#And the time crunch aspect of many of those when things get busy would break me by itself

[ailurinae]

Look, it's probably just not possible for me to do any of those. Or to the extent I could do them I would probably completely and utterly burn out and have to quit. I've never held any of those jobs and there is good reason for that.

For sure waiter or other food service would not be doable. I actually tried to help out a friend at a food stall once and within an hour I fell apart had to just leave. Someone else had brought me but wasn't there, I just walked home, several miles.

Retail, perhaps I could do, at least for a time, if I didn't have to run a checkout line. I could not do checkout/cashier.

Call center/help desk is closest to something I have done, I have been tech support, but it was never call center, it was always onsite, and for internal. Yes people could call us, but it was more common to get stuff via the helpdesk web interface, email, or just people walking up. And while we might solve things over the phone or web/email, it was usually perfectly possible to go the the system having issues. And sometimes required, for hardware issues, or hardware upgrades, etc.

And that kind of tech work is very different and much much easier than a pure call center situation, and doubly so if it a call center for external customers. Internal customers there is usually a way to remote into people's machines even if you can't physically go to them. External customers, that is usually not possible. And while I *can* talk a user through just about anything, it is often vastly harder than if I can remotely or physically access the computer myself. The level of communication needed is extraordinary, and when it is verbal, it is immensely draining.

Things like server-side application support, and system admin are much better for me, I am better at setting things up, at maintenance, and at figuring out and fixing hard problems, than dealing with huge numbers of relatively simple problems like end user desktop usually is.

you cant move up and become a manager or anything either you will always be at the bottom most entry level position. however hours will be as typical for that position and you still get the 100k. basically i just want to know which of these jobs you’d be happiest doing if you didnt have to worry about anything outside of work lol

[the-firebird69]

This is what he's talking about of course with the polarisons smaller but a two-seater and the tires would be smaller but do they be proportion like this and we would have some sort of cowl in the front and the wheel wells would be a shaped a little wider and rounder they look radical this looks radical and it should. Who's a faster version of them a lot of them don't have the wheel well right you have to use one or go slower and he says if you look at this at the angle it's what the car looked like it's true they did look like this it was awesome and they had side pieces to go down in the back and they're all caves you put your tire on has a window inside and a trunk and you can put stuff in it and they did during the race they would use it and it cuts it from getting covered with dirt and other stuff it's one of the best vehicles they had and they took them out of the race cuz they're too fast or something and that's why and we found out and it was the max.

I want this car in production today and he says it's really quite simple you go to the truck guys and you have to make the car out of the trucks and I see what he's saying you don't have to use a car and turn it into a four wheel drive vehicle it doesn't make any sense they're already built and all you do is take your four wheel drive vehicle and you turn it into a car it would be heavy though I have all this junk on them so he says take the chassis then but really he's right the trucks are pretty beefy so you take the truck chassis and motor in the soup it up and you put the sand filters and you put on the car body and his little profiles why and it's so reason for having a big truck really it's a business making this and he says that the bodies on these trucks are pretty much all different than the original it's true and lighter we're going to go find these guys we have some ourselves and Hammer a deal out and get some chassis and we know they have chassis and they're trying to get rid of themac

Mac daddy

We have a lot of chassis that would work and he says those small SUV would work great and that's what we're going to look at too and this the small pickup trucks and regular SUV and everybody uses those but yeah those would work too and pull them out people to want the car and we're going to start and you can even make them like the Tumblr that would have sulf erecting aspect to it and we would get to it

Ben Arnold

Oh this is the hydraulic sticks to come out and they push it over and you can push it yourself the rest of the way it's really a no-brainer okay it's not tough you have to make everything sturdy but it works when you make it out of the plastic Saturn type stuff that's an idea too and really it'd be cheap and it would work you have a roll cage and enclosure

Mac daddy

We're going to try making these and with the plastic it's a great idea it just pushes back out and you just go on and heck we get dents and stuff all the time it's such a pain in the ass everything keeps breaking it says you make the pan a little thicker if it dents it's still pops out but it's it's tough stuff it really is we've seen in accidents and it comes out I've just been to his massive accident we're going to start this up

Bja

Usually they don't that that's their problem and we're going to start with the Polaris and I think we can use these panels and make it a road vehicle too and what you just make it a little stronger and it still come out it'll be kind of crunched it'll come out so you can actually function and roll it back over and we're going to try it with the Polaris and Can-Am we have so many of those in your uses and so many people sitting around and they get into the stuff I'm going to send it out

Mac

They said we needed it so they're saying to people that they don't and they're trying to get that going but a lot of people are going to do this it's a smart thing to do the Saturn cars that had this plastic would actually work as a dune buggy body and enclosure you just take the body off and you put it onto a Polaris and you modify it and you put the plastic wheel well and there you go and you have lightweight seats and you're very sparse interior either pull everything out but it would work

Thor Freya and it's a symbol about Saturn

Olympus

Wow that's pretty cool it all happened right in front of me and with me helping and I was the Saturn girl and I'm going to different planet

Hera one that's around Saturn

Zues it looks like I'm going to make one of these at some point and I'll drive you home and I hope you do Zeus Hera yeah I hear you you jerk LOL good

[unrestedjade]

Baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for and that get increasingly queer-navel-gazing and self indulgent because the horrible space goblins have consumed my brain:

- Mobile ears, because if hearing is so well developed and important to them they should be able to aim those big stupid radar dishes. Also because then they can emote with them and that's cute. THE AESTHETIC IS PARAMOUNT.

- Since they canonically sharpen their teeth with chew sticks and sharpeners, their teeth must grow continuously. So I submit: subcultures that let certain teeth grow out as a fashion/political statement. Ferengi punks and anarchists with 5" tusks. Ferengi with all their teeth filed flat (mom and dad HATE it).

- Corollary to the above, most of their teeth are crooked. At the least, they don't share our fetish for straight teeth. What if their teeth are deciduous, and there's no point in trying to force them into perfect alignment, since they'll just fall out and get replaced? So like, sharks but their teeth can also grow longer with no limit. WHAT HAST EVOLUTION WROUGHT ON FERENGINAR :V

- Parents nagging their kids to sharpen their teeth "or they'll grow up into your brain and you'll die :)"

- Personal space? Don't know her.

Okay I need a cut because there's too many now. WHOLE SOCIETY OF GAY HOMOPHOBIC UNCLES AND AUNTS GO I HAVE A PROBLEM

- I can't remember who on here put forth the idea of them having retractable claws but Yes. :3

- Pushing back against the worst canon episode a bit but: relative ear size being the only obvious sexually dimorphic trait, and even that having enough of a gray area that the only way to be 100% sure you're talking to a male or female Ferengi is if you do a blood test. Unless they're intersex! *shrug emoji*

- This is why they're so fanatical about gender conformity and their Victorian "separate spheres" attitude to men and women's roles. Capitalist patriarchy is fragile! And as artificial to Ferengi as it ever was to Humans! (self-indulgenceeeee about gender shiiiiit)

- You know how with domesticated rabbits, the rabbit getting groomed and paid attention to is the boss? Yeah. Go ahead and paint your bestie's nails, just don't be surprised if she cops a little bit of an attitude with you from then on.

- Their fight/flight/freeze/fawn instincts skew heavily toward the last three, and what a lot of other species read as annoying sucking up is the Ferengi in question feeling anxious and unsafe. Especially if they don't feel integrated into the group. Even being at the bottom of the pecking order is better than not being in the flock at all.

- If they DO opt for fight, it's ugly and typically their last resort. Bites or scratches will get infected without intervention-- microbes that their immune system can handle could cause big trouble for aliens. You might wanna check for full or partial teeth that break off and get lodged in the wound, too.

- Too many of these are tooth related but I don't care. :B More teeth stuff: you know what else has teeth that grow constantly? Puffer fish. Likewise, Ferengi can chew up mollusk shells as easy as potato chips, and they need the minerals for their teeth. (Imagine grandpa Sisko offering Nog a crayfish for the first time and watching as he just...pops the whole damn thing in his mouth and crunches away...)

- Their staple foods seem to be grubs and other arthropods, high in protein and fat. I've unilaterally decided their cuisine also involves a lot of edible fungi, ferns, plant shoots and seeds. Gotta get those vitamins. Overall flavor profile leaning toward umami, vegetal, and fresh herbs, and pretty mild (or "delicate" if you wanna be snooty about it, which a Ferengi probably would let's be real).

- Not much sugary food. I'm basing this solely on Quark's aversion to root beer as "cloying". Which could definitely just be his personal preference, but most of the people I hear hating on root beer cite the actual sassafras/sarsaparilla flavor (saying it tastes like medicine) not the sweetness. Nog might be the weirdo outlier for being able to enjoy it.

- Their home planet isn't bright and sunny, so their eyes are better at discerning shades of gray in low light conditions, with relatively weak color vision. Which could explain why they dress Like That.

- Conversely, human music has a reputation for stinking on ice because a lot of it is juuuuust lightly dissonant or out of tune because we can't pick up flaws that small. Ferengi can, and it drives them up the *wall*.

- Music? So many different kinds. Traditionally, maybe lots of percussion and winds, and water as a common component of many instruments to alter pitch or tone. Polyphony out the ass. Some of the modern stuff is an impenetrable wall of sound if you're not a species with a lot of brain real estate devoted to processing sounds. Pick out one melody to follow at a time.

- Yes, back to teeth again I'm sorry. It's a sickness. At some point in their history, pre-chewing food was just something you did for your baby or great grandma as a matter of necessity. Possibly your baby gets an important boost to their immune system and gut biome from your spit. At some point takes on a more formal intimacy aspect and gradually drifted from something all adults and older kids do to something only women do. Your husband and older kids have perfectly functional teeth, but you love them, right? =_= (Think old memes about husbands being useless in the kitchen if little wifey isn't there to cook, but even more ridiculous. Ishka was right about everything but especially this. Thank you for making your family chew their own food, Ishka. Not all heroes wear capes. Or anything!)

- How did they get started on the whole men: clothed vs women: unclothed nonsense? My equally stupid idea: men just get cold easier. Those huge ears dissipate a ton of body heat. Cue Ferengi cliches like "jeez, we could be standing on the surface of the sun and my husband would put on another layer." At some point, again, this got codified and pushed to ridiculous extremes in the name of controlling women and keeping everyone in their assigned box, to the point that women just have to shiver if they really are too cold and men have to pass out from heat stroke if the alternative is going shirtless, because That Would Be Inappropriate.

- Marriages default to five years, but they're also the only avenue for women to have their own household or any stability. Plus their religion places no emphasis on purity save for pure adherence to the free market and the RoA. So, curveball to the rest of their patriarchal bullshit: female virginity isn't a concern in the least. Bring it up and they'll rightly side-eye you.

- Family law is absolutely bonkers and lawyers that specialize in it make BANK. I feel like custody would default to the father usually but oh wait, the maternal grandfather has a legal stake in this, too, and your next father-in-law is asking HOW many kids are you dragging into my daughter's house, etc etc. Growing up with a full sibling is way rarer than growing up with half or stepsiblings, since it usually takes both men and women two or three tries to find someone they vibe with. (Not love, unless you're super cringe.)

- A misogynistic society is a homophobic society. Imo those flavors of shittiness just come in pairs. Homosexual behaviors are fine within certain parameters (aka "always have sex with the boss") but not on your own terms. To add spice, bisexuality is their most common mode (because I'm bi and these are my hcs for my fics I'm not writing, so there), but capitalism demands fresh grist for the mill so you better get het-married and pop out some kids you lowly peons. You have a choice so make the proper one. :)

- Corollary to the above, that doesn't keep all kinds of illicit "we're just friends with quid-pro-quo benefits for realsies" affairs of every stripe and every gender from going on everywhere. Many Ferengi have a lightbulb moment somewhere in early adulthood when they figure out their dad's business partner or the "auntie" who visited their mom every month had a little more going on.

- Plus there's way more gender non-conformity and varying degrees of trans-ing than the powers that be have a handle on. Pel isn't unique, even if most would have to somehow make it out into space to be able to thrive.

Damn a lot of these are just my personal bugbears plus THE GILDED AGE BUT WITH HAIRLESS SPACE RODENTS ain't they

- Women can't earn profit, okay. But lending or "lending" things to each other isn't commerce, riiiiiiight? To be assigned female is to master navigating a vast, dizzying barter/gift economy. Smart boys and men leverage this, too, and there are splinter sects that view this as the purest expression of the Great Material Continuum.

- Of course plenty of women make profit anyway, and just do their bast to dodge the FCA. The tough thing about insisting on using latinum as currency is that cash can be so hard to track, you know?

