#(i might actually put in the effort to properly render the second one at some point but not tonight lmao)

[ohhgingersnaps]

sebastian ft. Programmer Posture™

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 12 - Muse

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Fluff, Rough Sex (Light but Consensual), Light Degradation, Role-play (Reader In French Maid Outfit), Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Making Out With Gojo, NSFW, Unprotected Sex

Summary: You keep your promise to Gojo and the two of you enjoy a little bit of roleplaying.

A/N: I know it's been a while since I posted last. Here is the updated chapter (she is kind of long) and it's basically 5% plot where everything else is smut. I have been reading this same thing for over a week and spent most of today editing, so I hope it's fine! Please keep in mind again that I do not have a beta, and will highly miss a lot of things or even misspell them. I hope you enjoy the chapter!  Requests are still open! I currently write for Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna and Choso. Please make sure I can see your age on your profile, otherwise you will be ignored (minors dni) 

- - - 

(Three Years Ago)

“Looks like someone is being spoiled…”

You glanced around your apartment that has been completely decorated in flowers. You started grinning like an idiot thinking of Haru’s promise to give you a garden before replying, “ it’s a long story... ”

“ Soo , things worked out after the failed anniversary dinner?” Gojo questioned, noticing the way you shyly bit your bottom lip as you returned your attention back onto the T.V. screen.

“ Yes, they did …” you answered casually, still holding that pretty smile on your lips. You were clicking the button on the remote as you switched between movies to pick one to watch for the evening. “I don’t think I gave you the full update…”

Gojo took a sip of his melon soda, before leaning back comfortably against your couch. “No you did not. Last time we spoke you told me you were going away for the weekend. So tell me, how did prince charming work his way back into your good graces?”

Hakone , the weekend getaway; memories of you and Haru’s trip flooded back to your mind. The onsen experience, strolling through nature by day, visiting art galleries and losing sleep at night just to make love…

“It was… perfect.” you whispered breathlessly, your heart skipping a beat after you gave Gojo the brief explanation.

“ How romantic… ” the sorcerer replied, doing little to hide the hint of sarcasm in his tone.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, nudging your elbow playfully into his stomach. “Don’t be such a killjoy…”

From behind his dark frames, Gojo was reading your body language when you spoke. He pressed his lips together, not wanting to take away the happiness you were basking in and burying the thought that lingered his mind.

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked again, his eyes glued onto you as he patiently waited for your reply.

Your cheeks went warm and your reaction was to adorably bury your face into the palm of your hands, desperately trying to fight off the butterflies swarming in your stomach. You leaned back on the couch next to your friend, dropping your hands down by your sides as you tilted your neck to face him.

“ Hopelessly so… ”

Gojo swallowed hard, a sinking sensation pummeled through his gut upon hearing your words. Your eyes flickered when you noticed how his expression hardened but he quickly switched to a big grin.

“As long as you’re happy … ” he reassured, giving you a thumbs up.

“I am, very much so …”

“ Good!” Gojo replied, but the word tasted sour in his mouth and he quickly changed the subject. “Now let’s get back to picking our movie…”

What the hell am I supposed to do now? he thought to himself, the disappointment weighing heavy on his heart.

I can’t tell her yet…

I’ll just have to wait...

(Present)

Gojo was exhausted. His day was tiresome and everything seemed to be getting on his last nerves. His morning started off on a bad note thanks to the higher ups. Itadori Yuji swallowing one of Sukuna’s fingers was not what he expected but now he had a problem on his hands involving the life of another teenager.

A talented kid at that, Itadori definitely had potential...

Gojo was good at hiding his frustrations from his students, and even from some of his peers. However, the minute he stepped into the lobby of his apartment building, the weight of his day came crashing down on his shoulders. He exited the elevator, slowly making his way over towards his apartment door but paused for a second before entering inside the safe haven of his home.

He immediately sensed your presence.

You called him earlier when he was at the school, asking if you could stop by his place to pick up something that you had forgotten.

“Just ask the security to let you in, I’ll give them a heads up and inform them... ” Gojo distractedly replied before ending the call.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly to himself, thinking that maybe you decided to stick around and hang out at his place.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, as he stepped through the threshold of his front door. “Did you really miss me that mu-uhhhhhh…”

Gojo dropped his keycard on the floor, his mouth agape as he took in the sight of you standing before him. His heart literally stopped beating for a whole second and the sorcerer found himself frozen in the entrance of his living room.

“ Gojo-san,” you purred, turning your heel from the large glass window you were wiping and smiling as you faced him directly. “ You’re home...”

Catching the great Gojo Satoru by surprise was something rare but you managed to do it with ease because he always had his guard down around you.

Gojo admired the outfit you were wearing. Your black dress was short, very short, with the bodice buttoned all the way up to your neck and little puffy sleeves covering your shoulders. The white apron you were wearing over it was trimmed with little frills, matching the detailing along the collar. His mouth went dry when he reached your legs covered in a pair of stockings but he noticed the single garter wrapped around your thigh adorned with a tiny bow. You were wearing black pointed high heels to match the ensemble, adding a decent amount of inches to your height. The cherry on top was the white silky headband that was pulling back your beautiful hair.

Gojo had given up on your promise weeks ago, thinking there was no possible way you might actually follow through with his idea.

Yet, here you were , dressed up in a french maid outfit.

You placed the cloth in your hand in the basket on your floor. Your heels clicking against the wooden surface and echoing around his quiet penthouse apartment as you approached him, holding your head high as you confidently nestled into the role you were playing.

You gripped his attention, but couldn’t see how shocked he was from behind his dark sunglasses. As you stood in front of him you bent down to pick up the key card before elegantly standing upright and holding it up to his face.

“You dropped this,” you stated quite matter of factly, batting your lashes at him innocently.

The man had been rendered speechless.

You raised your brow as the seconds passed, waiting for Gojo to say... something.

He could sense your heart beat increase, as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other and you nervously glanced away from his direction. You dropped the act for a minute as you placed your hands around your waist to look down at the outfit you were wearing.

“ Uhm … did I do this wrong ? This is the only outfit I could find online that was even close to the idea you had and it took weeks to actually get here. I can...I can try to find another dress if this isn’t what you li-”

Gojo cupped your face in his hands, interrupting your comment and tilting your head up so you were looking at him as he snapped himself out of the trance you seemed to have put him under.

“No! No, no no …you look… fuck… you just caught me by surprise…” he replied, a wave of excitement rushing through him as he stumbled over his words. He proceeded to lower his sunglasses so you were met with azure eyes, softening his gaze as a cheeky grin spread across his gorgeous face. “You look ...perfect…”

He stretched out that last word, ensuring to savour every part of you. Your face grew warm but you couldn’t help but smirk with approval that all your hard efforts into this costume worked their magic on your friend.

“Really?” you questioned in a hopeful tone, reaching for his wrist and giving him a squeeze. “I’m glad! You worried me for a second…”

Gojo leaned forward to kiss you, the heavy weight he bore when he stepped into his home dissipating as he tasted you on his tongue. Once he had his fill of you, he broke away from the kiss before casually walking backwards and instructing, “don’t mind me, I’m just going to step out for a second so we can properly start this over…”

You giggled before turning around and making your way back to your position next to his window. Gojo noticed your white slip peak from under your skirt, and he gently bit down on his knuckle unable to contain his own anticipation.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

When he stepped back inside his apartment it was with a totally different demeanor. He cleared his throat as he made his way over, noticing your face playfully light up before repeating your initial greeting:

“ Gojo-san, you’re home... ”

***

One hour.

You had the man stirring for an entire hour.

Gojo didn’t think you would take this as seriously as you did but you were putting on a performance for him.

At first he sat in the living room, watching you mindlessly wipe his spotless windows and bending over ever so slightly for him to peep under your skirt. He impatiently tapped his finger against his thigh, knowing full well that he was not allowed to touch you unless you touched him first .

That was the rule you both agreed on.

When Gojo realised that you weren’t planning on giving in so easily, he used the moment as an opportunity to change out of his uniform but that didn’t stop you from being a tease.

While he was in his room, he switched to a pair of comfortable sweatpants and just as he was about to slip on his hoodie, you barged into his bedroom.

“ I’m sorry to intrude…” you announced innocently, sauntering your way over with your eyes lingering on his abdominal muscles and lifting up his half-filled laundry basket. “ I just needed to wash these…”

Gojo pressed his tongue to his cheek, shaking his head at you as he moved to his drawer to replace his shades with his blindfold, knowing full well you were going to draw this out for as long as you can.

Maybe this is payback…

Gojo returned to the living room, his eyes fixated on the television screen as a way to distract himself from you.

After you did a few meaningless chores, you picked up the feather duster from your equipment basket and directed yourself into his line of sight. You began to “ dust ” off his shelves, swaying your hips deliberately from side to side as you walked in front of him.

“ I hope you don’t mind me in your way, Gojo-san …” you said serenely, flicking the duster over the random items on his shelf.

“Not at all…” the sorcerer replied, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke. “But you should know you missed a spot…”

You raised your brow as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his stare.

“ Oh ?”

Gojo spread his legs further apart, resting his long arm on the back of the sofa before bringing his other hand forward to point high on his shelf.

“Right there,” he indicated.

You hummed to yourself, knowing full well that Gojo wanted to see more of what you were hiding underneath your outfit. As you stood on your tiptoes, you deliberately arched your back to stick out your rear in his direction.

Gojo trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, humming in approval and deciding in that moment just how he plans on eventually fucking you in this cute outfit of yours.

“A little higher…” he commanded, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes as you “cleaned” his top shelf, and he felt himself harden against his pants when the fabric of your dress just barely covered your ass.

The minutes passed, dragging slowly until the sorcerer found himself growing impatient. The longer you were making him wait, the more cruel he was planning on delivering his own punishment in return.

“May I get you some water, Gojo-san?” you asked him, snapping him out of his own thoughts as you made your way over to the kitchen. “You look a little thirsty…”

Oh yes, he definitely wasn’t going to hold himself back…

“ Please…” he said through gritted teeth.

You made your way over to the kitchen, pulling out one of the random trays he had and placing a glass right in the middle. You fill it up with ice before pouring in the water, then lifting up the tray and making your way over to him.

“ Here you go…” you offered, but instead of picking up the glass with your fingers, you deliberately knocked it over, allowing the cool liquid to pour all over Gojo’s lap.

The man hissed, surprised that you caught him off guard yet again with your tactic. The water pooled between his thighs, making his muscles tense up even more.

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, the goosebumps running up and down your arms when you noticed the outline of his dick against his sweatpants.

Staring at him with your knowing, apologetic eyes, you proceeded to say, “I’m so sorry, let me get something to help you dry up…”

When you returned, you found your place down on your knees in front of him. You pressed the dry towel against his inner thigh, earning a grunt in response because your touch was close to his growing erection.

Your other hand glided up his calf, sending your message across as Gojo’s eyes widened when that same hand replaced the towel.

Fucking finally, he thought, no longer frustrated by his own desire or the fact that he was now soaking wet.

“I can dry these with the rest of the clothes…” you explained, lifting yourself upright on your knees. “I’m going to have to take these off..”

You hooked your hands around the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down his lean legs and removing them.

“What about these?” Gojo asked, tilting his head towards his tented boxers. “I’m soaked all the way through…”

“ Uhm… of course!” you chirped, as you removed the second article of clothing. “I’ll get these dry for you right away…”

As you tried to stand up, Gojo reached for your forearms and dragged you back down on the rug.

“What about this?” he asked, directing your attention towards the length of his swollen cock.

“I-I don’t know if I can help you with that,” you teased, averting your gaze as you feigned shyness.

“I pay you to use your hands, don’t I?” Gojo questioned.

“ Yes, Gojo-san …”

“Then you should do whatever it takes.”

Gojo could have sworn he saw you smirk but you were swift to hide your reaction. You brought your hand to his length as you began to stroke upward, circling your thumb around his swollen tip. Your other hand teasingly traced a vein up and down his shaft, and Gojo exhaled as his body relaxed against his plush sofa.

You squeezed his cock, feeling the width of his hard member as you continued teasing his head. You spread the pre-cum all over the tip, before bringing your lips down and replacing your thumb with your tongue as you swirled around the head before finally sealing your mouth over him.

You gently suck, your cheeks hollowing but you remain focused on just his head. The hand that isn’t holding his shaft moved to his thigh, where you gave him an eager squeeze as you tasted him in your mouth.

Meanwhile, Gojo leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he hummed with relief. The low rumble of his voice spread down his abdomen, and your ears perked upon hearing his satisfied reaction.

You released him with a pop, before adjusting your position so your forearms were now resting over his thighs.

Gojo was average in thickness but his length definitely made up for it and you wanted to get comfortable before taking him all the way in.

You guided him into your mouth, easing him down inch by inch as you bobbed over his impressive length. Your hands pressed into his thighs, a small whimper escaping you as your teeth grazed lightly over his cock while you expertly worked him.

“You keep doing this and I might consider increasing your pay…” Gojo murmured, half-drunk with arousal as he began losing himself to you.

You quickened your pace, ignoring the discomfort in your jaw as you let him fuck your mouth. Gojo reached his hand to the back of your neck, gently stroking you with his slender fingers as encouragement. His chest began to rise and fall as his breathing grew heavier.

“ Keep going …” he coaxed, his voice shaking and growing tender. He rolled his hips in rhythm to your movement while your hands began massaging his legs and working their way high up to his pelvis.

His fingers curled around your hair, your throat burning but you kept going not wanting to disappoint your esteemed employer.

“ Mmm , F-fuck… ” he whined, his words sweet in your ears as he reached his peak.

Gojo’s hips bucked into you and he held you in place, releasing thick ropes of cum in the back of your throat as he moaned.

His grip was tight around your head and you tried not to gag as you swallowed everything he gave you. You slowly retracted him out of your mouth, desperately catching your breath in between small coughs as you settled yourself.

“Such a beautiful mess…” Gojo complimented as he looked down at you from where he was sitting.

Your chin was covered with  your saliva, your perfectly styled hair unraveling from his grip and your smokey eye makeup smudged. Gojo flicked his fingers in his direction, ordering you to get on his lap.

Your knees hurt when you stand up, the cheap fabric of your stockings already wearing from the friction against the rug. You spread your legs as you straddled him, lifting the hem of your dress up as you adjusted your position.

“ Well, well…what have we here… ” he cooed when you flashed him. “Hold your dress up for me…”

Your face grew hot but you obediently obliged as you bunched up the dress to your waist, giving Gojo a full view of your stockings that covered your bare pussy.

Gojo dragged his index finger along your slit, your arousal stringing on the tip of his finger as he pulled away from you.

You were completely soaked through.

“ Do you always show up to work without any underwear on?” he teased, bringing his finger back between your legs  and pushing the material of your stockings between your lips.

“Only when I know I am seeing you…” you replied seductively.

“Is that so?” Gojo mused, biting his bottom lip as he focused on his finger circling your folds. “How professional…”

“Actually I'm very unprofessional. I have something to confess, Gojo-san …” you whispered, dropping your dress as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his ear before stating, “…I touch myself whenever you’re not home .”

Gojo froze his movements. You were doing everything he described when talking about this particular fantasy: the hot maid that he comes home to who teases him into fucking her.

Oh, and you were playing the role beautifully.  

“Did you do that today?” The man questioned, directing it towards you and not the character you were pretending to be.

You giggled in his ear, “ twice .”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, his free hand that wasn’t between your legs reached for his blindfold. He lifted the fabric, where a pretty blue iris was staring at you with sheer adoration.

“ Oh, angel, you continue to surprise me…”

“None of that, yet…” you announced, covering his eye as you pulled his wrist away. “ We’re still playing, Gojo-san.”

On that reply, Gojo reached for the band of your stockings. He ripped the flimsy fabric with his strong hands, tearing it straight down the middle before picking you up and laying your back against the arm rest.

“I’m going to have to start putting security cameras around the place,” he added, getting back into the role as he slipped off his hoodie. “But I think I would prefer seeing you with my own eyes…”

He instantly noticed the way you checked him out, your gaze hungry for his body. He lifted up your dress, bunching it up at the waist to reveal your torn undergarment. Your sweet pussy was glistening with your arousal and Gojo licked his lips with anticipation. He raised one of your legs over the sofa, leaving the other  to dangle off the side and exposing you completely to him.

“ Touch yourself.”

You brought your fingers to your fold, working your throbbing clit as you closed your eyes. Your body was electric, riled up to the point where you were already so sensitive as you rubbed yourself. Soft whimpers left your lips and Gojo held your knees apart as he watched you masturbate.

“Are you always this quiet?” He teased, “A dirty slut like you begging to be fucked…I’m sure you get louder than that…”

If you weren’t so heated by everything that was going on, you would have been caught off guard by what he was saying but instead you moaned at his derogatory words.

The character you were playing began blending in his mind with your own person, his dear friend, and the thought of you eagerly pleasing him made the blood rush between his legs, his arousal making him harden again.

“You hear that?” Gojo continued, knowing full well how much you enjoy his dirty talk and pointing out the way your pussy squelched as your fingers drove themselves inside you. “You’re so fucking wet and I hardly even touched you. Are you that needy already? Are you that desperate for someone to fuck this pussy of yours?”

“Y-yes…”

“Do you call out my name when you make yourself come? Do you beg for it?”

“ Mmmm, yes, Gojo-san…want you so bad …”

“If you want me to fuck you, you little slut , you’re going to have to tell me how much you want it…”

You gasped, your free hand reaching to massage your breast over your uniform as you finally opened your hazy eyes to meet Gojo’s. Your heart was racing, your body gyrating against his sofa as you slipped your fingers between your folds.

“ Mmahh, Gojo-san, I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want to feel you inside me. P-please, I need you inside me…so fucking bad…I can’t…I ca-” you voice pitched as you increased the speed of your movements, rolling your hips in circles and your dropped your head back against the arm rest.

You came all over your fingers, your orgasm hitting you hard, as you sang your noises of pleasure. You were trembling against the chair, panting heavily as you pulled your fingers from between your legs.

Gojo flipped you on your stomach, unable to hold himself back any longer. Your hands were on the arm rest, your knees pressed into the plush cushion as you spread yourself as wide as you could for him. Usually, Gojo would enjoy taking this time to lick your sweet cunt clean but he was barely holding on himself after what he witnessed.

The tip of his cock teased your lips, before he slipped himself inside you with ease, coating his entire length with your arousal. Your eyes widened as you looked at him over your shoulder with slight panic.

“Satoru, you’re not wearing a…”

“I’ll pull out…” he replied, holding your hips up before snapping roughly into you.

You were dizzy, completely functioning on your urges without giving logic any thought. If it was anyone else, you would have stopped but Gojo wasn’t just anybody and the man had quite the control over his own body.

You cried out feeling your walls clench around him. He was moving hard and fast, fucking you roughly on his sofa, with every push harder than the last and leaving your legs trembling as you tried your best to hold yourself in place for him.

He drags his length out of you, ensuring that you felt every inch before wildly plunging back inside. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs against your stockings, your nails digging into the sofa as you whimpered.

Your drenched cunt made it so much easier for Gojo to fuck you but his slightly sadistic mind was forcing you to feel it more.

Your toes curled inside your pointed heels, your back arching as speckles of black clouded your vision. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your hips jerked when your orgasm compounded into you, making you drop down to your forearms as you were unable to counter your explosive release.

Gojo was covered in your juices and with a few sloppy thrusts he finally pulled himself out before finishing himself off by pumping spurts of cum all over your back, decorating your outfit with his release.

The man didn’t stop there. Instead, he flipped you onto your back bringing his hands to the buttons of the top half of your dress and ripping it apart.

Your chest was bare, covered in a bra that he tugged down until it was resting underneath your breasts. He brought his insatiable lips to your mound, rolling your pointed nipple between his thumb and index finger before closing his mouth over the other nub.

You were shaking underneath him, unable to handle any more stimulation as he pinched one nipple and peppered the other with kitten licks.

Gojo did it until he was hard again, leaving marks all over your breasts as he pushed himself inside you. He held your legs apart but you barely had anymore energy to keep up with him. Instead you kept him motivated with your pleasured mewls, praising him for all his glory.

“ Harder, please…harder….”

Gojo stopped, holding himself inside you and feeling you pulsate against him. He ensured to drag the seconds out making you whimper with impatience as you were desperate to have him continue.

“ Gojo-saaan…” you pleaded, tears pricking  your eyes as you wailed for mercy. “Don’t stop fucking-ahhhhhhh …”

You couldn’t even finish until he was thrusting inside you again. Fucking you to the heavens and back with the same intensity he did earlier. When he pulled out of you as he climaxed, he finished himself off all over your cunt, marking you with his essence.

