American politics, even after his death.

McCain was an American hero who fought in Vietnam. Shortly after he was captured, the US was negotiating prisoner swaps. Being that McCain’s father was a Prominent military vet, he was given the chance to leave early. Yet he stayed, saying it wouldn’t be fair to his follow soldiers who were captured along with him. Only after the war ended did he finally get released, along with everyone else. That’s the type of guy he was- never willing to leave people behind for special treatment. After the war, McCain went on the be a senator in Arizona for 30 years, and running for president twice.

Anyway, the first time Trump mentioned was in the summer of 2015, when most people thought he was still a joke candidate. He famously said “I like war vets who weren’t captured” when the topic of McCain was brought up. This of course, was coming from a guy who lied about his medical history to the government so he could dodge the draft.

Even though the two were from the same party, McCain, unlike many other republicans, refused to cave to trump, putting country over party. The most famous example is in July of 2017 when he voted to save Obama care. The Republicans had created the bill in only one month, and now wanted to vote. This was unprecedented, given that a bill this size would take years to review. McCain may not have liked ObamaCare, however, he hated how his party was rushing a bill. After voting against it, he told congress there needed to be “regular order”

Fast forward to August of 2018. It was well known that McCain had been struggling with cancer for a while, and told reporters on August 24 that he would stop treatment. He died the next day.

There was a lot of debate on how to feel about his death. After all, he did vote for the Iraq war and tried to repeal Obama care multiple times, which would have taken away health care from millions of people. Yet even his harshest critics felt sympathy. Unlike so many other politicians, he admitted and apologized for his mistakes. This is in part why his passing shook the nation. He was unique in that you could disagree with him all you wanted, yet at the end of the day, you could still respect him.

Many people consider his death the end of an era. With his passing, so did the last trace of Republican civility and bipartisanship.

Anyway, right up to his death, Trump remained nasty to him. For example, shorty before his death, a White House staffer said “so what if we don’t get McCains vote? He’s going to die anyway”. Rather than firing them, Trump defended the staffer.

At his funeral, he has both Bush and Obama speak, which was powerful considering that they both beat him for the presidency in 2000 and 2008- the only two times he ran. He had a mix of Republicans and Democrats speak, showing a sign of unity even after death.

In the end, McCain got the last word. He literally banned Trump from attending his funeral. Normally, no matter how different their political views were, a president would speak at the funeral of a congressperson. This was his final middle finger to Trump.

Ted Cruz (senator from Texas)

He’s the guy that no one from either party likes, yet puts up with. For example, Lindsey Graham, a Republican senator from South Carolina, said back in 2016 "If you killed Ted Cruz on the floor of the Senate, and the trial was in the Senate, nobody would convict you."

Anyway, Cruz is by far the farthest right ideologically within the Republican party, which is saying something. He ran in the 2016 presidential election, and was one of the last standing against Trump before Trump won enough delegates to take the nomination. Just to note, the whole delegate thing only happens with presidential races, not with the legislative branch elections. (Come back later when you have a moment and watch this video which explains who delegates work.)

The fight between them got really nasty, attacking each others family members, something that used to be of limits prior to 2016. A super PAC in March 2016 that was for Cruz, although not officially part of his campaign, showed a photo of Melania (Trumps wife) in an ad, essentially slut shamming her from once being a nude model. Trump then retaliated, saying on twitter that he would “spill the beans” on Cruz’s wife. Cruz went onto twitter to respond to the issue, saying “Pic of your wife not from us. Donald, if you try to attack Heidi, you're more of a coward than I thought.” It didn’t stop with Heidi Cruz, Trump went on to create conspiracy theories, saying that Cruz was the Zodiac killer, and Cruz’z father killed JFK, not Oswald.

Then came the Republican National Convention a few months later in July. Both parties have this convention, where the nominee becomes official. It’s generally about three to four days long, with countless speaks up on stage talking about their personal experience with the candidate. This is also a time in which nominees that lost emphasis that even though it was a tough race, they will support the nominee in attempts to heal and unite the party. When Cruz spoke, he didn’t directly support Trump, rather saying that people need to “vote with their concise.” However, two months later in September, Cruz ended up endorsing Trump. Since Trumps election, Cruz has caved to Trump, showing the world that he would go to any length to protect the party, even putting up with attacks on his family.

Fast forward to the senate elections week. Democratic candidate Beto O'rourke came close to winning, losing by only 219,000 votes. That was actually incredible, considering that Texas was considered such a Republican state that it was hopeless to even try. In a state which over 9 million people voted in, 219,000 votes is relatively small. Even though he lost, he still won in the sense that Republicans had to dump money to save Cruz, taking away money from other Republican candidates.

Jeff Sessions (former senator for Alabama, and former attorney general)

In 2016, Trump picked Jeff Sessions, a senator from Alabama, to be his attorney general. He was US attorney General from January of 2017 when Trump was sworn in, until November 7th 2018, the day after the midterms.)

Some background on this guy. He’s sometimes described as “a racist little elf” since he is an old, racist and short. In fact, a lot of people say he looks like the little elf from Keebler cookies. Anyway, Sessions has a long history of trying to block African Americans from voting, and was accused of making racist comments. He is in favor of harsh drug laws, and is a hardliner on immigration.

Sessions was in charge of the Trump-Russia investigation, that was, until it was discovered that he had a sketchy visit with Kislyak, a prominent Russian official in 2016. During his confirmation hearings, he was asked directly if he knew of anyone meeting with the Russians that was on Trumps team- which he lied and said no. (Lying to the senate is illegal, so if there had been any accountability in Washington, he could have been prosecuted for that. Yet since Washington is such a mess, it’s been long forgotten, and unlikely he will ever face punishment or further questioning.)

Due to this discovery, he had to recuse himself- meaning that he would still be attorney general, however, he just would not be able to have any involvement in the Trump-Russia case. This is what led to the appointment of Robert Muller.

Over the past two years, Trump has humiliated Sessions, calling him names behind his back. Even though democrats didn’t like his political positions, they still wanted him in office. Being that he so strongly aligned with Trump- the only reason he would be fired is if Trump was planning on starting a domino effect, knowing it would end in the Russia investigation.

Normally, Sessions would have power over the Muller investigation. Yet since Muller started after sessions recused himself, he can’t fire him. However- Sessions could, if he wanted to- fire Rod Rosenstein. He is the deputy attorney general, one step bellow Sessions. It is Rosenstein who has the power to stop the investigation which so far he has refused to do, upsetting Trump. See if Sessions were to fire him, Trump can replace Rosenstein with a person who will stop the investigation. This is why so many people are scared now that Trump forced Sessions to resign last week. So far, Matthew Whitaker has been appointed, which is a problem since he has openly said that the Russia investigation was a hoax. If confirmed- it is likely he would stop the Muller investigation.

#ted cruz #john mccain #jeff sessions

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hencethebravery · 6 years

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“The Swan-Jones Christmas Special,” a CS Writers’ Hub Secret Santa gift for @justanotherwannabeclassic! Merry Christmas, Shea! May the holiday season warm ur heart and bring good things to u and yours. xo

When you’re living your “Happily Ever After,” there’s no reason you can’t start enjoying the holidays. A happily married, post-S6 holiday extravaganza.

+ The first Christmas after she bears the official title of being someone’s “wife,” (which, when in the hell did that happen) Emma Swan-Jones decides that she is no longer obligated to be such a Grinch.

In her worn, imaginary copy of The Sad Orphan’s Handbook for Fairytale Saviors with Wretched and Otherwise Tragic Backstories, celebrating the holidays is one of those things that naive, mistakenly happy people do because they don’t know any better. Because they would rather be happy and dumb than smart and depressed (and obviously lacking a basic understanding of the evils of American capitalism). Up until only a few years ago, the holiday season had been nothing more than a way to convince people with no money to spend all of their money. An excuse for people who don’t get along (and usually with good reason) to be forced into the same room with one another, drinking away their disagreements and ignoring the inevitable truth of their lives: that nothing matters and the holiday season is an illusory, peppermint-flavored garbage festival.

The first Christmas after she bears the official title of being someone’s “wife,” (which, when in the hell did that happen) Emma Swan-Jones decides that she is no longer obligated to be such a Grinch.

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A ‘Grinch,’ Killian, my God.”

No more, she thought stubbornly, trying and failing not to grin at the sight of Main Street all lit up and festive on the first of December. Nevermind the fact that Christmas was still, like, 3 weeks away, and putting up decorations this early and playing Christmas music non-freaking-stop at Granny’s is unbelievably annoying, and—this was gonna be a little bit harder than she thought.

After they watched the original, 1960s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Killian had a somewhat clearer idea of what Emma might have meant when she said that she no longer felt compelled to be a “Grinch,” he was still somewhat befuddled by the expression. Which was still just as charming as ever, but sometimes she wished she didn’t have to crack open her heart quite so much.

“Are you suggesting that your heart is of an unusual size, love? Because I hate to tell you this, but I have seen it.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” she says on a huff, pressing a hand against her sternum as if looking for the beat of the thing. “So?” he asks again, giving her a playful nudge, “What does it mean to not be a ‘Grinch,’ as you say?”

Sometimes she feels herself becoming quite sick at the prospect of having to share yet another one of her pitiful childhood memories (wondering if he hasn’t grown a bit sick of hearing it yet), but in order to really explain to him the whole, “embracing the holiday season” thing, he does kind of need the context.

“I know the Enchanted Forest,” trying desperately not to cringe when those words pass her lips, “didn’t really ‘celebrate’ in the same way this world seems to—”

“I don’t know,” he interrupts thoughtfully, “we had the odd celebration from time to time. I know I certainly stopped caring once I was at sea, but, it was known to happen.”

She’s not going to argue with him, and he is probably right, but she knows that there’s absolutely no way that the celebrations in magical, fairytale place were ever anywhere near as over-the-top as this world’s. For one thing, no constant, looping holiday music from every speaker in existence. No holiday-themed food and drink and movies and television—no constant, living reminders of the fact that the holidays are a special time for family and friends and some people don’t have any of those.

“I wanted it,” she begrudgingly admits, “at first.”

At a younger age, before she realized that it was folly to want such things. She desperately wanted the music, and the shopping, and the baking of the cookies. She wanted the nicely wrapped presents under the tree, and the large, obnoxious family dinners. And in retrospect, of fucking course she wanted those things. What small child, awash in the light and warmth of the holiday, wouldn’t want those things?

There was of course, the rather unfortunate truth, that Emma Swan had not been placed in the ideal situation for achieving optimal holiday bliss.

“Most of the homes I was in,” she explains, to the aggrieved look on her husband’s face, “didn’t really care. Or didn’t have the money to.”

She has incredibly vivid memories of asking for things—nothing extravagant or complicated, but just, ya know, basic. Can I get a coloring book for Christmas? Can we bake some cookies today? Can we go get a tree? And to all of these questions, at any point in time before her pre-teen years, the answers were almost always disappointing, tinted with anger, or downright cruel. A lot of them often followed the, “Do you think you’re special?” theme, as if an orphaned nobody would have the gall to suggest that she be treated like any other kid in her class.

“Well,” Killian says after a pause in her recollections, trying and failing to avoid touching his wife, when all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms and never let her leave the house, “that settles that, then.”

She looks back at him with a question in her expression, the small frown fighting to stay in place despite the fact that she has suddenly found herself locked in an almost painful hug. Not that this sort of thing hasn’t happened before.

“Christmas, Swan. You shall never want for a proper holiday celebration again. I swear it.”

“This isn’t Buckingham Palace, ya know,” she replies sardonically, again, trying to keep from laughing and pathetically losing this game they always seem to be playing, “we can just bake cookies or something, you don’t need to embark on a noble quest to defend my honor or something equally stupid.”

“You know very well I have no idea what that means, darling,” a large, absurd smile, and a wet, warm kiss on her cheek, “but defending your honor will always be one of my very highest priorities.”

Killian Jones spends the next few years making certain that every single one of their Christmases post-wedding is practically over-laden with holiday cheer. One year, that same year she had made her enthusiastic pledge to fully and unequivocally embrace all the holiday flim-flam, she had returned home from the station to find an unreal number of lights decorating nearly every inch of their property. From the understated, white twinkle lights to the large, retro-looking bulbs in shades of various primary colors—their entire house was practically a fire hazard; hung in the usual places, lining the rooftop, wrapped around the bannister, and even lined along the walls of their bedroom (for “mood”).