- Because of the RoA, guys are discouraged from doing favors or giving gifts without setting clear expectation of getting some return on investment. This can twist into an expression of friendship (and of course women do it too), and the ledger will keep cycling between debit and credit among friends for decades. A common mistake aliens make is to tell them recompense isn't needed without explaining why, or return their favor or present with something that zeroes out the debt. The Ferengi will assume you want to break off the friendship. (I cribbed this from dim memories of an African studies course I took in 2007 and whose textbook I know I still have but I can't frigging find it...)

- Flirting, they do a lot of it for a lot of reasons. Roddenberry made it clear that they're just straight up pretty horny, but there's no reason it can't pull double duty for building alliances with other people, smoothing over feuds or disagreements, or cementing friendships. Ferengi who are ace and/or sex-repulsed are possibly viewed similar to the way we'd view someone who's "not a hugger/not big on touching" and if they flirt just don't get offended if it doesn't go any further; aro Ferengi don't garner much comment aside from an occasional "wow how badass, never falling in love with anyone."

- where to even start on making sense of the Blessed Exchequer??? Like seriously, what is this literal prosperity gospel insanity, I need to force myself to re-read Rand and like, some Milton Friedman for this shit. Help.

- fuck I'm probably going to actually do that, RIP me...

[lokilickedme]

Hulu and Do You

A Hammer Of The Gods Jake & Tate Shortfic, Part One

Part One - The Worst Kind of Man Rated M for language and adult themes - no sex yet (and I stress yet) 1703 words Takes place a year after the events of Hammer of The Gods

I’m posting this here for now because I’m not in the mood to accidentally start another longfic and AO3 tends to do that to me.  This will be two parts with the second coming later.  Written under the duress of a headache and not edited or proofread, so...whatever’s down there is what ya get.

I’ll reblog later tonight with my tag list attached.  Slide under the cut and lets go :)

“Geezus fuck kid, take that to your mom.”

Tate flinched, that same old kneejerk reaction to a raised male voice that she’d always had, a holdover from another time, another place, and most definitely another man.  But the man in the next room hadn’t really raised his voice, had he?  No, it was just that she was so damn used to it happening that the reflex had become too deeply ingrained to not be automatic.  It made her feel ashamed of herself for not being over it, just a tiny bit.

Jake didn’t raise his voice.  Not at her, not at her kids, not ever.  She’d never really actually heard him raise it, not in anger, not even when he was threatening a creatively bloody demise toward her long gone ex the day he’d popped his jaw damn well near clean off his face.

Jake wasn’t a yeller.

But he was definitely a curser, and her son had committed the unforgivable by blasting into the room he was working in to offer up an empty GoGurt tube in trade for a new one.

It wasn’t unforgivable in this house though, and it wasn’t unforgivable with this man.

Only The Ex.  Once upon a time.

Jake didn’t mind the kids coming into his study room; he wasn’t insanely nuts about them being around him, but he had no particular dislike of it either, other than when one or the other of them handed him something sticky.

Like the youngest just had.

She couldn’t blame him, to be honest.  GoGurt tubes in the hands of a four year old weren’t something she enjoyed dealing with herself, and Jake - well, Jake wasn’t the daddy type.  But he was a good man, albeit a filthy-mouthed one, and the words hadn’t even been the slightest bit irritated sounding.  Just more of an Ew, hell no.

So why the flinch?

She’d been trying to sort that in her head for the past year, and the only conclusion she’d reached was the uncertain possibility that she was simply afraid that one day Jake would become like The Ex.  Angry, irritated, controlling, condescending.  Disapproving.  Abusive.  She had nothing to base it on other than the fact that it had happened once and her luck, though vastly improved since the night she’d grabbed the kids and walked out with nothing but Jake’s tuition money in her pocket, couldn’t possibly hold.

Or could it?

Perhaps Pete had been right when he’d summed his friend up in a single sentence - He might look like he’d snap your neck for a half smoked cig but he’d just as soon pay you a nickel for it.  It hadn’t made sense at the time, but a year of dating the man had put a bit of clarity on it for her.  Jake was quick to anger in attitude only.  For the most part he was levelheaded, quiet, capable.  He had a low tolerance for idiocy and a deep appreciation for common sense, and what he put into the world by way of surliness he made up for in an intense intelligence and observant nature that dictated he simply deal with problems himself instead of waiting for anyone else to solve them.  And now, after all this time, she knew something not many other people knew.

The angry attitude wasn’t real.

Jake Harper was a fraud.

He didn’t hate the world...he was just uncomfortable in it.  Whether it was shyness or impatience or what his sisters referred to as “a near fatal case of attention deficit coupled with just too damn smart for this world”, she’d probably never figure out.

Not that it mattered.  She’d long since sorted how to work around it and keep that furrow-browed scowl from being used on her.

Jake was easily distractable...and he didn’t like to watch TV.

At all.

And that was where Tate’s secret weapon came into play.

He’d been studying a lot lately.  Way too much, but he had finals coming up.  She shouldn’t even be here, not really, not while he was working on such a time crunch with such a massive class load, but they hadn’t seen each other in a week aside from a quick lunch on Tuesday and a late night Facetime sexup the following evening.  It hadn’t been difficult talking him into letting her come over.

Or talking Pete into picking up the kids and taking them to the park so she and Jake could be alone for a couple of hours.  But he was running late and the kids were making a lot of noise, and now there was a drippy GoGurt tube incoming.

“Pete, come on.”

“Your wish is my command, Tatertot.”

“Geezus!!”

Her face went a bit warm, hearing that crude word pop out of her own mouth.  She’d been around Jake too much, he was rubbing off on her.

Rubbing off on her.

The alternate connotations of that phrase added more heat to her cheeks but thankfully Pete didn’t notice.  He was too busy grabbing her son up and tossing him haphazardly into the air, a horrifying habit she’d gotten used to.

“Sorry, runnin’ late.  Little girl, come on lets go!”  One huge paw came up to gingerly remove her son’s tiny fist from where it was twisted in his long unruly hair.  “Ew.  Is that GoGurt?  Better be blueberry, the cotton candy looks shit on me.”

Good old Pete.  If Jake hadn’t been the one to break the lock on her bedroom window - euphemism or no - things might have been a little different at this juncture of her life.  But Pete was a better friend than Jake would have been if the roles were shifted, and she was grateful for the big brash Viking’s helpful companionship.

Especially now.

“Take some frozen peas for the ducks.”

And then they were gone, and she was left standing in the doorway to Jake’s study room, looking at his broad back and swooning just a little bit over the contrast between his long dark hair and the light blue of his tee shirt as he hunched forward over his desk, deep in concentration that she knew didn’t come easy for him.

“You want to take a break?  Kids are gone, we could watch some TV.”

She knew he didn’t like TV, he didn’t have either the ability or the desire to put that much focus into something recreational after devoting so much effort into keeping his head on his studies.  He turned his head just slightly to the side, not looking at her, but acknowledging her presence.  “That show you like, they put the final season up.”

“Yeah?  Which one?”

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his back.  “That whack one about the preacher and the vampire.”

“You’re kidding?!  Want to start it?  I can call us in a pizza.”

He turned his chair to the left, coming around slowly to face her.  There was something dark and slightly wicked in the twist of his lips that shot a shiver through her.  “Do that.  I’m gonna finish this chapter and then I’m gonna Hulu and do you.”

“Ooh...and here I thought the whole Netflix and chill trend was going to just pass us by.  I mean...”  She took a step back, exiting the doorway, letting her hand stray purposefully toward the top button of her shirt.  “You’re always so busy with school and you have that personal vendetta against Netflix and all - “

“They sold Doctor Who to Amazon.  Fuck ‘em.”

“Well yeah, can’t disagree with you there.”

His eyes passed over her briefly, lingering for just a moment on her hand where her fingers toyed with the button.  It was enough.  Jake didn’t ogle, though there were times she wished he would as some sort of a courtesy warning shot before he made his intentions known.  There wasn’t a lot of preamble with him.  Straightforward and to the point, always.

Good old Viletongue.

She had no complaints.  Because she always knew where she stood with Jake.

But today...today she wasn’t planning on standing.

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

He was bored already, she could tell.  He was a scientist at heart, which she found humorous - Captain Curseword, the filthiest-mouthed man she’d ever met, the guy who could take a toddler’s boardbook with eleven words in it and turn it into a foul diatribe so intensely crass it made you step away from him for fear of the wrath of God accidentally hitting you while aiming at him - this man was possessed of an analytical mind so sharp and detail oriented that anything shy of a scientific documentary lost his attention within minutes.  His chosen profession suited his intellect, the chemistry aspect of pharmacology more than enough to give his mind something to work on all the time, but it ran so counter crossways to the physical side of him that sometimes she found herself wondering if he’d been accidentally housed inside the wrong body at birth.

In fact, sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t quite human at all.

She’d thought him an angel once.

And then she’d slept with him and realized he was, in fact, a god.

A god that was about to fall asleep less than ten minutes into Preacher episode one season four.  She looked over at him, next to her on the couch with his head back on the cushions, those stormy sky blue eyes half closed while his fingers tapped out an odd little rhythm on the thigh of her jeans.  Likely typing a chemical equation of some kind, his brain’s stubborn refusal to shut down long enough to rest seeping out through the steady drum of his fingertips.

He was a confusing thing sometimes.  He was both the best kind of man and the worst kind of man...and what she needed right now was the worst kind.

Taking that busily distracted hand from her thigh, she moved it up to her chest and laid it palm-down over her breast.  Jake didn’t respond, but his fingers clenched slightly; she looked over to find he’d closed his eyes entirely, but the tiniest twitch of a grin was gently turning up the corners of that filthy, filthy mouth.

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Beginning-Part One

Summary: Anathema of Velena is sent by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to a kingdom already decimated by a mighty beast when she happens upon another. One who saves her life…as she saves his.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, discussion of mature themes and situations, alcohol consumption, violence, and reflection on a particularly shitty childhood that could be triggering. Body image triggers. No smut for now. Also, warning that it’s stupid long and only half done! Wow! I’m super sorry! Anathema is kind of a long winded little witch.

Inspiration: Netflix’s The Witcher, that sweet, sweet Cavill bod, and the chocolatey crunch of his “Geralt voice!” (idk why, but that’s the imagery for me. Lol!) Also, Ana inspired by the badassness of Anya Chalotra as Yen, the powerful vulnerability of Anna Shaffer as Triss, and the poise and grace of MyAnna Brunning as Tissaia…I honestly can’t believe that the name Anathema is a total coincidence now. Especially considering that my name…is Hannah, a version of all of these. It just came to me as a cool name.

Author’s Note: Like most of my OFCs (and honestly, even EFCs), Anathema is loosely based on myself. She reacts how I feel I would (or sometimes hope I would) in her situation. For those of you who read “Shape of Her” you’ll know that I’m chubby. Anathema was, as well, before her transformation, and she talks about what it was like for her as a child and adolescent growing up. For me, this was a deeply personal thing to write about. I don’t usually talk about the effect my weight has always had and continues to have on my mental health. I’m very fortunate that, unlike Anathema, I have loving parents that have never treated me this way. But in an odd way, their “help” and concern for my physical health has created this sort of villainous aspect of them in my mind, and I suppose that comes out in Ana’s mother here. At any rate, I should probably go back to a counselor about it, but that’s tough during a pandemic and with my work hours. So I write about it, and I guess there ends up being a bit of validation for her/me when Geralt shows interest (and maybe takes that further in part two...no spoilers here!). Not that any of it’s completely healthy, but at least it’s kinda cathartic and fun in the moment if you don’t think too hard about it. I hope the monologue doesn’t bog you down and make you lose interest. If it does, just skip it. It won’t hurt my feelings.

Also, I’m sure my spells are total baloney compared to what’s in the books and deffo to what’s in the show. I just wanted to write something down to sort of show the power being expelled by Ana. These are probably way more Hogwarts than Aretuza! Lol!

Tag List: @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy @lareinedususpense @geekycanuck and @littlefreya (omg it let me tag you this time, Freya!) I didn’t tag some of you that I tagged before in Shape of Her, just because I didn’t know if that was something you wanted. (basically, if I didn’t get a concrete response one way or the other, or I wasn’t fairly sure you’d want a tag, I didn’t tag you. I still love all of you!) Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended! Also, this is not smutty. It’s pre-smut. lol!