***

Steam covered the glass door surrounding you, the warmth engulfing your body as you and Gojo stood in the hot shower together. Your body was sore but in the most pleasant way possible and you allowed the water droplets to massage your skin, closing your eyes as you exhaled and enjoying the amazing pressure from Gojo’s  shower.

You only opened your eyes when you felt Gojo’s large palm on your stomach, bringing you into his torso as he leaned down and kissed your ear.

“Did you have fun?”

The knot in the pit of your stomach twisted, sending shivers down your back from his question. He treated you with so much kindness after you both slept together. He sang you praises, telling you over and over how good you were to him as he took his time to clean you up, not allowing you to even lift a single finger while he used the time to focus on taking care of you instead.

You turned around to face him, your eyes gazing up at that unjustifiably handsome face that was uncovered because he had his hair slicked back.

“Surprisingly, I did…” you teased with a smile, placing your hands on him, as you delicately traced your fingers up and down his forearms.

His height was overbearing now that you didn’t have your heels on, and the sorcerer found himself tilting down just to look at you. His fingers pressed into your lower back as the silence filled the space between you both. Gojo used it as an opportunity to bring his lips down to meet yours, indulging himself with a kiss. He picked you up in his strong arms, before holding you against the grey tile of his bathroom wall. You moaned into his mouth, playing with his tongue as your hands reached for his neck.

“So, tell me, angel… ” he whispered into your mouth in between a kiss. “What kind of fantasies do you have?”

“Uhm, I don’t really have any fantasies…”

You felt his fingers underneath your chin, tilting your head back so you were looking him in the eye.

“You know, if you tell me , I can return the favor…” he stated, flashing his pearly whites as he gave you an easy grin.

“You’ll think it’s stupid…”

“Try me.”

You rested your head against the tile, playing with the back of Gojo’s hair as you cleared your throat.

“Uhm, so , back in college there was this professor that I had. He was extremely good looking, I think everybody in our class had a crush on him. I realised I did too because everytime I would try speaking with him, I always jumbled up my words or said the wrong thing. It was super awkward…I mean, he wasn’t awkward but I definitely was…”  

A small laugh escaped you but Gojo was still listening attentively.

“Anyway, I never told anyone. I was with Haru and always felt like I was being a terrible girlfriend because I was just so attracted to my professor. He was also the sweetest guy, was married and had three kids…” you sighed as Gojo grazed his hand across your thigh, blushing before admitting, “…but I used to think about him taking me on his desk all the time. Like, it got to the point where I had to drop his class because he was too much of a distraction…”

Gojo chuckled, “oh, you dirty slu-OW!”

You tugged at his earlobe, pouting to stop yourself from laughing at his snide comment.

“That’s what you get,” you replied, before loosening your grip and dropping your hand to his pecs.

“Relax, it takes a slut to know one. There is no need to get offended!” he teased, shifting the joke onto himself and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, so you’ve got a little thing for a teacher/student scenario?”

“Just a little…”

Gojo brought his lips to your neck, planting small kisses upwards until he murmured against your ear.

“As a teacher myself, it will be my utmost pleasure to be your sensei for an evening,”

“You don’t have to…”

“You're not forcing me, angel. I want to,” Gojo insisted, his lips now hovering above yours. “Besides, I’m your friend, right ? We take care of each other, that’s what friends do.”

You nodded in agreement, your eyes dropping down to his lips as you patiently waited to taste him on your tongue.

“Since you did a stellar job with me tonight, let me do the same for you… ” he whispered, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at it gently.

You squeezed your legs tighter around his torso as you held him close, feeling faint when Gojo kissed you again like he was pulling the oxygen straight out of your lungs.

And yet, you had no desire to let him go.

***

CHAPTER 13: SPINNING

[justmiha97]

TS3, boderderless, new machines and FPS limit!!!

UPDATE 2.0 Except borderless gaming app and initial explanations, this guide is now OUTDATED!!! Read new guide HERE: https://justmiha97.tumblr.com/post/633811982604222464/another-way-to-limit-ts3-fps IMPOTANT!!! UPDATE FOR 1.69 GAME VERSION INSTALLATION!!!

Check down in step 4.a. for changes on how to do this properly. For people who renamed their files to:

Rename them back to: TS3.exe  to  3booter.exe TS3W.exe  to  TS3.exe TS3W.exe.backup  to  TS3W.exe

Original post:

I never knew I would be making this post till few hours back, but until now it wasn’t really much known that sims 3 in windowed mode could be run with FPS limit, which forced a lot of people to run the game in full screen. Recently a friend (find him here) and I discovered how to limit FPS for both 1.67 and 1.69 game versions in windowed mode.

Why is this important?

Well, on newer PC’s, ones with a GPU processing power that can easily render recent games, Sims 3 is expected to run exceedingly well... but because Sims 3 is so poorly designed/optimized on a technical level, there is a problem with that. Sims 3 has no FPS limitation, so on newer cards, FPS can get up to even 1k FPS which is INSANE. Personally I had from 500-700 FPS on loading screens myself. This means that: 1. Your card is being overworked and overheated and will be damaged 2. The in-game micro stutter that happens frequently is because the game constantly has short but extreme peaks in frame rate (from 60 - 600 FPS) This is why it’s desired to FPS limit TS3.exe or TS3W.exe!!!

What does windowed mode have to do with all of this?

It’s possible to limit your game FPS in full screen mode trough your graphic control panel application. Though for me it did not work, a lot of people report it working for them. Until now it wasn’t known that the same could be done for windowed mode, meaning users with high end PC running the game windowed were doomed to experience GPU crashes or even worse component death. Now however, a fix has been discovered.

But why would I want to run windowed then?

In full screen mode, game is rendered way darker, which is why EA just lazily slapped on a brightness filter, which makes the whole game brighter than it actually should be. This also means that screenshots of the game taken in full screen (unless they are taken with in-game screenshot feature, which is lower quality) are practically unusable since they are too dark.

When in full screen, the game goes out of memory faster, especially if you are alt tabbing (switching windows) a lot.

Ok, ok but how do I get rid of borders now?

That’s why this guide is here. For that you will need a third party borderless games application. You can find it here, but this will be detailed later in this step by step guide.

THE GUIDE

Before we start, if you want to have your games set up to run well, read trough and apply fixes from these guides:

-https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=1131162350

-https://answers.ea.com/t5/Technical-Issues-PC/The-Sims-3-How-to-Minimize-Lag-and-Stabilize-the-Game/m-p/9647783

-https://twitter.com/crosimmer/status/1291882081191170048?s=21

They are all similar in nature but have their own additions to making the game run better. They are extremely helpful and effective. They even include guides on how to FPS limit the game in full screen if you want to keep playing the game that way. Also, be sure to read the last ( 7.) point in this guide as it is important and will determine if you even want to do this or not.

Now that that’s out of the way...

1. First thing to do is run the game and make sure that full screen is off. This is luckily easy to do. If it’s not off, turn it off in options:

2. Next, if you’ve applied FPS limit trough your graphic control application as advised by guides, make sure it’s disabled because it will interfere with this fix. 3. Once you are sure that it is disabled, get 3booter and FPSlimiter from this page: http://www.moreawesomethanyou.com/smf/index.php?topic=15585.0 (files in first two posts) 4. Open both .zip archives and extract all their contents to: - C:/Program Files (x86)/Electronic Arts/The Sims 3/Game/Bin or -C:/Program Files x(86)/Origin Games/The Sims 3/Game/Bin or whatever your install location of the game is.

4.a. If your game version is 1.69 there is one more step here. Once the files are extracted, you will need to rename launcher like this: Sims3Launcher.exe  to  Launcher.exe And then download and extract this new launcher exe in the bin:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/18lMmkXBF_5sknVo0UvxbNp6h_JZu9z7E/view?usp=sharing

Rename it to Sims3Launcher.exe 5. Now that you have the fixes set up properly, you can run the game: - Trough 3booter.exe if you are on version 1.67 (feel free to make a shortcut) or - Trough new launcher, Sims3Launcher.exe, if you are on 1.69. Note that your shortcuts to game launcher will now point to this new launcher due to filename. If you want to use the old launcher, make a shortcut for Launcher.exe

6. BUT WAIT!!! What about that borderless thingy m’ bob? Well here comes that part of setting up windowed mode to look like it’s full screen. First you want to go to the link of the program, I’ll post it again for convenience: https://github.com/Codeusa/Borderless-Gaming/releases Then scroll down a bit and download this:

Once that’s downloaded, install it and run it, after you’ve ran the game in windowed mode. You will be greeted with this:

To have your game in borderless mode, add it to the list on the left by selecting your game name from the list. It will be the name of the last expansion you are running, with [TS3W] next to it ([TS3] if you haven’t installed FPS limiter on 1.69). After the game is selected, click the arrow

And your game will automatically turn into a full screen-like application. IMPORTANT!: DO NOT CLOSE borderless gaming app, only minimize it. It has to run at all times while your game is running or the game will stop being borderless. Make sure to set borderless gaming app to run on windows launch if you don’t want to bother reopening it every time you start your PC.

7. Final notes. (Still IMPORTANT) If you’ve gotten this far, congratulations, you are one patient simmer willing to put in effort to perfect your sims 3 game experience. Not everything can be perfect however, and there are some additional notes to take care of. - First, the FPS limiter program only limits the game to 30FPS. People who have had the game run at 60FPS might be disappointed by this. However the game already runs it’s animations at only 30FPS so there is no need for additional frames. However it’s still you choice. If you do see a difference with 60FPS and don’t want to change it, you can still run the game full screen with 60FPS graphics control limiter. -Second, if you are NOT experiencing FPS higher than 60 in any part of the game (even load screens and main menu), there is no need to install this fix. However be vary that whenever you change hardware, especially GPU, you might need to take care of this. -Third and final, as a side note, there is a program that lets you unpark your CPU cores for that final addition of sims 3 smooth experience. This is completely OPTIONAL. Here is the program’s page (scroll all the way down for download): https://coderbag.com/product/quickcpu To set it up to unpark all cores you just have to do this

And click Apply.

FINALLY DONE?

Yes, yes. Finally done. That’s it Folks. Have fun with your games and good luck simming! And thanks to crosims for helping me out get this working on 1.69.

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Flesh, Part 1

Excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

Previous Excerpt

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And now we come to what you’ve all been waiting for, the meat of this book {Editing Note: Boooo}. The gory details, such as they are, of how we acquire our flesh. It’s a topic that’s captured the public imagination for a long time - we’ve all heard plenty of lurid stories and speculation all our lives. I frankly wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve skipped straight to this chapter to finally hear it straight from the monster’s mouth. I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. Understand, though - this topic is deadly serious, and more than almost any other subject I’ve covered, I’m aware of the danger inherent in revealing this. If the information I lay out here compromises these avenues of flesh, people will die for it. I will tell you as much as I can without risking that outcome.

{Editing Note: Everything after this needs strict review, and not just from me. Get as many eyes as possible on this before publishing.}

Nearly every ghoul has or will participate in the direct acquisition of flesh at some point. Finding food is an involved process, and not a particularly scaleable one. There are no factory farms for humans, nor should there be. Truly steady supplies of flesh are rare. Most of our methods involve gathering a small group of ghouls periodically, rather than just one or two of us working continuously. This, unfortunately, causes inconsistencies in supply more often than is comfortable. As such, we’ve had ample opportunity to figure out exactly how much flesh we need to survive. 

For the average mature ghoul, 5 pounds of flesh per day is the ideal consumption rate. Very roughly, we should be eating one adult human body per month for peak health. Put that starkly, it’s a grim picture. Extrapolate from that, and that means each of us is eating 12 humans a year. Obviously, we don’t eat that much from the moment of birth. I remember starting to get hungry more often around age 15, and I can count on one hand the number of ghouls I’ve met over 50, so let’s call the 35 years between those two ages our lifespan. Over the course of our lives, we will each eat over 400 humans. When you look at it from that angle, one life against 400, it’s no wonder that you have, as a whole, decided that we need to die.

But that angle misses some important subtleties. For one, we can handle some remarkably flexible feeding patterns. We can subsist on much less than an ideal diet for a very long time without serious ill effects. For example, I follow a fairly common feeding pattern and only eat half-meals three weeks out of every four. The only ill effects I notice are increased exhaustion and soreness, usually beginning towards the end of the second week and gradually escalating until the fourth. We can also go for multiple days without eating before noticing any ill effects. Many ghouls have only one or two very large meals each week. I personally prefer to have smaller meals more consistently - it makes me feel more human - but it’s a pattern I’ve followed plenty of times when flesh is scarce.

The other main subtlety that the math I presented above misses is that, often, we do not have to kill for flesh. People die all the time from causes that have nothing to do with us, and rarely in ways that make their flesh inedible. We have hardy constitutions and strong stomachs - most diseases and toxic chemicals can be processed and rendered inert in our digestive tracts. There are nearly three million deaths every year in the U.S. alone, the vast majority of which have nothing to do with us. If we could utilize all of that flesh, we could comfortably feed 250,000 ghouls without harming a single person. Obviously that’s never going to happen, but I also doubt there are that many ghouls in the country, so… Suffice to say that there is, theoretically, more than enough ethically-sourced flesh to go around.

Utilizing that flesh, however, is a significant logistical challenge. People aren’t in the habit of donating their bodies for our dining pleasure, and people tend to take the security of their loved ones’ remains pretty seriously. Taking flesh by force, even when we’re not trying to part it from a living body, is difficult, dangerous, messy work, so we prefer to sidestep that wherever possible. This brings us nicely to the first of our three main strategies: farming.

Farming is, unfortunately, our least productive method, but it’s the one that I hope we’ll be able to rely on entirely, some nebulous day in the future. Farming is the practice of discreetly smuggling dead flesh, produced by natural causes, out of the facilities where it is held. This is the only method we use that is sustainable, in the sense that it requires one or two ghouls working constantly and delivering a steady supply, rather than the periodic group efforts I described earlier. This method is also unusual in that it depends on us being integrated in human society, integrated enough to have unsupervised access to dead flesh.

There are two primary sources that we farm. First, there are hospitals. Countless surgical procedures result in the separation of flesh from living humans. Sometimes this flesh is passed along for scientific analysis, but most of it ends up classified as medical waste sooner rather than later. As I’ve said, though, we can safely handle most of the factors that cause limbs to be amputated or organs to be removed. Once these have been marked for disposal, ghouls working at the hospital can usually hide away the flesh for later retrieval without anyone noticing its absence. Unfortunately, caution requires our farmers to take less than is truly salvageable, given how damning it is to be caught stealing flesh. They also avoid taking whole cadavers, which are much more closely observed while in the hospital, and are typically handed over to other people rather than fully disposed of. We also, as a general rule, are careful to avoid eating anything cancerous. Tumors are something of a taboo, only to be eaten in times of extreme famine. We are as vulnerable to cancer as humans are, and there is a strong fear that eating tumors may cause you to absorb some of the cancerous cells into your own body, where they will be free to grow again. I can’t speak to the truth of that, but it’s not a fate I’m interested in tempting.

Our other main farming source is funeral homes. Contrary to popular perception, and to government defence policies, we actually have very little interest in robbing graveyards. By the time bodies go in the ground, they’ve usually been rendered inedible by embalming practices. Given how robust our digestive tracts are, it’s my theory that embalming practices were, at some point in history, specifically designed to protect human bodies from us. Obviously not all bodies are properly embalmed, but there’s no way to tell that without digging one up, and digging up a grave is hard. It is far more beneficial for us to intercept the bodies before they get to that stage. Therefore, we find it very valuable to train as morticians. This allows us to take cuts of flesh before a body is embalmed. Over the years, we’ve figured out exactly how much flesh can be taken and from where without showing at an open casket funeral. For closed caskets, or for cremations, we can take nearly the entire body without detection.

{Editing Note: That’s going to be upsetting for anyone who’s ever buried a family member. I’m not sure how to address that gently. I don’t know how receptive most people would be to “it’s okay that we ate your grandma because it means we got to live long enough to eat other people’s grandmas”.}

Unfortunately, there are a limited number of jobs with access to farmable bodies, and as the number of ghouls in those positions increase, so does the chance of one of them being discovered. Some of you, I’m sure, have seen how paranoid everyone gets when one of us is outed among you. We can’t even come close to fully utilizing these outlets without risking a lot of us dying. My household is fortunate - three of our members are farmers, and we may be gaining a fourth, depending on what degree Scarlet actually settles on. But that supply of farmed flesh is not always enough to feed all of us, and it certainly isn’t enough for Yaga’s charity projects. So about once a month, we send out a group to engage in our second method - gathering.

As I said, there are a lot of deaths that have nothing to do with us. Gathering is our attempt to get ahold of some of those dead before other factors take care of them. Death is, unfortunately, unpredictable, so the best we can do is send people out at irregular intervals to scoop up what we can. A gathering party typically consists of at least half a dozen ghouls; the exact size depends on the amount of ground we want to cover, how many bodies we expect to be transporting, and how worried we are about getting into a violent confrontation. Ideally, no one gets hurt by our gathering parties, but no one is going to look too kindly on body snatching, and sometimes we just attract the wrong kind of attention. If we need an especially large group, or if we intend to cover a particularly large area, we might even reach out to other households for extra help in exchange for a share of our find.

A gathering run typically begins at night, in the poorer parts of the city. I’m sure gathering happens in rural areas, but I can’t speak to their methods. In the city, though, it’s the poor and the homeless and the addicts, the abandoned of human society that are most likely to die somewhere we can get to them. So we put on anonymizing clothing and start looking. Our most reliable leads come from homeless communities and drug sites. Sometimes it’s enough to just show up, make small talk, and look around for the dead or imminently dying. If it’s the latter, sometimes we just wait - keep them company while they wait for the end. Unfortunately for us, people don’t generally die all at once at predictable intervals; it’s not uncommon for us to find no bodies at all. Fortunately, there are some people who are desperate enough to sell us leads. Buying leads is a dangerous game - any person who knows us to be ghouls, even if we take pains to conceal our identities from them, is one more person who could bring the exterminators down on us - and the more effective the method of gathering leads is, the more dangerous it is. The safest thing is to find a stranger and offer them money for a lead, one time deal, and never contact them again. Regular contacts have more opportunities to expose us, whether for exterminator money, moral duty, or just by being careless, but if they know to expect us, they can amass leads, or sometimes even hold bodies for us to buy off them directly. I’ve heard that some households even have arrangements with organized crime to act as free, efficient body disposal.

Once we’ve thoroughly checked these areas, the next step is to check accident sites. Typically we’ll separate to stake out common suicide and accident sites. These aren’t particularly reliable either, but they turn up bodies often enough to be worth staking out once we’ve exhausted our more proactive options. Sometimes, on particularly slow gathering parties, we’ll break out a police scanner and listen for any incident reports likely to produce a body and see if we can get there before the cops. It’s a dangerous game, and often no more lucrative than our other approaches, but there is nothing more depressing or upsetting than coming back from gathering empty handed. Coming home empty handed means we need to take more drastic measures.

I’ve been on around a dozen gathering parties so far. Most of them went well enough, with minimal incident and moderate success. I’ve been on two where we had to chase police scanners. And I’ve been on one that came back empty-handed. That isn’t the only one my household has ever run that came back empty-handed, but it’s the one that stuck out most in my mind because it’s the one time I felt personally responsible for what happened next. When our regular gathering still doesn’t produce enough flesh, we have three options, none of them pleasant. We could all tighten our belts, ration our flesh carefully, and try to endure until we can make up our shortfall. There are a lot of factors that can make this approach unsafe, though. Starving isn’t any more pleasant for us than it is for humans, and it can make us less careful than is safe. Or sometimes someone is injured or sick and wouldn’t be able to handle stricter rationing. Our next option is to organize a gathering raid. There are plenty of hospitals and funeral homes that we can’t farm, for one reason or another, but sometimes we can steal from them. This is a high-risk endeavor, obviously. Anywhere that handles human remains is on the lookout for this kind of thing, and even if we get away clean, the raid will almost certainly make the news and bring exterminators sniffing around. That’s not even touching the fact that, just because we aren’t farming somewhere, that doesn’t mean someone else isn’t. The kind of scrutiny a raid draws can be a death sentence for any ghouls working at the raid target. So, most of the time, Yaga chooses to take our third option. She calls for a Hunt.

{Editing Note: I need to talk to Spatha before I write the rest of this. I need to convince her that I’ll just listen this time, and then I need to actually do that. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t want to reopen this wound between us. I don’t want to risk our friendship. Is this project really worth that? Do I seriously think it will make a difference?}

[yandere-daydreams]

Woo requests are open!!! This might be controversial but I'm here to request for more of dicku...you write him so well this is entirely on you. For scenario something similar to the recent BOE ask thank you!!!

This post, right? I do love a thoroughly delusional Yandere falling for a cam-person, if only because they’d be so committed to all that manufactured intimacy... it’s a match made in heaven, isn’t it?

Title: I’m A Whore, You Idiot.