He also started pushing out more cookies than the Keebler Elf, which she pretended to be upset about until he caught her stuffing them in her face in the middle of the night. He experiments with a number of sizes, flavors, and colors, shopping them around to friends and family members, trying to discover the perfect combinations. The snickerdoodles are Emma’s favorite, especially when he “accidentally” drops in more cinnamon than the recipe had called for (which drives him a bit “batty,” but it’s worth it).

And before she knows it, these small, silly, typically Killian Jones-type things become something like… tradition? Swan-Jones family traditions. There are lights every year, no matter how busy they seem to get (with her parents, or Henry, or some other magical bullshit), and they watch the same movies every Christmas Eve (How the Grinch Stole Christmas, of course). And when the unexpected finally happens, and she’s only just begun to show a bit round middle, there’s always a small plate of cookies set aside for her cravings in the middle of the night.

“Ah,” he says quietly, a warm hand resting between her breasts and swollen belly, a heart beating in tandem with hers (both of them), “Just as I thought.”

“What’s that?” she asks sleepily, with the barest comprehension of whatever romantic nonsense he’s spewing at this particular moment. “Your heart, darling,” and she opens her eyes just wide enough to see his face aglow with the warm light of their tree, “just about three sizes too big.”

#ouat ff #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs drabble #writing hub ss #captain swan #cs: shit is breathtaking bro #@hencethewriter

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seuzz · 3 years

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Story: “Date from Hell”

"Nil desperandum!" promised the spell book. Just close your eyes and promise not to look.

"It's hard to say no," the little man said, "when you put it like that."

"Like what?" Stanley asked. "Avaunt?"

The little man flinched again, as though slapped.

"Stop that," he said. "Watch your tongue," he added as Stanley opened his mouth.

But no words issued from the lips of Stanley Agdamowski. He only boggled helplessly at the little man—no more than three feet high—who stood within the flaming pentagram.

If you had asked Stanley beforehand if he thought the old ritual—inscribed, its own preface bragged, on a parchment of human skin with the blood of three witches, but which Stanley had transcribed into a college-ruled spiral notebook with a Bic pen—would actually summon a denizen of Hell, he would have been hard-pressed to say yes. But now, as the stench of brimstone slowly cleared from the fraternity basement, and as he stared at the ruddy little figure who shifted on his feet like he had a hot-foot, Stanley found it even harder to say no.

"Avaunt!" he croaked again, though it was more of a reflex this time. "Er, sorry," he added as the little man squawked.

"Listen, kid!" His newly arrived visitor—who was dressed in a black suit with red pinstripes, and wore a prim little bowler on his head—jabbed a finger at the scrawny college freshman. "You say that word just one more time, and you won't just be sorry, you'll be—"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Stanley tried to catch his breath. "Are you really a, er, a demon?"

"No, I'm a Keebler elf. Ow!" The little man flapped his hand like it had been stung, and jammed it into his mouth. "Seeing as where I'm standing," he mumbled as he sucked his fingers, "it's hard to say to no. And the pentagram compels truth anyway. Also," he added under his breath, "it doesn't know sarcasm from—"

"And you have to grant me three wishes?" Stanley gasped.

The little man rolled his eyes, then addressed the ground between his widely spaced feet.

"You hear that, youse guys?" he shouted. "The little schvantz wants three wishes! Listen, beautiful." He raised his puffy red face to glare at Stanley. "You want three wishes, go find yourself an old lamp and some polishing oil. The firm I work for, we only grant the customer one. And only under considerable duress," he added, and glared at the circle that circumscribed the pentagram.

But Stanley wasn't listening. Now he was looking at the little mans' feet, and he blanched.

They weren't feet. They were hooves!

"You are a demon!" he exclaimed.

The little man groaned. "You know, I've been summoned over five thousand times since your great-great-great-great-grandpa fell out of a tree, picked up a club, and decided to invent fire," he snarled, "and you, kid, are by far the thickest—!"

"You've done this five thousand times?"

"It's someone's dirty job," the little man growled. He put his hand to his mouth, and suddenly there was a short cigar there for him to unscrew from its corner. "Now let's cut this short," he went on as he tapped the ashes off the cigar. "Whaddaya want?"

"What?"

"Whaddaya mean, what? You did have a plan, didn't you?"

"Oh! Well, what do people usually ask for? In, er, circumstances like—?"

The little man flapped his arms against his sides. "I can't believe this. You know it's cold up here? Okay, wealth, power, sex," he said. "Every once in a while some wisenheimer asks for knowledge because he thinks it'll get an epic poem written about him, but—"

"Wealth, power, sex." Stanley mulled the words.

"Sure. First base gets ya to second, and second base gets ya to third." The little man looked Stanley up and down. "Excuse my bluntness, but I'm guessing it's the third you're desperate for."

"Well, um—"

"Stammer all you like, kid. You'll find it's hard to say no."

Stanley's eyebrows knit together. "You can set me up with a girl who'll say yes?"

"Oh, it's a standard contract." The imp plucked a folded paper from his jacket pocket. "I get a call, it's the first form I reach for."

Stanley hesitated, then twitched the paper from the little man's hand. It was hot, and it smoldered as he unfolded it. "I have to give you my eternal soul in trade, right?"

"Or your cell phone number, your choice." He cackled when Stanley looked staggered. "Text spam and telemarketers. Now that's eternal punishment for the twenty-first century!"

Stanley read over the contract carefully. There were no loopholes that he could spot, but no obvious trapdoors either. "And if I sign," he asked, "how far do things go?"

"As far as you want, as often as you want, inside a twenty-four hour period."

"Starting when?"

"Soon as you put your name to the shingle."

Then the little man began to undress. Stanley watched in puzzlement, until he saw him pull a cocktail dress (fire-engine red) out of a nether orifice and start to struggle into it.

"Wait!" Stanley shrieked. "You're the—? The—?"

"That's the way it's gotta work, kid," the demon said. "Besides, ain'tcha never heard the expression, you don't gotta stare at the mantlepiece while poking the unquenchable fire pit of eternal damnation?"

"But—! But you're hideous!"

The little man winced.

"Aw, gee, thanks! It's not like we don't got feelings where I come from! But fine!" He pulled a paper sack from the same place he pulled the dress. "I'll wear this over my head if it'll get you to sign.

"Now," the demon went on, his voice muffled from under the sack. "Unless you got another way of getting it, let's get this on."

Stanley Agdamowski stared at him.

Then he shrugged and signed the contract.

Because, when put like that, it was impossible to say no.

Prompt: “It's Hard to Say No!”

#daily report

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sweetestlittledarling · 6 years

Text

Warfstache (And Friends) Save Christmas Part 3

Part of @jim-news ego Christmas, Prompt #21: Snowmen and Prompt #22: Jingle bells

(I’m once again combining some prompts due to time and holiday stuff)

When we last left our heroes they had arrived at Santa’s workshop to find that it had been taken over by Anti. They also discovered that Anti had built himself a fortress in waiting for the fated time that he could break the veil. The elves Jingle and Jangle provide you a rocket-powered sleigh to get over the wall but in his excitement, Warf takes over and now you are on a crash course which could possibly end in your death...again....

(P.s. I realize this story kind of sucks. I had ideas but time constraints and holiday stuff got in the way, so I feel like I copped out on a few things like the end, but I promise that this story will lead to better things later, so please bear with me...)

You’re alive. For a moment you really thought it was the end, that this was one crazy venture too many. As that sleigh started towards the ground you found yourself wondering if this would be the moment Warf Stache manages to fully kill you but as you open your eyes again you find yourself in a state of not being dead. You are on the ground, unbruised and unbroken. You sit up and look around. Beside you lies the obsidian mirror. You pick it up and find Dark’s face still staring back at you, no more broken than before. “Did you…”

Dark shifts just a bit. “I need you to help fix this mess,” he says, darkness pulsating around him. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

You think about thanking him but at the same time, you don’t think it would be well received so you keep your lips shut. Instead, you get to your feet and finally take in the sleigh, broken and burning not far away. Well, at least you made it over the wall. The sound of coughing makes you jump a little and then you see two small bodies crawling out of the wreckage. It’s the elves, Jingle and Jangle. You rush over to them. “You guys okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Jingle says as he and Jangle rise to their feet. They are covered in soot but don’t look to be bleeding or broken. “Takes a lot more to beat a Christmas elf. Ten-time tougher than usual elves, especially those Keebler.” Jangle’s bell’s chime as he nods.

You are about to say something when you happen to look up and see a bit of pink. It’s a body, laying in the snow. “Warfstache!” you cry as you rush over to him. You kneel next to him, reaching out to touch his pale face. He doesn’t respond, and his eyes are closed.

“I’m so sorry… I think he’s dead,” Jingle says coming over, removing his little-pointed hat. Jangle does the same both looking solemn.

You smile knowingly. “Nah, he’s fine.”

Jingle looks at you in surprise. “What? He’s not breathing, and he looks like death! Plus, he was just in an epic crash. I’m sorry but I think your friend is dead.”

“Yeah, well, my friend also just happens to be a magical creature known as an ego, and they can’t die by normal means. He’ll be up in one…two…”

As if on cue, Warfstache’s eyes pop open and he sits up with a big smile on his face. Both elves jump back in surprise as you just smile. “That was a rush!” Warf says, like a happy child. “Can we do that again?”

You roll your eyes and give his nose a little bop with your finger. “No,” you say, standing and offering your hand down to him. “We’ve got work to do.” Warf pouts but takes your hand allowing you to help him to his feet.

Jangle still looks shocked as he replaces his hat. “What are you, people?”

“That’s a long story,” you confess, as you turn back to the fortress beyond, “Now we have to-whoa!” Your words are cut off as you turn and find yourself face to face with an army of snowmen, all with grinning faces and holding, in their stick hands, knives that look very sharp. All the knives glitter in the moonlight, gleaming like a million pretty instruments of death. “Were those there before?”

“Don’t know, but I don’t know if I like the look of them,” Jingle says, narrowing his eyes at the army in front of you. Jangle meanwhile looks frightened as he hides behind your leg, his bells jingling as he shivers.

“Oh please, it’s a bunch of people made from snow, hardly anything to fear,” Warf says, with a wave of his hand. Then he grabs a hold of your hand. “Come on this Christmas special isn’t going to write its self!”

“Warfstache!” You cry but it falls on deaf ears as you are tugged beyond the front line of the evil looking snowmen, still carrying Dark’s mirror. You can hear the elves following behind you, but you don’t dare look back. You feel as if all the snowmen are watching you, their dark eyes burning into your soul as you try not to be afraid of each sharp instrument you pass. “Warfstache don’t you think we should slow down?” you ask.

It’s not Warfstache who answers but Dark, in his usual monotone: “No, you should run…run now.”

“Wait…what?” But as the words leave your mouth, you see a flash of something and you jump to the side, just as a stick arm brings down a knife directly towards your face. You look up just in time to see a grinning snow man’s head turn around like the kid in the exorcist, looking directly towards you. Its eyes glow red as it raises it’s knife again. “Warfstasche!” you cry grabbing his hand. And suddenly there is the sound of a gunshot and you feel the splattering of snow on your face as the snow man’s head explodes all over you. It’s quite graphic even if it’s just snow. You look over at Warf who is holding his smoking revolver.

“Not today snowman,” he says, momentarily looking like an action star.

Suddenly all the snow men’s heads begin to turn, their eyes glowing, with knives pointing directly at you. You are surrounded by pointy objects. “Oh shit…” you whisper as Warfstache raises his gun again.

“Be ready to run!” he says, and you nod. You know in your heart he knows what he’s doing. If there is anything left of the Colonel in there… With two more shots, he manages to take out heads of the snowmen in your way just as you dodge the snowmen in back! And suddenly you are running, not looking back. You can hear the gunshots, trying not to let it get to you as you just keep focusing on the large foreboding archways of the fortress beyond. You feel Dark’s aura pulsating as you somehow manage to dodge each knife strike. You wonder if he’s helping…you don’t dare ask…Finally, you make it to the columns that make up the fortress with Jangle and Jingle at you heals. But as you turn back you can see…” WARFSTACHE!”

He is still amongst the battle, fighting, and shooting! You feel the want to go and help him, but Jingle and Jangle are already moving. “You go ahead!” Jingle calls back, “we’ll help your friend! You have to save Christmas!”

“But- “You start but Dark is one step ahead.

“There isn’t time, leave them!”