Anathema of Velena was a mage of little renown. Powerful enough, but nothing compared to someone such as Yennefer of Vengerberg. She had worked so hard at Aretuza and all Rectoress Tissaia de Vries could manage to tell her most days was “You could not organize a pair of gloves, Ana. How do you expect to be able to control chaos? I’m not even convinced you have any chaos in you.” She turned away, calling the five other girls out of the lightning tower, some of whom had ampules filled with crackling white light. The rest were in various states of injury from singes to limps. Anathema…well, she had nothing. The lightning didn’t come near her. She left the tower without a prize, but filled with shame, uninjured from the typical failed attempt. She didn’t know why it was worse, but it very much was.

It took her years to finally get over that day.

Her first assignment the brotherhood sent her on was, well, it hardly mattered now, because the city, the whole kingdom was now rent by some foul beast. She’d been sent to help. But had arrived too late. She heaved one of her deeper sighs. “Fuck.” She let out audibly. She’d have to make camp. For the third night. At least. Maybe it was the fifth. She wasn’t certain. But it seemed like too long. She dismounted her chestnut mare, Clove, and started to get her supplies down for her modest tent. Modest, meaning that it appeared modest to the casual observer.

Inside, however, when she’d cast her enchantments, it was almost like home, complete with a full bed, soaking tub, fireplace, table, chairs, and a lovely lounge with a settee and chaise. One of her favorite things about Magic was being able to pack heavy while still traveling light. She was even able to bring a small book collection.

She’d just finished setting everything up and was casting the necessary protective enchantments to the perimeter of her site when she heard a rustle in the bushes about twenty yards away. She attempted to remain calm, but was terrified. She carried only a small silver dagger and a steel short sword that she rubbed with a silver infused oil which she made when she came across good silver and decent tallow. It wore off, but the silver oiled blade was a good compromise when you couldn’t carry both silver and steel. What was she, a fucking Witcher? Anyway, she drew her dagger, but conjured a revelatory wall around her so she could see who or what was out there hunting her. She prayed it wasn’t a kikimore. Anything but a kikimore, she thought. Those shits gave her the creeps. Give her an iron toothed wyvern, or the king of dragons, himself. She could conjure in battle against the best of beasts born of magic, but those insects…no.

There came a keening howl unlike anything she’d ever heard. A drowning scream that almost sounded like it was coming from under the water. Then too many pairs of glowing green eyes started appearing from said bushes. They were horrifying lizard-fish people. And they were walking toward her camp. It would be all too soon that they would walk through the invisibility shield as she hadn’t been able to cast any deflective measures yet. They’d breach her camp in minutes if she didn’t act. She prepared to cast a fire spell on them, hoping that would work, when she heard a deep male voice behind her growl an order.

“Get down! Hide!” Pardon me? She thought. This guy didn’t know who he was dealing with.

It appeared though that she didn’t, either.

The voice had come from a very tall and amply muscled horseman. He wore no armor, only a dark linen tunic tucked into leather breeks, and tall black boots. All was weathered and smelled heavily of horse, ale, and sweat. He quickly dismounted in that way that some men do in which they swing their leg over the horse’s head instead of around the rear. This was the way that, even in her terror, made her feel an unfamiliar but pleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach.

His hair, which she had presumed blonde at first, she noted now to be silvery grey, and well past his shoulders. Maybe longer than her own. He grabbed a sword from the large sheath on his saddle and stalked toward the oncoming rabble of sodden predators.  

She thought…she might have been mistaken but she was fairly sure he’d grabbed a steel sword. Steel would not be very effective on these monsters, if she had sized them up right. She looked to his saddle, seeing the hilt of another blade there. She stepped toward it and slid it out to reveal that this was precisely what had happened. He’d grabbed the wrong weapon in his haste. Well. He was dead. She grabbed the silver sword, sheathing her dagger, and marching toward the scrum around the well-meaning muscle head.

“Selectum ignitus!” She chanted as she wrought her hand in the corresponding motion. This spell burned only victims she chose, leaving others unharmed. It had only stunned these creatures, but it was enough time to allow her would-be hero to catch a small break from his blunder. His thick neck was still in the spindly clutches of one of the largest fish men, apparently less susceptible to fire than the others. Ana stepped up behind him, and with the silver sword, sliced his head clean off at the neck.

“Here.” She said as she tossed him the weapon, the steel sword somewhere on the forest floor to be found later. “They’re waking back up.”

“Mmm.” He mumbled. Right. He was welcome. All this gratitude was just making her blush.

They fought well together, surprisingly. She with her magic and dagger, and he with his signs and sword. She could feel it when he cast them. She noticed him using Aard, so she started casting more similar spells herself. The skirmish was over in minutes. All of the beasts had fallen and she looked at her newfound comrade, both of them covered in blood and muck.

“That was…fun!” She said, in earnest.

“Hmm.” He responded. As if to say, sure, whatever, freak. And began hovering over the corpses, rummaging in his satchel.

“So…these handsome fellows. I’ve never come across them.” She waited a beat, hoping he’d just answer her, knowing that’s what she meant for him to do. Oh, okay. This wasn’t the kind of guy he was. Fair. “What are they?”

“Drowners. Bigger ones are called drowned dead. They come out of the nearby bodies of water.”

How nice. Surely she wouldn’t have any nightmares about that. She'd heard of drowners, as a coastal dweller, but had been fortunate enough to never see one. Until tonight.

“And…not that it’s my business, but…you’re doing what exactly?”

He sighed. “These remains have a lot of useful potion ingredients. I never waste a kill if I can help it. Ginatz’s Acid doesn’t grow on trees, does it?”

“No tree I’ve ever seen, no.” She laughed. He didn’t. Well. This guy would just be a barrel of fun, it seemed. But he did just try to save her life. She should attempt to repay him that kindness. Even if he failed a bit at first, she didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t been there.

“Hey, I have a few more spells to do before my camp is fortified for the night, but then I was going to have some dinner in my tent. I have plenty, if you’d like to join. As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Camp?”

“Tempora Portia.” She swept her arm down to create a window in the cloaking spell so he could see her camp in the clearing.

He saw the small tent, that looked as though barely two people could lie down in it, much less sit for a meal.

He eyed her warily. “I think you’ll be lucky enough to eat in there by yourself with just a bowl and a spoon.”

“Ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?” She asked. “Trust me. I have a plump pheasant, some really delicious herbs I got on the way here from Aretuza, and some lovely wine! I’ve been saving it until I got here to share with the court, but…” she looked sheepishly at the ruined city on the hillside. “You’re clearly the only surviving citizen, Sir….”

“Geralt. Just Geralt. I’m not a citizen. I was commissioned to come here, just as you were. Only I was sent by…the neighbors…to eliminate the threat before it reached them, too.”

“Right. Geralt. I’m Anathema of Velena. Nice to meet you, and thank you for saving my life tonight.”

“Anathema, thanks for saving mine. And I guess, I’ll take you up on dinner.”

~~~~~~

She told him to finish his scavenging, and cast a charm onto him and his horse, Roach, to allow them to enter through her custom enchantments.

When she was finished securing her campsite, she went inside her tent to clean up. She conjured lots of warm fragrant water into her copper tub. It would have been more relaxing had she not been covered in the muck of battle. The drowner guts were slimy like fish entrails on her skin and in her hair. She was fairly certain that she also had blood from both her own wounds and Geralt’s spattered across what skin had been exposed during the fight.

She reached for her sponge and a bar of soap that smelled of lilac, one of her favorites, and scrubbed until all of the muck, mud, and blood was gone from her skin and hair.

She felt a telltale shudder come from the perimeter of her camp, indicating that her would-be rescuer and his steed had stepped through them. She had put up sheer modesty curtains somewhat arbitrarily, but today she was glad for them. She had just stepped out of the tub and was fully naked when Geralt entered.

“Erm.” He cleared his throat simultaneously announcing his presence and asking if he could come in. She must applaud him for his excellent communication skills.

“Come on in, I’ll be right there.”

She donned a simple, modest wrap dress that went well beyond the duty of a bath robe and looked infinitely more chic, and piled her damp, dark hair into a messy coil high on her head.

“So glad you could join me. Did you get everything you wanted from the creatures?”

“Everything they could give me. Yes.”

“Good. Well, I’ve not started dinner yet, but it won’t be very long. Why don’t you have a bath? You look like you’ve been riding for weeks with no sleep and you’re caked in the muck of a dozen battles like the one we were just in. I’ll clean and mend your clothes, too.”

“I’m fine thank you.”

“Oh, please? You’ll enjoy dinner so much more if you’re not concerned with how you smell…plus my table isn’t so big that…I couldn’t smell you too.” She giggled. “So as a courtesy to your cook and table mate?”

She looked at him with her doe eyes. Maybe that would work. She loved helping people and making them feel better. She thought he was restraining a smirk. He complied with a grunt and a nod.

“Splendid. I’ll get you some wine, too. I love wine with a bath! Don’t you!?”

“That and silence.” Point taken. She’d let him relax.

He stood in the corner of the bathing alcove as she conjured bath water for him.

“Agua fragra fieretta.” she spoke, and the tub filled with steamy water that smelled like spearmint, cedar, and a hint of lavender. Her own had smelled so different. She hadn’t realized it seemed to change depending on who you were drawing the bath for, never having done so for anyone but herself.

She dug around for a sandalwood soap and a new sponge and set them out for him on the small side table.

“Here you are. I’ll be right back with your penis! I mean, woah. Sorry.” She had turned around at the wrong moment. She knew he’d been taking off his shirt when she was rummaging. But she assumed modesty would mandate that he wait for her to leave before removing his trousers. She had been mistaken. He stood there as naked as the day the midwife pulled him from his mother, hands on his hips just like it was the most blasé thing to ever happen.

“It’s fine. I don’t really think about being shy anymore. Sorry. My clothes are on that stool if you want them. Thanks.”

“Right, great. I’ll be right back with a towel and wine. That’s what I was going to say before. And yeah, then I’ll see what I can do for those clothes.”

She left, procured the wine and a towel, and hurried back, placing the cup audibly on the table so she didn’t have to speak to him. She was so embarrassed. She grabbed his clothes and sat them on the settee for later. She was somehow both glad and disappointed that he did not acknowledge her.

Now, she needed to work on dinner. She’d gotten a lovely pheasant this afternoon with her bow. She’d been gathering fragrant herbs of all kinds along her journey and had traded some of them at market for potatoes, carrots, garlic and pearl onions. She prepped the pheasant, stuffing it with the vegetables, herbs, and some salt and pepper, and rubbed it down on the outside with some olive oil and seasoning. She placed it in her camp oven to cook in the infused oil and its own juices, basting it every so often.

She magically cleaned and mended Geralt’s clothes and tried unsuccessfully not to think about the body that they covered. His arms were as thick as the average man’s legs and his legs were not unlike tree trunks, albeit much more shapely. His chest was monolithic with two great pecs and six well-defined abs. He was also perfectly hairy. No one would confuse him with a bear, but this was definitely no boy. No boy, at all. And Mother Melitele herself would weep at the sight of the cock on this man. Long. At least halfway down his thigh. She didn’t get that good a look, but she thought it was veiny. And it was definitely thick…although she couldn’t compare it to much. To anything, really. Not even the instruments used on her the day she ascended to her current state of perfection. She'd been given powerful herbs to sedate her until the transformation was complete.

She’d arrived at Aretuza a sluggish and overweight wallflower with tiny breasts. When she went over her desires for her new form with the “miracle worker” as she liked to call him, she asked him to upgrade her in every way he could, but to keep her eyes the same shade of green they’d always been. She’d felt that the eyes were too directly attached to the soul and to change them was going too far. The rest, however, was fair game.

And this was her first assignment since her ascension, so she hadn’t been anywhere but her home, which was an unforgiving place, and Aretuza. Little opportunity for romance had presented itself. And she wasn’t even sure how romance would go for her at this point. Were mages adored for their power? Beauty? Or who they were as people independent of those attributes? Was that all she was now? A beautiful magician? She suddenly felt a small pang of regret.

Her eyes shifted involuntarily now to the bath partition. Must have been the movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Geralt was taking a drink of wine, a very long drink, and when he set the goblet back down, he leaned his head back with a contented sigh. She took the clothes back to the stool when she’d finished, smiled at the scarred, and incredibly heroic man before her, and popped away to finish dinner.

~~~~~~~

She busied herself setting the table with modest candles, and conjuring an extra setting for Geralt. She filled a pitcher with an “agua potum” spell and put her wine vessel out. As she was tabling the pheasant, her eye caught movement again in the “bath room.” Geralt had gotten out of the tub and was drying off. His back was no less impressive than his front and his ass was like a fresh, crisp apple. She’d always loved apples. In her dreamy haze, she'd come too close to the hot camp oven and burned her hand. She let out a whispered but audible “fuck” and brought her hand quickly to her mouth to cool the fire with saliva.