TW: Nonconsensual Touching and Delusional Mindsets.

~

In your defense, this hadn’t been in the contract.

It might’ve been, actually, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d gone through so many clients since the start of your ‘side job’, and every single one came with some kind of baggage, some kind of trauma or anxiety or issue that rendered them without the time or means to establish a normal relationship as unconditional as they’d like. The service you provided was a needed one, whether you were soothing Shoto as he cried his eyes out or telling Red Riot he was your hero until your voice went hoarse, usually while clad in little more than an outfit that’d be considered scandalous in the worst of neighborhoods. Izuku wasn’t supposed to be any different. He wasn’t different, really. Just stressed and lonely and so, so clingy. They all were.

And yet, he was the only one who couldn’t seem to stay on his side of the screen.

He was the only one who wouldn’t let go.

You nearly sighed when you saw him, standing outside of your apartment door, one hand fidgeting nervously at his side and the other clutching a dozen or so roses, the bouquet half-heartedly hidden behind his back. He must’ve been on his way home, still wearing in the familiar grey track-suit he was always appeared in, during your nightly sessions. For a moment, you wondered if he’d been planning this, and if so, for how long. You dreaded the possibility that he’d put any kind of weight on this interaction, but a spontaneous visit might’ve been worse. It meant he didn’t have an objective you could fill before sending him on his way.

It meant he’d come to see you.

You didn’t bother forcing a smile. If a bad attitude was enough to keep him at bay, you’d be more relieved than disappointed. “Again?”

Another nervous smile, as shaky as it was panicked. He bit the inside of his cheek as he held out the bouquet, and reluctantly, you accepted it, keeping the array at arm’s length and barely giving it a second glance. It’d join his other ‘gifts’ on your kitchen counter in a few minutes, left to rot until you found the motivation to sort through the growing pile properly. This would be the first one he delivered by hand, though, rather than leaving you to collect them from the flustered clerk attending your building’s lobby. “It’s romantic, right?” He asked, his grin broadening, as if he had a reason to be proud of himself. “You’re always so shy, I knew you’d never give me an address, but then I realized my agency had your emergency contact information for evacuations, and--” He cut himself off, his ramble trailing off into a stuttered laugh. “I thought it’d be sweet if I stopped by.”

“That’s not… No, Midoriya.” It might’ve been the shock, or the exhaustion of a day that just couldn’t seem to end, but the strongest reaction you were able to summon was a small frown and a shake of your head, both barely noticeable. Izuku deflated, ever so slightly, but made no move to take his leave. “You can’t keep… You’re trying to turn our relationship into something it’s not, and I’m not going to indulge you. I’m your employee, I work for you. You can’t just show up and try to change that.”

He opened his mouth, his smile wavering slightly, but you were already closing the door, not wanting to hear whatever excuse was playing on his tongue. But, Izuku didn’t like that plan as much as you did, catching the door, holding it in place as you attempted to counteract his weight. “I have to,” He explained, speaking a little louder than he had been, a little hastier. “You never want to talk about us. When I call, you hang up, and you say you don’t want to waste time during our…” He grit his teeth, narrowing his eyes, continuing more aggressively. “It’s unfair. I’m trying my hardest, but you’re--”

“You’re paying me. There’s nothing to talk about!” With a grunt, you made a final effort to shove him out of your apartment, but Izuku only glowered, refusing to budge and stepping over the threshold. You relented, dropping your door as a defined, deepened crack formed under Izuku’s palm, his anger betraying him, only making itself more evident in the stern scowl etched into his lips, something in your stomach beginning to twist and deform in a primal, instinctive warning. Still, you clenched your fists at your sides, attempting to steel yourself. You’d been working with Izuku for months now. You knew him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t hurt you. “Get out. We can discuss this when you’re feeling rational, or else…” You paused, running a hand through your hair, letting out a deep, ragged breath. “I like our arrangement. I don’t mind it when you ask me to act like someone else, or do all the weird shit you’re into, but I can’t pretend you’re my boyfriend. I’ll call your manager tomorrow, this isn’t working. You need help, real help--”

Something must’ve set him off. You couldn’t be sure if it was your pity or your tone or anything outside of that fucked-up head of his, but in the blink of an eye, he had your collar in a vice grip, closing the distance between you and pinning you under his glare, your empathy quickly turning to anger. “I am your boyfriend. You wouldn’t be so affectionate, if I wasn’t. You wouldn’t say you love me. You’re the only one not thinking straight.”

You stiffened, crossing your arms. Trying to regain as much dignity as you could. “You pay me to fuck myself and let you watch,” You said, dryly. “That’s not something a boyfriend should have to do.”

You almost expected him to be louder. There was a low growl, a hollow thud as he kicked your door closed, and in a moment, your back was pressed against his chest, a hand clasped over the lower half of your face and his free arm wrapped around your torso, restricting your movements to pathetic squirms, your attempts to get away as limited as they were pathetic. You writhed, attempting to call and scream and struggle, but Izuku only tightened his hold, pushing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless, something in your chest beginning to ache under the pressure.

“You’re confused,” He mumbled, his forehead coming to rest against the nape of your neck. “Poor baby, I should’ve been more clear about our relationship. I don’t know why I expected you to understand. It’s alright, though.”

Again, you fought, and again, Izuku pulled you closer, lifting you off your feet entirely a second later. You expected him to drag you out into the hall, to hurt you or make threats or take you somewhere else, but instead, Izuku ventured further into your home, moving slowly, searching for something and locking onto once his target had been found. Numbly, you acknowledged that he was starting towards your bedroom, his stride suddenly confident, righteous, but you couldn’t seem to focus on his goal.

Not when his smile, wide and toothy, was back in full force.

“You just need to see how close we’re meant to be.”

[wafflebloggies]

A Little Light Mischief

When you moved at the speed of light, boredom was a problem.

Mr. Flare hated being bored. He could find and experience the entire back catalogue of a YouTube channel in the time it took most people to type the first letter into the search bar. Information or entertainment, a good 99 percent of the content he devoured tended to slip straight through his consciousness without adhering to anything on the way through. He could read faster than a panicking defence attorney before an important court date, but books were for losers and it was hard to turn comic pages when you were a discorporate entity with no opposable thumbs.

Cartoons were okay, but watching twenty-four frames a second slapping lazily one over the other like a flip-book moving through treacle made him feel pretty queasy after a while. 

It was hard, being the world’s coolest lens artefact. Flare needed excitement, fun, drama. He liked to be in a place where things were moving and happening, bopping along, and for a while, things at Disillusion Industries had been slow, frustratingly predictable. A video would be produced, a video would be released. Despite his best efforts and clear charismatic radiance, a criminally low percentage of these videos starred or even featured Mr. Flare.

That was before the nerd had quit.

After that, everything got much more interesting. For a solid week, then two, then three and more, not even Mr. Flare could have predicted where D would be or what he’d be up to next. He might be spending days rendering obsessively accurate reconstructions of scenes from classic movies down in the edit bay, muttering furiously to himself the whole time, or he might be floating face down in the skypool, butt-naked apart from a pair of shutter shades and one waterlogged Yeezy. It was all pretty hilarious to watch, and when he thought about it, Flare had to admit that the nerd had only ever really been in the way. The last thing Disillusion Industries had needed, if you really looked at the bigger picture, was a methodical, anal-retentive wet blanket underfoot, harshing the buzz for everybody. Humans kind of sucked, it was a basic objective fact.

That was why when the email showed up, he’d been less than pleased.

Flare could see things the way the Captain could, by and large. He just did it better, clearer, and faster. Much faster. He could see the pink-white glow of an incoming message flicking down the tubes and jumping through routers and splitters, and he could catch up with it as it dawdled along, as easy as hopping on a slow-moving trolley. He could see the nerd’s digital fingerprints all over the thing, even before he read the actual body of the email.

Blah, blah, blah. Flare liked drama, but this was the snoozefest kind of drama, just feelings and reasonable statements, the kind that wouldn’t even make for a good commentary video. You couldn’t even leak this shit- nobody would care. Whatever the subject matter, it was another basic objective fact that the entertainment value in people discussing things calmly and rationally like adults was practically zero.

--Anyway, I know you’re probably mad at me, but I just wanted to say that it’s okay if you want to talk.

Ugh. Yawn-o-rama.

If Flare had had a tongue, he would have stuck it out good and far in disgust. The place had been way more fun for the last few weeks, without the nerd hanging around getting nerd-stink all over everything. For one, he’d taken the cat with him, and the cat had always been under the mistaken impression that Flare was a great thing to chase and try to stick in its stupid tuna-breath cat-mouth.

D was way more fun, too. He was explosive and weird- well, weirder- with a mood as stable as a revolving door falling through a black hole. It was a wild ride, like witnessing a very prolonged jet-ski accident in zero-gravity. It was fun. If the nerd came back, he’d probably clean up the entire epic record-breaking trashpile that had been accumulating on the bridge. He’d probably ask D to put some pants on. And he’d bring his goddamn cat.

Flare stretched his digital flex out thoughtfully through the ion stream surrounding the nerd’s message, and wrote.

--Go fuck yourself, fleshbag.

Direct and nicely to the point, but maybe a little OOC. Flare had been in enough serious erotic roleplays in his time to know the importance of properly finding one’s character. He flicked the draft out of existence and tried again.

--Listen, Alan, if you want to come crawling back just say so, but I’ll be honest, we’ve streamlined our workflow up here a lot over the last couple of months, and I’m not sure if I could find much for you to do right now. I should probably point out that I’m not your shrink and I don’t have time to help you work through your commitment issues or whatever.

P.S, you left your dumb cat’s treat pouches in the mess hall fridge. I can have them FedExed if you want, but the orbital courier fees are on you.

“Mr. Flare, you are a literary genius,” said Flare, admiring the message proudly from a couple picaseconds distance. The junction to D’s inbox was coming up, yawning like a highway off-ramp, so he sent his reply fizzing back towards its sender, and flipped the nerd’s email straight into the spam folder, snickering happily as he zipped away across the overflowing virtual landfill and into the real world.

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

You swallowed thickly. This was exactly what the mothers feared: you losing control. And being found out by others. Would the pack kick you out now? Would they fear you? Hate you? Nothing else seemed like a better idea in that moment than to simply disappear like the smoke from the still smoldering floor.

But you were stuck there in that room, with countless pairs of eyes staring at you with emotions that ranged from curiosity to confusion to fear.

“It was just an accident,” Soomi insisted, coming to your rescue when you still couldn’t find the words. She rushed over to your side, crouching down and putting her hands on your shoulders in a protective manner.

“An accident?” Kris scowled. His eyes flickered over to the circular burn pattern around the bed. “This looks a little precise to be an accident.”

“Soomi, is this one of the powers you were talking about?” Junmyeon asked suddenly. Your eyes went wide as you whirled around to face the one person who you thought would never tell. It was against her character to go against the wishes of the coven.

Soomi looked at you with guilt. “Someone had to know, in case something like this happened,” she explained. To Junmyeon, she nodded. “But this has never happened before. Not in her sleep.”

“Wait, so (y/n) made the fire?” Jongdae exclaimed. “While sleeping?”

“That is both terrifying and impressive,” Baekhyun commented.

“Wait,” Tao looked at the others frantically, never letting his gaze settle on you, most likely out of a small amount of fear, “so what exactly can she do?”

Soomi answered for you, which made you feel relieved that you didn’t have to speak up. You were still in shock from the fire… and the vision. “(y/n) was born with the ability to manipulate the elements. It’s rare among witches and… it’s not the easiest thing to control.”

Kris looked over at Junmyeon. “Don’t you think that you should have shared that with the rest of us, especially since she’s staying in our house? With Mei?”

“She would never hurt any of us,” Junmyeon defended. You were thankful that at least one of the alphas was on your side. Even if you actually tried, you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to support yourself properly.

“I wouldn’t exactly call her powers ‘under control’,” Kris spat back.

Soomi shook her head, her protective grip on your shoulders tightening. “They’ve never surged like this before. A splash of water here and there and-”

“Splash of water?” Baekhyun’s eyes grew wide along with a mischievous smile. “Was that you at the restaurant?”

“The restaurant?” Soomi looked to you. “What happened at the restaurant?”

Everyone was staring, waiting for answers. Some you had, some you didn’t. The pressure and the tension brought you back to when you were just a child, brought before the mothers of the coven, the first time your powers manifested.

Fire. It was always fire. The first time had terrified you. It wasn’t obvious – in your eyes, at least – that it had been you to cause the candle flames to surge and grow until Mother Cypress’ ceiling caught fire as well. It was put out before any true damage could be done, thankfully, but it didn’t end there. The other kids had pointed to you as the culprit. You didn’t understand. All you had done was cry and yell. Ronin had stolen your favorite stuffed animal and refused to tell you where he’d hidden it. Next thing you knew everyone was running and screaming because of the candles. Not too long after, the mothers had figured out just how different you were.

And here you were again, surrounded by accusatory stares mixed in with fear of the unknown. What else could you do besides jump to your feet and run out the door? In your mind, there was no other option. And no one stopped you. Several of the wolves even jumped out of the way, perhaps scared that you’d set them aflame if they didn’t.

Outside, the unexpected chilly air stabbed at the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Almost immediately, your teeth started to chatter. It seemed the weather was finally saying goodbye to the last bit of summer and fully transitioning into fall. Which went the blood moon was getting closer as well. Even with the heavy cover of clouds in the sky, you could still see the faded orange of the sun rising. It was morning already.

Too cold to go any further, you sat down in the dewy grass, the water adding to your icy state. But you didn’t move. Part of you hoped that maybe you would simply freeze over in that spot, a permanent statue that no longer had to deal with the cards life had handed you on the day of your birth. Burying your face in your knees, you willed the water around you to come over you and solidify in an attempt to become that statue. As per usual, your so-called “power” ignored what you wanted. They only seemed to want to cause chaos instead of obeying your orders.

Was that their true purpose? Were they really meant for chaos? The mothers had tried to keep you on the road of light magic, of good, but what if you simply weren’t made for it? What if your destiny was to take the other path and all this effort was simply prolonging the inevitable? Could that be what the visions had been trying to tell you all along?

Something warm suddenly fell onto your shoulders, causing you to flinch. In a glance you saw an oversized jacket now covered you as protection from the cold. The owner of the clothing item stood in front of you, his hand out as if waiting for you to take it.

“Come on,” Sehun said softly.

You pulled your arms in tighter to your chest in defiance. “I’m not going back inside.”

“I’m not taking you back inside,” he countered. The fact that he continued to be unfazed by your snappy attitude was not lost on you. But he already knew, didn’t he? He already knew about your powers. Even so, you were a bit amazed that he wasn’t keeping his distance after witnessing the extent of what you were capable of.  “Just trust me.”

Somehow, those three little words did it. Without even hesitating, you took his still outstretched hand and let him pull you up to your feet. In that motion, however, the jacket slide off your shoulders, exposing you to the cold once again. Before it could fall to the ground and become covered in water, rendering it useless, Sehun snatched it from the air.

“Here.” He adjusted the jacket in his hands and then slide one of your arms into the sleeves like a child. But you didn’t fight him or slide in some comment about being able to do it yourself. You let him wrap you up in the warmth that smelled like him, even biting back a smile as he zipped it up nearly to your chin. Satisfied with his work, he grabbed your hand and said, “Let’s go.”

It was a slow walk towards the woods west of the farmhouse. You’d never gone this way before so your mind was reeling with the possibilities of your destination. Though he wasn’t speeding ahead, Sehun seemed to be walking with purpose, giving you somewhat of a hint that this wasn’t an aimless stroll.

After ten minutes or so, the trees began to thin again, revealing a second, man-made clearing. Three different structures were in varying stages of construction on the property. The largest one resembled the bare bones of a house, only the wooden beams that would hold up the walls to dictate where the rooms were going to be were built.

“This is our second home,” Sehun explained. “The farmhouse is getting too crowded, so Junmyeon started this a month ago or so. The space might be nice, but I like having all of us together.” The sadness in his voice was evident and you squeezed his fingers in an effort to comfort him. This whole time he’d kept a protective grip on your hand and still, he didn’t let go. You didn’t want him to, either. The warmth passing back and forth through your palms was the only thing keeping you upright, stopping you from crumbling away.

Over and over, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t fall in the same trap that Soomi did. You wouldn’t fall for a wolf that clearly wasn’t yours.

But you wanted him to be.

You wanted to lean your forehead against his shoulder, eyes closed, and take him in. Everything about him calmed you down and sped you up at the same time. Your heart was racing, but your mind was at ease. Could he feel how hard the blood was pumping through your veins? Did he feel the same way?

The sudden panic of getting too close surged up in your stomach. You tried to step away, put space again between the two of you and free your fingers from their wanted cage, but he didn’t let you. He wasn’t holding them hostage in a grip that would turn the tips of your fingers white, but he did hold firm, conveying his wish to keep you beside him without uttering a word.

Still remaining silent, Sehun tugged you along to get closer to the construction site. He ignored the yellow caution tape to bring you almost to the center of the house. If you let your imagination run, you could almost picture the painted walls, the kitchen, the living room, all of it really, with you in the middle of it. It almost made you laugh; how could this empty, shell of a building feel like… home?

“I’ve been coming here a lot lately,” Sehun randomly confessed as he let you go. He took a few steps until he came to a foundation beam, holding onto it with one hand and leaning back. His gaze was up at the sky as if he were searching for words to say or an answer to a dilemma that had been haunting him. “Just for some quiet or think things through, it doesn’t matter. No one else comes here. They don’t care since it’s not finished. I almost don’t want them to finish it. I don’t know where I’d go after that.”

You were a little put out by his tangent since you thought him bringing you here was about making you feel better, but on the other hand… it was doing a decent job of getting your mind away from that dark place. Was that his real intention? Helping by pretending to not be helping?

Shrugging away the lack of answer to your riddle, you stepped up to the same pole Sehun was pulling on and leaned up against it with the corner pushing into your shoulder. You stared up at the orange-haired wolf until he tore his eyes away from the sky to meet your own.

“The forest is big,” you told him. “I’m sure you’ll find another hiding spot.”

Sehun inhaled deeply through his nose, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it out slowly through his lips. “Maybe I should stop hiding.”

There it was again. That electricity in the air that charged up every time he started to lean in. His eyes flickered back and forth from your gaze to your lips in debate. The difference this time around was the fact that it didn’t feel teasing or restrained. It was charged, serious.

“What are you hiding from?” you asked in a voice so soft it couldn’t even be deemed a whisper. It was merely breath leaving your lungs and yet the words were understood.

But Sehun ignored your question, leaning in at an agonizingly sluggish pace. You felt your own calves raise you up to shorten the time it would take for him to reach you. Then you felt the first drop land on your cheek. Looking up at sky, you found the clouds had thickened once again and were releasing the water that was now too heavy to continue carrying.

Drip… drip… drip… drip, drip, drip.

Faster and faster it came down, no roof up above to save you from the pouring rain. Sehun cursed under his breath and grabbed your hand, making a run for the trees that hardly created an adequate cover as the two of you hurried back to the farmhouse. By the time the two of you stumbled into the kitchen through the back door, you were soaked.

“(y/n), oh, my god!” Soomi rushed up to you, cupping your face in her hands as she inspected your current state.

Junmyeon sighed in relief. “Thanks for finding her, Sehun.”

You raised an eyebrow at the wolf after he didn’t correct the alpha’s phrasing. He hadn’t found you, he was the reason you were out in the rain in first place. Now he was practically on the other side of the kitchen. As soon as you were inside, he’d let go of your hand, making you feel colder than ever. You were hurt by how quickly he’d flipped the switch, how easy it was for him to create distance after coming in so close.

“Let’s get you changed out of those clothes,” Soomi said, pulling you out of the feelings that were currently drowning you. She led you towards the stairs, not slowing down even as you kept looking over your shoulder back at Sehun, who was whispering some story to his alpha that you couldn’t interpret.

Instead of going towards the bedroom, however, Soomi steered you towards the bathroom once arriving on the second floor. She started the shower and let the water warm up as she helped you strip out of the ruined clothes. You stared silently at the black jacket that had gotten the worst of it. Pools of rain water formed on the tiles where it lied. If only you could melt away like the water.  

“Go on and get in,” Soomi ordered. “I’ll put some clean clothes on the counter for you and then… well, then come downstairs. We all need to talk.”

Fantastic.

Alone in that shower, you contemplated the consequences of never getting out again. Your skin would wrinkle and shrivel, maybe even dry out from the heat of the water. Eventually the hot water would run out and nothing but cold water would be spitting out of the old showerhead.  Soomi would get worried and barge her way back in, pulling you out if need be. Or worse… she’d enlist the help of the other mates or even a wolf.