“But- “You look out again at the battlefield as the elves with their slingshots fire away. Then you catch sight of Warfstache, blowing the head off another snowman. He catches your eye and smiles in his way before he is swallowed up by snowmen with their large knives. You worry about him.

“They can’t kill him!” Dark snaps, “go now!”

You know he’s right and even though you wish to go back, you instead run through the archways and into the fortress. Soon the gunshots fade in the background as you find yourself surrounded by walls of cold unforgiving ice. You find yourself in one long hallway, with only one way to go. The inside of the fortress is just as foreboding as the outside, and as you look up above you, you see large hanging (and very pointy) stalactites. You guess that Anti takes his knife imagery very seriously. The entire place is lit up in a strange green glow, which seems to emanate from somewhere unseen. The whole thing makes you feel uneasy as your movements go from a run to a careful walk. You realize that now you are in the belly of the demon, and that thought makes your heart begin to beat hard.

“You’re scared.”

You jump a little as Dark speaks. “Well yeah,” you say, “I mean this is Anti we’re talking about.”

“What is about him that scares you?”

“What?” You stop a moment and raise the mirror to look at Dark’s face. “Why do you want to know?”

Dark shifts as he tilts his head. “I simply wonder what my old friend finds scary about a fool who isn’t even as powerful as me.”

You roll your eyes as you should have known this was about ego (lol). “Anti is a pure demon and a killer,” you tell him, “he is unpredictable and because of my connection to you he hates me, and being his enemy isn’t a good thing.” Then looking at his stupid Dark face you sigh. You are going to regret this.” Don’t let this go to your dark little head or anything, but you scare me in a different way. I know you are powerful, I’ve seen what you can do, and what’s worse is that you know my secrets, you know what gets me going and that makes you a worse enemy by far.”

“And yet you still defy me at every turn,” Dark says raising an eyebrow, “why?”

“I would have thought that would have been obvious.” You let out a breath and then stare directly into Dark’s deep eyes. “Because of you, I have lost a dear friend and my former life. You might terrify me but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you or any other dark realm demon take away any more of the people I care about. That’s why I will not let you kill Mark and why I will always stand against you!” These are words that you have wanted to say for a long time and now that you have gotten to say them you feel rather free.

“Move.”

“What?” That was not the answer you thought you would get.

“I said move, now!”

You hear rumbling from above and you look up in time to see one of the pointed spikes above you fall. You let out a cry as you dive forwards, out of the way of death.

“You might want to start running…” Dark suggests.

You hear the rumbling and cursing under your breath you take off at a run down the hallway. You hear things falling behind you, but you don’t dare look back. Just keep running! There is a light at the end of the hallway and as soon as you are close enough you dive for it. You just manage to make it as the last spike hits the ground right behind you. Out of breath, you lay on your back in the snow, cursing Anti in your head for making you run so much.

“You’re welcome,” you hear Dark say smugly.

“Shut up,” you snap back. As soon as you feel able to breathe again you get back to your feet. The room you are in is a big open area, still surrounded by ice and bathed in the eerie green light. In the middle of the room is a pile of what looks like computer screens. It’s kind of an odd sight given that everything else is ice. But it’s what’s in front of the computer screens that gets your attention: a set of jingle bells on leather. No, it couldn’t be that easy…You approach cautiously, moving slow and keeping your eyes and ears open. You manage to make it all the way over to the bells without anything happening. You even manage to pick them up. “I don’t understand,” you say to yourself. “I would have expected something to happen.”

“Maybe the green fool ran away like the coward he is,” Dark suggested, making you roll your eyes in response.

Suddenly all the computer screens click on at once and you see Anti’s demonic face glowing in all of them. “It’s not nice to call people names, Dark!” he hisses as you feel his eyes boring into you.

“Oh shit!” you manage to say just as a powerful force slams into you sending you flying backward. The mirror and the bells go flying from your hands as you hit the ground, sliding across the ice as you lay there in a daze on your back. You moan as you feel a lump forming on the back of your head. And then you see Anti’s face and your eyes grow wide. He’s standing directly above you.

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend the former district attorney.” Anti grin grows bigger as his knife appears in his hand. “If I remember correctly the last time we met…you were making me look like a fool…”

Your heart is in your throat as you try to scramble backward, trying to get to your feet. You manage to scramble back to the ice wall, managing to get up on your feet with the cold ice pressing on your back. But before you can do anything Anti has his hand around your neck and you gag as he cuts off your air flow. You grab his wrist, but it tightens in a way that makes you think if he wanted to him could break your neck. Anti’s face is suddenly very close to yours.

“You know…I really was hoping that you would be too late…I would have liked to show you my true…power…” he says as you struggle. “But then again…when do I ever get you all to myself without Dark or that pink…idiot to protect you!” Anti raises his knife towards your face, bringing it close to your cheek. “I think I’ll gut you like a fish…make you look really pretty…don’t you think that will be fun…” And you hiss as you feel the knife cut across your cheek, feeling the blood dribble behind it.

But then see a flash of pink. “Pink knight!” you hiss and for a moment Anti looks confused.

“What?”

A gunshot hits the air and suddenly Anti vanishes, avoiding the bullet directed at his head! You gasp as you can suddenly breathe again, coughing as you lean against the wall, trying to gather the air you were missing. And there is Warfstache, gun in hand, rushing to your side.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says with a big smile on his face, “did I miss anything?” His smile fades as he looks at your face. “Oh, you’re face- “

“It’s okay,” you say, still coughing a little, giving him a small smile. “I’m fine, the pink knight saved the wizard once again.” And you are glad to see Warf smile although it is only momentarily as you both see Anti appear again, and in his hands, are the jingle bells.

“You weren't paying attention…” Anti says, a grin spreading like the cut on his neck. “And now it is time…for Anti to come home…”

“I’m afraid not,” a new voice booms.

Suddenly, like magic, the bells fly from Anti’s hands to yours. You look and there stands a jolly fat man in a red and white suit. You can’t believe it, you were just saved by…” Santa!” And Santa smiles at you, his cheeks rosy and his face jolly, just as you always pictured it. Beside him are Jingle and Jangle, who look relatively unharmed as well.

Anti screams as he glares at Santa, pointing his knife directly at the fat man. “Your stupid fat- “

“My dear,” Santa says looking at you, “would you please do the honors.”

You smile as you turn to Anti, giving the bells a jingle. “I wish Anti would go back to go back to his little black hole in the dark realm and all his wishes would be undone.”

Anti turns his murderous look on you. “I’m always here…always watching…” he says.

You shrug. “So, what else is new,” you say as a magical light envelope everything.

The next thing you know you are back in elf town, but it is no longer dark. Instead, it is all lit up and there are little elves running about everywhere, singing Christmas songs, and just generally being happy. In the distance, you can no longer see Anti’s dark fortress, and everything is as you figure it should be. You smile as you feel Christmas is once again as it should be.

“You have done it again and made the world all light and magic,” a dark voice says sarcastically behind you. “Well done.”

“Oh. that right,” you say turning to see Dark standing there in all his glory, “you’re back to your normal self.” That’s when you remember the bells in your hand. You look at them and then at Dark.

Dark’s eyes grow cold as he stands straighter. “Don’t you dare,” he says softly, threatening.

And you really do think about it. Just one jingle.

“I’m afraid it won’t work my dear.” It’s Santa’s voice again. You turn just as he puts a hand on your shoulder. He has a small sad smile on his face. “I’m afraid that the spell containing your friend’s soul is too powerful. Even Christmas magic won’t be able to break it. I’m sorry.”

You feel your heart sink. You turn back to where Dark was standing but he’s gone. You sigh as you realize that it was a hopeless idea, to begin with. But before you can think any more negative thoughts, Warfstache appears and you find yourself in front of his camera.

“Christmas is saved! Thanks to the brave actions of brilliant Wilford Warfstache and his friends! Anything to say before I send this to editing? Something to end this Christmas special right?”

“Shouldn’t we point out that you almost destroyed Christmas in the first place and it was really Santa who saved this holiday?”

“Yeah,” Jingle snaps, appearing by Santa’s side. “if it weren’t for you stealing those bells we wouldn’t have been in this mess!”

“I do believe that someone should have called me when things got out of hand,” Santa says shaking a finger in the elf’s direction.

Jingle looks down at the snow, looking guilty. “Sorry Santa, I figured that as your right-hand elves we could handle it.”

Santa shakes his head but smiles. “Well, no harm done this time, just remember that no matter where I am you should call me,” he says. Then he turns to the camera. “And for you Wilford Warfstache…” Suddenly Santa’s eyes grow dark as you feel a cold chill run up your back. “…I know where you live!”

You quickly slap Warf’s hand as you see it going for his gun. “You can’t shoot Santa!”

“Aww,” Warf says as he pouts.

“May I please have my bells back?” Santa asks, “I have many things to do for later…” You hand Santa the bells, although somewhat reluctantly... but you figure that kind of power is better in the hands of the red man.

“I’m ready to go home and go to bed,” you say with a small yawn, “care to poof us home Warf?”

“Wait!” Santa plucks a bell off the leather belt like grape off the vine and places it in your hand. “This is a wish for you, for all the trouble you went through tonight.”

You look at the shiny bell in your hand. It has a beautiful silvery gleam and you swear although it is made of metal it is still somewhat warm. It fills you with a good feel and you smile. “Thank you, Santa.” You are a little surprised as Santa leans in close to you and whispers:

“It can’t fix everything, but know that it can, for a little while, bend the rules.”

You are confused and are about to ask what Santa is talking about, but you feel the familiar whoosh of Warfstache’s powers and instantly you are back in your bedroom. It feels weird as you stand there, almost like a dream…If it weren’t for the fact that Warfstache is standing there with you and you are still holding the jingle bell in your hand. “Hey Warf,” you say after a moment. “I think I got a good end for your Christmas special.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Us going to bed after we say…”

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

#ego christmas #egochristmas #wilford Warfstache #darkiplier #markiplier egos

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anghraine · 7 years

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Two separate bipartisan bills to protect Mueller is interesting. Lindsey Graham working with Cory Booker is one thing—Graham's right-wing, but notorously hostile to both Trump and Russia (and foreign policy bffs with John McCain).

But Tillis, as far as I understand, is much more of a rhetorical party-liner. However, he also narrowly won his seat in a swing state (North Carolina) and his fellow senator is Richard Burr, who is more or less decently handling the Senate Intelligence Committee’s separate investigation.

Still, the immediate context:

1) Congress overwhelmingly voted for sanctions that the WH and State Department angrily lobbied against, and for sharply restricting presidential power wrt sanctions.

Trump signed it with a whiny screed about how bad it was and how it preventing him from making Good Deals and something about what a great company he built yes this was about Russia sanctions. The general view, I think, is that he only signed it because the political fallout would have been so disastrous if he hadn’t. That is entirely possible! Clearly that’s what has preserved Mueller so far.

But, uh, only two people in the Senate and three(?) in the House voted against. Congress has the power to override a presidential veto if enough members support it, and clearly that’s the case here. Vetoing the sanctions would have been the political equivalent of stabbing himself in the lung and wouldn’t have prevented them from going through anyway.

2) Trump has been carrying on a weeks-long humiliation of Jeff Sessions in order to pressure him to resign. Now, Sessions is an ultra-racist, ultra-everythingist nightmare. But if he’s this weird evil Keebler elf, he’s the Senate’s evil elf, and you probably couldn’t find a senator of any party who isn’t pissed at Trump’s treatment of him.

(All the more so because Sessions was really the first establishment figure to back Trump and to stick by him through all the ups and downs of the campaign; Sessions gave him a legitimacy with the GOP that otherwise he would never have had. That was awful, obviously, but it makes Trump’s attempts to throw him under the bus even more repugnant.)

On top of that, the explicit reason for Trump’s behaviour is that Sessions recused himself from the Russia probe. He did it because he had undisclosed contacts with Kislyak, who is apparently so forgettable that nobody remembers their meetings with him! Anyway, Sessions admitted that it didn’t quiiiite square with his Senate testimony and recused himself(—as an aside, the FBI was absolutely certain he’d have to recuse himself sooner or later because of Something Classified; it wasn’t just an unfortunate choice of words). That left the deputy, Rod Rosenstein—who hadn’t covered himself with glory so far—to call the shots, while under intense pressure for his own part in the Comey firing. It was Rosenstein who appointed Mueller.