It helped a little, but not much. She continued to prepare as Geralt got dressed and he was out right as dinner was on, wine goblet in hand.

“Smells nice.” He complemented. She was shocked, but still in a lot of pain from the burn.

“It better be the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in ages to make it worth searing the skin off my finger here!” She put her hand to her mouth again, and brought it out, shaking it.

He sat his goblet on the table and went outside, all without a word. She was confused. Wondering how she could have offended him, but honestly, not really caring. She’d tried. She sat down. Exhausted. He came back in with the satchel he’d been wearing and packing with solutions from those corpses.

He walked around the table to kneel in front of her, held out his hand, and raised his eyebrow expectantly. She gave him her injured hand, extending her index finger to indicate the affected area.

“You know, I’ve seen men lose half their faces to fire. This isn’t so bad.” He rifled through the bag for a vial of clear oil with bits of purple floating in it.

“Did they live?” She asked, amused.

“A few.” He smirked, dabbing a small amount of the oil onto his index finger and applying it to hers.

Her relief was instant and evident on her face.

“Wow, that feels so much better. Thank you! What is that?”

“A simple infusion. Oil of lavender. Here.” He gave her the vial.

“Oh I couldn’t.”

“Take it. I make more all the time. It’s damn near free. I’ll show you how, too, so you're prepared for next time. It’s essential for a healer’s kit. Many uses.” These were more words than she’d heard him speak all together since they’d met. She decided not to remark upon it.

“Well thank you. I hope you’re hungry! I think the pheasant is ready to be torn!”

They filled their plates with juicy, savory sections of the bird and large chunks of the vegetables that had become pleasantly tender inside it. Thyme and rosemary, onion and garlic danced off the tongue, complimented by the salt and a dash of ground peppercorn for zest. For once, a meal tasted even better than it had smelled and she had forgotten the terror of the fight with the drowners, the pain of her burn, even the startling sight of the naked man in her tent, and relaxed into the pleasure of a delicious meal.

This is one of the reasons I was fat before, she told herself. And made sure she stopped eating before she'd filled herself to gluttony.

She noticed that her companion was eating…enthusiastically. She was on the verge of saying ravenously, but there was an element of refinement to it that forbade her from using the more savage descriptor. He seldom drank, and most rarely from his water cup.  He liked the wine, then. She liked this fellow. Quite a lot. He stabbed large portions onto his fork and put them easily into his wide mouth. But even though he took larger bites, he did take his time in chewing, savoring the succulent food. She appreciated this from him.

"You're going to have to finish the poor bird off. I'm stuffed." she patted her tummy, demure now, as it had never been in her recent memory.

"Hmm." he grunted in protest. This one she couldn't quite translate past general disagreement.

"What?" she prodded.

"We both know you didn't need any help taking down this bird alone. Even with the vegetables. It's all incredible, by the way. Best meal I've had in ages."

"First of all, thank you, I quite liked it too, and secondly, it's called restraint. Ever heard of it?" she sassed him back.

"I've heard of it, yes. Can't say we've ever crossed paths, though." he held her gaze as he drank deeply from his goblet. Was it suddenly warmer in the tent?

"Well, it might be a good idea to seek it out here and there." she said, hiding well the feathers he'd just ruffled. "Food and I have a volatile history. I have to show restraint or all of this is gone." she indicated her physical form. She hadn't truly intended to make him look at her, but he was. He was holding her in his gaze in a way that was utterly alien to her.

"Mmm." he grunted, as if to express his understanding.

"But enough about me. What about you? It's not every day I meet a witcher!"

His amber eyes met hers, inscrutable, but not pleased.

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. I have eyes and ears, and all kinds of senses working. And all of them caught wind of what you were the moment you dismounted your horse."

"And yet you helped me. Fought with me. Saved me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Most people don't want a witcher around. They'd prefer the monsters we kill. Even when we're summoned to communities, invited, we're a pariah until the job is done. We're seen as the…lesser evil."

"Tell me Geralt. Did you make the choice to become a witcher?"

"No."

"Do you think I made the choice to be a conduit?" This question, he didn't answer. She thought he may not know. She decided then to tell him her story. How she came to be a mage, and the hell she went through to get where she was.

"Do you know what my nickname was as a child? It wasn't anything cute, like a vegetable or fruit or a baked good, or even a cuddly little creature, no. No term of endearment would suit me. I was called 'Rat.' Because you see, as I mentioned, I have a complicated past where food is concerned, and this comes from my youth. When I would sneak into the pantries and steal food. My mother and the staff thought at first there was a large rat, or even a raccoon behind the lost inventory, for at first, I left behind traces and made a mess of things. But after a while, I got good. Covered my tracks. Then mother started blaming the staff. Beating them, then firing most of them. No one seemed to notice how fat I was getting. Me being the middle of five girls. Eldest two sisters already married off to wealthy business men from town and bringing the bratty little grandchildren around, the younger girls learning dance and music, and generally being full of charm. I was in the background. Until one night, mother found me. She was searching the pantry for a tonic for indigestion when she saw me burrowing, trying to hide between sacks of potatoes. She hauled me out and dove for a long wooden spoon on the worktop in the kitchen. She beat me bloody with that spoon. I couldn't sit and could hardly walk for days."

She took a drink from her goblet, fortifying her. She didn't tell this story often. In fact, she hadn’t told anyone but her best friend Codrick, the blacksmith's apprentice. And that had taken many years.

"She started giving me smaller portions at dinner. Insisting that I wouldn't find a husband in my current state and threatening to sell me to a brothel if I didn't marry in good time. I was nearly starving, but still not getting thin fast enough to satisfy her. She made me run around the perimeter of our grounds. If I wasn't back in time, she'd set our wild bull out after me. There were a few times I was nearly gored. But I kept sneaking into the cupboards late at night. They were locked now, but once I told Codrick what was happening, he helped me by forging me a spare key. She kept calling me 'Rat' which was interesting. As if the sneaking and stealing was the more deplorable side of me than my actual size. She never called me 'Pig.' Perhaps because at least pigs had a use. Pigs could be sold or slaughtered for food. Rats were just a nuisance. The last time she caught me, she hauled me into the kitchen and reached for her wooden spoon again. But this time, when she reared back to strike at me, the spoon had turned into a vicious raven. It squalled and flailed and she let go of it, shooing it away. But it didn't relent. It clawed and pecked at her head and face until her hair was patchy and ragged and her face was a bloody mess. One eye was completely gone, the other, likely to be lost. But she could see well enough to tell where the raven landed after it had left her alone. Right beside me, as if it was trying to calm my still quivering form."

"So that was your conduit moment?" Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes. Lady de Vries showed up at our door not a moment too soon. The Madame from the local brothel had just agreed to my mother's price. There was a rather tense moment where the money had already changed hands and Tissaia had to threaten both women with rather unpleasant repercussions. She was having me and there would be no arguments. Actually, though, the whole experience of being fought over gave me the confidence I needed to confess my true feelings to Codrick and kiss him before we left the town. I'd fancied him for years but never had the guts to tell him."

"I'm sure you have a point to telling me this life story of yours." Geralt said, patiently, but clearly ready for her to wrap it up.

"Right. Sorry. My point is, most of us that are born or imbued with magic have some story like this. I'm certain you're no different. I could go on with horrors at Aretuza, too, just like I'm sure you could with stories of…where was it you were trained? Kaer Morhen?"

He looked at her skeptically.

"Wolf amulet around your neck. School of the Wolf. I thought that was Kaer Morhen."

"Mmhmm." oh, a two syllable grunt. His vocabulary was proving vast.

"Why shun you over a life you didn't choose? And if I have a fucked up past too, and I'm still dealing with that trauma, what right would I have to dismiss you or consider you an unworthy brother in arms? Or dinner companion? Or maybe even travel companion? After all, we fought well together and we don't know what's out there laying waste to the countryside."

"Suppose you're right."

"About which part?" this always happened to her as someone who never shut up. She never knew whether "you're right" was a blanket statement covering an entire monologue, or just certain parts that someone wanted to subscribe to.

"The first part. I'm still not sure about traveling companions. Or mages, if I'm honest. No offense."

"None taken. If it makes you feel better, I'm still very new to being a mage. I don't have any bad mage habits. I'm not even that good of a mage. I had to hand assemble this tent before I spelled it."

"Well, you did a fine job." he chuckled. "It looked…sturdy, from the outside."

"That's what I was going for. And why don't you just…try me for this expedition. I'll sign a contract saying that it's not your fault if I die. Not that anyone would care. Plus, we'll live in luxury every night, and I can make anything taste delicious with bare minimum ingredients."

"Tempting, but won't it be a little…cozy with both of us in here?"

She looked at him, incredulous.

"Remember the part where I'm a mage?" she walked over to the sitting area and contorted her hands toward the wall. "Addendum Sanctorum."

She beckoned him through a new flap in the canvas to a modest, but still accommodating room with a large, plush bed, a few sturdy, simple chairs, a small table, and a bathing area of its own, complete with a stash of sponges, soaps, and towels.

"See? It may not be all of the comforts of home, but it's hardly roughing it compared to the alternative, am I wrong?" She turned to look at him, but he was much closer than she'd expected him to be. She looked directly up into that piercing amber gaze that was unlike any she'd seen before. And he looked so…dangerous. And yet she wasn't afraid. At least not primarily. What she was mostly feeling was desire. She wanted those strong, skilled hands to touch her. She wanted to be held. She hadn't been held since she was a child. And a very young one, at that. She could feel something mutual coursing between them. And that was the thing that terrified her. The thought that he might be hungry for her in that way. He ran his hand along the slope of her temple and cheek down to her chin.

"I don't recall saying I'd mind sharing a cozy space with you, Ana."

TBC in Part Two

[walker-journal]

Pyrrhic Transfiguration (Adam Solo)

Participants: Adam Walker (Hunter) Danica Vassliev (NPC Spellcaster) 

Context: Adam’s strength is fading fast as cult infiltration, wounds from Bloody Mary, and Apoleia Dynamis bring him close to bodily and metal collapse. Calling in favor with one of Penelope’s covenmates leads to more questions than Adam can answer about his relationship and malady. 

Follows: Into the Fold Part 1, Deep Sea Blues

Content Warnings: Body Horror (Medical Transmutation), Chronic Disease (Apoleia Dynamis),  Mention of Drug Use (Elixir), Animal Sacrifice, Allusions to Physical Abuse

Sorry its long

“How long has it been since your last drink Adam?”

“Why,” Adam asked from where he lay in the exact center of a ring of river clay, the Hunter so maimed from the tender mercies of Ma’al’s cult that he could barely stir from where Danica’s assistant had set him down. One half of the circle’s interior was covered in lush grass while the other half was dead burnt ash. 

“I don’t want to transmute your blood into red sugar syrup by calculating the toxicity incorrectly,” Danica pointed out as her basilisk fang stylus scratched more runic equations into the soft clay circle. 

“Three months.”

Danica looked up from where she had been drawing sigils on Adam’s right wrist with Lampade blood ink. “You? Adam...you’re shitting me.” 

“Nope,” the fraternity captain confided, hoarse voice a wane attempt at being cheerful, “been straight edge lately. Don’t tell anyone, I’ll lose all dudebro cred and have to go into soyboy exile.” 

The sorceress took one of Adam’s bare legs in the business-like fashion of a medical professional who was too familiar with wounds and physiology to be made bashful by her patient’s state of undress. “Tragic,” she affirmed, “any other stimulants, tobacco, or…”

Adam watched as Danica painted diagrams on his calf and thigh in Fae blood, eldritch mathematics evidently meant to guide magic through his body like silicon traces channel electrical currents through a circuit board. “Well I had to pop some Elixir during those hauntings a while back..”

Danica made a guttural sound of disgust and frustration in her throat. “That’s poison Adam! It’ll rot you from the inside!  Jak mogłeś! Próbuję cię utrzymać przy życiu, durniu!” Danica continued to heap imprecations on Adam in Polish for his stubbornness and general dumbassery as she smoothed some calculations on the clay circle with an iron spade. She began scribing new sigils to account for any necrophage elements that still lingered in Adam’s tissues. 

“Why not ask Penelope to perform regeneration rites,” Danica asked later as she took skin, hair, and saliva samples in order to account for the specific concentration of enzymes and other proteins in Adam’s body. “I can sense her power all over you, and the connection between you both would make this easier.” 

“Uh her ...what...all over me?” 

Danica helped raise Adam up to a sitting position, gingerly trying to avoid the lacerations and bruises that covered the athlete’s body like livid craters. “Relax Casanova,” she teased, stylus tracing a geometric web of interconnected eye-like runes up the length of Adam's spine while trying not to wince at jagged slashes, claw marks, and yellowed contusions that lined his back. “She’s used sanguimancy to put you back together a couple times now right,” she posited, earning a nod of confirmation from Adam. “Magic like that is all about bonds, an exchange of essence that catalyzes a change in reality. It’s in your marrow now Adam.” 