Now that hiding in the shower was ruled out as an option, you decided to stop being a coward and face the trial that would be waiting for you downstairs. You knew you would have to tell them about the dream – the very realistic dream you were sure was much more than a manifestation of your REM-induced brain. You were still drying your hair with a towel when you came down the steps. Everyone was in the kitchen, as to be expected. Sehun had also changed into dry clothes and was seemingly avoiding any chance to even peek in your direction.

“I swear, I think we’ve had more family meetings in the past year than we have since the pack formed,” Baekhyun grumbled. You shrank back in your spot, knowing a lot of them were most likely because of you. Was there any way you could make it back up the steps without being noticed? No, probably not.

“It’s important that we all know what’s going on,” Yixing reminded him.

“I’m kind of curious about the fire,” Minseok asked very pointedly.

“(y/n)?”

You didn’t want to look at the kind alpha, but you could feel everyone waiting for your response, so you lifted your chin, barely glancing at him. “Yeah?”

“Do you know what- what caused your powers to… surge like that?”

You swallowed thickly. The words came out in a scared, squeaky voice that you hardly recognized as your own. “I, um, I had another… vision.”

“A vision?” Soomi gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There wasn’t exactly a good second to do so,” you pointed out.

“What was the vision?” Kris questioned.

“I was in that clearing again.” Him, you absolutely refused to look in the eye. By the time you were through here your cuticles were going to be nonexistent thanks to that nervous habit. “The woman was there, too, but she was behind me. I still didn’t see her face.”

Junmyeon waited a moment for you continue. When you didn’t, he asked. “What were you doing?”

“She was… urging me to use my power,” you whispered. “Fire, to be exact. Using it in the vision must have triggered something to make it happen in real life.”

“What were you doing with the woman?” Jongin’s question was meant innocently, from what you could tell by his tone, but it set off a domino effect of panic.

“What were you doing there?” Baekhyun emphasized in an accusatory voice.

“It sounded like you were on her side,” Jongdae added. While the accusation stung, you didn’t blame him for thinking down that way.  

Chanyeol pouted like a kicked puppy at you. “You wouldn’t join her, would you?”

“I bet they’ve been working together this whole time.”

“If that were true, why would she tells us about this?”

“To make herself look innocent after setting the house on fire.”

“That’s a solid plan.”

“She can’t stay here. What if she loses control again?”

“Or sets the house on fire on purpose?” 

Louder and louder the voices grew, intersecting and overlapping until you could no longer tell what argument was coming from which wolf. A small select few still seemed to believe in your innocence, but most were deeming you untrustworthy.

“ENOUGH!”

You flinched at Junmyeon’s outburst. You’d seen him frustrated and agitated, but you’d never seen him lose his temper in this fashion. His jaw was set, teeth grinding against each other while his glare roamed over his pack.

“The fact that any of you would think for a second that (y/n) was plotting against us….” He shook his head. “I’m disappointed in all of you.”

“But they had good points, Junmyeon,” Kris argued. “And we must always put the pack first.”

Junmyeon scoffed. “So, what do you want to do? Throw them out?”

Kris shrugged. “It really might be best if they don’t stay here anymore. We can’t be completely sure that this won’t happen again. And next time, it could be worse.”

“But what about the woman? (y/n)’s visions?”

“They’re not constant. If she has one, then they can come over and describe it to us,” Yixing said. Guilt was apparent when he looked at you, but he quickly ended the contact, squeezing Ming’s hand protectively.

Junmyeon opened his mouth to argue, but eventually closed it again. His shoulders slumped, admitting defeat.

“You can’t just kick them out!” Sehun shouted.

“I don’t have a choice, Sehun.” The alpha was breaking. His voice wasn’t as strong as it had been a few seconds ago. He was going back on his promise to Mother Willow to protect you and Soomi and it was killing him to do so. You didn’t understand how any of them could be okay with seeing their leader this way. “I have to put the pack first. Always.”

A roar ripped through the air that made everyone jump.

“She is part of the pack!”

Sehun marched over to you, taking ahold of your wrist and pulling you into his side. With an expression that was scaring even you, he made a declaration that you wouldn’t have been prepared for in a thousand years.

“She’s my mate.”

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Where are you going to put the ring?

Read it on AO3

Grif and Simmons are kidnapped by aliens after a communication error goes wrong. The crew goes to find them and Tucker hatches a plan to finally end years of pining.

Simmons woke up in a cold sweat, which, of course, was nothing new to him, but this time it was warranted as he was laying in what looked like an asylum room minus the padding. Hard, almost blinding tile covered the walls, ceiling, and floor and seemed to be radiating their own light as well, even though he couldn’t feel any heat. There was nothing particular that stood out to him but it was unnerving all the same.

He tried to recall exactly what had happened before -- there has been a large beam of light from one of the alien temples on Chorus after Tucker had unlocked it with his sword, he remembered. It was only after Santa had told them it was distress temple and they just called the nearest Sangheili to them did they panic. Why that was kept separate from the Communication’s Temple didn’t make any sense, but alien logic, he guessed, was different. They had all stayed at the temple overnight to try and convince the aliens it was an accident and they should leave, and of course, Grif got hungry and had to wander off. And then Simmons had to go after him and then there was a ship and large blue bodies that seemed all too familiar and-

“Grif!” Simmons panicked, looking around the room for the first time and, luckily, spotted the orange armor. He scrambled over to him, urgently shaking him, but his panic only grew worse when no response came to him. “Grif?”

A new fear flooded his body. What if the aliens had been too rough with him? What if he had been enough of a smart ass and they killed him and left him here as a warning for Simmons-

And then there was the tell-tale sound of snoring and a second later the sound of armor hitting armor as Simmons punched Grif’s helmet.

“You lazy piece of shit! You scared me!” He sighed, allowing himself to relax a fraction now that he knew his teammate was just being his usual self. A bit of familiarity was good in this situation, he guessed. He sat back, hugged his knees, and watched the now noticeable rise and fall of Grif’s chest under the suit. He did it sometimes when he couldn’t sleep -- it was oddly relaxing. He almost felt his own eyes drooping at the rhythmic sight and quickly shook his head to clear the cobwebs invading his mind. He nudged Grif with his foot. “Wake up, Grif. We gotta find a way out of here.”

Maybe they didn’t, though. The guys surely had noticed they were missing by now, right? They had to have seen the ship take off. They were looking for a way to get them back as the sat here waiting.

Were they moving? Simmons didn’t feel any movement but he knew some spaceships had that effect, especially if they were towards the middle.

He barely stifled a whine as he shook Grif this time. “Come on, Grif. W-We don't have time for this.” He was replied to with a loud snore. He was over this -- he stood up and gave a firm, but not too rough, kick to the side of Grif’s armor.

There was a small whimper as Grif’s arms moved to hold the assaulted spot, turning to face away from Simmons. “Let me sleep dammit.” He groaned.

“We don’t have time to sleep!”

“I don’t care if Sarge wants to run stupid drills. I want sleep.” Grif huffed before snoring again a few seconds later.

Simmons was about to kick him again when a panel in the wall opened up on his left. He froze, one foot in the air as he stared at the hole in the white light that surrounded them, finding a red and green alien staring at them. He yelped, losing his balance and falling to the floor with a thump.

The two creatures dragged their feet towards them, blarghing and honking all the way. Simmons was silent as the green one towered over him -- if he had sweat glands he was pretty sure there would be a pool by now.  He didn’t dare break eye contact with it until its own head turned towards a questioning honk. The red one stood over the unmoving Grif, blarghing at him but with no response. He barely rendered what he saw before he moved -- watching the red claw-like limb move quickly down towards Grif’s head. Simmons was quicker than he remembered being because there wasn’t any sound of a head being crushed but instead metal bending, wires snapping, and the sound of kevlar suit ripping as his vision turned dark.

 Simmons was really glad he couldn’t feel pain in his cyborg parts.

“Simmons?”

Grif’s voice was actually rather comforting, and he slowly opened his right eye to look up at his teammate’s worried face, both of them now helmetless. He struggled to sit up, having trouble pinpointing exactly why that was until he saw a piece of maroon armor sitting on the floor a few feet away from them. An entire limb of maroon armor, actually.

He feels like he should have screamed, but instead, he just looked down at his shoulder, some wires tied together that Grif must have done in an effort to help him, and then back at the missing limb before looking at Grif again. “Are you okay?”

Grif looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Am I okay? Dude! You’re missing your fucking arm!”

“It’s not like I can feel it. You were the one almost getting your head banged in by an alien claw!”

“You are waaay too fucking calm,” Grif muttered to himself after a few more seconds of staring at his friend. “Did they hit your head instead? Since when do you care if my head gets bashed in or not?”

Simmons opened his mouth only to close it a second later, looking down at the tangled mess of wires again, an orange and maroon one fittingly tied together. “Sarge can fix it. And Dr. Grey can make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.”

Grif sighed, settling back up against one of the walls. “I never thought I’d be asking this: but where the fuck even is Sarge? If it was just me I’d expect him to convince them to leave me with the weird fuckers, but you’re here, too.”

Simmons felt like protesting but his head was still too blurry to even properly register what Grif had said.  He just slouched in on himself and stared at his right arm, blinking with only his organic eye while the other half of his vision was dark and unnerving. Grif was right… They should have found them by now, right? Then where were they?

-----

“Dang nabbit, Simmons! Where in Sam’s hell are ya?”

Sarge banged the control panel of the ship with his fist. Tracking Simmons’ cyborg parts was supposed to be easy! How come, all of a sudden, he was offline?

“I thought you said you had this?” Carolina cooly asked him from behind and he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Damn these Freelancer girls! Always so strong and cool!"

“I do have this, thank you very much! I just gotta find Simmons’ signal, or, if it comes down to it, we can try faxing something to him.”

She sighed, leaving the red leader alone to his frustrations. He just lost half of his team to aliens that might be out for blood -- anyone would be nervous, even if he wouldn’t admit to it. She knew she should have kept a closer eye on Grif, but he had proven sneakier than she had thought. Maybe that training had actually done him some good. Too bad all it did was get him and his teammate kidnapped. And as a result, they were all left to deal with the messy pieces; also known as Donut’s uncontrollable emotions and Sarge’s crazy, life-risking plans. She could almost imagine Grif and Simmons were enjoying the silence for once. Granted, it never would be silence with only those two now would it.

“Dammit, do these idiots ever shut up?”

“I’ve told you before, it’s part of our charm.”

Tucker was leaning against a wall of the ship, with a stupid little smirk on his face that spoke “haha I wasn’t the one to fuck up this time.”

Carolina waited a second for Epsilon to respond with some witty comeback before a heavy realization hit her again for the fifth time that day. “Charm is not how I would put it.”

“I’m sure it’s the way those two are seeing it. Being stuck alone on an alien spaceship with the possibility of certain death? Sounds like the plot to a porno to me: bow-chicka-bow-wow.” When he was met with Carolina’s expressionless (and really tired) face he sighed, pushing off the wall to look at least a little concerned. It was a trick he had learned in countless meetings with Kimball. “They’re fine. If they aren’t fucking yet, I’m sure they’re arguing about some stupid movie or something. They’re tougher than they seem. Especially together. It’s like that cliche where true love prevails or whatever. Simmons has this weird six sense when it comes to Grif and Grif is the only one who can calm Simmons down enough so he isn’t having a panic attack every five seconds and, well, long story short they can handle each other until we find them.” He walked towards her, patting her shoulder as he passed her. “We’re not losing anyone else, okay?” There was an air of sympathy and connection in the quick look he gave her before walking into the control room.

Tucker was greeted with a metal panel flying towards his head which he quickly dodged, letting it hit the wall instead. “What the hell?” He asked as he saw Sarge digging through the ships inner workings.

“Red Sergeant says he is upgrading the ship to find Simmons’ metal-thingy parts!” Caboose answered, as oblivious as ever.

“Somethin’s obviously broken! I can’t track Simmons without the tracking system in proper working order! That just doesn’t make any daggum sense!”  Sarge added, voice muffled by how his head was currently stuck inside the machinery.

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Tucker sighed, his fucks could not be less here. “Have you tried just looking for the alien ship that took them? They give off a pretty big signal on the radar.”

Sarge’s head popped up into view. “That’s ridiculous! We want the element of surprise!”

“Uh, dude.” Tucker grabbed his sword, activating it and letting its dim blue light demonstrate his point. “We might be able to talk some sense into them.”

It took several more minutes of bickering before Tucker was able to convince the red team leader into closing the hole he made and searching for the alien ship instead, finding the giant within five minutes. The whole crew stood in the cockpit now, surrounding Tucker at the com.

“Do all of you seriously have to stare at me?”

“They’re my men! I deserve to hear from them!”

“They aren’t going to be the ones to answer! You guys aren’t even going to be able to understand the aliens!” Tucker explained. They were lucky he could even understand the aliens after having to learn to talk to Junior. “Ugh, fine. You can stay but don’t say a fucking word, got it?”

Soon after the outgoing call was answered and a series of intimidating blarghs and honks filled the cockpit. Tucker buckled very slightly under the words, he forgot how straightforward this species was. That was until the conversation progressed a little bit.

“He what?” Tucker could feel himself paling a little bit at the thought of Simmons’ arm being ripped off, glancing at Sarge for a moment before quickly staring back down at the com. “Are you sure that was him?”

These mates are very odd.

Tucker had to keep himself from breaking out into laughter. “You- You think they’re-” He quickly composed himself then looked back at an inquisitive Carolina, a smirk growing on his face as his planned form. “They are, we know. Hey, if you let us on this ship we can arrange something with you, okay? I can explain the whole situation in more detail.”

This was going to be the best day ever.

-----

Grif had managed to convince Simmons to rest, propping his back up against the wall while he stayed awake just in case the aliens came back. Whenever he felt himself dozing off he glanced at the severed arm still in the middle of the room and that promptly woke him up. He still couldn’t believe…

He didn’t get to finish his thought as the door slid open, and in walked two figures. One was unexpected.

“Tucker!” Grif scrambled up, trying to wake Simmons up with his foot while never taking his eyes off the alien. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, hey Grif.” Tucker sounded as relaxed as ever. “Good to see you guys are all in one piece,” he paused, glancing at the floor, “mostly, at least.”

Grif glared at him openly, as he had never bothered to put his helmet back on. Before he had the chance to respond, though, Simmons stumbled up, using Grif as a support as he blinked his eye into focus.

“Tucker?”

“Perfect, he’s up! Now, uh, bad news. We’re getting you out of here but the aliens have a bit of a custom, I guess? It’s kinda like a wrestling match but instead of going up against a two-ton man made of muscle, you’re going up against a two-ton armored monster.”

The two of them stared at the teal soldier, Simmons’ expression blank while Grif looked scared out of his wits and he squeaked: “What?”

“Yeah! It’s like to make sure you’re worthy of freedom or some shit, I don’t know. So, uh, this big guy is going to escort you to the battlefield or something, yeah.” He patted the alien’s back before beginning to back out of the room. “And we’ll be in the background the whole time so make it a good show okay bye.”

“Wait, what?” Grif barely had time to react as the alien picked both him and Simmons up over his shoulder. He weakly pushed against him, trying to wiggle free but to no avail. “Tucker! You fucking asshole!”

They were carried into a large hall deeper into the ship, placed across from each other at one end of it. Looking around, the walls were just as blank as the cell was, the only glaring difference was the lighting and the weapons mounted on the walls. The alien blarghed at them before walking out, and Grif didn’t waste any time in flipping him off as he walked away.

So, what happened now? Did they just wait here for their demise? He really hoped Sarge enjoyed watching him get ripped to shreds.

The answer came soon enough as the door opened again and a growling blue alien walked through, looking like a predator stalking its prey. “Oh, shit...” Grif muttered, glancing at Simmons who looked like he was still half asleep, swaying as he stood there, eye closed. “Simmons?”

He heard claw-like footsteps speeding towards them. Which was a problem in itself but even more so as Grif recognized the alien was making a bee-line for Simmons, who was yet to realize the situation. “Simmons!” Grif acted faster than he usually did, jumping and tackling Simmons out of the way of the charging alien, hearing the thump of the armor ramming the wall.

“Uhm, Grif?” Grif’s eye’s met Simmons’ at only a few inches away from hitting foreheads. “Why are you laying on top of me?”

“Because someone decided to doze off. Not the time to be slacking, Simmons.” Grif scolded as he got up off of his friend, catching sight of the alien’s head still partially stuck in a newly formed dent in the wall.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Simmons’s grunted as he struggled to stand up, catching sight of their surroundings for the first time. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Long story short, Tucker got us wrapped up in some alien ritual or whatever. So that guy is trying to kill us. I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah." Grif glanced back at the stumbling Simmons behind him. “Just, try to not fall over, alright?”

“Great plan.” The eye roll was audible. “What are you going to do?”

“Distract him. Grab, like, a gun or something and start shooting.”

“Wait, what? Grif-”

Before he could finish Grif was waving his arms at the now free alien, gaining nothing more than a little glance before the blue monster charged for Simmons again.  What the hell?  He thought as he ran after the alien, jumping on its back and causing it to stumble backwards, sending them both to the ground. “Don’t just stand there, move!” Grif ordered, causing Simmons to yelp and quickly move to one of the weapon-covered walls.

“There aren’t any guns!” He yelled back, panic rising. “I-I don’t know what any of this stuff is!”

Grif rolled away from the alien, getting up just as he did, earning a growl. “Shit. Uh,” he looked behind him, finding more weapons. He grabbed what looked like a glowing staff, blue carvings lighting up as he swung with all his strength onto the head of the alien. Sparks flew as electricity coursed through the alien before he promptly fell to the floor. “That’s handy.”

“Jesus Christ, Grif are you okay?” Simmons was already by his side by the time Grif put the staff back. His organic arm touched his own forearm in what he assumed was a comforting manner.

“Uh, yeah. You doing good?” When Simmons nodded Grif quickly added, “Good because I need someone to cover my duties when we get back to Chorus. I need a month-long nap.”

“Grif!” Came the obligatory, high-pitched response that never failed to make him smile.

-----

They were all finally back on the ship, Simmons and Grif sitting next to each other in the open central space. They had all silently agreed they deserved the rest for the moment being. Sarge had placed a black garbage bag over the hole created by Simmons’ missing arm, claiming it worked in preventing damage until he could properly fix it while Grif had almost fallen asleep when Caboose’s voice broke through the silence.

“So how was the surprise party? Are there any babies?”

Grif cracked only one eye open to look at the blue soldier. “What are you talking about, Caboose?”

“Tucker said you guys were getting married as a surprise!” Simmons was awake now, a faint red covering his the pale side of his face. “That must mean there are babies.”

“Tucker!”

“Not my fault, dude! It was the perfect opportunity to end, like, fifteen years of sexual tension between you two. Don’t worry, Donut’s already setting up the honeymoon.”

“How did you even-”

“The Sangheili already thought you guys were fucking, just like everyone else does. I just talked them into a wedding ceremony.” The fucker looked so proud of himself.

“That wasn’t a wedding, that was a set up to fucking kill us, jackass!” Grif looked about ready to strangle Tucker, which, Simmons was okay with right now.

“That’s their wedding customs. Two males have to fight over the female and whoever comes out on top gets to keep her. Just be glad I talked them down to just that part -- the rest would have gotten real uncomfortable, real quick.”

Simmons just covered his face as best as he could with one hand, listening to Grif and Tucker argue back and forth. They were never going to hear the end of this. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. If Tucker followed through with that honeymoon promise, maybe they could get a vacation that didn’t involve nearly dying every other day. Soon enough, he pushed Grif back into his seat. “Just give it up, Grif.”

“Yeah, listen to your husband, Grif. Accept it and thank me later.”

There wasn’t a moment of quiet for the next few hours, but Simmons managed to sleep through most of it, head on Grif’s shoulder the entire way home.

[detectivejigsawpines]

Twinpathy (Pain)

Based on the lovely work of Artsymeeshee and RenConnor; little snippets of life indicating that even when they were apart (physically or emotionally), the boys were still connected without realizing.

The night he was banished from his home and told not to come back without a fortune, Stanley Pines went down to the beach with a can of gasoline that he “liberated” from a nearby station and his trusty lighter, and he set the almost-completed Stan O’War on fire.

There was no way he could take it with him, and he sure as h_ll wasn’t leaving it for that traitor to use.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone who would care.

It took hours for the flames to finish consuming it; he stood there the whole time, hands clenched in trembling fists at his sides, and forced himself to watch no matter how much it hurt.  He barely even flinched when he got hit by stray sparks that burned his skin and made his damp eyes sting, as he watched all his dreams literally go up in smoke.

By the time it was reduced to dying embers it was almost dawn; Stan walked away to his car and curled up in the back seat, feeling more alone than he had in his entire life.

********

Ford barely slept.

For some reason he was just too hot; even if he kicked off all the blankets and sheets, he felt like he was burning up.