3) So Trump has been attacking Sessions for recusing himself from the investigation, which in Trump’s view was not necessary (it clearly was) and unfair to him(?). If Session resigns, Trump can nominate a more pliable Attorney General without Russia ties(...ideally) who would then be able to override Rosenstein.

Except! Appointments have to be approved by the Senate and the relevant committees—that’s where the “she persisted” meme comes from (Elizabeth Warren’s opposition to Sessions’ own appointment in the Senate). So if Session resigns or Trump fires him, Trump’s nominee would have to go through the Senate again.

The GOP Senate was playing nice in the first few months (largely for the Supreme Court seat—one of the more disgusting political victories of our time—and legislative goals). However, Senator Grassley (whose committee oversees the relevant appointments) announced that if, theoretically, the president were considering judicial appointments, WELP THEIR SCHEDULE IS FULL. FOR MONTHS. WHAT A PITY

On top of that, the Senate agreed altogether that their recess is not actually a recess, but will in fact be in session for one(1) minute every three days, and therefore the president can’t make recess appointments. You know, just if it so happened that the president was considering bypassing the Senate in some unknown appointment.

4) Trump was either passive or actually counter-productive as a partner in getting healthcare passed. In fact, apparently the Interior’s threat to fuck over Alaska to pressure Murkowski is now getting investigation as the obvious political corruption it is.

(Probably won’t go anywhere, but the fact that it’s happening at all is Not Good.)

5) Trump’s approval rating is crashing further. Worse, polls are showing it finally dip among Trump’s core demographics (white w/o college education, white men).

Rasmussen, a very Trump-friendly poll, showed it dropping below 40% for (I think) the first time. Meanwhile, Quinnipiac showed it dropping to 33%, and it’s increasingly looking like Democrats are headed into the midterms with a strong advantage.

And there’s stuff like the anti-trans military ban, where the joint chiefs’ response basically comes down to “lol make me.”

So Republicans’ increasing willingness (esp in the Senate, where they’re more secure) to tell Trump to go fuck himself is ... interesting. And someone like Tiller proposing legal protection for Mueller’s investigation alongside a fairly obscure Democrat is—well, difficult not to see as part of a broader trend.

Not that the GOP Senate isn’t perfectly ready to hold hands with Trump when it comes to their shitty agenda, or that they won’t do horrible things in the future. But it does seem vaguely promising.

#anghraine babbles #politics for ts #us politics for ts #i don't think republicans wanted the obamacare repeal to disastrously fail like it did #but i suspect it's freeing in ways #at least for the rank and file—not mcconnell lol #even /cornyn/ has been sneering

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queennicoleinboots · 5 years

Text

Day 7 of Xara and Peter's "Curse"

A/N: Unedited

Xara's smartphone refused to stop playing Irish Rock. It played steadily for 15 minutes before Xara answered the phone. Joebear was growling at the phone.

"Fuck you, too! What the FUCK IS THIS E-mail?!!!!!" Peter W. Parker screamed over the phone.

"Hello... that E-mail mentioned appointments and beatings. Why are you screaming at me?" Xara asked sleepily. She was incoherent and grumpy.

"Because I can't fucking wait until Wednesday! My mother is sick and can't cook. And because YOU, you fucking bitch, cursed me, I can't fucking cook, either!!!!" Peter yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Couldn't you order out?" Xara said as she yawned.

"No! I tried that! The food ends up all fucked up. Why the fuck did you do this to me?!" Peter yelled as something slammed in the background.

Joebear growled, rolled over, and went to sleep.

"I didn't mean to! It happened because I can't handle stress. I'm sorry, Peter," Xara said as she got out of bed and went to get coffee. She was cursed. Waking up to anyone, much less Peter W. Parker, screaming at her over the phone was the worst possible way to wake up.

"Neither can I! I can't stand the taste of food anymore. I can deal with peanut butter and bananas, but that's about it! Why the fuck am I cursed?!" Peter screamed as he was beating his fist against a table.

"Because you were tainted with my poop. Sorry," Xara said as she was heating a cup of coffee for herself.

"Oh Jesus. That makes sense. Goddammit. I have had fuck luck all my life, but this is unreal!" Peter said as he put his head in his hand while holding his black flip phone tightly against his considerably small head.

"True," Xara said before she heard the microwave beep at her. She took the coffee out of the microwave, sat down, and had a sip. "I legitimately did not mean to do this to us."

"Well, it happened. Please talk to the Giant NOW and make an appointment TODAY!!!!" Peter yelled before he snarled. "If I have to look at another jar of peanut butter, I'm going to turn into an ape!"

"Okay, Peter. Jesus. It's too early for this shit, Peter!" Xara said as she drank her coffee.

"Fuck you. You're not the one with fucked-up taste buds. Call him NOW, or I will (or won't) disable your already malfunctioning BRAIN!!!" Peter yelled.

"Yes, Pete," Xara said as she stole Peter Parker's trademark sigh.

"Good. Bye," Peter said as he slammed the parts of his flip phone together. Peter then took a paint mixing stick and started beating the table until it broke.

When the phone had hung up, Xara said while singing to DarkSydePhineas's remix "Megaman's an A-Hole," "He's a fucking ass. He's a fucking ass." She continued to drink her coffee before she called The Giant. "Fuck me."

The Giant answered the phone with a bellowing voice. "What the fuck do you want?!"

"A lot of things, actually, but my main priority is magic spices. I can't wait until Wednesday. I have an important dinner coming up and need them TODAY! It just kind of sprung up. May I have some, please?" Xara asked.

"I DON'T FUCKING HAVE ANY! My supplier is late on his delivery, goddammit! I used it all on Saturday!" the Giant yelled over the phone.

"Are you fucking serious?!" Xara asked with an exasperated sigh.

"YES I'M FUCKING SERIOUS!!! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!" the Giant screamed.

"I don't know, dude. I'm just fucked right now! I have this big dinner, and I can't cook because I'm fucking cursed," Xara said.

"Goddamn right you are. Your shit's affecting me. Instead of going about our scheduled meeting, I have to go find this leprechaun and beat the shit out of him until I get the magic spices! Jesus God!" the Giant said. "Because that's what the fuck I want to do. Leave my lair in the sky and hunt jackasses. This is bullshit."

"Dude, I understand. I don't want to deal with this shit, either," Xara said. "Damn."

"But I have to for the sake of magical sanity. See you next week! I am cancelling all my appointments," the Giant said.

"See you next week," Xara said.

The Giant hung up the phone and threw it clear out of the window on the other side of where he was. The phone landed on some other poor fuck's roof, probably the Keebler Elf's roof again.

"Jesus Christ!" Can I make love to a woman without hearing some bullshit hit my roof?" asked the Keebler Elf who was only wearing his green elf cap while his butt was sticking out of the sheets. He was on top of Lady Smurf.

When the phone was hung up, Xara shuddered and took a deep breath. "Peter is going to go ape shit," she said to herself as she dialed his number.

"So, did you get that appointment today?" Peter asked with a goofy smile on his face.

"Um. No. Not only that, but he cancelled everything this week. He's on a hunt," Xara answered.

"Oh what an asshole!" Peter yelled as he threw his hands in the air.

"Well, Peter, he ran out of magic spices, and his supplier is late on the delivery," Xara said as she put her head in her left hand.

"Oh what an asshoooooole!" Peter sung.

"Yeah, it's bullshit," Xara said.

"You're an asshole," Peter said flatly.

"I know. I'm sorry... We'll have to be patient and deal with this curse," Xara said.

"Yep... but until then, I'm going to go outside and go ape shit," Peter said as he spoke through clenched teeth.

"You go do that. I'm going to go get ready to *not* deal with your bullshit," Xara said.

"Thank you. I want to massacre you," Peter said darkly.

"I know," Xara said.

"See ya," Peter said.

"See ya," Xara said.

Peter slammed the two parts of his phone together. "I'm surprised this phone isn't broken yet," Peter said. As soon as he opened his mouth, the phone broke in pieces. Peter just stared at the remnants of his once-proud flip phone with his jaw dropped. "Yep. I'm going ape shit now."

At that moment, Peter stood up and starting beating on his chest rapidly with both fists while jumping up and down like a literal ape. He was making ape noises similar to when his novels done turn. Out the way he wants them.

When Peter was a normal human being, he was a writer, actor, artist, and drywall finisher. But when he was acting like an ape, well... under Xara's curse, he was literally transforming into an ape.

His hands and feet were growing even bigger and more muscular than they already were. His nails were becoming thicker, and his brown curls were getting thicker and longer. His teeth were growing inside of his mouth, which was also growing with a full set of pink lips to boot. Speaking of teeth, Peter now had a massive underbite with one large saber tooth at each bottom corner of his mouth.

In fact, his whole head and torso (and dare we say his penis, testicles, and ass) were becoming encased with a large amount of muscle density.

His radiant green eyes grew in proportion to his now large head, which meant his glasses broke off of his face. The only thing that remained somewhat small despite his new proportions was his pug nose.

His legs were now muscular and even longer than they were before. He used to be 7'4," but now he was "8'6" even with his back curving like an ape's would. His arms were also elongated and muscular like a typical ape's arms.

A side effect of his transformation was that he outgrew all of his clothes and was completely naked. Luckily, he grew a bunch of hair where apes normally have hair, so his man junk wasn't too obvious for people to see.

The clothes he was wearing were torn in shreds and were lying in a pile on his screened-in back porch.

Peter looked down and freaked out. "Holy Shit! I'm actually an ape!" he screamed. Then he smiled and shrugged. "But at least I have an excuse to only like bananas now."

His mother, Godiva, walked over slowly and hunched over because her back was killing her to see what the commotion was outside.

Peter was worried that she would freak out, so he tried to hide.

"Peter? Where are you?" she asked as she looked for him.

"You sure you want to know?" he asked with a deeper voice than usual.

His deeper voice subconsciously made her smile and bat her blue eyes. "Absolutely," she said a bit more seductively than she should have.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," Peter said with his deeper voice.

She really wanted to find her son then, and maybe plant kisses on him when she does. "Okay," she said with a giggle.

Peter emerged from his hiding place to greet his mother. "Hi, Mom," he said in his deeper voice.

She stood there dumbfounded and with butterflies in her stomach. She breathed heavily and stared at him softly, "Oh wow...." Something about his ape form really mesmerized her.

"Yeah, ummm... I don't really know how to explain this," he said with a booming laugh.

She laughed as well. "I didn't ask you to," she said as she walked up to him with a better posture than she was able to maintain all day. She had forgotten all about her achy back when she saw him.

"Good... because I have no idea how it happened..." he said with an awkward smile.

His awkward smile really drove her wild. If he weren't over three feet taller than she was, she would have totally kissed him right then. She came closer to him and touched his right arm. "I still love you no matter what you are," she said as she looked deeply into his eyes.

"Thanks, Mom," Peter said as he hugged her.

Godiva leaned into his hug and rubbed along his sides. Peter pet his mother's head softly.

"Do you still like your back scratched?" she asked as she was trying to hug around him. Her body was tightly wrapped against Peter's.

"Yeah, but I feel bad asking for it from you, considering all you do for Dad," Peter said as he looked into her blue eyes that were behind leopard-print glasses.

Peter's father was Jamie Parker, a 84-year-old retired man who still wished he could work. He installed drywall for a living and generally worked out of Atlanta, GA. He typically worked 80 hours a week when he was working.

Jamie made a nice life for his family and made it possible for Peter to be slightly spoiled. Generally, Jamie was a nice guy, but he had a disconnect from his artsy and feminine son. He was definitely fond of Peter, but being a conservative Republican fundamental Christian, he struggled to understand his liberal Democratic agnostic son. Truth be told, Jamie made more attempts to connect with Peter than Peter did with his father.

Unfortunately, about 16 years ago, Jamie fell out of bed and broke his right hip. He was now bound to a wheel chair and could barely do anything for himself. His wife now takes care of him full-time.

Godiva started scratching Peter softly. "Peter, you're my son. I'd do anything for you." she said softly as her delicate hands moved up and down his back. "Besides, I love scratching your back." She kissed his chest. The taste of his gorilla scent was driving her wild.

"Oh well... I wouldn't want to take any attention away from Dad... in his delicate situation and everything," Peter said as he rubbed her back softly with just his right hand.

"Oh please do!" Godiva said as she continued to scratch his back. She could feel herself start to feel younger when she was touching him.

She was transforming into her younger self. Her hair was turning from gray, short, and straight to brown, curly, and long. Her skin was becoming more vibrant. Her back became straighter, and her clothes were fitting around her newfound curves in flattering ways. Her blue eyes were becoming more vibrant and her lips a more pure pink. Her nose was pointier just like she was when she was 54 years old.