The Hunter thought back to that night of that cursed full moon when Nell had performed what she thought would be her last full moon. She’d used both their blood to enkindle new flowers to bloom and that evening had left Adam with an inkling of the grand unity of life her arts entailed. “Yeah, that makes sense I guess.” 

“There's another connection too,” Danica began, “emotion is a higher…”  

Adam’s snort of jocular derision turned to a hacking cough as his broken ribs sent shuddering spasms of pain up his chest. “Sorry, I’m shit at talking about that stuff,” he admitted. 

“Well you might need to start,” Danica snapped. She pressed Adam’s head down to start on a greater symbol of cerebral warding on the nape of his neck, the closed eye surrounded by a Solomonic temple and pentacle serving as a sort of occult circuit breaker that’d stop the spell’s energy from liquifying Adam’s grey matter. “Look Adam I’m not trying to slut shame you here,” she began more gently. “But Nell’s exile now, the support structure we grew up in is closed to her. We’re forbidden from even speaking with her...” 

Adam met Danica’s grey eyes and comprehended that he was the sorceress' only point of contact with the woman she had to publicly denounce as an apostate. “Nell’s more than just a good time to me,” he rasped quietly, breathing shallow. “I know I’m a piece of shit when it comes to girls but I wouldn’t lie...not about that.” 

Danica’s soft exhalation of relief might’ve been a bit insulting, but Adam had never been shy about explicitly stating what he wanted and what he had no interest in. “I know Esther raised all you Walkers to survive the zombie apocalypse or whatever,” Danica sighed as she began tracing the veins and muscles of Adam’s battered left arm in symbols. “But maybe drop those defenses a little for Nell? She needs more than a soldier.”

Adam bit his split bottom lip, watching Danica’s expression with bloodshot eyes. “You’re really worried about her aren’t you,” he noted, choosing not to take offense at this butting into his personal life. 

Danica brushed dark tresses of hair away from her face, bracelets inscribed with aspects of the many-faced goddess letting out a metallic click on her wrists. “Necromancy, exile, hooking up with a Hunter, and getting into ...this…” Danica held up Adam’s arm to his own face, giving him a clear view of livid lesions and fingers snapped by blunt force trauma. “Yes I’m worried!”    

“I’ll make sure she makes out, no matter what,” Adam assured, before raising both lacerated eyebrows at Danica’s fervent curse in Polish that he was probably luckily not understanding. 

“That's exactly what I’m afraid of,” Danica sighed as she wrote equations in alchemical script across the Hunter’s forehead and temples. “Look I’m about to rip your body apart and put it together again.” The witch nodded to the human corpse and stone slabs with struggling animals tied to them that formed a sacrificial perimeter around the clay circle, raw fleshly materials for the spell. “Even with all this? There's a good chance you won’t make it Adam.”   

“I know.” 

Danica met those dark bloodshot eyes, so eerily devoid of fear or hesitation. “Fuck Hunters,” she exclaimed under her breath while placing a ward on Adam’s right pectoral that’d hopefully keep his heart from suffering a corner spasm during the impending ritual’s trauma. “Whatever took your powers? It’s a wound in your psyche, your soul even, and I don’t mean that figuratively.”

“That’s a thing?”

The healer nodded as she drew an intricate branching tree of overlapping runic circle’s down Adam’s sternum, with its roots twinning around his abdominal muscles. “Whatever you and Nell are doing is making it worse...like alot worse,” she emphasized. “There’s nothing I can do for that, the soul can’t be transmuted,” the medical alchemist admitted. “The best thing you could possibly do right now is stop whatever this mission is before …”

“I need to do this,” Adam said with quiet firmness, unmoved even after realizing the cults’ attempts to break his and Nells’ will to resist were hitting deeper than he’d even thought possible. “I just need to last long enough to see it though.” 

“Does that still take priority over everything,” Danica prodded, as if holding out hope that Adam would fight harder for the people closest to him rather than the abstract of humanity.  “Even with your powers gone?” 

Adam’s silence and thousand yard stare at the sanctum’s cold stone walls was answer enough. He didn’t stir at the shrill screams of rabbits having their throats slit by Danica’s sanctified athame. The high squeal of slaughtered swine joined the last braying of a goat rasping into silence. 

Blood slid down long slanted groves in the stone floor, flowing into the alchemical equations that Danica had scribed into the circle of river clay.  A hiss was followed by an eruption of viscous scarlet vapor, as if the blood had become a silken cloud. The clay began to writhe and shift of its own accord. Animal bodies and a human corpse wriggled down through groves in a grotesque parody of animation, melding into the roiling clay in a sickening crunch of bones and sloshing meat. 

“Last chance Walker,” Danica said, almost pleadingly. 

Adam looked at the roiling ring of earth, blood, and flesh that’d become a single promethean substance. Nausea filled his gut at the thought of whatever the hell this was getting inside of him. But Adam hadn’t been raised to flinch from duty’s cost. 

“Whatever it takes,” he answered. 

Bowing her head, Danica spoke the concluding sequence of the grand equation written through the room and Adam’s very flesh. 

Adam watched in sweat-soaked shock as his own arm ripped open, the slick strands of nerves, veins, and tendons uncoiling like unspooled thread from his bones. Adam’s world went white as ocular nerves and muscle were torn from his skull. The ring of flesh clay rushed inward, smothering Adam’s flayed body in a glissading mass. Everything became pain, sickening warmth, and the bodily alienation of things slithering around inside of him. 

Danica’s chanting rose as ambient power thrummed through air, incantation harmonizing with Adam’s agonizing screams till all was one. 

[lemons-made-here]

I loved the NSFW alphabet think with midoria and was wondering if you could make a Kaminari one too? Instant follow btw OMG love the writing

Oh my goodness! You are too kind love! Denki is my baby, hope you enjoy!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Cuddle bug!!!! Denki wants nothing more to hold you close and make sure you’re okay. More often than not, he’ll feed you something before you drift off to get your energy back up. Something sweet like strawberries or chocolate, sometimes he’ll heat up Nutella and feed you by the spoonful while you binge reruns.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves all of you, but he especially loves your face and neck, you can become so expressive with your features if he pushes you just right. Denki loves you smile too, he’s a wholesome boy at heart. On himself however, he likes his hands and chest, after a couple of rough rounds he loves to feel your hair through his fingers and you snuggled up to the sound of his heartbeat

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Kaminari prefers to cum on your stomach or chest if he doesn’t cum in you, but it really depends on the day and how he’s feeling. From you on the other hand, Denki wants your cum all over him, coating his thighs and/or face makes him go wild.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants you to get a piercing below the waistline. Its completely your choice obviously, because Denki would never dare bringing it up. Something inside him wants you to feel a little extra jolt when he’s getting you off with his hands.  

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Hah! No. Kaminari has watched his share of porn, but is still quite lacking in experience. He’s a fast learner though, he knows how to make you come undone and screaming his name.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Standard missionary does it for him, but it depends. If you two were cuddling and you both want to go at it, He’s not opposed to doing it on your sides. If Denki’s in a teasing mood, he’ll swing your legs over his shoulders to thrust into you deeper. Overall, he’s up for anything once. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

 Absolutely, Kaminari is a goofball to the core, giggly, goofy sex is just hwat he needs sometimes. It means a lot more to him than you might think, it means you’re comfatable enough to not only fuck around with him, but you can get a good laugh out as well.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

100% carpet matches the drapes, ita laughable. He shaves almost all of it, if he doesn’t, it gets all frizzy when he uses his quirk, which is often in the bedroom.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Kaminari’s such the sweetheart!!! He’s a cheesy romantic but romantic nonetheless. He’s got the whole rose petal stage out of the way though, its the little things he uses to make you happy. He’ll rub out your sore spot whenever he can, he carries you bridal style every morning after, no matter your ability to walk, lastly without fail, after every orgasm he makes sure to shower you in adoration and kisses, because “You deserve them! You’re my everything (Y/N), and I don’t want you to forget that”

J = Jerk Off (How often, what are they thinking about, …)

All the time, twice in the shower, after a workout, during his break at the agency, just... so much. But! As his significant other, you somewhat control it, even if that means three rounds before breakfast and two after midnight, because of course he’s still horny. Or you know, a cock cage, but that’s up to you

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Overstimulating and edging are extremely common, if you edge the poor baby enough, Denki will beg for just about anything. Which leads to over stimulation, deep down Kaminari just wants to be used, milk him round after round until he’s crying cums from a simple touch... then keep going.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

As mentioned before, anywhere and everywhere, no place is too extreme. There are some strange ones though. On his agency’s roof in the middle of the day, Kirishima’s and Bakugou’s kitchen table, back in your UA days Aizawa’s desk, the cafeteria half an hour before lunch, the list goes on and on.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

If you scratch his scalp, squeeze him tighter in a hug, or touching his lips. Denki will try his best to control his urges, but if you persist, be ready for a fucking.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesomes, being selfish is isn’t quite right, but its the jist. Denki wants you to himself, he wants to be the reason you’re getting off, not anyone else. Also anything to hurts you emotionally or physically. While he does use his quirk in bed, he’s gained enough control for you to trust him and to trust himself. But anything else close to hurting you is off the table.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Denki likes giving just a little more than receiving, as much as he loves the feeling of your hot tongue under his dick, he enjoys the way you whine, squirm and pant just a little more.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Denki’s a very bouncy boy, like, Pinkie Pie level bounce, half of it is his quirk, the other half is pure adrenaline ready to fuck 24/7. So if you’re crunched for time, Kaminari will leave your legs out of operation for the next three to five business days. But if you have no time restraints, his thrusts are a little sharper, has a tad more patience to tease the hell out of you.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Kaminari is the king of of quickies, in the car ten minutes before an important hero event, in a supply closet at the agency, in the spare bedroom of a friend’s house at a party? All of them have been done and will continue to happen

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Kaminari lives for the thrill, any chance you’ll get caught gets him off faster. “Hush baby, one squeak and someone could come in, imagine, they’ll see you dripping for me”, “Bite my shoulder (Y/N), we wouldn’t want anyone else to hear your moans, now do we?”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Denki tries his best to get you to your climax first, but besides that he can go an average of three to four rounds before he oversensitive. At that point, you don’t have to do anything more than bite his neck or grind down on him a little to get him to cum.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

So, so, so many. cock rings, strap-ons, vibrators, cuffs, rope, name it, you probably have it. The two of you go into your local shop at least twice a month, you now have a family discount just from being in there so often. you may or may not have bumped into Midnight herself more than once...that was a fun drive home

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kaminari teases when and where he finds it most inappropriate, which is just about everywhere. He’ll glide his arms up and down your chest and gnaw on your neck form behind, and leave three seconds later. If his arm in around your waist, chances are his thumb is under your waistband stroking your thigh.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Aside from plenty of dirty talk, Denki isn’t terribly loud. His pants and groans are about as loud as he gets, but if you’re whining or begging in the slightest, he will not shut up. Kaminari’s obviously pretty cocky, so make any sound telling him he’s doing something right, he’s going to tease you for every other word

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Not only is Denki a switch, it is extremely easy to get him to submit. He’s such an obedient sub too, he just wants to be good and get the most orgasms out of the both of you as possible, 12/10 pillow princess

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Kaminari’s pretty average, about 6-7 inches when he’s fully hard. on the bright side, he can use his quirk with his dick, which is exciting to say the least.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

All. The Damn. Time. Ya’ll fuck like rabbits on the average weekday. If you’re around friends, he’ll press is hard-on into your ass, nuzzling your neck and running his thumbs along your waistline.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Maybe thirty to forty-five minutes, Kaminari is pretty sleepy afterwards, which makes him even more sappy, As soon as your’e asleep and content, he’ll doze off too

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Running the Numbers: On Balancing Homebrew Masterwork Weapon Bonuses

Hey folks,

My name is JJ and since March 2017 I’ve been working on this blog of D&D related homebrew content for your looting needs. I’ve gotten lots of positive feedback from people and I’m very appreciative of everyone who has written to me or shared the tables on their own blogs or with friends and gaming groups. I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has taken the time and energy to read through my tables, I know people lead busy lives and homebrew content is everywhere online. What I would like to talk about right now is balance for this blog’s homebrew material and how I decide what to include or not include in the tables and how that might help a DM justify using homebrew my homebrew material in their campaign without breaking the game or providing a wild power imbalance between their players.