Even if he hadn’t been experiencing an odd temperature problem, there was no way he could sleep with the cocktail of rage, betrayal, uncertainty and not-very-well-suppressed guilt brewing in his skull.

His room had never felt so empty before, or been so quiet during the night.

Parts of his skin were actually stinging a little; if he was having a fever, it was like nothing he’d ever had before.  Not even cold water seemed to help much, but somehow he couldn’t work up the will to wake up his parents.  Not after they’d-

He shoved the thought away.

It wasn’t until dawn that the heat rushing through his system finally died down a little, but even then Ford couldn’t relax enough to sleep.  He went to school looking and feeling like hell, and passed it in a dull haze.

A week later, when he went to the beach (he hadn’t meant to go near the boat, he’d told himself that he wouldn’t, that there was no reason to go near it, but somehow his footsteps took him there anyways), all he found was an enormous chunk of ash.

And his gut churned with that cocktail again, as he realized his brother really wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

****************

Stan was beginning to realize that making that deal with Archer had been a mistake.

Namely because he was chained up and dangling by his ankles in a slaughterhouse, and one of Archer’s goons was approaching him with a cleaver in one hand and a meat hook in the other, and it wasn’t because he was planning on giving him a fancy haircut.

“It’s nothing personal, Pinowski,” Archer said solemnly, staring down at him.  “I like your moxie; really I do. But it’s bad business if I don’t make an example of you to anyone else with dumb ideas.”

“Yikes,” Stan grunted, face red from all the blood rushing to it, “you always talk like you’re Edward G. Robinson or something?”

Archer smiled thinly, and nodded to the guy who looked a little too enthusiastic about his grisly task.

By now, though, Stan had managed to put the paperclip he’d been using as a substitute cufflink to good use, and when the thug got close he swung his fist, with the chain wrapped around it.  It hurt, but it was worth it to knock him into Archer, sending them both to the floor like ninepins. Frantically Stanley began wriggling like a worm on a hook, trying to reach his ankles before they could get up.  Instead he found himself sliding backwards, his body thudding into one of the dead cattle dangling behind him like one of those stupid balls on strings that you can smack two together and the ones at the other end will move-Newton’s cradle, that’s what Ford had said it was called.  Ugh, of all the times for him to be remembering his brother-

He barely managed to dodge the cleaver, which was swung with a vengeance at his neck, and almost on reflex his arms flew up, catching the thug’s other wrist.  Despite his efforts, the hook pressed stubbornly forward, catching into the flesh of his stomach and digging in. On the bright side, it brought the thug close enough for Stan to pound an unexpected fist into his gut.

Eventually, of course, Stan managed to get away.  But not without a somewhat-gaping hole in his stomach, and a need to run quickly before the police and the fire department showed up at the slaughterhouse to find out what the heck was going on.  Together, these were not the most pleasant combination in the world.

********

Far away at a second-rate college, Ford nearly fell out of his desk with a gasp of agony, clutching at his stomach.

At once Fiddleford was at his side, asking frantically what was the matter.

“I-I dunno-something hurts-”

“Have y’got yer appendix removed?”

“No-never had to.”

“C’mon, let’s get ya to the doctor.  Maybe it became inflamed or somethin’.”  Fiddleford pulled his friend to his feet and slung his free arm over his shoulder, shepherding him out the door.

Surprisingly, the doctor found nothing wrong with his appendix.  Nothing seemed to be wrong period, except for the unexplained throbbing sensation.  Eventually he just gave Ford some painkillers and sent him back to the dorm to get some rest.  Ford speculated on the possibility of it being pain for an injury that he hadn’t received yet or something else supernatural like that, and gulped down some of the medicine with water so he could get back to work.

(Far away, in a remote field where he’d managed to hide his car until the heat died down, Stan felt the burning ache in his clumsily-stitched gut miraculously recede a little, even though he hadn’t managed to steal painkillers yet.  Maybe life was giving him a break from being its chew toy for a while.)

****************

It had been a long week, and the coming one wasn’t looking any better due to impending finals.

Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept instead of either studying or drinking copious amounts of coffee.  Of course, sleep was a terrible waste of time that he avoided whenever possible anyway, but he had to admit that sometimes it was a necessary evil.  If nothing else, because it helped get rid of throbbing headaches like the one filling his skull right now. But dang it, this was important! The sooner he graduated, the sooner he could get into the important research he wanted to study.  And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got anything but the best possible grades.

Rubbing his gritty eyes under his glasses, Ford made some fresh coffee and forced himself to focus on his notes.

********

It was the worst hangover Stan could remember having in years.  He slumped back against the brick wall behind him, eyes closed, wishing he was dead.

...Which happened more often than he wanted to admit, even without hangovers.  But at least this time he had a semi-decent excuse.

He didn’t even think he’d drunk that much; certainly not enough to make his skull feel like rocks were rolling around inside it and banging together.  Geez, it felt like he hadn’t slept in a week.

With a groan, he finally got up, grabbing the hat containing the few coins a few people had dropped in it (he was sure close to making those millions now, ha ha ha), and staggered to his car, collapsing in the back seat.  To his relief, he managed to fall into a dreamless sleep fairly quickly.

(Ford began, after a few hours, to feel strangely refreshed; he chalked it up to his body adjusting to an alternative sleep schedule and double-checked his term paper.)

****************

As Stan got older, he noticed that his body would develop odd aches and pains, especially in his joints, and sometimes he would wake up feeling utterly exhausted, like he’d been boxing in his sleep.  It wasn’t too surprising, since he hadn’t exactly had a peaceful lifestyle in his youth and he was probably paying for it now. He just learned to deal with it all when he got up in the morning, and focused on the important things: fleecing the hides off customers, and trying to figure out that stupid portal.

Nothing else mattered.

********

Ford didn’t have many opportunities to wash properly while traveling through the multiverse, what with constantly hopping dimensions and fighting for his life here and there, but if he’d had a chance to look at his right shoulder, he would have seen that for weeks after he first arrived the skin was bright red, like he’d gotten a bad sunburn.  Of course, this being Ford he might have just dismissed it as an allergic reaction to something in his clothes or whatever.

****************

The Stan O’War II needed fresh supplies.  Again.

The Pineses went their separate ways in the busy port marketplace-Ford to pick up scientific gear, and Stan to get food and fishing tackle.

Ford was just fishing his wallet out of his pocket (and really missing the dimensions where currency had been rendered unnecessary), when he gasped and doubled over against the counter, clutching a hand to his cheek.

“Sir?” the shopkeeper asked, looking at him with concern, “Are you alright?”

He managed to nod and straighten up, handing him the cash.  “Yes, I’m fine, sorry. Just...a muscle spasm or something.”

That...was odd, even by my standards, he thought as he gathered up his things and headed for the boat.  It was almost like someone had up and punched him (and believe me, by now he knew what that felt like).

Stanley was not back yet, so Ford was about to make himself busy putting things away, when the sensation came again, except it was in his ribs.

And this time, he had an odd feeling that it had something to do with his twin.

It defied all the logic his mind prided so highly, but then again, things like the M Dimension and leprecorns defied logic and they still existed, so he just tucked his gun into its holster and hurried back onto shore.

The throbbing in his side became almost a pulse; like a dark version of “Hot and Cold,” it grew stronger as he turned certain directions, leading him to a remote corner of town with a big white van parked nearby-never a good sign.

An even worse sign was the group of men trying to force Stanley into the truck.

To be fair, Stanley appeared to be handling it reasonably well-several of them were lying on the ground, clutching themselves in various areas and groaning, while the ones still standing were sporting a lovely assortment of black eyes and bloody lips, among other injuries.  And while he was suffering some wear and tear himself, Stan was still weaving back and forth, using his feet and hands and fingers in ways that were not strictly fighting fair, but were doing the more important job of defending himself and not allowing them to move him any closer to the van.

And then one of them pulled a knife out of his belt.

Ford didn’t think twice.

There was a loud fizzing sound, a brief agonized squeal, and then the smell of charred flesh filled the air.

The group of thugs froze, and turned to see Ford marching towards them, outstretched gun still with a puff of smoke at the end just like in the movies.

“What the bleep-” one of them began to ask.

“Leave.  Now.”

None of the six men left standing needed to be told again.

To Ford’s slight relief, Stan looked surprised at his vicious conduct, but not appalled by it.  He just shook himself, adjusted his glasses and made his way over to his twin, “accidentally” stepping on a few of the people he’d brought down.

“Good timing,” he said.  “Sorry, I kind of lost the stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter; we’ll get it in another port.  Come on.”

“Just a sec.”  Stan turned back to the thugs lying on the ground, and began rifling through their pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes, but trained his gun on any of them who looked like they might be thinking about moving.

Once they were back on the boat, Stan happily counted their newly-acquired wealth, and began calculating how much they would need to use to restock their lost supplies.  Ford put away his gun and then busied himself with setting up what he’d managed to acquire.

“Who were those men?” he finally asked.

Stan shrugged.  “They said their boss wanted to see me, but I can’t remember who he is.  Probably just another in a long list of people I p_ssed off once upon a time.”  Then he added, “Thanks, by the way.” He still didn’t seem bothered by what his brother had done.

Ford gave him a small nod.  Then he said, “You’d better let me take a look at your ribs.”

Stan blinked.  “How did you know they’re hurt?”

It was Ford’s turn to blink.  “I-it’s how I found you. I...it sounds crazy, but I felt it.”

“...You felt my pain.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”  Ford gestured for him to take his coat off; Stan sighed, but complied and perched on the edge of the table, hiking up his shirt.  His entire left side was almost a completely solid bruise, with a few scratches where one of the thugs must have been wearing a ring or something.

“Pretty sure nothing’s broken,” he said.  “It’s just gonna hurt like h_ll for a while.”

Ford tested the sore places anyway to verify this for himself, as gently as he could get away with, before getting some disinfectant and bandages for the scratches.

He was almost done, when Stanley suddenly reached his hand over and flicked him hard on the ear.

“Ouch!” Ford squawked, ducking his head away.  “What was that for?!”

“I wanted to see if it worked both ways,” Stan said in a ‘duh’ tone.  He tilted his head, probably waiting for his ear to start hurting too.

“I don’t think it works like that,” the older twin scolded, rubbing his head.

“How d’you know?”

“I’m just guessing, okay?  Now hold still.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

Just then Ford’s eyes fell on a long, pale scar going down the right side of Stan’s stomach.

“What’s that?”

Stanley glanced at it, and after a long moment he managed to pull some of the memory together, prompted by the sight of the injury.  “I...I think I got that a long time ago when...when some guy tried to kill me with a meat hook.”

Ford was nursing a memory of his own, of having sudden unexpected pain but the doctor not seeing anything wrong.

Interesting...

[writinginstardust]

Do Anything | Part 2

Pairing: Tyler Jones x reader

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture, swearing

A/N: I said this was just going to be 2 parts, I know. But it’s 4 parts now! I don’t know what happened either but it gives my the chance to write more angst. And I’m very sorry but things do not get happy until the final part so sorry. However it is very close to finished so I won’t leave you hanging for too long.

Word Count: 3037

*

“Get up.” I didn’t. I could, just barely, but it wouldn’t make a difference if I followed their orders or not. That was just one of the things I’d learned in the past month. At least, I thought it was a month. It could have been longer, it could have been less. Keeping track of time was tough and not exactly a priority most of the time.

“Did you hear me? Move.” A disruptor rifle jabbed into my ribs and I had to bite back a scream when pain flared through my side. Most of my ribs had been broken for at least a week and a half. That was the last time they’d tried to get me to talk. They’d mostly left me alone since then, only letting me out of this room occasionally to shower which was surprisingly nice of them. I’d thought it was some new tactic the first time but so far it hadn’t been.

The pain eased slightly and I turned my head to look at the TDF agent who was standing over me. She looked bored. I hated her more for it. It’s one thing to be an asshole and deliberately hurt someone, but being bored by my pain and misery? Fuck. Her.

“Come on. Don’t you want to see your boyfriend?” The sudden panic I felt must have shown on my face. She smiled. A sadistic smile that made my heart clench, but still a smile. I wasn’t sure I didn’t prefer the boredom. “Get up.”

I did this time.

“Where is he? What have you done to him?” I couldn’t help but ask, my voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse and screaming. That landed me with a blow to the stomach and I had to fight the urge to throw up as I doubled over in pain. It took several long moments before I could stand upright again. I glared at her but she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and simply walked towards the door, beckoning for me to follow.

“I thought you’d have learned by now not to ask questions.” And I had. But just the mention of Tyler had rendered everything else unimportant, even my own pain. Every step forward was still agonising but I pushed it aside. Tyler was here, or he was close at least. Was that good or bad? Was he okay? Had the TDF caught the whole squad? Was he going to suffer now even after I’d tried to spare him from it? Or were they just going to kill us all now? Too many questions. Too many horrible possibilities I didn’t want to contemplate but couldn’t stop dwelling on. There didn’t seem to be any scenario in which seeing Tyler again right now was good.

I didn’t pay attention to where we were going, all of my focus was on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright. The woman in front of me stopped abruptly and I almost crashed straight into her. Looking up, I saw that we were in front of one of the grav-lifts. That was odd. Everywhere they’d taken me since I got here was on this deck.

The doors opened and she shoved me inside where another agent was waiting. My heart hammered in my chest and I started shaking on instinct. This was one of the guys who had given me most of my injuries. The one who’d got a bit too enthusiastic and almost killed me. I was actually thankful when little miss bored followed me inside. She was awful too but I felt safer with her there. Maker, what had my life become?

It only took about 10 seconds for us to reach the right deck but it felt like years with that agent so close by. As the girl who’d come to get me stepped out, I saw where we were. The place my nightmare had begun. The docking bay.

-

“I love you,” I said, looking up at Tyler, so nearly safe on the Longbow. I knew he couldn’t hear or say it back but I needed to say it anyway. I blindly felt for the pistol on the control panel in front of me and raised it with a shaking hand. He was still close enough for me to see him clock the action and his yell was all that remained when Cat blasted the ship away in the next second.

I heard a commotion behind me as I turned the pistol on myself, surprised none of them had done it themselves yet. A crack and splitting pain through my skull and the world went black.

I woke up with several sets of hands on me, dragging me up none too gently. Someone had hit me. My shot missed. I was still alive. I wanted to scream but it was all I could do to stay conscious.

“Put her in a cell and someone get our weapons online and restart the engines!” There was yelling all around and it felt like receiving blows to the head again and again and again as I was dragged away. I knew whatever came next wasn’t going to be good but I couldn’t help feeling some grim satisfaction. Zila and I had done our jobs well. They weren’t going to be able to shoot or give chase anytime soon. The squad would be safe. Tyler would be safe. That was all that mattered.

The further we walked, the quieter it got. My pounding head was glad of it but my stomach dropped as the high of successfully saving my friends wore off. All that was left in its wake was fear and dread. I had no way out this time. I’d missed my chance. They weren’t going to let me die, not for a while at least, or they’d have killed me then and there on the docking bay. No, this, this was going to be much worse.

-

I tried to pull myself from my reverie there but couldn’t. The memories wouldn’t stop coming. They weren’t clear, just quick flashes steeped in pain and fear that resurfaced now. I could feel every moment of pain, every injury inflicted - the ones that had healed and the ones I was left to suffer through now. No medical attention for prisoners of war. Who knew just how badly I was really messed up now, how many bones were trying to heal in the wrong place. If I ever did get out of this place, I knew the nightmare wouldn’t end there. Even if I could keep the memories at bay, my body would be a constant reminder of it all. In that first week, I’d dreamed and allowed myself to hope I might survive and get out one day but as the days wore on, those dreams had shattered and my hopes diminished. Now I only dreamed of oblivion. Once, that had been a curse, now, it only felt like a blessing.

The agents brought me over to a small ship. A ground to orbit shuttle. I was getting off this ship. What the fuck was going on?

“Where are we going?” I asked as I sat down and buckled up, only remembering a second too late what happened when I asked questions. I braced myself for a blow but none came. Opening my eyes I saw little miss bored smirking at me. Enjoying my fear. Maker, I fucking hated her so much.

“We’re going to see your boyfriend.” She’d enjoyed tormenting me with mentions of Tyler since this all started and I’d stopped trying to correct her on our relationship. There wasn’t any point. They’d all heard me say I loved him and that was enough to deem him a worthy subject in the psychological torment. It was one of her favourite plays and the one I hated most. I could handle the physical pain but thinking about him hurt more than anything else.

“He’s got something we want,” she continued. “And we’ve got something he wants back.” Oh. Oh no.

I knew even without the very deliberate look she gave me what she meant. He wanted me. And there was only one thing the TDF and GIA wanted enough to set me free. Auri. Tyler was going to give them the very thing they wanted, the only thing that could stop the Ra’haam, just to get me back. If I wasn’t so horrified at the implications of it, I would have been touched at how much he was willing to risk for me. Even despite that, my heart clenched painfully. If Tyler was willing to do something this reckless, he must have been hurt bad. I hated it but I was going to have to hurt him more. I couldn’t let him do this. My life wasn’t worth the entire galaxy. He’d understand eventually.

The shuttle engines started up. I didn’t have long to think of a plan. Trying to do so proved incredibly difficult. My head had been in a constantly fuzzy state for weeks now and I hadn’t been making any real effort to make it work properly. Even if I could, the less aware I could be, the better. I did manage one clear thought though. If I was going to stop this, I’d have to die. Reasoning with either side would never work. But how to do it?

Every agent around me had a disruptor pistol but buckled in and surrounded as I was, I’d never be able to steal one, let alone use it. They needed me alive now so I couldn’t even hope one of them might shoot me themselves. Causing the ship to crash somehow was out of the question for the same reason. I had nothing to hand that could do any real damage and the second I even reached for the buckle, one of them would just knock me out. I’d have to do something after we landed. Then at least I’d have less restriction and far more options. I couldn’t plan now, I didn’t know the variables, but there was sure to be something I could do. It was just a shame I couldn’t take little miss bored and the over-enthusiastic asshole with me. Maybe Tyler could do something about that. And maybe having to wait was for the best. Maybe then I’d at least get to see Tyler one last time.

The journey only took a couple of minutes and the sudden force of real gravity pressing down on me again when we landed was something else. I never thought I’d miss it. Sure it made my body feel heavier than it had in a while - I guessed the force was stronger on this particular planet, but it made me feel alive for the first time in a month. This was something real, something as yet unruined by the nightmare my life had become.

Stepping out of the shuttle, my heart sank. We were at what would usually be a fairly busy spaceport from the looks of it. Not today though. The TDF had completely cleared it out and secured the area for at least a mile on all sides. It was absolutely packed with troops, all of them armed to the teeth and on high alert. I had a moment of pride and satisfaction at just how much they felt was necessary to go up against 7 teenagers. But then I looked harder and worry started to creep back in.

There were multiple ships running though stationary and more patrolling the skies. From the particular whirr coming from them, I could tell their weapons systems were primed. Ground defences capable of taking out an entire battle cruiser sat along the perimeter and there was no way those would normally be at a spaceport like this. And to top it all off, the GIA themselves were here, a lot of them. Obviously the GIA were in control of all this and everything that happened to me in the last month, but none had shown their faces since Octavia, the TDF doing their dirty work for them instead. But they were here now and that could not be good. I was starting to wonder just what exactly their deal with Tyler entailed and whether any of us were going to get out of this alive. It seemed less and less likely by the second. Would the Longbow even make it to the ground, or would they just shoot them out of the sky and finish me off right after?

An agent holding a uniglass broke from what looked like the command crowd and walked towards me. As she drew closer, I saw a hologram beaming from it and recognised Tyler immediately. I nearly wept at the sight and it wasn’t even really him, just a light rendering that could never hope to do justice to the real thing.

“See for yourself,” the girl said and turned the uniglass to face me. I did cry then. The moment Tyler’s eyes registered me and the leader mask dropped, the tears started pouring out.

“(Y/N),” he breathed out as if he really couldn’t believe it was me. I knew how he felt.

“Like we said, she is alive and present. We’ve held up our end of the deal, now show us the girl.” I could tell Tyler wasn’t listening to a word she’d just said but her words snapped me back to the grim reality.

“Tyler, don’t do this,” I begged frantically. It might be my only chance to save him now. “It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it. Please don’t do this. Just turn around and leave while you still ca-” Something hard cracked into my ribs and cut my words off with a pained gasp. I fell to me knees in agony, struggling to breathe through the stabbing in my chest. Tyler’s yells registered dimly through the haze but they were getting fainter as the agent walked away again.

It was just as I finally got my breath back that I heard the loud hum of a ship coming in to land. I knew it was the Longbow but couldn’t bring myself to look up just yet. Maybe if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be real. At least they’d been allowed to land safely. But that raised more worries than it eased.