Peter looked down at his mother, and his jaw dropped awkwardly.

Godiva was a bombshell in her younger days. Her 36B-cup breasts complimented her perfect hour glass waist and hips that were the same circumference. Her floral top brought attention to her chest and her pull-on jeans hugged her waist tightly.

"Maybe I might have to take your attention away from him after all," he said with a big smile as he fingered one of her curly strands and looked her straight in her bright blue eyes.

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valentinejester · 7 years

Text

What's Happening with the Russia Investigation?

So, if you've turned on the news in the past few days, you've probably been hearing a lot about a little something called "the Russia probe" or "the Russia investigation" into President Donald Trump's campaign, as well as words like "collusion", "testimony", "tapes", and, most importantly, "impeachment". And you're probably wondering, "What the hell is happening?" Well, lucky for you, I'm gonna try and explain it all. Buckle up - it's a long ride.

What is the Russia investigation?

Basically, the US is investigating the possible involvement of Russia into the election that took place last year – specifically, how it hurt Hillary Clinton and how it helped Trump. The Directorate of National Intelligence – the top US intel agency – released a report back in January saying that the Russian government, namely Putin, ordered these attacks and organizations like Wikileaks helped them.

When people say the Russians “hacked” our election, they don’t (just) mean into voting machines and stuff – they also mean fake news. Fake news as in, news that is actually fake and not news that you don’t like. For example, remember that story about how people thought Clinton was running a child sex ring in a pizzeria, aka “Pizzagate”? That’s fake news.

Right around here is basically the start of everything – this is where Congress finds out that this might’ve happened and this report, plus a whole bunch of stuff that happened during the campaign, is what leads them to start opening up investigations and probes into this.

tl;dr – Russia hacked us and we want to know how, why, and who helped them. And we think people in Trump’s campaign helped them.

Who is being investigated and why?

So, there are a lot of people who are under investigation right now. I won’t get into every single one, just the big names and what we’re finding out they did.

Michael Flynn

You might remember him as the guy who used to chant “Lock her up!” at Trump rallies. Well, in a stunning turn of events, it might be him who’s locked up. Ha, that’s a joke, I have no idea what’s going to happen to him.

For less than a month, he was the National Security Adviser – aka, the guy who was the President’s point-man on all things dealing with foreign nations and how to protect the US from outside threats. So, he would have a high security clearance and he’d be able to see a lot of classified documents and sensitive info and a whole bunch of other stuff. Trump didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission or seek approval from the Senate to give Flynn this position, so he just gave it to him.

Sounds good, right?

Except the thing is, there’s a lot of problems with Flynn. The big one that got him fired is the fact that he met with Russian ambassador Sergey Kislyak (Keep that name in mind – he’ll come up again.) about the sanctions the Obama administration had placed on Russia, and then lied about it.

The meeting was during the transition period – when Trump hadn’t become President yet, so Flynn wasn’t the national security advisor then but a private citizen, so discussions about possibly lifting sanctions or whatever would be improper. However, the White House says nothing improper was discussed and the FBI isn’t bringing charges against him.

That’s not the only thing about Flynn, though – as it turns out, he’s got some financial ties with various foreign countries, including payment from a state-run TV outlet. Guess what state it was?

Yup – Russia.

Jeff Sessions

You probably don’t know who this guy is, unless you watch a lot of late-night comedy shows. In which case, he’s the guy who everyone says looks either like a goblin or a Keebler elf. He was a senator and a prominent member of Trump’s campaign back in the day, and now he’s the Attorney General.

So why is he on this list? Let me get into that.

To get into a cabinet position, you need to be confirmed by a majority vote of the Senate. And to get the Senate to vote on you, you first need to be confirmed by a committee that will ask you questions and whatnot to see if you’re fit for the position. So, when Sessions was meeting with the Senate Judiciary Committee, he said he didn’t have any contact with anyone from Russia while he was part of Trump’s campaign. And when the form for his security clearance came, he stood by that message.

Except he did meet with Russian officals, and not once, not twice, but three times. And with whom, you might ask? Well, remember that guy who Flynn met with secretly?

Yup – Sergey Kislyak. (Still keep him in mind, because he’ll be up again soon.)

So, since he did lie to the committee, Sessions has since removed himself from all matters at the Department of Justice (the Attorney General is the head of the DOJ) relating to Russia. Instead, Acting Attorney General Rod Rosenstein will take the lead on those. (Keep his name in mind too, because he’ll come back.)

Sessions is still Attorney General, though, and many Democrats are calling for him to resign since he did technically lie under oath. And then there’s the question of what Sessions was talking about with Kislyak, and why he felt the need to hide it three times…

Oh, and there’s also the fact that we didn’t even know about the third meeting until very recently – as in, this week, recently. So, yeah, that’s cool.

Jared Kushner

Right now, you might be thinking, “Okay, so Trump hired two people who secretly met with Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak – he probs didn’t hire a third, right?”

Well…

So, uh, apparently, during the transition period, Kushner had a meeting with our good man Kislyak and our other good man Flynn, and suggested that they could potentially set up a secret back channel with the Trump team and the Russian government.

A back channel is basically what it sounds like – communications with foreign governments without going through regular means, such as the State Department. This isn’t an unusual thing – it’s happened before, like with the Obama administration and the Iranian government when trying to make a nuclear deal back in 2013. And this isn’t even the first time a back channel has been used during a transition period – for example, Nixon had some back channels with Soviet officials before he became President.

The official White House statement is that this back channel was developed to deal with Syria (a whole mess that I’m not getting into right here, right now). There are a couple of points to be made, though.

One, Kushner suggested that they use the Russian’s communications gear instead of some American equipment. Two, soon after that meeting, Kushner had a (secret) meeting with the head of a state-owned Russian bank, Sergey Gorkov – while the White House says that this is all normal and Kushner was meeting with him to help establish the proposed back channel, the bank that Gorkov is part of claims that Kushner met with him as a private citizen representing his family’s business.

So what is the truth? Who knows yet.

Paul Manafort

This is a guy you probably haven’t seen much of in the news lately, but he’s one of the first people to have been caught up in this entire Russia thing. He was Trump’s campaign manager for a period of time but, before the election, he abruptly resigned when his past in lobbying overseas for Russian interests came to the forefront. (At this point, he was replaced by Kellyanne Conaway – you probably know her from her hit, “alternative facts”.)

What was revealed after this fact is that according to intelligence officials, Manafort was in contact with Russians during the campaign. He’s denied this, of course, but given what happened during the election and Russia’s involvement in it, whatever he did during this time period is highly suspect.

Donald Trump

Right now you’re probably thinking, “huh? Why is he here? Isn’t he the President now? How can he be under investigation and be the President?”

Well, before I can get into that – whatever the answer may be – there are a couple of things I need to explain first. I put his name here so you’ll know it’s coming up. But we’ll get into why later.

So, tl;dr – people who once held/now hold prominent positions in the government had secret meetings with Russian officials (especially Sergey Kislyak) and didn’t tell anyone about them.

That’s cool.

Oh yeah, and fun fact – Kislyak is very close to Putin and is probably a Russian intel officer.

So, uh, double cool.

What people are doing the investigating and what’s the difference between them?

All right, let’s get this clear – there isn’t one singular Russia investigation. There are actually five simultaneous investigations, with four of them run by Congress and one by what is called a special counsel.

The ones that are probably the most important are that of the special counsel and the Senate Intelligence Committee, but I’ll go through all of them very quickly just so you have a good idea of what’s going on between them.

Congressional Probes

These are all of the investigations led by people in Congress. These committees are organized with a chair (the person in charge) and a vice chair (Senate)/ranking member (House) (the person less in charge since they’re from the party that’s not in power). Since both houses of Congress are controlled by Republicans, in all committees, the chair is a Republican and the vice chair/ranking member is a Democrat.

But, that doesn’t mean that nothing will get done in these committees. They’ll hold hearings, they’ll get people to testify in an open session (where everyone can see what’s happening – even you on TV) and/or a closed session (where only the committee members and the people with the proper clearance can see what’s happening).

The probes launched by these committees are considered “fact-finding” and “non-criminal” in nature – that means, if they find anything, it won’t necessarily lead to anyone facing criminal charges. But, there could still be consequences – the committees can release a report with the findings of their probes to the public, and we’ll know what exactly they found.

Senate Intelligence Committee

Their goal, according to a statement released by Chairman Richard Burr, is to provide “a full understanding of the scope of Russian intelligence activities impacting the United States.” This includes whether or not the Trump campaign aided in those efforts – or, well, “colluded”, as people have started to say.

They’ll have access to a lot of highly classified documents and information, and they’ll be the ones to have hearings with members of the intelligence community (IC). Along with that, they’re probably the most bipartisan out of all the committees, which means that less time will be spent debating on how to proceed and more time on actually proceeding.

Most recently, they’ve asked former FBI Director Jim Comey to come forward and testify – but we’ll get into all of that later.

House Intelligence Committee

Their goals are divided into four questions, which basically narrow down to – what did Russia do, did any campaign help them, how did the government respond, and how was information leaked about all of this.

Like the Senate Intel Committee, they have access to classified information and the heads of the IC. But, they’re also dealing with more scandal. Chairman Devin Nunes recently had to recuse himself from this specific investigation because of a strange series of events.

Basically, he had a press conference and said he had information that could point to the Obama administration wrongly revealing the names of (or “unmasking”) the Trump officials who had been contacting Russian officials.

Here’s a little bit about unmasking – basically, the IC tries not to surveil American citizens improperly or illegally. But, sometimes, the people they’re investigating – say, Russian officials – end up contacting or are contacted by American citizens, so, in reports to officials, the IC ends up “masking” their identity. And sometimes, in order to get a clearer understanding of the situation, officials ask that the identity of the citizen be unmasked. That doesn’t mean they’re going to start watching that citizen – it’s usually to just help them get more information on the exact nature of the conversation.

Long story short, Nunes said he had this information and that he was going to give it to the White House. The thing is that one, the probe had already started and he hadn’t told any of his fellow committee members about this new development and two, he got the information from the White House itself.

Most recently, the committee sent out subpoenas for both Flynn and Trump’s longtime lawyer, Michael Cohen. At the same time, Nunes, without consulting anyone, sent out some more subpoenas regarding the unmaskings.

Senate Judiciary Committee and House Oversight Committee

These two committees are also investigating the Trump campaign and Russian involvement, but to a narrower extent – the Judiciary Committee intends to look into exactly why Flynn was fired, while the Oversight Committee is looking into Flynn’s contacts with Russian officials when he claimed to have none.

They have the least access to classified information, but that doesn’t mean they can’t produce some important reports that could have far-reaching consequences for whoever they end up implicating.

Special Counsel

First, let’s go over what a special counsel is – someone appointed by the Attorney General (in this case, Deputy Attorney General since Sessions had to recuse himself from matters related to Russia) to conduct an independent probe – meaning, it won’t be directly overseen by the Justice Department, whose heads are Trump appointees.

What’s notable about this investigation is that it’s a criminal probe. That means that the end result of this won’t be just a report – it could lead to legitimate criminal charges against, well, whoever is implicated. It doesn’t mean that a crime has been committed or that someone will be going to jail, but the possibility is there.

According to the order made by Deputy AG Rosenstein, the special counsel will look into “any links and/or coordination between the Russian government and individuals associated with the campaign of President Donald Trump” – once again, looking into “collusion”. The counsel is also allowed to investigate related matters, so the breadth of the investigation is very wide and it includes something that has been gaining a lot of attention lately – potential obstruction of justice. But we’ll get into that later.

The special counsel is not completely independent of Trump as it may appear to be, though – they still have to report to Rosenstein from time to time – but it’s the closest thing out of everyone who’s investigating this stuff. And, unlike the Congressional probes, most of this investigation will be completely private and out of public eye, likely to stay that way until it’s over.

The man picked to lead this probe is Robert Mueller. Mueller is characterized positively by both sides of the aisle – everyone thinks he’s a fair guy who’ll get to the bottom of whatever is going on, regardless of where it leads him. He has a pretty impressive portfolio – he was the FBI director for 12 years, starting around 9/11 and completely reshaping the Bureau from within. He’s also, to borrow a phrase, “a straight shooter respected on both sides” - look around and you won’t find a single Republican talking shit about him. The guy has a stellar record

You might be wondering, “Hey, wasn’t there an FBI investigation into Russia or something?” Well, this is it – the special counsel has taken over that investigation and now the FBI is helping him get all the necessary information he needs.