To start off, I’d like to say that I have a decent background in RPG games in a variety of different systems with most of my time playing, Pathfinder, D&D 3.5 and 5th Edition. For balance purposes for this blog I have tried to be system neutral, talking about skills, benefits and mechanics in general terms so that the trinkets (Especially magic objects) can be easily worked into D&D, Exalted or Numenera alike. For general bonuses and negatives I have taken language from 5th edition D&D, namely the Advantage/Disadvantage system because I find it simple and straightforward. Since I primarily play D&D 5e now I gear a lot of the wording of objects towards it and d20 systems in general. Although this article can be used to talk about balance in a number of different systems, any specifics are usually aimed at D&D 5e.

While I'd like to talk about all of the different types of trinkets I have on my blog, this post will focus exclusively on Masterwork Weapons. While this concept was standard in D&D 3.5 and Pathfinder (And similar ideas can be found in other systems), it does not exist in 5e, which I find disappointing because I like the idea of an exceptionally crafted weapon that is mechanically better than average but weaker than a +1 weapon. To talk about masterwork weapons we should also talk about magic weapons so we have a clear comparison. Magical “+1 weapons” are a staple in D&D and are an easily benchmark for what a “standard” magic weapon looks like. A +1 weapon has four different bonuses that set it above a typical weapon, It grants a +1 on accuracy rolls to hit, a +1 on damage rolls, it counts as magical for bypassing the resistances of enemies and it is much harder to break or damage. When the concept was used in 3.5 and Pathfinder, a masterwork weapon gave a +1 on accuracy rolls to hit. In my interpretation, this means that the value of a masterwork weapon was about ¼ of a +1 weapon and I have tried to keep that in mind while writing. It is no accident that the first four masterwork bonuses are each different aspect of a +1 weapon. While researching what other people have done for their version of a homebrew masterwork weapon in 5e, the common theme I've found seems to be a +1 on damage rolls. Due to the bonded accuracy in 5e, a +1 on accuracy would be to strong and we’ll talk more about this later. A +1 to damage rolls for a price of 100gp (Which is the same price as getting a weapon silver plated) seems like a fair enough trade, especially if masterwork weapons are rare and can only be purchased in large cities or commissioned from master weapon crafters, requiring a side quest or roleplay scene. In short, I found a general consensus that a masterwork quality that grants a +1 on damage rolls is balance and therefore it will serve as the benchmark against which all the other masterwork bonuses are compared against.

Keeping “+1 to damage rolls” in mind as a benchmark for how strong I wanted a masterwork bonus to be, I created and cannibalized more than a dozen options for DM’s to use for introducing masterworks into their own campaigns. I will be going point by point crunching numbers to show how each bonus lines up with one another. For those that want to do your own math, feel free to use https://anydice.com/ or http://rumkin.com/reference/dnd/diestats.php to double check the work. I will be using 1d8 as an example for most damage rolls to make it a little more standard. For context going forward, a d8 has a minimum damage of 1, a maximum damage of 8 and an average damage of 4.5. Please note that with one or two exceptions these benefits only affect the default weapon damage dice themselves, not additional dice such as sneak attack, divine smite or spell effects.

I will be going through one at a time through each Masterwork Bonus I currently have written up and talking about them and showing you how their specific benefit effects damage rolls so you as a DM have a better idea on how strong it actually is. To save space I have cut out the fluff descriptions of the Masterwork Bonuses but they can be read here if you’re interested.

Keep reading for a point by point analysis of the Masterwork Bonuses.

This paragraph outlines the Advantage / Disadvantage system from D&D 5e, because some of the bonuses use it. If you're already familiar go ahead and skip this. When a character is given help from a tool, other character, magic effect, etc. they gain Advantage on the dice roll made to accomplish the task. This means that they roll 2d20’s and pick the higher result to determine the outcome, thereby increasing the overall dice roll, slashing the chances of critical failing and boosting the opportunity to critically succeed. Disadvantage is the opposite, the player rolls twice and has to use the lower result increasing the odds of failing. The real great parts about this system is if a character has advantage and disadvantage, they cancel out and only one roll is made so you cannot get “super advantage”. If the character is gaining advantage or disadvantage from multiple sources he still only rolls twice and picks the higher result. This makes circumstantial bonuses very simple to apply on the spot and prevents players from having to calculate a +1 or +2 from half a dozen different sources at a time. Personally I like it because it’s quick and simple allowing everyone to roll fast and move on, in a game where play time is often hard to schedule. Plus, bonuses and deficits just cause the player to roll more dice in a game where players typically love any excuse to roll dice.

1, Precise: Grants a +1 on attack rolls to hit targets

In many systems a bonus to accuracy rolls can deal more damage than a boost to the actual damage rolls. Logically, more accurate attacks hit more often and all damage resulting from a hit that was only successful because of the +1 accuracy bonus can be considered extra damage. In D&D 5e this would bonus would probably be considered the most powerful due to bonded accuracy (Which you can read more about here) and would probably end up doing more damage than the +1 benchmark, especially if the wielder had class features such as sneak attack that further increased damage on hit.

2, Balanced: Grants a +1 to all damage rolls.

The simplest and most reliable damage dealing bonus. A flat +1 damage increases the minimum, maximum and average amount of damage that can be dealt by the attack by 1, making it a nice choice to quietly provide a small benefit for the player that can be added to the damage roll’s math and otherwise forgotten about. For damage bonuses, an average damage increase of +1 is what we are looking for in terms of power and serves as our benchmark.

3, Spellbound: The weapon is considered magical for the purposes of overcoming resistances, damage reduction and other defenses.

This provides a nice compromise to DM’s who want their players to go up against more varied enemies that might have resistances or immunities to non-magic weapons but who don’t want the players to have a full +1 weapon yet. The weapon’s bonus will only provide a benefit when dealing with a small number of enemies (Like elementals, ghosts or fiends) that have that resistance. On the resistant enemies it effectively doubles damage (Compared to a non-Spellbound weapon whose damage would be halved by the resistant monster) granting the wielder and player the time to shine in combat. Against the majority of low and mid-level enemies such as humanoids and beasts who aren’t resistant to non-magic weapons, the weapon provides no benefit at all and is just as useful as a regular weapon.

4, Impervious: The weapon is five times more durable than normal, never breaks, chips or dulls as a result of casual use and is all but impossible to break or damage as a result of combat, even when targeted by enemies who attempt sundering or weapon breaking techniques.

This allows a player to feel comfortable in the knowledge that their sword isn’t going to explode on a natural 1, leaving them unarmed and useless in combat. Furthermore it encourages players to use the sturdy weapon outside of combat for roleplaying or problem solving reasons. Perhaps a war pick is used to dig a foxhole in rocky terrain, a warhammer is used to break down a door, a quarterstaff is wedged against a door to brace it, or a sword is used in place of a crowbar to pry open a stuck chest. Other than resisting being broken in combat, this bonuses has no real offensive capacity making it a great thing to give to your players with almost zero risk that it will upset the team’s power balance or make them too strong in combat.

5, Relentless: Instead of a single damage die when the wielder successfully hits a target, the player instead rolls two dice that equal the value of the original damage die and add the results together.

This grants the player the ability to roll two dice when they would normally roll one, which will probably increase their level of happiness right there. This is a good benefit for raising the minimum damage the wielder does, and in the event of a critical allows the player to roll a multitude of small dice, further raising the minimum damage dealt. If our 1d8 example die is turned into 2d4 with this, the weapon now has a minimum damage of 2, a maximum damage of 8 and an average damage of 5. This increases the minimum by 1 which is nice but only provides an average damage bonus of +0.5 which is not much, but can allow players to feel like they are getting more from the weapon than they normally would. Since this average damage increase is less than our benchmark +1 damage this makes it a balanced addition to the masterwork bonus list.

6, Superior: The weapon’s damage dice increases by one step to the next largest die.

This is a nice and simple benefit with a clear but small increase in damage potential. If our 1d8 example die is turned into 1d10 with this, the weapon has a minimum damage of 1, a maximum damage of 10 and an average damage of 5.50. This increases the maximum by 2 which allows for slightly bigger hits and provides an average damage bonus of +1. This has a slightly higher than normal damage cap but with the drawback of no increase to the minimum damage. Overall the average damage is increased by +1, the same as our benchmark and thus of comparable balance.

7, Cruel: Whenever the player roll a 1 on a die to calculate the weapon’s damage, they can reroll the die until they receive a result that is not a 1.

Like the flat +1 damage, this bonus was also very common on homebrew sites discussing how to implement a masterwork mechanic. Raising the minimum damage the player can deal on hit is a good things for them, since nobody wants to roll a 1. Applying this to our 1d8 example gives it a minimum damage of 2, a maximum damage of 8 and an average damage of 5. This increases the minimum by 1 which is nice but only provides an average damage bonus of +0.5 which is not much, but can provide the player a great sense of relief and excitement when they do roll a 1 and can reroll it into a much higher number. Since the average damage increase of +0.5 (Which is the same regardless of the size of the die) is less than our benchmark +1 damage this makes it a balanced addition to the masterwork bonus list.

8, Defensive: The weapon grants +1 to the wielder’s armor class / defense value / dodge rating or other system mechanic that decreases the chances of being hit with an attack.

Similar to Precise, making homebrew changes to the accuracy and armor class system can be risky for the mechanical balance of the game. In D&D 5e, a +1 to armor class is a big deal and hard to come by and the potential damage prevented by virtue of being harder to hit can add up. This kind of bonus is meant to evoke the idea or a parrying dagger, sword breaker or boar spear, deflecting attacks and keeping enemies at bay by nature of their design.  Although it doesn’t directly compare to our benchmark +1 damage, a Defensive weapon can be a Godsend to a squishy melee striker like a rogue or bard who would definitely appreciate the increased armor class.  

9, Vicious: Whenever the player roll a 1 or a 2 on a die to calculate the weapon’s damage, they can reroll the die and must use the new roll, even if the new roll is a 1 or a 2.

D&D 5e players should be familiar with this bonus because it is taken straight from the Great Weapon Fighting style. Due to this, lots of other people have done the math in detail and you can follow this link for nice graphs about the statistics. In short, this bonus on our 1d8 example keeps the minimum damage at 1, a maximum damage of 8 and an average damage of 5.25. That is only an average damage increase of +0.75 which is lower than our benchmark value of +1. It is important to note that the damage changes based size and number of dice and that if the weapon dealt 2d6 damage (Which has an average of 7) was affected by this, the average damage would be 8.33. An improvement of +1.33, which is slightly higher than our +1 benchmark.

10, Brutal: Whenever the player rolls the maximum result on a weapon damage die (I.e. a 6 on a six-sided die.), they can roll that die an additional time and add both results to the total damage dealt. This ability can trigger multiple times per turn but only once per attack.

This is one of the swingy bonuses that either provides either a lot of extra damage or none at all. Based on the concept of “exploding dice” from Shadowrun and some White Wolf systems, if you roll the maximum result, you’ll be rewarded with another die to add to the damage total. I like the idea of having a slim chance to do extra damage since it’s like a mini critical hit. On our example d8 there is a 12.5% chance (One in eight) to trigger the Brutal effect, which adds an average of +4.5 damage (Another d8) to the damage roll. This means that a triggering hit deals a minimum of 2 damage, a maximum of 16 and an average of 9 damage. Although this seems like a lot, remember that the effect only happens on 1 in 8 attacks, so if we take the 4.5 extra damage and average that across of 8 attacks it’s only an average of +0.56 damage per hit. This trend holds steady for different die sizes as larger dice deal more damage but less often and vice versa for smaller dice. A d12 grants an average of +0.54 damage per hit while a d4 grants +0.63. It is important to note that this math is conducted in a vacuum and wielders with the power to reroll damage dice (Especially 1’s and 2’s) can make this bonus more lethal. Though even if on a d8, if the wielder was capable of rerolled all 1’s and 2’s, it would still be 4.5 extra damage once every 6 attacks which is an average increase of +0.75. Since the average increased damage bonus will always be less than our +1 benchmark, I feel like this is a reasonably balanced effect. This can be more fun than a flat +1 to damage because it trades the dependable and boring damage would be represented by a 1d8+1, into an unreliable and therefore exciting 1d8+?, with the possibility on every damage roll of getting an 8 and having your damage explode into high numbers.

11, Mighty: Whenever the wielder scores a critical hit with the weapon, the player can roll one of the weapon’s damage dice one additional time and add the result to the damage dealt by the critical hit. This is in addition to the standard bonus damage of a critical hit.