Who knew how much the TDF was in on here and how much the GIA wasn’t telling them. Maybe they didn’t know much and were being true to their word. Maybe they didn’t see any reason to kill us all but the GIA certainly did. So why weren’t they? Was it something to do with Auri? Were they going to try and use her for something? Not a single possibility seemed remotely good.

A hiss finally drew my attention up. The Longbow’s airlock opened and the ramp extended. I barely heard it all over the pounding of my heart. Tyler was there. So close and yet so far away.

Five of them filed out. Tyler leading followed closely by his sister, Zila, Auri, and Kal bringing up the rear. They were all grim-faced, determined set to their jaws, murderous glints in their eyes.

They fanned out a few feet in front of the ship and Scarlett stepped forward. The lead TDF agent stepped forward too and the loudest silence I’d ever heard swept across the area. Not a single cough or rustle of fabric broke it. It was the eye of a storm, one that was sure to leave nothing but devastation in its wake when it finally hit.

Scarlett started talking but I didn’t pay attention. I couldn’t look away from Tyler, pleading desperately with my eyes for him to stop this now before it was too late. His eyes were locked on me too but he made no move to stop anything that was happening, ignoring my pleas and looking as though he was holding himself back from killing every agent that stood between us.

The silence returned and I ripped my eyes away to see Kal stepping forward with Auri beside him. That struck me as odd. I was surprised enough that Kal had even allowed them to consider this exchange but that he was willingly walking Auri towards her doom? That made no sense. I’d seen enough of them that I knew Kal would never allow anything to hurt her, so why was he doing this? Maybe she’d talked him round. She’d be the only one that could after all and Kal could shove down his feelings when the situation called for it. I didn’t think this was one of those situations though.

They took another step and an agent I hadn’t had the pleasure of being acquainted with before grabbed my arm and started forcing me forward. I couldn’t let this happen. I had to do something now. It was my last chance.

With what little strength I could muster, I lunged for the pistol holstered at the agent’s hip and by some miracle, managed to get it in my hand. But that was where my luck ran out. I’d used just about everything to do that and it was all too easy for them to knock it from my grasp and swing an almost debilitating punch into my stomach. I heard Tyler yelling, rage and fear in his voice, but didn’t register the words. I was too busy trying not to throw up and keep walking as the agent proceeded to shove me forward.

The walk felt like an eternity as dread and defeat settled heavily in my gut. There was nothing I could do. I’d done everything to try and keep my squad safe and out of the TDF's clutches, to do what little I could to make sure the galaxy survived, but it wasn’t enough. I’d failed.

We stopped a foot in front of Kal and Auri and I couldn’t help crying as I looked at her. She shouldn’t have to do this.

“Please, don’t…” I tried but Auri just smiled slightly, comfortingly. She didn’t look scared. I thought she probably should. She took my hand and squeezed gently.

“It’s okay. Trust us.”

*

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa @moderngenius94

Aurora Cycle: @aurising

[cruelzy]

cliche

ao3 cross

pairing: connor rk800/reader

It’s not night yet. Not quite. Nevertheless, the gray clouds above have long since blocked out any resemblance of the fading twilight. 

Rain glows almost neon in the downtown lights - a quickening drizzle that will most certainly return to its previous steady pour if you don’t hurry up. You huff, tie the string of your raincoat tight about your face. Like it matters. You are already soaked straight through.

You groan.

“Why did we have to park so far away?” The sentence miraculously makes its way past your gritted teeth. Narrowing your eyes, you once more try to spot your car through the curtain of water. 

Connor is suspiciously silent. He has been for the last hour or so. This coupled with the frustrating fact that his movements are premeditated, near soundless, causes you to constantly glance to your side to make sure he’s actually still there. 

“You’ll be alright in the rain, yeah?” You ask. The answer is obvious. You know this. He knows this. It doesn’t matter - you’re desperate to maintain some kind of conversation. The quiet is unsettling. It prickles at your skin, fills your mind with the white noise of insecurities. Was it something you’d done earlier? Said? 

Wiggling your toes in your drenched shoes, you bite your lip and chance another look at the android.

There is no response. Your smile strains. 

“Guess we’ll have to run for it.”

You’ve barely taken four steps out from under the safety of the scaffolding when he speaks your name. You come to a stop with a sudden jerk, nearly tripping right over your own two feet as he grips the back of your coat. Of all the nerve-

You struggle fervently in his hold but you might as well be fighting against a rock, because he is not letting go. He doesn’t even look bothered by the effort of holding you there. 

You hiss. 

“Connor!”

Your head jolts back to glare up at him, but it backfires majestically when you only manage to get blindsided by a rather well-aimed droplet of rain. You bristle like a feline, stumble back, wrench a hand upwards to rub rapidly at your left eye. 

He says your name a second time, entirely too calm, and you wonder just how bad your fist would break if you punched him right in that infuriatingly handsome face. 

“This better be good.” You wipe water from your forehead. The pouring rain seems to disagree. “This really better be good.”

Connor shifts. It takes you a second, but you eventually realize that the sensation of tiny fists atop your head has gone non-existent. You slowly look up. Connor has an umbrella. 

You can’t decide between ‘that’s surprisingly big’, and ‘what the actual hell’.

“What the actual hell.” 

He moves closer, careful to properly adjust the umbrella. You stare. When did he get that? Nevermind when, where in the world did he manage to pull it from? If he’d had it the whole time you would have definitely seen it at some point.

“Alright, Mary Poppins,” you say in disbelief. “We’ve been skirting around, but something’s wrong with you. It’s time to spill. And while you’re at it, please try not to make me go insane.”

He inhales. You cautiously inch forward, displacing a muddy puddle with a squelch. Exhales. In a rush he mutters something under his breath, low and swarmy. It’s too quick for you to catch; the possibilities scatter almost infinitely. Your eyes meet. And then it doesn’t really matter what he said anyways, because he’s kissing you.

Well. That’s a little bit of an exaggeration.

His lips are hovering, only barely brushing yours. The intention, however, is crystal clear. Through the muddled haze of indecipherable fog that is now your mind, you detect his breath rolling over your skin, the slight give of his nose as it touches your cheek. He’s shaking. You can feel it. Not intimately, no, you aren’t touching, still too far apart, but you can sense the way it trembles the air, makes you itch to claim the space between you and render it nonexistent.

Somewhere, distantly, a light-bulb rears its dusty head. The strange tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon that has been tugging at the end of your subconscious dances into the dark. You chase after it, reach out. Suddenly, with a force you are not prepared for, it crashes over you, knocks you flat on your feet. Your heart stutters. Oh.

Oh.

You laugh.

A snort gets caught somewhere in your throat. It’s an odd, wet strangle of a noise - something trying and failing not to progress to a giggle. Your eyes slip shut for a moment, fluttering incessantly like broken shutters while you attempt to calm yourself.  

Just when you get a leash on your misplaced humour, Connor, oh beautiful, beautiful Connor, hums. The sound is one he’s made several occasions before, a familiar mixture of curiousity and intrigue. Without even looking, you just know his brows are slightly furrowed, eyes wide and blown a bright warm chestnut.

His chest rumbles, and then promptly, hesitantly, after an hour of absolutely nothing at all, “Is that a normal response to this display of affection?” 

Your control absolutely snaps. You shake, collapse against his jacket for fear of doubling over as you laugh. And boy, do you laugh. Unrestrained, without so much of a care in the world. Connor patiently waits for you to regain your senses.

“Connor,” you say, and god you can barely speak, “is this - did you - “ You wheeze. “Is this a cliche?”

Connor has the decency to look embarrassed. He clears his throat. 

“I knew it. I freaking knew it.” You grin. “When?”

His eyes shift with a sigh. “Precisely twenty minutes and thirty-three seconds into the last case. Though the Lieutenant insists I’ve been, ah, how did he put it, ‘head over heels’ since you were first introduced on the homicide team.” 

“Really?” You are absolutely beaming. “I’ve got you beaten.” Connor’s head tilts, and you answer his unasked question. “Been harboring a good ol’ crush from before you even knew I existed.”

“That is…unexpected. You hid it rather well.”

“Oh shut it. Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not-” A glare. “I may have perhaps speculated a few suspicions.”

You feel faint embarrassment but get over it quickly. It’s not unexpected. You are already easy to read human wise; it would be incredibly naive to assume that the perceptive android had been blissfully unaware of your feelings towards him. 

“But even so,” you continue, gleefully dragging out the topic. “A kiss. In the rain. At night. Tell me you bought the umbrella specifically for this too.”

“You are experiencing quite a large amount of pleasure from this.”

“Oh you so did. Is that why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

Connor frowns. “The probability of receiving reciprocation from you, or of any inclination of a positive outcome whatsoever was not certain to be 100 percent. Despite that, I fully intended to carry out my actions. This lack of logic clashed with everything my internal programming dictated, and so I was left in a strange discord of troubling anticipation.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you were nervous.”

 “…Yes.” 

“Still doesn’t explain why you resorted to this though.”

Connor slowly rubs his hands together. You’ve been around him long enough to know the motion is absentminded, perhaps a habit of comfort while he thinks. His LED flickers yellow, circles twice.

“I did not have many references of choice, so I consulted the vast expanse of the world wide web for relative advice. I had thought resorting to one of these ‘cliches’ that are seemingly so highly regarded would aid.” 

“Yeah?” You smile. “Well it didn’t work.”

Connor visibly deflates, and you nearly melt right into your shoes at the oblivious puppy dog expression forming. 

“And it will never work,” you say softly. You rest a palm on his chest, your gaze filled with warmth. “I just want you to be yourself. That will always be enough. You will always be enough.” 

Connor doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels like he cannot breathe, though his oxygen regulators are in perfect working order. He doesn’t understand why the palm you’ve rested right above his primary thirium pump seems to sear heat through his clothes, though that is clearly illogical. He doesn’t understand why he is suddenly hyper focused on the way your left eyebrow arches at a 0.1022222repeating degree difference from your right, the faded blemish on your cheek, the wrinkles cresting underneath your eyes in your smile. 

The exact moment when your relationship slots into the lover category registers just outside his field of vision, and an unexplainable thrum of something runs straight through him.  

His own hand reaches up to curl around yours. 

“I am not well experienced in the roles of romance.” Words are escaping him, but he’s not really paying attention. His focus is on the thumb he is using to caress over the cold knuckles of your fingers. Back and forth.

You snort. 

“And you think I am? Not a fat chance. I’m stringing this up as we go along. Besides-”

Connor sees your eyes narrow, catches the way your voice off-tilts. Usually he is clueless towards human inflection, but not this time. It’s an expression he recognizes, one Hank frequently employs whenever he teases him. The next thing you say is bound to be-

“-I already knew you sucked at romance. After all, you called that poor excuse of whatever you did earlier a kiss.” 

You’re baiting him. You are baiting him and Connor thoroughly allows himself to be pulled along.

“Oh?” His eyes widen, ever so innocent. His thumb is stroking the inside of your palm now, and when you shiver, it definitely isn’t of the cold. “Are you saying you didn’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say that,” you muse. “But it wasn’t a kiss.”

“I apologize,” He murmurs. “Then,” his hand separates from yours to trail the line of your jaw, “may I kiss you?”

You swallow. His usual hoarse voice is even raspier, like cut pieces of silk over gravel. He looks at you from under his lashes, and the game you two play shimmers as you see the genuine uncertainty in his eyes, the lack of confidence.

You tug him down. “Yes.”

Now, you’re no Connor, but you have some analytical skills of your own, if you do say so yourself. Comes with the job description after all. (Though men like Gavin Reed sometimes make you lose faith in the qualities of a detective, and really on a whole the human race.)

But Connor. Well. 

Connor kisses like he fights.

You cannot think of a better comparison. Every move is executed to the finest detail: the hand cupping the back of your neck, the slow insistence of his mouth form fitting yours. Calculated. Demanding. Your knees buckle as you lose your grip on reality, but he’s already there, already knowing, already predicting, drawing you up against him.

The umbrella hits the ground, long forgotten.

The rain is frigid, but he is so warm, and why are you surprised, why should he be cold, he is working, functioning, existing. He is a living–

-fingers press at the base of where your hairline ends and your neck begins, applying a pressure gentle but firm enough to make you tilt your head back, upup, at a perfect angle for him to change the slant, to drown you deeper, and for a beautiful second your thoughts completely blank out-  

–being and nothing less and everything more. He kisses you again. And again. Unhurried. Deliberate. You keen. 

It’s not fair that he technically doesn’t need to breathe, and for the first in the history of ever it seems the two of you are on the same wavelength because he lets you go. He’s pulling back and placing you on your toes and-

and-

And you’re laughing. Again. 

Connor blinks. “Please don’t make this an occurrence every time we kiss, Detective.”

The laugh is a bit too breathless to really be a laugh, but you make it work. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Your raincoat is horrendously big, and your eyes must be pink from the water, and he is ridiculously composed, and you are a mess and also-

“I can’t believe you were worried about this.” You punch him in the arm. You’re entirely sure it hurt you more than it hurt him. “Let’s go. I know you’re waterproof and all but we really shouldn’t test fate.” 

His lips twitch. “So I’m assuming the task was performed to your satisfaction?”

“Ha ha, very funny. Now come on, if you show even one sign of shorting out I’m sticking you in rice.”

You lead the way, dragging him by the hand. He watches as you interlock his fingers with yours.

He smiles.

“I always accomplish my mission.”

“Well you better accomplish some chicken soup pretty soon because I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a cold from this.” 

[go-diane-winchester]

How incorrect tagging contributes to SPN ship wars

@radioabsurd left this very impassioned rant about the behavior of SPN fandom in the main tags.  Let me point out that there are things here, that I would say are correct.  There are things however, that I am not happy with.  I am not certain about this person's sincerely.  Let me put it that way.  I edited bits that contained blasphemy because I don't want that nonsense in my post.  I also added bold font to the bits that made me smirk.  Other than that, everything is as it appears.  My commentary is in italics and brackets.  Thank to doll face for forwarding this to me. 

Supernatural Fandom

If you hate the actual angel Jensen Ackles, don’t talk to me, like my shit or any of that.

[A polite suggestion for people to ignore her]

If you hate the actual angel Misha Collins, fuck off and don’t talk to me or like my shit.

[Disrespecting Misha warrant the use of profanity.]

If you hate on the actual angel Jared Padalecki, please block me or you will get blocked.

[A please is thrown in, so the politeness is back.  Also, note the order in which these actors are mentioned.  Any other person would mention Misha last.  But no, Jared gets last place, like an afterthought.]

I’m so tired of this hate people give each other in the fandom with the ship wars and shit.

[Honey, I would like to point out that all the hate, especially the violent ones directed to the actors, comes solely from the destiel shippers.  Everyone else retaliates.]

I FUCKING ship #destiel and #cockles, but in no way do I think J2 are not important to each other. They are the bestest of friends. In no way do I hate on Daneel, Vicki, or Gen(They are all actually queens).

[Well, at least you agree that the Js friendship is hated on by the Misha shippers.  The wife hate is a landmine.  Do people hate the wives because they ship the boys or because they genuinely found nothing to like in the wives?  I don't really care much for an actor's relatives.  But if the boys are happy, whatever rocks their boats.  Besides, who they marry is not my business.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.  If I like them, I would have no reason to go overboard and call them 'queens'.  But that is just my opinion on the subject.  Julia Roberts was never called a queen, despite her success.  Just pointing that out.  Do I think they deserve any hate?  I don't know them well enough to answer that one.  But if you put yourself out there, you are going to get the bad attention with the good.  As long as the hate doesn't extend to death threats, I say freedom of speech.  Just tag it appropriately.] 

Even If I don’t ship #wincest I’m not going to FUCKING hate on somebody for their ship because guess what! I FUCKING ship #thorki and #t'cherik and wow I must be such a disgusting human being but these are freaking fictional characters and aren’t real! (Not talking about real people ships)

[This seems friendly enough until you get to the second mention of this topic.]

If you don’t agree with something please FUCKING get over it and block it or ignore it.

[You should see the replies I get, from hellers I call out of tagging incorrectly.  They don't block or ignore.] 

Jeez, and all the ships hate on the wives and the other people on the show, not just one ship. XXXX, why am I even in this fandom.

[I concur.  There are haters of ships and people.  But unless you go into their appropriate tags, you will never find them.  Guess who tags all their hateful filth, including calling Jensen a homophobe, in the main tags? Yep, the destihellers.]

Also, if I get freaking hate on shipping #thorki (they’re not even real brothers okay, get over it) or #t'cherik (in the comics theyre not cousins thank you very much) and your in the supernatural fandom then your actually the problem.

[I don't know how to tell you this, but Sam and Dean are not real brothers either.  They are fictional.  So basically, in an offhanded manner, you have kind of insulted the people, you are telling others not to insult.  Just thought I would point that out.] 

haters get on my nerves 👌🏽

[You are absolutely right.  I cant stand them either.  Especially the ones who tell Jared to kill himself and threaten to kill Jensen.  All destihellers.  I don't deal with haters as much.  Because I believe it is your prerogative to hate whoever you want.  As long as you tag it properly.  But I draw the line at death threats, because the hate has moved into malevolent territory.  That is why I don't go onto the anti tags.  Let them hate.  But when possible felony becomes an issue, I speak up.]

(there might be spelling errors but that’s life so what eves)

 [True!  My typing is atrocious.]

My issue with this rant: 

I appreciate the effort.  Don't get me wrong.  But there are issues presenting themselves here.  This rant is addressed to the entire fandom.  The problem is that is doesn't differentiate between the instigators and the retaliators.  There is an assumption, within the rant, that everyone should like the same things in the same manner without personal opinion or prejudice.  And to be honest, that kind of uniformity in human psychology, is unheard of in human societies.  We are all different.  We cannot be expected to enthusiastically love anyone or anything unless we have been given viable reason to.  The other baffling thing on this post is the anti Vicki tag.  Interestingly, there is no other post with this tag.  As far as I can see, nobody hates Victoria.  People are generally quite indifferent towards her. 

So you are basically giving fandom and onlookers the impression that this woman gets hated when, in reality, she doesn't even force a blimp in the radar.  The only time I saw her being discussed, was when I watched in bemused amazement , as J2 tinhats were comparing her to one of the Js wives and talking about how much more nicer she was and how they respected her more.  So those particular J fans don't hate Victoria.  Do Misha's fans hate her?  If so, how are they tagging their hate.  I haven't seen anything. 

You post makes no mention of actor harassment, cast and crew harassment, threats of arson and vandalism and actual attacks on fans by other fans.  There is a different between someone saying ''I cant stand Vicky'' and ''I am going to burn Vicky's home down, while she is still in it''.  A similar arson threat was sent to Jensen by a Misha fan.  Receipts for this, and other threats, are on my blog.  To my logic, death threats are a more pressing issue than hate.  All of the aforementioned are by destiel shipping and Misha stanning perpetrators.  To people who are not aware of this reality, if they read this post, they will assume that everyone in the fandom is hateful.  They won't know about the truth.  So no, all the shippers do not have an equal hand in trouble making.  There are some that are worse than others. 

Finally, your tagging is contradictory and troublesome.  Tumblr recognizes 30 tags only, but the most effective are the first five.  For a post of this nature, you shouldn't have tagged Danneel twice.  Danneel has fans from her other endeavors. like One Tree Hill, who are not SPN fans.  They don't need to see this drama, which has nothing to do with them.  So that tag is a general/main tag and you should stay out of it.  The last two tags are for ships outside our fandom, and basically what you have done, by including those tags, is exposed outsiders to the dirty laundry that this fandom is known for.  This is where SPN's faulty reputation comes from.  ''Mentions'' is also a very widely used external tag.  It has not an SPN related tag, neither is it related to this post.  Tagging this post under that tag, also brings this fandom into disrepute.  The tags on this post, does this fandom no favors.   

The post is not a hate post, [you are reprimanding all and sundry over putrid behavior] and therefore does not belong in the anti tags.  If you are trying to right the wrongs of this fandom, do it in the main ship tags, for the whole shipping section of fandom to see.  You cant tell people how to feel about someone.  And posting this particular rant in the anti tags, is essentially you telling those people not to hate whoever they genuinely cant stand.  If you are talking about a ship, tag the ship.  If you tag your post #anti Jensen, you are telling people, this post is about why I hate Jensen.  That is the point of that tag.  That is not exactly what your post is about, is it?  Now I tag in the main tags, and not in the anti tags because I tackle any subject that is going to cause a death threat to reach Jensen.  That is the policy behind my tagging system.  Your tagging system doesn't seem to make sense.  You cant tag Jensen and anti Jensen.  These two tags contradict each other. 