As of right now, he’s assembling a team of lawyers to help him with this investigation, and he’s set to meet with the Senate Intel Committee sometime in the coming week.

There’s something interesting about the fact that Mueller is running this investigation – he has a history with Jim Comey. But we can get into that later.

tl;dr – everyone is looking into whatever Russia did during this investigation. Congress will write a report on it, but the special counsel can actually charge someone with a crime. We’ll have to wait and see about what happens.

If you want to know more, CNN has a good overview of the big people in this whole thing, from the investigators down to the investigated. The Washington Post gets into the difference between the different probes, while the New York Times and NPR discuss what’s happening now with them.

Who is Jim Comey and what’s the big deal with him?

So now that we’ve gotten some of the background out of the way, let’s get into what’s been dominating the news cycle most recently – what happened to Jim Comey.

If you’re not one of the people who watched Comey’s testimony to the Senate Intel Committee on June 8th (or, if you were but you had no idea what was going on or who he was), then here’s what’s up.

Who?

Jim Comey is the former FBI Director who was recently fired by Donald Trump back in early May.

Why?

Well, a couple of reasons have been floated around and then shot down – reasons that the White House gave and the President shot down. So I’m just going to take it from the horse’s mouth.

According to an interview Trump gave after the firing, he fired Comey because he wasn’t doing a good job, and he always wanted to fire Comey, so he got Rosenstein (told ya to keep his name in mind) to write a memo listing out why they should fire Comey, and then he did, and then Trump fired him.

According to Rosenstein’s memo, the reason to fire Comey was because of his conduct during the Clinton email investigation. I’m not getting into the whole email thing, but keep this reasoning in mind.

The exact nature of the firing is a little sad and funny – so Comey was in LA at the time, talking to some agents there. He saw the news of his firing on TV and – (and I’m being serious here, this legit happened) – he thought it was a prank set up by the agents. Except it wasn’t, and he was terminated immediately.

And, before you ask, no there isn’t a new FBI director right now. The former deputy director is now the acting director, but that’s only until someone new is confirmed by the Senate. A name has been proposed by Trump, but we’re not really gonna talk about him right now.

What we are going to talk about is the letter that Trump sent to Comey about his firing. There are two key points about this – one, apparently, Comey told Trump “on three separate occasions” that he’s not under investigation; and two, the Attorney General was also consulted about firing the FBI Director.

We’ll get into the first point in a bit, but the second point is important because – well, remember that Sessions (the Attorney General) recused himself from all things Russia, but he was consulted on firing Comey.

Now I know what you’re thinking – “wait, what does firing the FBI Director have to do with Russia?”

First, Comey confirmed at a hearing with the House Intel Committee that there was an FBI investigation into the Trump campaign’s relations with Russia. Second, during a meeting with Russian officials a day after he fired Comey, Trump said, “I faced great pressure because of Russia. That’s taken off.” (Guess who was also in this meeting? The guy who’s literally everywhere – Sergey Kislyak.)

So, we have three different reasons – one, Comey wasn’t working right; two, Comey was bad on the emails investigation; and three, Comey was investigating Russia.

So what is the truth? Comey has an idea.

What just happened with the whole Comey testimony thing?

So, back on June 8th, Comey appeared before the Senate Intel Committee to talk about the nature of his firing. It was also to talk about some information that came to light.

Apparently, Comey had written a memo about how Trump asked him in a private meeting to stop investigating Flynn (who, at the time, was being investigated by the FBI and not the special counsel). This was a sign that the president may have tried to influence the Russia investigation and eventually led to the appointment of a special counsel.

The Senate Intel Committee really wanted to know about these memos Comey wrote, detailing his interactions with the President. Now, talking about conversations with or involving the President could be protected through executive privilege – basically, if Comey testifies, he could be fired. Except he was already fired, so that argument was kind of void, and Comey testified anyway.

A day before he testified, his opening statement was released to the public. And boy oh boy, did it have a lot of things in it. You can read the whole account here (and you should) but basically, Trump apparently had several private conversations with Comey that Comey thought were very suspect.

(Fun fact – according to Comey, he had two private interactions with Obama in four years; and, from January to April, he had nine private interactions with Trump.)

The first time they met, Comey told Trump that at that time, he wasn’t under investigation, and so in subsequent conversations, Trump asked Comey to reveal this information to the public – which Comey wouldn’t, because that’s not proper for the FBI to do.

There are two interactions that really caught people’s eyes. First, Trump invited Comey to dinner on Valentine’s Day (apparently, Comey cancelled dinner plans with his wife for this – sucks, right?) and told him that “I need loyalty, I expect loyalty.” The thing is, the FBI is loyal only to the Constitution, and Comey pledging loyalty to the President would be wrong on multiple levels.

Second, Trump met with Comey in the Oval Office after a different meeting and asked him to end the investigation into Flynn. Said Trump, “I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go, to letting Flynn go. He is a good guy. I hope you can let this go.” Comey didn’t say he would, and he high-tailed out of there.

Okay, but what about the hearing?

The hearing itself mostly reiterated these facts and showed how uncomfortable Comey felt with the fact that the President had done them – and then fired him later on for not following his orders. You can see/read the testimony here, but here’s what’s important from it.

Comey flat out said that he thinks he was fired because he didn’t stop with the Russia investigation. Flat out. That’s a huge accusation, but one he stands by.

About the memos, he said he wrote them because he was afraid that the President would lie about their meetings and he wanted to make sure that there were accurate representations of what really happened. Remember, this is the (former) Director of the FBI saying that the President of the United States is a liar.

Back when Comey was fired, Trump tweeted out something that suggested that there may be recordings – or “tapes” – of their conversations. In response to that, Comey said, “Lordy, I hope there are tapes.”

Also in response to that, Comey admitted that he told a friend of his about the memos and asked him to release part of them to the public, so that he could make sure there would be a special counsel appointed. And there was.

A lot of people have been saying that this act – Comey telling his friend about the memos – is considered “leaking”. The thing is, leaking is mostly for classified information and Comey is now a private citizen. And his conversations, based on what we know of them now, don’t seem to jeopardize national security in any way. So he’s fine – all he did was tell a friend about the time he talked to the President and the President made him uncomfortable.

He also revealed that he gave his memos to Mueller and the special counsel’s office, which means that they might be investigating the circumstances that led to the firing. Some people have said that Trump’s actions may be considered obstruction of justice – since he was actively trying to stop an ongoing investigation – but it isn’t clear whether this will be investigated by the special counsel as of yet.

On Comey’s part, he refused to say whether he believes there was obstruction of justice. Yes, he said he felt he was pressured by Trump to end the investigation, but when asked if it’s obstruction, he said, “I don’t know. That’s Bob Mueller’s job to sort that out.”

He also pointed the finger at someone else who may have been involved in this whole firing debacle – Sessions. In his written statement, Comey stated that he spoke with Sessions after the meeting in the Oval Office and told him to “prevent any future direct communication between the President” and himself. As it turns out, Sessions did nothing of the sort, since the President did in fact contact Comey directly at least twice after that.

Also, in the closed session (where no one but the committee members are allowed), Comey revealed the third meeting Sessions had with the guy who is literally everywhere in this freaking investigation, Sergey Kislyak.

And before I forget – Comey confirmed that yes, the Russians definitely hacked the election. In his words, “here should be no fuzz on this whatsoever. The Russians interfered in our election during the 2016 cycle. They did it with purpose. They did it with sophistication. They did it with overwhelming technical efforts. It was an active, measured campaign driven from the top of that government. There is no fuzz on that.”

And before you ask, no I don’t know what fuzz means but I’m sure it’s important.

So, yeah, that’s basically what happened.

So what did Trump say to this?

Oh, you know, the usual – Jim Comey is lying and Trump is willing to testify under oath to that effect. He’s continuing to imply the existence of the tapes, supposedly containing the conversations he had with Comey, but he refuses to confirm or deny as of yet.

The President has an outside counsel – his personal lawyer, Marc Kasowitz – dealing with the Russia investigation, who released a few statements about the matter. Essentially, their argument deals with the fact that Comey “leaked” the memos and he should suffer some sort of consequence for that. Also, since he told Trump he wasn’t under investigation, there’s no cause for concern and the question should be dropped.

And that’s true – according to his testimony, Comey did say, on three occasions, that the President wasn’t personally under investigation. But, Comey’s been fired now, so he wouldn’t necessarily know if that’s still the case.

Tl;dr – Comey says Trump did some stuff, and Trump says he’s lying. Trump maybe has tapes, but definitely has lawyers; Comey has receipts and a special counsel.

What’s going to happen now?

That’s a good question.

Basically, everyone’s going to go and figure out what they’re gonna do next.

The special counsel’s team is still being assembled, but when it is, they’ll officially begin their criminal investigation – which, we probably won’t hear about until everything is all said and done.

Mueller will also be meeting with the Senate Intel Committee – meeting, not testifying – so they can figure out what he’s doing and do their best not to interfere with either investigation. Both investigations overlap, but remember, they’re two different investigations, and one has immediate consequences for whoever is involved.

For example, to get information, the Senate Intel Committee might grant someone immunity to allow them to testify. But, if they’re under investigation by Mueller and he wants them to be eventually prosecuted, he won’t be able to do that with their immunity. So they have to work this thing out.

The Senate Intel Committee plans on meeting with Kushner sometime this month about whatever he’s done, but next week – on Tuesday – Sessions said he would come forward and testify. This will likely be about how he didn’t tell them about the third Kislyak meeting and why he didn’t stop Trump from talking to Comey, but no one knows as of right now (June 10th) whether this will be an open or closed session. (Haha, a session about Sessions…)

Meanwhile, the House Intel Committee has asked Comey to provide them with copies of his memos, and they’ve asked the White House to provide whatever recordings Trump may have of his conversation with Comey. They also plan to hear from former Homeland Security Secretary Jeh Johnson (no that’s not a typo, his first name is Jeh) about Russian cyberattacks last year.

As for Comey, it’s not clear whether he’s going to testify before any more committees or just leave it at everything he said with the Senate Intel Committee.

Tl;dr – not much should be on TV unless Trump pulls some wild stuff. Here’s an article from NPR if you want to know more.

Is the President under investigation?

This is the question you all really want to know the answer to. And, to put it simply, no one knows.

Sure, Comey said he wasn’t, but the last time he commented on it was when he was the Director of the FBI and he isn’t now. And we’re still not sure whether Mueller is investigating if Trump’s actions were obstruction of justice. Based on Comey’s testimony and the fact that he did say “sure” the special counsel could be investigating obstruction of justice – then, well, sure. But the special counsel will likely never confirm nor deny that.

Now, is he going to be impeached?

First, let me make this clear – impeachment is a process. First, the House of Representatives writes up articles of impeachment. If they get a majority vote, then they bring charges to the President, and then there’s a trial. The judge is the Supreme Court Justice (in this case, John Roberts), the prosecutors are the people accusing the President from the House, the defense is the President’s lawyers, and the jury is the Senate. If two-thirds of the Senate find him guilty, he’s out.

So is he going to be impeached?

Probably not. Republicans are saying that we should wait until these investigations and probes are complete before jumping to conclusions, while some Democrats are already starting to write up stuff for impeachment.

The thing is, impeachment is less of a legal matter and more of a political matter. Remember, the House brings the charges. And the House is controlled by the Republicans, who are still defending Trump.

Tl;dr – uh… maybe?

So that’s that. That’s everything that’s happening up to this point (June 10th, 2017). If you want an easy-to-see graphic, here’s one from HuffPost. If you want some extra information, CNN has you covered.

I’m going to try and keep up with what happens next after this – in general and specifically with the Russia investigation – so if you have any questions, let me know and I’ll try to answer them.

Hope this made sense.

#us politics #politics #russia investigation #this is for all of you who don't know wtf is going on #if you've been seeing a lot of #jim comey #on your dash and you dk who he is then read this

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theartificialdane · 7 years

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Galactica, part 241

In this Violet’s world is changed, Courtney spends time with her new friends, Laila get’s hot under the collar and Alaska has to sacrifice for the team.

Thank you to @toriibelledarling @samrull and @veronicasanders - My darling cowriters <3

“Yes.. I, yes.. Thank you.. I’ll talk to you later too.. Bye.”