Drawing on weapons mechanics from D&D 3.5 and Pathfinder this is essentially the idea of an “increased critical multiplier”, which allowed weapons to deal more damage on a critical hit. In terms of damage output on hit, this is similar to Brutal but provides even less average damage per hit because critical hits are rare. In a d20 system where you only critically hit on a 20, you have a 1 in 20 (5%) chance to critical hit on every attack. If you use the example die, you turn the regular critical hit from 2d8 damage (Minimum 2, maximum 16, average 9) into 3d8, (Minimum 3, maximum 24, average 13.5) which does increase the average damage by 4.5 on a critical, but across 20 attacks it averages to +0.225 damage per hit. Comparing that to the benchmark’s +1 damage per hit, this masterwork bonus is very weak but makes up for it with spikes of high damage on critical hits.

X, Inexorable: Whenever the player rolls to determine the weapon’s damage, he may roll the weapon’s damage die twice and choose either result to use.

This bonus allows the player to effectively roll damage twice and choose the higher amount, essentially granting advantage on damage rolls. On our example d8, this bonus keeps the minimum and maximum at 1 and 8 respectively and changes the average to 5.81 damage. Although the minimum and maximum don’t change, the increased average damage by 1.31 per hit, which is slightly higher than our goal of +1. The improvement to damage is magnified by the size and number of dice. On a d12 it grans an increased 1.99 damage per hit and on 2d6 it’s a 2.34 increase. This bonus would also affect the additional damage dice from critical hits making this benefit very powerful.

Inexorable by our +1 damage benchmark is actually too strong to be a Masterwork bonus. To be honest, I added it in here originally to pad the original Masterwork list out to 12 entries so it could be rolled on a d12. Since it doesn’t belong here I have moved it over to the Minor Weapon Enchantments Table (Which was nowhere near ready at the time the Masterwork table was introduced), where it’s magical theme and stronger bonus better fits in.

12, Silvered: The weapon’s business end is covered in a durable layer of alchemically treated silver of incredible quality. Although unnaturally processed, the metal is pure and effective at dealing with undead, lycanthropes and fey creatures. The weapon’s grip also sports discrete bands of intricately worked silver which prevents the wielder’s supernatural enemies from handling the weapon and using it against him.

Silvering weapons is a staple in most RPG games that have monsters that are vulnerable to the metal. This benefit is similar to Spellbound as it really only has any benefit when used against a certain set of enemies and otherwise has no effect on a typical attack. The only change that this blog provides are the silver bands on the grip, preventing monsters from wielding it properly. If your system already has rules for silvered weapons you can just use those instead. See Spellbound for how it compares to the +1 damage benchmark.

13, Tactical: Using an action equivalent to making an attack or casting a spell, the wielder can attempt to perform one of the previously mentioned combat maneuvers. Whenever the wielder could make an attack with the weapon, he can instead perform one of the previously mentioned combat maneuvers... Furthermore, the wielder is able to take advantage of lucky blows and turn them into skillful maneuvers rather than simply powerful attacks. Whenever the wielder lands a critical hit, he can choose to cause it to be considered a normal hit instead and immediately perform one of the previously mentioned maneuvers (With advantage because of the weapon’s design) on the target.

I really like the idea of combat maneuvers, tactics and strategies in RPG’s that contain more than just mindlessly attacking the enemy. A frontliner who effective at tripping, disarming or grappling the enemy can be just as, if not more effective than a wizard specializing in battlefield control, because the fighter can do it more often. Unfortunately it can sometimes be hard to justify attempting maneuvers, as it’s often far more efficient to just focus on dealing damage, especially when both take the same type of action. This bonuses grants players an incentive to attempt maneuvers because they automatically gain advantage and gain access to a larger range of said maneuvers. Furthermore they can trade the extra damage from a critical for the chance to disarm / grapple / trip / etc. the target, which can let a player think strategically and provides some new combat options. As a roleplaying experience it can allow for better teamwork, granting a supporting bard a better chance of tripping an enemy, allowing the two handed fighter to attack the prone target at advantage as well as reducing their chance of escaping. This bonus doesn’t deal damage directly so it doesn’t compare to our benchmark +1 damage, but it does grant the wielder a few benefits and options at the cost of making a regular attack or additional critical hit damage.

14, Poisoner’s: Even a bludgeoning weapon that is normally difficult to poison effectively can benefit from the grooves, allowing it to deliver the offending material with ease. The channels are always positioned in such a way that a creature can apply a solid or liquid material (Such as but not limited to: poison, holy water, flammable oil or animal venom) in them without any risk of accidentally poisoning themselves (Even if they are not proficient with poisons) and taking no more time than usual to coat an object with poison. Furthermore, the recessed pathways protect the material from the elements, keeping it from drying or spoiling and after it’s applied, the material remains potent for an additional hour longer than normal before becoming inert. Lastly and most importantly, the virulent trenches are divided and spread out, allowing a single dose of poison to be delivered normally and effectively while still having some leftover in a separate groove. The number of strikes the weapon may make before the poison is rubbed off is increased by one. Alternatively to being spread out, the blighting substance can be confined to a single groove which will deliver its payload in a single concentrated strike which causes the victim to suffer disadvantage on the save against the material, or the PC can roll the poison’s damage twice and choose the higher result. The bearer who applies the poison chooses whether the material will be spread out over multiple strikes or if it will be concentrated into a more lethal hit (And if it applies disadvantage or increased damage) when the material is applied.  

This bonus provides a few benefits in order to allow a lower level PC better make use of expendable items like flammable oil, holy water or poison before magical weapons and stronger spells render them too inefficient to use in combat. The DM should feel free to adjust any parts of this bonus to better fit with the specific poison mechanics of their game. Personally I love the idea of poisons, oils and alchemical coatings appealing as concepts but at low levels they are often too expensive to buy and once you have the money you’re usually better off buying magic items since a large number of enemies are either resistant or immune to poison.

In D&D 5e for example, a vial of “basic poison” can coat up to three slashing or piercing weapon or up to three pieces of ammunition. Applying the poison takes and action and on hit the target must make a fairly easy save (A Con DC of 10, about a 50% chance of failure on average) or suffer as much poison damage as a dagger deals. Once applied, the poison retains its potency for 1 minute before drying. Overall pretty weak but could definitely be useful in many situations, especially ambushes rewarding players who prepare and think ahead. However this vial of three-use poison costs an exorbitant 100 gold pieces, the same value as a suit of scale mail and a greatsword combined. A PC with 100 gold at low levels might get a silvered weapon (Which is also 100 gold), get better quality armor, buy healing potions or adventuring equipment or weak magic items. The 5e Player’s Handbook list’s the cost of a hired mercenary at 2 gold pieces per day, so you could hire a bodyguard to fight for you for 50 days (Or an army of 50 for one day) for the same price as one vial of basic poison. At mid-levels, enemies will pass the save more than not, taking no damage and even if they roll poorly and fail, a dagger’s worth of damage is not a substantial drain on their hit point pool.

If we apply this masterwork quality to a warhammer (Since it uses our d8 example die) in conjunction with 5e’s basic poison we can look at the benefits. Normally you wouldn’t be able to poison the warhammer at all (It deals bludgeoning damage) but now you can and without risk of accidentally harming yourself. Rather than drying out in one minute, the poison will remain potent for 61 minutes, a fantastic improvement, allowing the player to apply it with a greatly reduced chance of it being wasted due to drying out before the next fight begins. The wielder can also choose to spread the material out among multiple grooves, turning a three use-vial into a six-use vial of poison, making it much more cost effective. Alternatively the player could choose to force the victim to suffer disadvantage on the saves to resist the poison or roll the poison damage twice and pick the more lethal result, making the poison more viable at higher levels.  

In short this masterwork bonus provides a number of small benefits and options to allow a PC to make poisons and alchemical weapon applications more fun and a viable strategy that offers the player a range of options, rather than an ineffective money sink. As this weapon does not deal damage directly it is hard to compare against the benchmark. The goal of this masterwork is to increase the damage deal by poisons and similar materials but it is weighed against the fact that the player has to expend gold or resources buying and using the poisons to actually make use of the benefits (As opposed to the benchmark “free” +1 damage on every hit) so it seems balanced to me.

15, Bypassing: A wielder who makes an attack with a weapon with this bonus ignores any and all defensive benefits that an opponent’s shield would normally provide.

This bonus attempts to reflect the real world weapons such as the flail, sica, shotel, and war pick, all designed to get around armor and shields in order to reach the tender flesh of the enemy. Although this benefit does affect accuracy rolls rather than damage, I would compare this more to the Spellbound or Silvered bonus rather than Precise. In my experience as a player, I rarely run into to humanoid enemies wielding shields and typical bestiaries and monster manuals don’t have a lot of shield using enemies. If your PC’s are mostly fighting undead, elementals, beasts and aberrations this bonuses will probably not help them. In the rare instance when they do come across a heavily armored fighter or blackguard paladin or other hard to hit foe, this bonuses will let the wielder bypass some of those defenses and let that wielder shine. Handing out this kind of weapon in a military or war campaign where it would be used regularly, would be comparable to handing out a Silvered weapon in a werewolf heavy campaign. Since it doesn’t deal damage directly I doesn’t compare to the benchmark and you can refer to the Spellbound and Silvered for how this bonus works in play.

16, Resounding: Whenever the player rolls a damage die he must roll a second confirming die of the same sort. If the second die is the same result as the first, the player is considered to have instead rolled the maximum possible result for that type of die instead of the current result.

As the fluff description mentions, getting a resounding blow that triggers the maximum damage is rare. The value of this bonuses is odd to calculate because as the maximum damage output of the die increases, the odds of actually rolling two of the same number to trigger it goes down proportionally. Over the course of 64 successful attacks with our example d8 (every variation of the damage die and confirmation roll), the effect only triggers 8 times (A 12.5% chance) and only 7 of those times actually benefit the wielder since rolling two 8’s is already the maximum amount of damage possible. Over the 64 hits, the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 28, an average increase of 0.44 per hit with most of the damage coming from when the player rolled low and would have done very little damage.

This table is a chart of each result of the 64 hits possible with a d8 Resounding weapon. The leftmost column is the damage roll while the top row is the confirming roll with the middle being the actual damage dealt. The bottom roll is the sum of the total damage from that column which is compared to 36, which is the sum damage total on a non-masterwork d8 over the eight possible hits.

To demonstrate on a smaller die over the course of 16 successful hits on a d4, the effect triggers 4 times (A 25% chance) and the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 6, an average increase of 0.38 per hit. The sum of the total damage on a non-masterwork d4 is 10 over the 4 possible hits.

On a larger die over the course of 144 successful on a d12, the effect triggers 12 times (A 12% chance) and the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 66, an average increase of 0.45 per hit. The sum of the total damage on a non-masterwork d12 is 78 over the 144 possible hits.

In summation, this bonus gives the occasional burst of damage at the cost of providing no benefit most of the time. It grants an average damage increase of 0.45 per hit (on a d8), which is well below our +1 benchmark in terms of balance.

17, Chargebreaker: If the wielder has not moved yet on his turn he can take up a defensive position, which causes his speed to drop to 0 until the end of his turn. While in this stance, the wielder is able to make an attack of opportunity with the readied weapon against an enemy that enters his reach. The bracing stance ends if the wielder moves, attacks or at the start of the wielder’s next turn.

Much like Tactical, this benefit rewards players who think strategically and offers them options in combat, like the ability to plant themselves and defend a key position rather than just rushing the enemy and attacking. This does potentially allow the wielder to make an additional attack per round, possibly doubling the number of attacks they can make. However these extra attacks come at the cost of all of the wielder’s movement during that turn, which can trap him in an inconvenient corner of the battlefield, not be able to move to reach allies, render him unable to retreat or not be able to place himself between the enemy and the more fragile party members. The wielder gains no additional benefit against creatures already within his reach and is potentially worse off against ranged attackers and mobile enemies, since bracing himself means that he is not closing that distance.  

18, Parrying: Using an action equivalent to an attack of opportunity (See Note) the wielder may attempt to parry an incoming melee attack, increasing his armor class or physical defensiveness as if he was properly wielding a shield. The wielder may benefit from the armor class bonus (Typically a +2) even if he is already wielding a shield. —Note: If your system doesn’t use attacks of opportunity use the following rule: Once the wielder parries an attack he is no longer able to do so until the start of his next turn.

Similar to Precise and Defensive, this is a bonus that deals with armor class and attack rolls. Unlike defensive however, this bonus consumes the wielder’s resources in the form of costing an attack of opportunity to use. A player could use this ability every time he is able to but doing so forcing him to give up on attacking fleeing enemies or striking when they are vulnerable. Furthermore, the benefit only applies to one melee attack per round so the wielder is still just as vulnerable to multiple attacks and ranged attacks. This bonus doesn’t deal damage so it doesn’t compare against the benchmark, but I feel that it provides a benefit to player’s without being overpowered due to its cost and limited use.