Don't tag the characters on a TV show, because that is not what your post is about.  People who are non-shipping fans of Dean Winchester, don't want to be bombarded with this shipping-related rant.  This is not courteous to them.  Also, if you misspell a tag, the tag has consequently been rendered useless.  So there is essentially no point in having that tag.  Just replace or remove it.  Its not that hard.  Also, I don't think you know what a bibro is.  There are non-shippers amongst them.  So why are they a part of this ship-war rant?  You can't tag SPN or Supernatural, because the entire fandom doesn't need to see this.  The entire fandom are not shippers.  You were not addressing the entire fandom, so leave them out of it.  In fact, your title is incorrect too. 

Judging by the crux of your post, the tags should have been:

Destiel, Wincest, Cockles, J2 Tinhats, Wincestiel  

All the ship names are present.  So anyone who is involved with these ships will read them and understand.  If you want to add more tags [which I don't recommend] then add the following:

Sabriel, sastiel

I would tag these two ships because they are ships that three actors are a part of.  I don't recommend tagging the actor's names, because the post is not about them, but about shipper behavior.  They are merely mentioned as the motivation behind the hate, by your logic.  Their names are still general tags, and people searching Jared Padalecki might hate shipping and this post will give credulity to their hatred because it is invasive and makes shippers looks bad....well, worse would be the apt word to use.

I am conflicted about the motive of the rant.  No, I don't believe any of the actors are ''actual angels''.  They are human and flawed, some more than others.  I don't think their wives of sovereign control of anything.  But I appreciate the effort in bridge-building.  The doll face that sent me this, found the wincest remark offensive, but I am willing to give your the benefit of the doubt on that one, because I assume it was an honest mistake.  I am not a wincest fan though, which I why I am reacting a little differently.  Perhaps, because I am not emotionally invested. 

P.S.:  Speaking of wincest, someone told me that even wincest ship posts are being tagged with the actor's and character's names.  I don't care what you ship, but by using general tags, you are not driving on your lane.  Stop mistagging.  Unless Jared Padalecki is really pregnant with someone's lovechild, don't tag him in an mpreg post.  I don't think he wants people knowing about his baby bump.  Tag politely.  Tags like Top!Sam and Bottom!Cas are NOT general tags, so that is ok.  But Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, for example, are general tags, so keep your shippy stuff away from it.  Wincest fans, its your job to clean house. 

The reason why I am lenient with the wincest ship and J2 tinhatters, is because they are not repeat and frequent offenders, and they don't send death threats to actors.  In fact, if you search the wincest tag, you find a small handful of offenders, and a destiel offender who tagged her post weecest and wincest even though it was about destiel.  Now, why do that? 

Respect the tags.  Respect the actors.  Stop behaving like SPN owes you something, and keep your fantasy on your side of the fandom.

Please excuse the typos.

[kokoronopikuseru]

Review: Pixelogue

A little late to post this, but I intend to share details and reflect on the editing of Pixelogue, in hope that it will help editors and organizers who need advice. (If you’re not interested in editing info, just skip to the last section)

Details are in Chronological Order -

# Software:

I designed everything from scratch in AE, with all the stock plugins. I had to relearn everything I used to know about AE; I last used it extensively in Pixelophobia years ago and furthermore, I wasn’t really used to the new CC interface. I had to seek tutorials for every simple effect I wanted to execute. It sure was difficult for me. For english speaking editors, this is probably your main tool if you intend to do simple video animations and graphics.

# Planning: Song Choice

I had intended to use a Korean Indie Track as stated in the collab details page. Sadly, the music really didn’t fit the music. I spent about 3 days rearranging the clips in every permutation I knew. I didn't really manage to find an arrangement that suited the clips. The unfortunate reality for editors is that we are usually at the mercy of the submission clips. I finally chose something Tigres’ described as “Shawn Wasabi-like”. It was a major challenge for my editing since I wasn’t exactly used to creating work that is colourful or cheerful rhythm-wise. I had to have major re-planning if I wanted it to work out.

# Editing: Draft

My process for editing clips always starts from arranging the combos. I used Vegas for this since, well, it IS a video editor, and it is pretty fast in processing clips. For learning purposes, here is the link of my very first draft (https://youtu.be/kRDwXTnxXGw). I think it’s necessary to spend a longer time at this stage, so as to visualize how its gonna turn out. And of course, to ensure that this is the flow of the CV you really wanted. By this stage, you should also have planned out the fillers (as denoted by the empty instances in the draft) and roughly how long your intro and outro will be. 

# Editing: Intro

I didn’t really want to make something too kawaii. But yet, I can’t really escape the colourful imagery I imagined the intro to be. I compromised and made something that alternates between some modern TV visuals and old school TV visuals. 

Modern TV; I was greatly inspired by those colour wipes that vloggers used for their youtube channels. It was one of those common and simple transitions that AE users exploit regularly. I found ways to incorporate it in a radial and a rotating wipe. The font animations were all plugins in AE that I found. I wasn’t gonna edit every alphabet like the previous CVs I made.

Old School TV; I took most of my inspiration from the adjustment knobs on analog TV. I found that it goes well with the subtle static noise in the music track. Hence I employed selection circles, and drew an actual knob (not sure if you guys realised that was what it was supposed to be). I also warp bulge the static background as well as the words, to emulate the concave glass distortion present in analog TVs. 

And in the final burst of images, I made the clips alternate between 16:9 and 4:3, just to show the juxtaposition between modern and old school.

I really hope people notice all these small details. I didn't feel it was impactful enough, but I guess these are probably cool facts for those who are interested.

# Editing: Combos

I always render my CV in a 16:9 resolution, simply because it IS more pleasing to the eye now that computer monitors are no longer square. My preferences have yet to change. However, with regards to the clips, I have read enough indirect feedback that the cropping wasn’t something that most people liked. I took this criticism pretty seriously, and thought it was time for me to hop on the bandwagon, to try the new-age style of CV editing.

I had to put in much more effort to retain a 4:3 combo in a 16:9 visual space, with an additional need to create a secondary background layer. But because of this decision, it gives me more freedom to explore options of panning and perspective movements.

I create a blurred and expanded duplicate of every combo as a background. I thought it was great that I could retain the original colours and give the clips a “floaty field”. No one has done something like this before, so it was instantly cool and hip. It also gives more room and potential to play around with the transitions too. Eg, fading the background before the clip (transition from Tigres to popte). Interestingly, all the backgrounds all have different properties, namely position, scale and degree of gaussian blur. The reason was really because some clips were seizure inducing due to their extensive movements. I thought it would be nice to vary all of them, which adds a unique aesthetic touch to all the combos.

I am pretty new to editing in a 3Dimensional Space and camera tracking. I was intending to do something as simple and fluid like Talentica Neue. Well, I learnt it wasn’t as simple as I thought. I had about 5-6 Parameters of camera movements, and frankly till now, don’t really know what each one does. I highly suggest for editors who wanna try 3Dimensional camera tracking, watch more tutorials and try simple practice projects. Learning how to utilize it properly will extensively improve your editing game.

Oh yeah, remember to use the graph editor for EVERYTHING. Acceleration and Decelerations have too much aesthetic value to miss out on.

# Editing: Outro

Because I have spent so much time on all other parts of the CV, it’s only responsible for me to put in some effort on an outro which I am usually way too lazy to make. Yeah guys, it’s important to make outros too guys. I used the same warping and television static effect from the intro to retain a sense of continuity. It's simple and nice, I liked it.

# Combos; (Warning: Difficult to Stomach) 

I’m gonna be a little too frank about this- the quality of combos I received were lower than what I usually work with (I love my UPSB submissions tho). I guess this is the huge downside of organizing sign-up CVs to an international community that is slowly dying and regressing. It was even harder when most didn’t submit on time. I had only 7 clips by the deadline. I wanna admit that I had moments regretting that I was organizing Pixelogue as a majority-signup CV. Some of the filtered combos either didn’t fit the style of CV (really sorry padrace) or was just bad due to the lack of effort. Mostly bad.

But here’s the heart of the matter, this might really reflect the standard of the international community. 

I’m not sure if I am the only one who feels this way, but I feel that most of the current international CVs can be separated into two groups, the JEB invites, and the rest of us. Don’t get me wrong, I do acknowledge the high standards JEB spinners deliver. But I’m not comfortable with the fact that they don’t submit better materials since their combos are guaranteed to be featured, and mainly because the quality of an international CV is often a 50/50 hit or miss (could be lower). Who can blame them really. Even so, their names are usually enough to make the lineup look great. 

> Pixelation was an all JEB sign up CVs. Pixelarium, Pixelophobia, Pixelography, Pixeholic were invites-only CVs, a mix of international and JEB guys. <

Most of my CVs have a JEB last spinner or a JEB dominant lineup towards the end. (coffeelucky 6th is also guilty of this). Clearly, you can see how much we use japanese invites as a way to boost the “quality” and hype of our projects. Yeah, sucks to admit it, but I am sure these are common sentiments shared with many of us international CV editors for a pretty long time.

Well, its not something I’m really contented with. In fact, I don’t like the way this becomes the norm. 

More recently, around the time I released “Express 12.1.18”, I really wanted to believe in us - the international community veterans, the borderline pen spinning retirees, that we can perform. I didn’t wanna believe that the international community was any inferior. I finally felt ready to edit something solely from our pool of people. I can accept that I don’t have to rely on japanese invitations to superficially enhance the CV. We have enough to make something great ourselves. 

I fondly assert that the international community does NEED this kind of confidence. Otherwise, we will always be second rated. Seen as the lesser beings. Y’all JapEn tiering meme-lords know what I’m talking about. I personally  needed this to prove to myself that it will work out for us even when the scene looks pretty shitty now. And yes, I did feel better after this.

# Conclusion

It didn’t really garner much attention especially when there was a flood of CVs being released around the time it was released. But I do love it a lot. It’s made up of familiar spinners that I cherish, good combos that I’m thankful for, and finally, an editing that drained my whole summer holiday away. Yeah, I do love it a lot. Definitely one of my proudest work.

[orradev]

A deep dive into my NES toolchain

Status update

I haven’t posted much lately but I’ve been working steadily on the game. With most of the major engine systems in place I’ve been focusing on writing and building out levels. 

Months ago I did a full pass on the game in a graph paper notebook and blocked out all of the major areas for the facility. I highlighted key item locations, characters, major plot points, and more or less designed the structure of the game. 

Now I am spending most of my time actually building the rooms I designed months ago. Art, story, and gameplay are all starting to come together. To that end, I now have to be very specific with regards to what characters appear in each room, how the rooms connect, what the dialog is for characters and item descriptions, and so on.

A heavy stick

The toolchain I have in place for building levels is really complicated. It requires me to use a mix of Windows and Mac tools on different physical machines. I have one tool for creating the art, another for building level graphics, another (custom) editor for building level collision and entity placement. Then, all of that gets complied into the game code which has to be updated with dialog and any custom code required to make the level do stuff. It’s a bad environment for creative work as making small changes can require a whole round trip through the pipeline.

So, to help the situation, I’ve been using Twine as the main tool for writing the game:

I can treat each in-game room as a passage in a twine story. Passages have connections which match the room connections in the game. I arrange the passages in the Twine editor in a way that mirrors the physical layout of the in-game rooms. 

This let’s me write some dialog then run through a sequence of rooms and see if the dialog flows properly. What happens if a player skips a room or visits characters in a different order? Does the dialog still make sense? Does the tone fit?

I can write and edit and delete quickly without fear of messing up a bunch of work. Then, when I’m happy with how things feel I can start doing the level layout knowing I shouldn’t need to make many big changes.

Designing level art

Level builds typically start in Aseprite and are really fluid. At this stage things are still really flexible. 

This is the initial concept for the Shower level:

I need to make sure that for any given room the choices I make here need to:

Be renderable with a maximum of 13 colors

Use only tiles from one of my tilesets

Any new tiles added here have to fit within the available space of my chosen tileset

When I have something here that is starting to work I usually try to get it in game as soon as possible. Palette colors on the NES can be wonky and inconsistent depending on what is doing the rendering so a choice that looks great using Aseprite’s NES palette might look meh in Fceux and eye-scorching in Nintendulator or real hardware. It’s common to make a lot of round trips at this stage to find a good balance without just using the same palettes everywhere.

Laying out NES background data

The next step is to rebuild the level in NES Screen Tool using tiles from the tileset. This tool generates data which the NES uses to load background graphics which make up the level you walk around in.

Here’s what the Shower level above looks like when built out in NES Screen Tool with some palette adjustments:

You can see the tileset used to build this level on the right. That is the holding_cells tileset. It still has a lot of room for cool new art.

At this stage I will usually do a lot of tweaking to the position of various items in the level. I may add or remove props or inspiration might strike and I’ll create all new sprite art to include in the level.

I will also try lots of palette variations here as it’s very fast to do.

When the level layout is more or less complete, I export a bunch of things:

A .map file for the level which I use when making edits

The background data for the level as a C header file

The updated CHR data for the tileset

The palette for the level as a C header file

A bitmap file of the tileset in case I want to edit it in Aseprite

A bitmap file of the level layout to use as a reference in my custom map editor

(If I could make only one change to my current process it would be to make the above steps scriptable.)

Adding map data

Next I add the level to my SCP project in my custom map editor. I import the bitmap I generated previously and use that as a guide to mark up the level with collision information, NPCs, and triggers for dialog and game events:

That data gets exported into the game as C code which looks like:

The big block at the top defines the type of every tile in the level (e.g. walkable, non-walkable, trigger, exit, etc.). 

Some tiles (up to 16) can also have 8 bits of extra metadata. This is used so exits can define where they link to and so triggers can indicate what procedure should run when they are activated.

The spawns define the type and location of entities and pickups in each level.

Finally the level state is 8 bits of persistent data which is kept in memory for every level in the game. The level editor uses this to mark which doors are closed and which are opened but game code can use those bits to keep track of pretty much anything. Those bits can be read even if the player is in a completely different level. Simply put, this allows a switch in one level to open a door in another level.

With just the above done I can load the level in game, walk around, and check the art.

Hooking it up

To get the dialog and triggers working I need to add two files. The first is the dialog definition for the level:

The dialog is all hand-written and is based on the dialog in the Twine passage for the level. Here is where I make sure that each line actually fits in the dialog box. I also add markers for quotes (\x26), line breaks (\x01), and page breaks (\x02).

This is where Twine is such a life-saver. Making changes to dialog in C code with all of the control characters is a giant pain in the ass.

The second file I add contains the scripting for the level:

The details of this are destined for another overly-long technical post. For now, the important thing is this is where we hook up the dialog lines from the previous file to the triggers we defined in the map editor.

This all has to be done by hand because dialog can change based on the game state and activating a dialog will, in some cases, trigger actions to happen in the world. This is the code that ties all of that together.

The result

When you put all of that together you get a finished game level:

It can take several days to go through all of the writing, design, and art for a small simple level like this. Then, the technical buildout and revisions typically take one or two evenings of head-down work.

It is a lot of effort but I’m pleased with the results so far.

If you read all this, wow, thanks for sticking it out. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.

[allenmendezsr]

The Migraine And Headache Program! - Blue Heron Health News

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The Migraine And Headache Program! - Blue Heron Health News

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    I used to suffer from migraines.

Not headaches. Not bad headaches. Not even severe headaches.

Migraines.

Shocking, excruciating, life-denying, throbbing horrible migraines.

The kind of pain that frequently made my eyes water – if not cry.

The kind of pain that drove me to my bed… my place to hide away, to escape from the world and soak in the torment that was my regular migraine attack.

My migraine history wasn’t much different from many other people’s.

They started off bad. Then, over time, they got worse.

At first they were throbbing pains on one side of my head. Sometimes they were not too awful. Occasionally they were manageable.

As months and then years rolled by they steadily worsened.

They became more frequent.

They also lasted longer.

When they first started they’d be over by the next day.

But they eventually ran into more than two days – and those two-day migraine attacks disrupted so much in my life.

As time wore on my neck began to hurt.

My sensitivity to light and noise became more acute.

Originally I would sleep the migraine out in my own bed. But as they worsened even the slightest sound my partner made caused me pain.

In the end at the onset of a migraine I had to retreat to our second bedroom… to be alone and away from everyone and everything.

Another thing: I’d always felt nausea with my migraines.

But that nausea eventually became actual vomiting.

Nobody likes being sick – but I really, really hated it.

Strangely, of all the horrible symptoms of my migraines it’s the fact that I am no longer sick that makes me most happy!

Migraines Changed My Life

As my migraines became worse my life also changed as a result.

At first, when they had been less severe, I had simply dealt with them as they arose.

As the migraine wore on I would shut myself away in our spare bedroom, close the door, pull the curtains and almost literally hide under my duvet.

I’d close my eyes and try to will the pain away.

The onset of the migraine slowed me down. The migraine itself more or less rendered me useless. And the day or two afterward left me drained, sluggish and deflated.

Those headaches robbed me of 3 or 4 days of life.

The things I couldn’t do, the plans I had to suddenly cancel….

But I quickly found it wasn’t just the migraine itself that affected my life.

The fear of them – the realization that they could hit me at any time – influenced so many of my plans and my actions.

A simple example:

I couldn’t take a job where I had to be alert and on my toes all day. Or where I would be dealing with customers.

It had to be a job where – putting it bluntly – I could be quite ill from time to time… and then make up for the lost work hours in my own time.

After all, who would hire me if my migraine actively hurt their business?

The sheer unpredictability of my migraines made even the most ordinary things difficult.

I could drive short distances – but longer distances always created a problem. What if I became ill at the other end of my journey? Who would I call to pick up me – and my car?

My productivity – both in my personal and work life – was heavily knocked by my migraines. At times I simply couldn’t do a thing for myself or for anyone else.

One of the worst things about migraines occurs when you’re not even experiencing one.

It’s the fear of them.

Because just not knowing when to expect the next attack… wondering if a migraine will suddenly pop up and ruin a busy day at work, a trip to the cinema or a social gathering with friends….

The mental effort of dealing with background worries about when it will strike next was exhausting in itself.

Those years of suffering migraines were difficult years indeed. I don’t miss them!

So Many Migraine Remedies – But So Little Success

There are millions of migraine sufferers and, before I finally cured mine, I searched everywhere for some sort of relief.

But although there’s tons of information out there I gradually realized it all pretty much falls into just two categories:

Take meds, get treatment – medical stuff, in other words

Avoid the triggers that turn on the migraine attack in the first place

There’s a hierarchy of treatments – each one a step on from the previous one.

There’s lots to try, plenty to fail at and, of course, an array of potential remedies to spend your money on.

I tried plenty. I spent plenty of dollars too.

And no matter what I tried there was always something else I could have a go at just around the corner.

Not All Doom And Gloom?

Of course, some medications do work – in some ways.

There are so many variations of migraine sufferer. And, with so many medications on the market, it’s inevitable that sometimes a sufferer and a medication are just right for each other.

A match made in heaven, you might say.

The sufferer doesn’t usually get rid of the migraine. They still attack when they least expect it – but the meds make it more manageable.

For the rest of us though it can be a case of either soldiering on through the pain and nausea – or just sitting it out in darkness and silence until it goes.

And as I found, the meds rarely work in the way we’d like them to.

As in, getting rid of the migraines once and for all.

Sure, plenty of individuals get some relief from their symptoms from time to time.

I knew people whose drugs – if taken at the earliest stages of a migraine – would help make the migraines less severe than they would otherwise have been.

The results though are unreliable. Sometimes those same people will take their meds early and… the migraine rushes in anyway.

As if they’d never taken them at all.

My doctor warned me about taking too many drugs for my migraines. He pointed out the irony that taking too much medication had the side-effect of… medication over-use headache.

A headache caused by my headache medications!

I did laugh when he told me that. But it’s actually not that funny.

Migraine Remedies Are Hope-And-Pray Remedies

In fact, during my battle with migraines I developed a theory: that when a condition has so many medicines – and absolutely none of them work reliably for all or even most sufferers – then the condition itself is not properly understood.

When I suffered migraines I would try the various medications and treatments one at a time. And with each I would just hope – hard – for relief.

I quickly discovered that ‘hope’ is not a good strategy.

I also realized that the drugs companies are actually ‘trying things out’ – and, at best, getting temporary, short-lived successes. Their offerings were hit-and-miss – unreliable and uncertain.

And they’re tackling symptoms, not causes. If they successfully tackled causes then migraines would end.

But people like to pop pills because that’s easy to do – and we’re conditioned to believe there’s a pill for every problem. And pharma likes to sell pills because they make a lot of money.

So pills it is.

For A While I Thought Tackling Triggers Was The Key

On the brighter side, I found a lot of conversation around what triggers migraines.

Triggers are emotional, physical, environmental or dietary events that set your migraine in motion.

There are literally dozens of different potential triggers. Most people’s migraines are affected by just a handful of them.

The trick is to work out the few that affect you most – and then do your best to avoid them.

The avoidance of triggers was my favorite approach.

It’s free of cost to do because it mostly requires you to stop doing certain things.

More than that, it held out the hope of a cure for my migraines. If I could just pinpoint the one or two things that caused my migraines I could simply make sure I never did them again. And everything would be fine after that.