Violet put her phone in her bag after talking to Sutan who was spending the night with his sister. Violet turned around and walked back inside the gallery. Her shoes were hurting, the drink in her hand almost empty, the people around her mostly strangers. Someone bumped into Violet, and she silently cursed herself for not pleading more for Sutan to come along with her, but she wasn’t someone who begged. Sutan needed time with his sister, and how was she to ask twice if he had something better to do. Sutan had done so much for her lately, and she didn’t want to be the ungrateful brat, she was sure Sutan sometimes saw her as.

Violet took the last sip of her drink, getting lost in the mysterious landscapes of Hercules Segers as she walked around, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, almost making her jump. Violet turned around, and came face to face with Chad Michaels, the woman smiling brightly.

“Darling!” Chad exclaimed happily, enveloping Violet in a cloud of Dior perfume and air kisses which Violet quickly returned.

“Ms. Michaels, hello,” Violet said. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“I am just thrilled that you’re here, Violet! Especially this week! What a wonderful job you did for that Marie Claire spread.”

“Thank you.” Violet smiled, beyond happy that Chad had somehow seen her work and also realised that it was her. She hadn’t expected the other woman, or really anyone, to, and hearing the praise warmed her heart.

“I’ve been meaning to call you and it kept slipping my mind and here you are, it’s like fate!” Chad grabbed a drink for her and one for Violet from one of the waiters that walked by, still chatting away. “I recognized it instantly!”

“Really?” Violet looked at Chad, not quite believing what she was hearing, the fact that she was there alone not all that depressing anymore. Violet couldn’t imagine what would have happened if Betty or even Pearl had been there with her, Chad demanding her complete attention.

“Darling. Of COURSE we can recognize your work. I do hope that this wasn’t a one-time deal.” Chad put an arm around Violet, dragging her off to the side and somehow easily finding a couch where the two could sit down, Chad effortlessly demanding the space. “I’ve been telling that boss of yours for months that she needs to give you your own line, and it seems like she’s finally listening to me with the Marie Claire spread!”

Violet choked on her drink, almost coughing before she caught herself, her hand in front of her mouth as she swallowed the liquid.

“What?”

“The Marie Claire spread you silly goose.”

Violet felt like the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Was Chad the one that had recommended her for the Marie Claire spread? Was Chad the one that had a finger in the game, and not Sutan?

“You…you have?”

“Of course! And why not? You have such a remarkable gift, my dear!”

Chad was still chatting. Violet could see Chad’s lips moving, but she couldn’t really hear the other woman, her ears ringing. Had she been fussy with Sutan for no reason? Acting out and silently punishing him for something he had never done? Violet needed to go, she needed to go, and to apologize and tell Sutan what a colossal bitch she had been, her head spinning.

“Speaking of which, I’d love to commission a few more gowns from you, and I would be honored if you’d design something absolutely over the top for me for the Met Ball this year. What do you think?”

“I have to go.”

***

“What if we just-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Detox sat down on the bed, Grace crying in his arms. The little girl had woken up for the 6th time that night, coughing and crying, her ears hurting.

“No I don’t, but I know you.” Juju took Grace from Detox, Detox silently cursing the new babysitter they had hired, that had forgotten to put Grace’s hat on before she took the small kids outside to play in the december snow.

“Sssh, ssh.” Juju gently rocked Grace back and forth, undoing her top so Grace could latch onto a nipple, the little girl finally calming down, her small hands curled into fists.

“Kids are fucking monsters.”

“And yet you have four.” Juju smiled, and Detox sat down next to her.

“And yet I have four.”

***

“Sutan. Sutan. Wake up.” Sutan felt someone shake him, but he didn’t want to wake up, his head heavy, his mouth tasting of every single drink he had shared with Raja.

{Raj, leave me alone}

Oh god. He was way too old to mix shots and wine, but stomach churning as he tried to sit up. Why was Raja being such a bitch?

“Sutan, come on, please, I have to talk to you.”

Sutan recognised the voice. It wasn’t Raja, and it wasn’t Raven, but someone else entirely.

“.. Violet?” Sutan sat up, his girlfriend sitting on the floor of his livingroom. Sutan knew it wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help but congratulate himself that he had somehow made it home the day before. “Did you use your key?” Sutan looked down at himself, thankful that he was at least still wearing pants and his undershirt, the rest of his suit properly crumbled up somewhere.

“We have to talk.” Violet was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, her hair and outfit looking perfect. Why was it that Violet hadn’t spent the night with him? Had she gone somewhere? Fuck his head felt so heavy.

“I’m pretty- Vi, I’m pretty drunk, can this wa-”

“No.” Violet looked at him, her expression one of pure determination. “We have to talk, right now, or I’ll never say anything.”

“What?” Was Violet okay? Had something happened to hear? Sutan reached out, grabbing Violet’s knee, his girl allowing him. “Did someone hurt you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Violet, did someone hurt you? Do I need to call someone?” Sutan tightened his grab, the idea of someone hurting Violet unbearable to him.

“I’m sorry. I did a really bad thing and I- I thought you had forced someone to give me the Marie Claire photoshoot.”

“… What?”

The words came out in a rush, “It’s stupid, I know, I know, but I was so sure. Why else would it have been given to me?” Sutan barely able to hear what Violet was actually saying, everything a mess like it had been at the hospital. “I can’t- I’m not, I didn’t deserve it, and I still got it,” Violet breathed in, almost gasping for air before she continued to speak, like she’d die if she didn’t get it out right away, “It’s been killing me since I secretly assumed it had been your doing, that you, oh I don’t know, made a deal with Bianca or Fame and that you didn’t trust me, and then with thanksgiving.”

Was Violet saying that she assumed Sutan had something to do with her work? That he had somehow talked his friends into giving her a photoshoot? Sutan knew he should properly feel hurt, and if he was being honest he did, but it was part of Violet to worry, and she deserved not to talk to him while he was drunk.

“Hey, hey.” Sutan moved his hand, gently taking Violet’s arm, the girl stopping her stream of words, her entire attention on him.

“I’d never do that.”

The room feel silent, Violet looking at him like he was her entire world, and Sutan took the aking the time to choose his words.

“You don’t need my help Violet.” Sutan could see that Violet was about to open her mouth, but he stopped her, quickly continuing. “If you think you do, you’re wrong. I don’t know where this is coming from, but what you achieve is yours, and I would never try to take that from you. I can guide you and give you advice if you want me to, but your career is yours, not mine. It’s yours.”

Violet threw her arms around him, holding him close, her face pressed into his neck. “I’m sorry.” Sutan wrapped an arm around Violet’s waist, giving her a tight squeesh.

“Vi..”

“Yes?”

“Can I have some water please?”

“Of course.”

***

“Augh!” Courtney shrieked as Sonja opened a bottle of champagne, spraying everyone. Vanity ducked behind her to protect her wig from getting drenched and Bethenny began to tease him.

“Really? She’s your protector? She could fit in my pocket. She’s the size of a Keebler elf.”

“Well,” Vanity reasoned. “I had to make a quick decision and Luann isn’t here.”

Ramona burst out laughing. “Where is she, anyway? She sent me a very cryptic text about why she couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, probably because she feels guilty that she’s dating your ex,” said Carole.

“Tom isn’t my ex! We just went on a couple of dates!” Ramona insisted.

“Well, whatever, she still should have told you when she started dating him. Just like she should have told Sonja, or HE should have told Sonja. The whole thing is very shady.” Bethenny shook her head, pouring another drink. “I do not approve. Breaking the girl code.”

“Girl code! Girl code!” Ramona mocked Luann’s latest catchphrase, laughing.

Sonja leaned on her shoulder giggling.

“So the three of you all dated the same guy?” Courtney asked.

“Is he like, amazing in bed?” Vanity asked.

“He’s fine in bed,” Sonja said. “I wouldn’t say ‘amazing.’”

“He’s desperate to bag a Housewife, apparently,” Bethenny explained. “You’re lucky you’re gay.”

“Yeah, I say a prayer of thanks for that every day,” Courtney said, laughing.

“So what’s this show gonna be like?” asked Ramona. “Do you have hot backup dancers?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they’re super hot,” said Courtney.

“Ramona, you’re talking to a lesbian, you may need to clarify if she means hot boys or hot girls.”

“I knew what she meant,” Courtney said, laughing. “And I’ve got both, Bethenny.” Courtney winked at the brunette.

“Well, good. That gives us more choices.”

Ramona’s eyes bugged out in shock, causing both Carole and Bethenny to dissolve in giggles.

“I’m kidding, you idiot,” Bethenny yelled.

“Well, ya never know with you,” said Ramona.

“Indeed,” Carole said coyly.

“I think we should plan a girls’ trip,” said Ramona.

“I’m so confused as to what the fuck this is,” Bethenny said.

“This is just an overnight. I mean like a real, solid, like 4 or 5 days.”

“I’m busy,” Carole said.

“I haven’t said any dates!” Ramona laughed.

“I know.” Carole poured herself another drink.

“I have a question,” Courtney said. “When you say ‘Girls’ Trip,’ is that code for ‘no significant others’ or does it just mean girls?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I just, I don’t know, 5 days seems like a long time. B’s been feeling kind of neglected lately.” Courtney didn’t add her next thought, which was ‘Leaving her alone when she’s feeling hard up seems like asking for trouble.’

“Remember how much shit you gave Aviva for wanting to bring her husband to St Bart’s?” Sonja laughed.

“Well yeah, because Aviva was crazy. And her husband was a jerk. Bianca might actually be fun,” Ramona said.

“You don’t have to say yes, I was just wondering.”

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” said Carole. “And kind of sad that the 22 year old has the most functional relationship here.”

“It’s not sweet,” Vanity piped up. “They are fucking nymphomaniacs who are gonna be scissoring all over your vacation home.”

Courtney slapped Vanity on the side of the head. “Shut up, Ben!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Well, it’s true. And I’m not even touching ‘functional relationship,’” she added, holding out her champagne glass. “I need another drink, quickly.”

“Ya dog-ass mole,” Courtney grumbled, crossing her arms.

***

RE: Christmas

Dear Ms. Michaels,

I’m so sorry for leaving you as abruptly as I did last night. I want to assure you that working with you for the christmas season would be a tremendous honor to design a look for you. I’ve made a few sketches based on your tastes and preferences. I have attached the sketches, and I hope that we can use them as jumping off points for discussions.

Thank you for your encouragement.

Best wishes,

Violet

RE: RE: Christmas

VIOLET THESE ARE DIVINE!! #2 IS MY FAVORITE!!

You MUST let me take you out to lunch this week so that we can talk more!!

Xoxo,

Chad

RE: RE: RE: Christimas

Ms. Michaels,

It would be my absolute pleasure to go to lunch with you! Thank you again for your support, I’m very greatful.

Best wishes,

Violet

***

“Hey babe.”

Laila looked up from her computer, her hands filled with swatched from the tour she had done of her most used lipsticks. She looked up to see Pearl, her girlfriend standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips. Pearl had gone out earlier that night, Laila not even catching that Pearl was going out, until she was already gone, her and Max apparently hitting some concert in Harlem.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Mmmh.” Pearl nodded, her eyes filled with a lustful glint, like she wanted to eat Laila up, and Laila suddenly felt self conscious of her sweatpants and her braided purple hair. “I had whiskey.”

“Did you?”

“Mmh..” Pearl was wearing sinful leather pants, her long legs clad in the black fabric, her hips and stomach peaking out from the shirt that was tied into a crop top.

“… Is that my top?” Laila recognised the Metallica logo, the shirt one she had owned for years and one she usually wore to bed, but on Pearl, paired with a black jacket, it looked like something that had cost a thousand dollars.

“Is it?” Pearl smiled. “I’m so sorry babe, I’ll make it up to you right away.” Pearl took her jacket off, and Laila felt her mouth run dry as Pearl dropped the jacket on the floor, pushing the door shut behind before. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” Pearl pulled at the shirt, undoing the knot she had tied with ease, her red nails tugging the fabric open before she grabbed it and slowly pulled it up, up, up and over her head, her long blonde hair falling down her back, Laila recognising Pearl’s underwear as La Perla, something she wouldn’t have been able to do at gunpoint a year ago.

“Because I think you should punish me.”

Laila smiled, Pearl’s desire for her thick in the air, the power going to her head as she held up her hand and gestured for Pearl to get closer, which she happily did.

“How can I say no to that?”

***

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking tired…” Jinkx moaned, tossing her clothes and shoes to the floor and climbing into bed. “What are we watching?”

Adore kissed her forehead and began to play with her red hair, cuddling back against Alaska’s warm body. “Forensic Files.”

“That shit gives me nightmares.”

“Awww, we’ll protect you, baby…”

Alaska giggled and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Adore’s neck. She wasn’t into the gruesome murder show either, so she chose to distract herself by letting her fingers trail up and down Adore’s tender skin, hands snaking between her thighs, lips finding her pulse point, sucking on her, rubbing her, until she was sighing and arching, breath coming fast and–

“AUGH!” Adore suddenly shrieked, pushing Alaska away.

“What?” Alaska sat up.

Adore whipped her head around, glaring at her, “That’s IT!” She leapt out of the bed and into the adjoining bathroom.

“What happened?” Jinkx murmured sleepily from her pillow.

“I told you, if that happened ONE MORE TIME!” Adore said, marching back into the bedroom, brandishing a pair of nail clippers like a weapon.

“Nooooooo!” Alaska whined.

“Oh yes! Those nails are GONE, bitch!” She threw back her head and laughed maniacally.

“But I liiike my naaaaaaaails,” she countered, as Adore straddled her and attempted to grab one of her hands.

“Well tough shit! No more nails!”

“Jiiiiiinkx!” Alaska whined, looking for support.

“Yeah, Jinkx, please help me out?” Adore looked over at the sleepy redhead.

Jinkx looked up. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for every nail you cut.”

Alaska held out her hand for Adore. “Okay, deal.”

“Wait, that’s ten grand! Do I get anything for cutting them?” Adore asked.

“You can order a pizza. Alaska will pay for it.” Jinkx yawned and rolled over.

“Okay, deal.” Adore giggled and began to cut away, then paused to kiss Alaska on the cheek. “I’m sorry about your nails, boo.”

“Sorry about scratching you.”

“It’s okay. You can kiss it better.” Adore winked at her.

“You got it.”

***

Courtney twirled around with Vanity, high on expensive liquor and the adrenaline of performing. She’d just finished signing autographs for a gaggle of teenage girls, and now she was hitting the club with the ladies.

The DJ was young and sexy and giving her bedroom eyes, and he was blasting Lucien’s dance remix of Ecstasy. Subtle, but cute. She blew him a kiss and continued to spin around with her brother, wondering if it was totally narcissistic to enjoy dancing to her own music this much and deciding that she didn’t care.

“Do you miss Bianca?” Carole called to her over the music, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

Courtney felt a surge of guilt bloom in her chest. The truth was, she hadn’t really thought about Bianca since she’d stepped onto the stage. She’d been having way too much fun. The reality of her newfound independence was both unsettling and freeing. Things with B had been so tense lately, especially since the whole Thanksgiving disaster. Maybe they should be doing more things apart. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Couples weren’t supposed to be codependent, right? This was them evolving into something healthier, something more adult, right? Right?

Courtney looked at Carole, smiling sweetly. “So much,” she said wistfully. “But I know she’s having a good time in New York, and this way it’ll be that much better when we see each other again.”

Carole nodded and exclaimed, “Exactly!”

Courtney tilted her eyes upwards and breathed a sigh of relief as the music echoed off the walls. When I don’t even know my name, when my reckless can’t be tamed…and when the DJ sets us free, we will be in ecstasy…

#galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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boobtubedude · 7 years

Text

The Tournament Of The Archomentals: Part 1

As background, which I may spell out later: I started DM’ing a game of Dungeons and Dragons last summer. It was my first time ever playing the game, AND I was running it. I got a few friends who were interested and we all kind of learned as we went.

We started playing the pre-made intro adventure “Lost Mine Of Phandelver” in June, and segued into the “Curse of Strahd” about two months after that. I led a five-month campaign in which the vampiric Big Bad ended up sneezing to death, because Dungeons and Dragons is a weird game sometimes. This is the third arc, which narratively connects the adventures of four players and everyone they’ve met along the way. It’s my first attempt at a fully original campaign, although it borrows themes and plot points from some familiar pop culture pieces, as well as using some canonical D&D lore.

At this stage, everyone is a Level 10 character. These are the notes I normally type out to the players, as they literally cannot remember things between biweekly sessions, but thought it might be fun to start posting them for all to read. We had two new players decided to join the game this time around, which is why a tournament celebrating eight gods has six participants. I bet you’d ask because the players asked and were kinda asses about it.

The story picked up right at the end of the last session, with the gnome Garrick hurrying over to your campsite. He noted that he was excited but a little annoyed you guys waited so long to come back. Turns out what felt like a few weeks for you was 10 years in Neverwinter. During that time, your efforts at Wave Echo Cave have essentially turned Neverwinter into a rich, bustling ecosystem. And since then, you have become folk heroes that helped turn this place from Brookyln in the 1980s to Brooklyn now. (Lots of skinny jeans in Neverwinter now.)

Garrick had been holding your place in The Tournament of the Archomentals, which celebrates the 1,000-year anniversary of the defeat of the god Asmodeus. Asmodeus arose thanks to the assassination of Mystra, a goddess in charge of maintaining The Weave. The Weave is like the Force, only for magic, and killing her set off a chain reaction in which reality itself was warped and changed. Asmodeus was a decently powerful wizard before Mystra’s death, but The Spellplague (also known as the “Blue Breath Of Change”) then ensued after Mystra’s assassination turned him into a god-like figure. He turned the lands into hell itself with his empowered Ruby Rod, and was only defeated when the 8 archomentals (beings of supreme power in the earth, air, water, and fire planes of the multiverse) combined for the first time ever to defeat him.

The tournament involves four contests, after each week one of the five remaining teams is eliminated. Each contest celebrates of plane of elemental existence. Garrick’s an organizer, but not an architect, of the arenas in which these contests take place. He’s sort of a coach, but more of a fanboy at heart. (He may or may not have playing cards of the four heroes of Wave Echo Cave.) However, it won’t just be you in the contest: Since the challenges are designed for parties of six, Garrick has two more people that he’s gotten to fight along side you in order to balance out your team’s strengths and weaknesses. In no way did anyone think this was all major foreshadowing for the return of Asmodeus at the end of the tournament, which pleased the DM as he did not have to massively rewrite the narrative he had been planning for a month and a half.

As he takes you into the cathedral in which the tournament’s festivities are arranged, you see Mystra’s symbol above the cathedral door: it’s a red mist rising to the heavens, with seven stars surrounding it. The seven stars represent the seven schools of magic in this universe.

Inside, you see that Gundren Rockseeker (who gathered you all together on your adventure to find the Lost Mine of Phandelver) is one of the architects, along with three others:

Artin Battlehammer (Dwarf): A stout, keenly intelligent creature with an eye towards designing strongholds than looting them with treaure

Theren Amastacia (Elf): Think Cate Blanchett in LOTR, but somehow hotter

Kallista Orianna (Tiefling): about 6’, purple skin, horns that extend out from her eyebrows about 15’’ in a 45 degree angle. A large tail slinks back and forth behind her. She seems to regard you with distrust, whereas the others barely acknowledge your existence

From there, after exchanging pleasantries with Gundren, you met your two other teammates: a half-orc Fighter named Kieran Lonesword and a human Bard named Danfielding. You also meet a halfing named Vivienne, a gruff fashion designer/wizard who allows you all to create your own hero within the world of the Tournament. (In real-world parlance: This is a chance to re-spec your character.) Arzgarth Riffrocker the Paladin stayed the same. Peter Dinklage the Cleric switched his Domain to “Tempest” in order to indulge his inner Thor. Chad The Conqueror switched from Paladin to Warlock, which was badass on all levels. Demora the Rogue did not participate in this, as in real life she was very sick, so everyone established the canonical fiction that she had consumed room-temperature shrimp as her first meal in Neverwinter and was horrifically nauseous. This was not badaass on any level.

Vivienne also gave everyone a pin to help brand this team: a silver pin with the face of the monkey the group adopted in Barovia, Piccolo. Chad was greatly delighted by this development, as he loved Piccolo more than anything in the world. Garrick led you all the antechamber, a long hallway with paintings of the Archomentals on each side. He explained that this first exhibition honored the Earth Archomentals, Ogrémoch (generally eeevvvviiiiil) and Sunnis (generally pleeeeesssaaant). He told you that the fight was based on “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” and to avoid the dome protecting you from the audience that would be watching. Also, he noted that there was audience participation: Above the arena would be a wheel that would spin after everyone had completed a round of combat, in which something fun or terrible might happen.

You walk up to the final painting of the antechamber, and it’s of none other than Asmodeus himself. He’s painted as a twenty-foot figure crushing the hordes of fighters that had assembled to defeat him. In his hands is the Ruby Rod to which Garrick alluded earlier. This painting lifted up to reveal a circular platform inside, and a bright light illuminating it from above. Peter Dinklage kissed the three middle fingers of his left hand and held them up, because he’s a dick.

You all get on the platform, and ride it up. You see you’re in a dome that’s about 30 yards in diameter. On the periphery, two smaller but similar looking trees reside. In the center of it is a huge, beautiful tree. Facing it at forty-five degrees on each side are two stone statues, reminiscent of the Terracotta Army. It’s a beautiful, lush landscape, and your eyes go from that to realizing you’re surrounded on all sides by spectators. You can hear them, but the sounds are muffled due to the invisible dome. Due north in the crowd is a smallish section for the Tournament Architects, and the Wheel stands above them. The options on the wheel read:

Hale and Hearty

SkullCracker

Flight of Fancy

Ring Around The Posey

Amor-All

Broken Mirror

Well of Haste

Electric Slide

The fight begins when the fighters try to use magic to assess the area, which wakes up both the central tree and the stone golems. The tree does a lot of damage when it hurls a boulder at the entire party, forcing Danfielding to heal everyone up quickly. Just when it looks like the initial flurry was over, a dozen ropes descended from the top of the dome, and twelve men looking like Santa’s Elves gone to seed landed with a thud on the ground, wielding large sickles. “We’re the Scissors Gang, here to kick your ass!” the leader declared. Much head shaking was done by all at the DM’s voice for these creatures, but they said nothing, for lo, the DM had bought the pizza that night. Rock (golems), Paper (tree), and Scissors (Bastard Keebler Elves) had finally all assembled.

Combat continued for a few rounds. After the first, the audience wheel landed on Ring Around The Posey, which had the effect of switching all the elements to which these creatures were either vulnerable or immune. That wasn’t too obvious to the heroes, who mostly marveled at the fact that Kieran could seemingly roll nothing but twenties on her first night. The initial batch of Scissors Elves were eliminated fairly handily, as Peter and Danfielding teamed up to essentially roll the elves into the electrified dome like bowling pins, but the group couldn’t make their way to the tree (which had raised up the other two to help attack) nor make much headway with the golems.

Round two started with Flight Of Fancy, which made the entire arena zero-gravity. A new group of Scissor gangmembers floated down like a group of skydivers, which the DM erroneously called “plane jumpers,” because the DM had had a fucking week, so back off. Once again, Peter and Danfield feasted on these creatures, singeing them all with fire. Arzgarth teleported on top of a golem, and struck him down towards the earth. Kieran then curbstomped this sucker to death, and wove the newly-formed floating pebbles into a cape, because apparently half-Orcs have proficiency in Etsy. The DM granted Kieran a point of inspiration, because holy crap, you guys. The audience, on the other hand, threw up in their mouth a little at the violent (albeit creative) display before them.

Meanwhile, Chad decided to use his Warlock abilities to take over the mind of the tree, which it then ordered to hit itself with the boulder over and over again. Not only did the central tree take damage because of this, but so did the other trees. Everyone enjoyed telling the tree to stop hitting itself.

With the combatants earthbound for the next round, the wheel landed on Electric Slide, at which point lighting emerged from the Piccolo pins and singed every player. No one enjoyed that, not even Chad.

Finally, Chad realized he had a Warlock spell that could essentially incinerate plant life, which probably would have helped them out in the first round of combat. Game, set, match, ex-masochistic sentient tree. Garrick ran into the arena, pleased by the results. He noted that they came in second overall in terms of quickest victory, as another team had used that plant spell off the bat, which made things much easier.

Just then, the sky went dark, the wheel started spinning of its own accord, and glowed red from its central point. Just as soon as it started, everything went back to normal. The architects retreated hastily, and a nervous Garrick told the group to rest up for the next event in two weeks’ time.

#Dungeons and Dragons

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