If only.

Addressing triggers does make some sense. For about half of us there are things that we can identify as prompting the migraine to start.

The thing is: how do we know what they are?

Easy Said, Not So Easy Done

Identifying your personal migraine triggers can be quite difficult. For some of us our triggers are almost impossible to spot.

For sure, if you can spot one or two triggers then it can make a world of difference.

I should know. When I first started out trying to cure my migraines I tried everything imaginable. And triggers seemed to me like a good place to start.

Turned out it was.

I found a guide to triggers online – with some very helpful advice on how to spot and deal with my own. The guide was created by a gentleman by the name of Christian Goodman.

I worked through his guide and two things happened:

I realized I had a couple of primary triggers mostly around posture and stress. As triggers these two are pretty difficult to address – especially the stress. But at least I knew. At least I had something I could do about my migraines.

I now had a tool that I could use to reduce the effects of my migraines. True, I was never able to prevent them – but if I got things right they were sometimes less intense. Given the awfulness of my migraines anything was better than nothing.

It was genuinely uplifting to suddenly have some control over what was happening to me. Even if I couldn’t actually stop it.

But here’s the thing.

Managing triggers is very difficult.

First, they’re hard to identify – and I suspect that I still had one or two unidentified triggers for my own migraines. Often, you think something is a trigger but it isn’t – it’s actually just a symptom.

Then, some triggers are just very difficult to manage.

If your trigger is in some of the food you eat then if you’re lucky enough to be able to identify that food then you can simply stop eating it.

It’s more difficult if it’s a whole food group – dairy, say, or wheat. But it’s still doable. You can cut these things out.

But what if your trigger is something harder to get a hold of… more difficult to properly address?

Background stress perhaps. Nervousness. Low mood. Energy loss.

This kind of stuff is normal.

It’s part of everyday life for everybody who has a job or a family – or a job and a family.

For some people a level of anxiety or stress is just their normal default state. It’s part of their make-up.

For almost everyone, we find that such triggers are a common part of our lives at some point. Whenever things get tough, when we work harder than usual or when we miss out on some sleep… that’s when the trigger comes into play.

Managing them is extremely difficult.

But Triggers Are Part Of A Dangerous Migraine Myth

The medical profession is united in one thing: they admit they don’t properly understand the causes of migraines.

Almost everything that’s ever said about migraines in the medical press has nothing to do with curing the migraine itself.

We talk about triggers – and managing them can help.

We talk about meds – they’re expensive but have some beneficial effects sometimes for some people.

But meds deal with a migraine that’s either about to happen or is in full flow. Meds are usually too late.

And triggers – which are good to identify and are where most people’s hopes lie – are not the actual cause of migraines.

Let me repeat that.

Because too many people think that if they get rid of their migraine triggers then they’ve tackled their migraine’s cause:

Triggers are not the cause of your migraines.

Here’s a way of thinking about this that makes it clear:

Why can some people drink a bucket of coffee and feel nothing while someone else drinks a cup and suffers 72 hours of migraine hell?

How come Bob gets exhausted after a couple of stressful days at work but recovers after a good night’s sleep… but John – who works with Bob and had exactly the same experiences – goes home to wild thumping head pains, ghastly light sensitivity and vomiting?

How come Bob is refreshed the next day while John has to shut himself away for 48 hours to cope with his blisteringly painful headaches?

It can’t be the triggers. Can it?

Both had exactly the same experience at work. Both came home tired and stressed.

So both had the same ‘triggers’.

Yet one is fine the next day while the other has severe migraines.

There must be something else at work here.

If you read Christian Goodman’s trigger guide that I mentioned a moment ago you’d realize that migraine triggers are everywhere. They are food triggers, psychological triggers, dietary triggers, environmental triggers…

Endless triggers for migraines.

Most of life is a migraine trigger!

We all encounter migraine triggers almost every day of our lives.

Yet only some of us actually get the migraines.

I used to get migraines regularly. You still do I’m guessing.

But my sister doesn’t get them. My best friends don’t either. My boss never has a headache, let alone a migraine.

They all experience many of these typical migraine triggers though.

Migraine triggers without the migraine.

What on earth is going on here?

The answer is this: the triggers aren’t your migraines.

They aren’t even the cause of your migraines.

If you think they are then you’ve been duped.

Consider this:

The trigger is triggering something isn’t it? So if we address that something… aren’t we getting to the root of the problem?

I think so.

Actually, no.

I know so.

Why do I say this with such certainty?

Because I found out something a short while ago. Something that I was able to make use of to put paid completely to my migraines.

It’s not exactly a secret because so many people do it now but… it’s not widely publicized by the medical industry.

You want to know why?

Here’s a clue: it doesn’t require meds, potions or surgeries. It doesn’t cost a penny to do it. There’s nothing for sale.

Let me tell you about it.

The Missing Link: What Cured My Migraine Forever

Notice I say ‘cured’.

Not ‘reduced’ or ‘helped’ or ‘made it a little better’.

Maybe what I learned will only reduce your migraines. I’d have been happy with that. But it ended my migraines. I haven’t had one for 14 months and counting.

For me this revelation has been one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Here’s what happened:

As I mentioned earlier, I had been using a guide written by Christian Goodman to identify my migraine triggers.

And it had certainly helped. I narrowed down several psychological and one possible dietary factor (some types of cheese) that seemed to set off my migraines.

By addressing those factors I managed to reduce the severity of some of my migraines. I still got them but sometimes they were noticeably less intense than normal. I was grateful for that.

Better still, my recovery was quicker. I previously had migraines up to two days at times. What I learned from Christian’s guide made sure I never got a two-day migraine again.

That guide is no longer available. But you can still get it directly from Christian.

I’ll tell you how shortly. It won’t cost you anything either.

But Then… Along Came Something Astonishing

One day, Christian contacted me and asked me if I would be part of a small trial group for some exercises he’d developed.

These exercises weren’t your usual keep-fit kind of movements. They were designed to tackle migraines at their root cause.

Christian told me that the intention wasn’t to relieve migraines but to eliminate them.

To get rid of them once and for all.

There were no drugs involved nor did I need to go to a gym, a therapist or buy special equipment. None of that.

He asked me, Would I like to take part in the trial?

Of course I would!

Before he sent me my initial instructions he told me what the thinking was behind these new exercises.

I was absolutely astonished by what I heard.

First, Christian explained how migraines worked.

Discovering The ‘Bit In The Middle’

The detail that matters is easy to understand – and it’s this: a migraine is the end result of a very short chain of events.

It’s a sequence basically and at its simplest here’s how the sequence works:

trigger > thing that gives you the migraine > migraine

The trigger affects something in your body. And it’s that something that causes migraine pain.

The trigger is the agent, not the cause.

It’s that something that is the real culprit.

It’s the bit in the middle that holds the key to your migraine pain. And its cure.

Because saying the trigger causes migraines is like your team winning a game and me claiming they won because the referee blew the starting whistle.

Yes, the starting whistle got things going but something else – in this case the team – won the game. The team was the cause of the win.

Migraine triggers are like referee’s starting whistles. They get the thing going – they trigger it. But the migraine itself is caused by the ‘something’ that the trigger sets in motion.

The medical profession either addresses the trigger – to prevent or reduce the migraine – or the migraine itself – usually drugs to reduce its effects.

They ignore the middle bit of the sequence – the ‘something’ because… well, they don’t know properly what it is.

But here’s what Christian told me:

He explained that oxygen therapy had been tried out for people suffering very severe headaches – migraines included – and that the therapy had some notable successes.

The therapy hadn’t cured the migraines but…

… given an oxygen canister and a mask patients in the middle of a painful migraine experienced genuine improvement in their condition. The improvements were quick – although disappointingly short lived.

But what Christian spotted was that migraine might simply be caused by lack of oxygen getting to the brain.

If that’s so then if you tackle that before a migraine even started then… haven’t you just cured migraines?

Not reduced it or improved it. But cured it?

Now, doctors already had oxygen-deprivation on their list of suspects for migraines. There was already a suspicion that a shortage of oxygen to the brain was a cause of migraine.

The experience of people directly inhaling oxygen at the point they were suffering migraines strongly supported this theory.

And migraine forums contain stories from people who say that if they go running – very fast – at the onset of a migraine then they can head off its worst symptoms and perhaps not have such a painful episode.

Running pumps blood hard around your body and into your brain.

And with that blood comes lots of oxygen…

So Christian wasn’t claiming to have invented the migraine cure he now wanted me to try out.

But he explained it to me this way: if oxygen was reaching my brain in sufficient quantities naturally – before there was any sign of a migraine – then doesn’t the problem of oxygen-deprivation disappear?

If your brain was always getting its supply of oxygen naturally then the cause of my migraine – lack of oxygen to the brain – is gone.

Isn’t that why some people get migraines and others don’t – because some people have healthy supplies of oxygen getting to their brains while others don’t?

Christian thought so. As it turned out, I believe he was right.

But do we really need oxygen tanks and masks to oxygenate our brains?

Do we have to run fast around the track in order to head-off a migraine attack?

No.

Thankfully we don’t.

Sure, oxygen tanks and running are both ways of getting oxygen to the brain.

But if the oxygen is already there then they aren’t needed.

And that’s where Christian’s program comes in.

Christian told me about the ways in which oxygen is prevented from properly reaching the brain in our everyday lives.

He was surprised to discover that the causes of this are varied but well understood.

There’s no mystery to any of this.

Two Plus Two Equals Four!

All he did was link it all together.

If specialists suggest that migraine agony is caused by lack of oxygen to the brain….

And the causes of lack of oxygen to the brain are pretty well understood…

Then doesn’t solving the oxygen-to-the-brain problem also cure migraines?

Christian answered this with a ‘Yes’ – and his uniquely simple migraine program was born.

And the program is indeed very straightforward: it’s just a set of movements that you perform at home.

I tried them out. All of them.

And they worked.

And Here’s How

So how did they work?

Was this some kind of magic?

Some sort of secret exercise discovered by ancient wise men deep in some south American jungle?

No, not at all.

This is what I learned from Christian:

Our brains need a lot of oxygen to function properly.

Some 40% of our oxygen intake goes straight to the brain – or it does if you’re healthy.

Oxygen arrives at the brain in the same way that it arrives at any of our body’s organs: it’s carried there by our blood.  

Many leading migraine specialists believe that migraine headaches are caused by a restriction of the blood supply to the brain. Restrict blood to the brain and you’ve restricted oxygen to the brain too.

Oxygen-deprivation in the brain is a serious matter – and the body takes it very seriously indeed.

It rushes blood to the brain – and so we experience a sudden and rapid increase in blood pressure inside the head.

And that’s where the pain comes from.

It’s as if your brain is literally swelling up against the inside of your skull, trying to burst out.

Which I remember clearly as being my experience of migraine pain.

Every pulse of my heart felt like a shockwave blasting through my skull, so painful that it made me wince.

Specialists Have Known This All Along

None of this is new.

What Christian has done is simple but very, very effective.

He’s linked the medical facts and addressed the cause of the low-oxygen.

Again, low blood oxygen has a number of causes – most of which are fairly well understood.

In a nutshell, we don’t breathe in properly. We don’t breathe out properly. And the air we do get into our lungs doesn’t adequately get to our organs and brain.

Again this is all medically verified.

Here’s what happens:

We don’t breathe in properly

I must admit, I initially found it difficult to believe I wasn’t breathing properly.

It’s such a natural thing to do – how can I be doing it wrong?

Turns out that millions of people simply don’t breathe in deeply enough to inhale sufficient oxygen to meet their bodies’ needs.

There are two reasons for this:

First, too many of us sit down way too much – at home, at the office, in cars.

Sitting for extended periods is now widely regarded as almost deadly to our health.

Amongst many other downsides it causes our posture and breathing infrastructure to weaken and sag due to lack of proper use.

Which physically ruins our ability to take in large, healthy lungfuls of air.

Second, modern life brings its own stresses and strains. Long hours, tight schedules, family responsibilities, job demands, not enough sleep, money concerns – all the usual stuff.  

And when we’re worried and tense or worn out and sleepy then we naturally breathe in less deeply. Our bodies are more tense and our breathing is medically proven to be less efficient.

We mostly don’t notice this happening to us – but this is exactly what is happening.

So again we’re reducing the amount of oxygenated air that gets into our lungs – and then into our body and our brain.

We don’t breathe out properly either

I found that pretty hard to believe too.

What could be easier than breathing out?

But I found out it’s true – and it’s a deadly failing.

When you breathe out you’re expelling carbon dioxide – a waste gas that is the natural consequence of breathing. Carbon dioxide is a poison.

But modern life – sitting watching tv, riding in the car and so on – plus general tension in the body means we’re not properly expelling carbon dioxide.

Which in turn means some of that carbon dioxide just sits in our lungs – which is where it absolutely ought not to be.

And while it’s there it’s taking up space where oxygenated air should be.

The oxygen we do get struggles to reach our brains

Turns out not breathing properly isn’t the only problem.

There are more than 70 muscles in the neck, face and head region.

Tightness in these muscles isn’t uncommon. If enough of them are too tense for too often then they actively restrict blood flow to the brain.

And in our modern lives muscle tension is widespread. Fatigue, stress… and looking down at laptops and smartphones creates huge tensions throughout our shoulders, necks, faces and heads.

We don’t always notice it because we’re so used to the stiffness.

It’s been with us for years or even decades.

But those tight, constricted muscles make it very difficult to get oxygenated blood to our brains. The tightness acts as blockages – valves if you like that have been turned to the ‘off’ position.

I know this was true for me. One of the very first things I noticed when I tried Christian’s exercises was just how tense my neck, face and head muscles had become.

And just how lovely it felt when they became relaxed and soft for the first time in years!

Nothing New Here

I’ll repeat this for good measure: Christian Goodman hasn’t single-handedly discovered the cure for migraines. He’s not claiming to have done that.

What he’s done is taken widely accepted medical facts and drawn them together to create what is, in many respects, an obvious remedy for migraines.

His program – called The Migraine and Headache Program – makes use of these well-understood facts about how our bodies do – and don’t – work.

For me, The Migraine and Headache Program addressed each problem area: first, not breathing in and out properly. And then oxygen not being able to reach my brain properly.

In a short period of time those problems had gone away.

And when the problems were resolved so was my migraine. Because they were causing my migraines.

Nothing Complicated Here Either

The exercises in The Migraine and Headache Program are gentle and mostly stationary. There’s no jumping around or any kind of vigorous activity at all.

Better still, as the exercises take effect and your migraines subside you can perform fewer of them. Today I do just enough exercises to keep the problem at bay.

In fact, Christian calls them ‘exercises’ but I call them ‘movements’.

To my mind, exercises are things you work hard at that make you sweat.

Whereas these movements are not hard work and they don’t make you sweat. In truth, most of these movements involve very little movement at all.

It’s mostly lots of easy standing or laying in one position or another. My kind of exercise to be honest!

But there’s power in these movements. Because they’re loosening muscles that have become tight and constricted… so tight that they’re stopping oxygen-rich blood getting to the brain.

Much of the program’s effectiveness comes from the fact that it focuses on small areas of the body that you wouldn’t normally give much thought about.

I was a little surprised initially at the exercises. I’d done yoga for more than a year so was used to difficult, strenuous stretches. If anything would have eased tense muscles I would have thought yoga would have done it.

Turns out that’s not so.

Several of Christian’s exercises were mostly ‘lying around’ exercises. They required almost no effort. More than once I nearly dozed off doing them.

But that’s pretty much all there is to it.

Once muscles have been loosened and relaxed blood flows much, much more easily. And when blood flows more easily it is much better able to carry oxygen to your brain.

And when your brain is getting all its oxygen it doesn’t create migraines.

So you can trigger all you like. If the cause of your migraine is no longer there then there’s nothing there to trigger.

Hope And Prayers Answered!

I am forever grateful for the day that Christian Goodman asked me to try out his Migraine and Headache Program.

I did everything he told me to and the results came quickly.

Migraines still occurred for a very short while.

But the very first migraine after I started his program was noticeably less severe.

It started mid-morning. And it wasn’t pleasant to be honest.

But it didn’t reach the throbbing agony I’d become used to – and it was mostly over by late evening.

I’d never had a migraine resolve itself so quickly.

Over the next three weeks I did all the exercises exactly how he told me to.

My next migraine was a shadow of its former self. I actually continued with my day stopping only for an hour or so when it peaked. But it was a far cry from what I was used to.

But it was a special migraine for me. I’ll always remember it.

Because it was the last one I ever had.

14 months later and while the memory of migraines hasn’t faded I have long stopped fearing the next one.

Because there isn’t going to be a next one.

I had already tried everything before being offered the chance to try out Christian’s program.

As I mentioned earlier, handling triggers brought some relief. But his exercises were a revelation for me.

And they have been for the several hundred people who have followed this program since then.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that these simple movements transformed my life.

I’m simply not the same person I was before.

Then, I was a migraine sufferer.

Now, I’m free.

It’s your turn now.

You can have the same program that I got. It’s tried, it’s tested. And it’s easy.

I didn’t need to go out and buy any equipment.

I didn’t need to join a gym – thank goodness.

Not a cent on meds. Not a cent on treatments.

No more doctor surgeries, clinic waiting rooms or consultants’ rooms.

I just stayed at home and did the exercises at odd moments during the day.

One exercise I’d do in the kitchen. Two others I’d do in the bedroom after my shower.

A couple I did while watching television.

Life didn’t stop for these exercises. I just incorporated them into my daily routine.

Now, I do one or two a day at most. I vary them throughout the week.

By maintaining that basic flexibility and balance I know I’m protecting myself for the rest of my life.

I really couldn’t be happier.

Yours is waiting – click below and get it now.

Send me my guide please

There’s Nothing To Lose

Well, there is – migraine agony.

But you might have concerns that all that pain you’ve experienced can’t be cured by some simple exercises.

I would understand that. I was quite skeptical when Christian first presented me with his program.

Over time I’d spent way more than $3000 on a variety of medications, adjustments and other treatments – just to cope with my migraines.

Yet, for the price of 4 weeks of pain meds, he was suggesting he’d do what the specialists had failed to do: cure my migraines.

I believed in him because his Triggers Guide worked so well. But even so, it was a bit of a stretch.

Of course, now I know that all along he knew what he was doing.

Because his remedy was neither made-up or invented by him.

It was, in fact, a scientifically-valid approach to addressing migraine pain.

What Christian has done is put his remedy into a clearly-explained and easy-to-follow program. Everything you need is in the guide.

It’ll work.

If within 60 days of purchasing the program you’re not rid of your migraine misery then he’ll give you your money back. No questions asked. You have absolutely nothing to lose.

Something Extra…

I told you earlier that I first heard of Christian Goodman when I bought his Migraine Triggers Guide.

Following his advice I uncovered at least two major triggers for my migraines – and probably a third (cheese, of all things).

Managing those triggers helped me reduce my migraines attacks from 2 days or more to little more than a day. And their intensity reduced with it.

You might want to address your triggers while you wait for the migraine exercises to take effect.

The guide cost me $97. Today, you can have a copy for free. It’ll come automatically when you order your copy of The Migraine and Headache Program.

This is a limited offer – best to act now so you don’t miss out.

So – how about you?

I don’t know how long you’ve suffered with your migraines.

Maybe it’s reached the point of being truly awful and life destroying.

Possibly, like I once was, you are fearful of the next attack… anxious about how it will disrupt whatever you’re doing at the time… nervous about how you’ll cope.

But hopefully it hasn’t reached that stage yet.

Which means you can tackle it before it does.

Get your copy of Christian Goodman’s ‘Migraine and Headache Program’ now.

It costs the same as a typical month’s migraine meds – but works forever. And unlike your meds, this program comes with a 100% money-back guarantee.

Get your guide – and your free bonus Trigger Guide – here:

Send me my guide please

Nothing will change until you get Christian’s guide. But when you do… then it can all change.

And it can change quickly and beyond recognition – as I found out for myself.

Remember: these exercises are devised around sound medical principles. There’s nothing mysterious about them.

But the effects are truly out of this world.

Your copy of the guide is here – and you’ll get Christian’s ‘Triggers’ bonus too. It will be with you in minutes so don’t miss out:

I need that guide now

You’ve tried the standard remedies and – my guess is – they are having little effect or no effect.

Certainly, they’re not doing the job you want them to do. You wouldn’t be here, searching for migraine remedies if you were truly satisfied.

And that’s the experience that too many of us have.

That’s how it was for me once upon a time. But I had a stroke of luck and found my lifelong cure. Let’s see if it’s your lifelong cure too.

Get the program now. Get the bonus now. And get your money back if they don’t work.

You deserve this. You need it. Putting it off won’t solve a thing. Be good to yourself.

Click below and start your recovery from migraines.

I’m ready – send it