19, Strategic: These modifications greatly improve the wielder’s ability to resist trips, feints, grapples, pins, being disarmed, pushed, shoved and other combat maneuvers... Whenever the wielder is targeted by one of the previously mentioned combat maneuvers, he can use an action equivalent to an attack of opportunity (See Note) to grant himself advantage on the roll made to resist the maneuver. —Note: If your system doesn’t use attacks of opportunity use the following rule: Once the wielder uses the weapon to grant himself advantage on the roll made to resist a combat maneuver, he is no longer able to do so until the start of his next turn.

Much like Defensive and Parrying, this bonus deals with making the wielder more resilient when facing combat maneuvers like grappling, tripping and disarming. These tactics can be brutally effective when used against PC’s and can make enemies orders of magnitude more threatening. A monster that can attempt a grapple or trip check with every successful attack can be far more deadly than one that deals an extra 1d6 damage on each hit. Like Parrying, this bonus consumes the wielder’s resources in the form of costing an attack of opportunity to activate which helps to balance out its use. A player could use this ability every time he is able to, but doing so forces him to give up on attacking fleeing enemies or striking when they are vulnerable. This bonus doesn’t deal damage so it doesn’t compare against the benchmark, but I feel that it provides a benefit to player’s without being overpowered due to its cost of an attack of opportunity.

20, Adaptable: When the wielder attacks, he may choose to have the weapon deal either bludgeoning, slashing, piercing or nonlethal / stun damage (See Note). Otherwise the weapon keeps its usual statistics and this does not change anything about the way the weapon operates other than its damage type.

This is probably one of the weakest bonuses on this list and provides more fluff and equipment management ease than anything else similar to Impervious. A PC now only needs to haul around their masterwork weapon and be capable of dealing several type of damage rather than a golf bag of different weapons for different resistant monsters. Like Silvered or Spellbound this would only be beneficial in a small number of situations. Even then, it’s not hard or even that expensive for a fighter to carry a mundane warhammer, longspear and longsword, (Plus one or two ranged weapons) it’s just annoying to have to for purposes of overcoming resistances.

21, Twinned: Whenever the player rolls a damage die he must roll a second confirming die of the same sort. If the second die is the same result as the first, the player adds both dice to the total damage rolled.

This bonus is very similar to Resounding in the form of the confirmation roll for extra damage. Similarly to Resounding, getting a twinned strike that deals the extra damage is rare and the value of this bonuses is odd to calculate because as the maximum damage output of the die increases, the odds of actually rolling two of the same number to trigger it goes down proportionally.

Over the course of 64 successful attacks with our example d8, the effect only triggers 8 times, a 12.5% chance. Over the 64 hits, the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 36, an average increase of 0.56 per hit with most of the damage coming from when the player is doubling their high roll.

This table is a chart of each result of the 64 hits possible with a d8 Twinned weapon. The leftmost column is the damage roll while the top row is the confirming roll with the middle being the actual damage dealt. The bottom roll is the sum of the total damage from that column, which is compared to 36, the sum damage total on a non-masterwork d8 over the eight possible hits.  

To demonstrate on a smaller die, over the course of 16 successful, the effect triggers 4 times (A 25% chance) and the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 10, an average increase of 0.63 per hit. The sum of the total damage on a non-masterwork d4 is 10 over the 4 possible hits.

On a larger die, over the course of 144 successful, the effect only triggers 12 times (A 12% chance) and the total increase in damage resulting from the bonus is 78, an average increase of 0.54 per hit. The sum of the total damage on a non-masterwork d12 is 78 over the 4 possible hits. Although DM’s may have some reservations on seeing the higher scale of this chart, remember that rolling two 12’s to deal 24 damage is 1 in 144 or a 0.69% chance.  

In summation, this bonus gives the occasion burst of damage at the cost of providing no benefit most of the time, with an average damage increase of 0.56 per hit (on a d8), which is well below our +1 benchmark.

22, Quickdraw: The bearer is able to draw the weapon as a free action whenever he rolls initiative as long as he physically capable of doing so… In the first round of combat if a hostile creature comes within the wielder’s reach (Or 20 feet for a ranged weapon) he is able to make an attack of opportunity against that creature but suffers disadvantage on the attack roll. Lastly, drawing and stowing the weapon is considered a free action.

This bonuses is supposed to allow PC’s to be able to evoke the incredible training and reflexes that come from a lifetime of having to react quickly to violent ambushes. For an easy comparison of what I imagine this looking like, take a look at Star Wars or Firefly. Characters like Han Solo or Malcolm Reynolds carry their pistols in a low slung gunslinger’s holsters along their hips and are able to draw and fire within a second. This allows them to even out or even win fights before they have a chance to properly start. For a real life example look at videos of Bob Munden, a real life exhibition shooter has the title "Fastest Man with a Gun Who Ever Lived" bestowed on him by Guinness World Records. This Masterwork bonus enhances the PC’s ability draw the weapon as a natural reflex and instinctively (If not skillfully, hence the disadvantage) lash out at an enemy within reach.  If as a DM you are fond of ambushing your party, they will appreciate a weapon with this kind of bonus.

Damage wise, this bonus grants up to one additional attack at disadvantage per combat which may hit for some extra damage. Depending on the length of the fight, this may exceed the +1 benchmark or add nothing at all.

23, Unforgiving: When the player scores a critical hit with the weapon, he rolls all the dice associated with the damage as normal. After rolling but before damage is dealt to the target, the player may select any single rolled damage die of his choosing and that die will be considered to have rolled the maximum possible result for that type of die instead of the current result. —Note: This affects the weapon’s damage itself AND other sources of additional damage such as sneak attack, divine smite or spell effects.

I have seen this kind of this effect proposed as a variant critical rule for D&D, wherein anytime any PC or creature critically hits, the extra weapon damage dice are simply added in at their maximum result instead of being rolled. As it stands in D&D 5e, a player can score a critical hit and roll low on the dice resulting in a “critical hit” that deals less damage than an average hit. This makes the rare critical hits more potent by guaranteeing a high minimum damage. This bonus is all about raising the minimum damage on a critical hit, so that the wielder never rolls low and experiences a disappointing critical.

In a d20 system where you land a critical hit on a roll of a natural 20, you have a 1 in 20 (5%) chance to critical hit on every attack. If you use the d8 example die, Unforgiving turns the regular critical hit from 2d8 damage (Minimum 2, maximum 16, average 9) into 2d8[Dropping the lowest]+8, (Minimum 9, maximum 16, average 13.81) which does increase the average damage by 4.81 on a critical, but across 20 attacks it averages to +0.24 damage per hit.  Comparing that to the benchmark’s +1 damage per hit, this masterwork bonus is very weak but makes up for it with guaranteed high minimum damage on criticals, making each one a truly powerful blow.

24, Reach: Melee weapons with this bonus add 5 feet to the wielder’s reach when he attacks with it, as well as when determining his reach for opportunity attacks with it. Ammunition, ranged and thrown weapons all add 20 feet to their normal and long distance attack ranges. Melee Reach weapons are cumbersome in close quarters and the wielder suffers disadvantage on attack rolls against targets within 5 feet of himself. Ranged weapons and projectiles...cause the wielder to suffer disadvantage on attack rolls against targets within 10 feet of himself.

Again drawing from D&D 3.5 and Pathfinder here is a weapon quality with a trade off in terms of benefit and drawback. Melee players who play a more mobile, kiting style with an emphasis of never being too close to the enemy will love this bonus. When surrounded by enemies however it forces them to attack at disadvantage or to drop the Reach weapon and fight with an inferior backup weapon. PC’s specializing in ranged combat will be able to hit targets father away but when in tight quarters such as dungeons, caverns or buildings, there may not be the option of being 15 feet away from the target in order not to suffer disadvantage on the attack roll because they’re too close. Even if that is possible, it forces that ranged PC to become more separated from the melee, leaving them open to ambushes, being surrounded or cut off from the rest of the party.

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Three: Broken Promises 

Summary: In a world where his family is gone, Peter believes he is living on borrowed time, but when he runs into Tony Stark that will all change. Will he fight for more time or is all lost?

Here is the next chapter for my Whumptober prompts! 

tw for character death in this chapter. 

Chapter Four: Running out of Time 

Previously –

A man stood in the living room. His muscles bulged under his dark clothes and it took a moment for Peter to realize he was holding a gun. It took another second to see who the gun was aimed at.

“It’s okay, Peter.” May said from where she was kneeling on the ground. Her hands rested on her knees. In another situation she would have looked to be in meditation, but the hand griping her shoulder and the gun angled at her head screamed of the wrongness of that. This wasn’t a meditation and again Peter was struck with the brutality of the real world.

“May…” He said, voice breaking.

“I love you, sweetie.” May said, her eyes welling with tears streaming down her face.

In his haste to find May, he ignored all their protocols set in place when May found out he was Spiderman. He didn’t notice the set of lights on in the window that meant it wasn’t safe to enter the apartment. He didn’t patrol the perimeter or call May’s phone. He did nothing he was supposed to in the haste to find someone.

It was like a dam broke and everything was bubbling out of it. The empty room, the broken promise, and now this. The horror was infecting all the aspects of his life. As he stared at the helpless expression on May’s face, he suddenly wondered if it wasn’t the promise that was creating this infection. Maybe the virus was him? Maybe it was his fault this man was in their living room, threatening his loved one.

-

Peter launched forward. His eyes were glued to his aunt’s face as he jumped over the couch. He saw the dilation in her pupils as he got closer and the way her brow furrowed when the man pulled her hair. It was like he was in a dream. Racing forward, running through air that acted more like sludge. No matter how hard he tried, his movements kept getting slower and slower until he was racing backwards instead of forward. He’d dreamed that so many times he lost track. Every time he woke up covered in sweat May would be there with warm, open arms and a listening ear.

Their eyes stayed locked when the gun went off. He saw her eyes change. She looked through him instead of at him. A sickening crunch sounded off when her head snapped to the side.

Time ran out.

Was Peter back in a dream? He wasn’t running, he was just frozen in place. Stuck forever in that moment. He was jumping over the couch. The gun fired. May’s eyes changed. Peter watched the last thirty seconds over. Again and again and again.

Until, like everything, the sands of time began to pass. Blood dripped down the walls of their apartment and Peter could move again. He flew at the man standing there. Fury wrapped around him like armor. A terrible shriek echoed out from him. He punched the man once before he was knocked down. He peered up from the ground as the man grabbed May by her hair and pulled her forward. Peter watched as her lifeless head strained up in front of him.

“Stop…” He groaned.

The man shook her head and dropped her back to the floor.

“Stop what you little bitch? She can’t feel anything.”  

Peter’s eyes filled with tears. He lunged forward only to be pulled back. Hands gripped his arms and even with his strength nothing he did loosened his grip. Metal clamps circled his wrists. He was shoved onto the couch. The spot was perfect and he hated it. Hated how he could see the man who invaded their apartment, hated how he could see the strands of hair loose in May’s ponytail.

Why wouldn’t she lift her head from the floor?

The door to their apartment opened. He smelled the newest person right before he heard their footsteps. Crips peppermint stung his nostrils. A tall, bulky man came into view followed by two more men in black suits. His thick mustache dominated his lower face while his eyes, grey and piercing commanded the room the instant he laid eyes on it.

The man didn’t look at May. His eyes regarded Peter with a cool detachment that made Peter’s stomach flip. He could feel the centuries of hatred residing within this man. He was not someone who could love.

Peter flinched into the couch. His head pushed into the puke green material and remember how insistent May had been about saying it was olive green. Her chest would puff out as she lectured him of the differences and importance of colors. How in flowers they could mean different things and how in their living room, the green would bring a sense of calm and security to their busy lives. He refused to believe she would never lecture him again.

The man dragged a dining chair out from the kitchen. He placed it in front of him and sat down. They were close enough their knees touched.  

Peter wanted to throw up.

“Now, who do we have here?” He asked and held a hand out.

One of the men dressed in black passed him a manila envelope. The man with the mustache licked his thumb before paging through the file. His eyes flickered up to Peter throughout his inspection but he refused to look up into those eyes.

“Peter Parker.” He said at last. It broke the unbearable, heavy silence in the room. “We’ve been trying to find you for ages and to think you’re the Spiderman as well is just an added bonus.”

Peter’s brows furrowed at his words.

“First things in order. I’m General Ross. I have a special interest in enhanced individuals and I have a special interest in you, Peter. You see, I’ve seen what can happen when someone like you loses control and is left to wander through the time with no thought of the consequences. It’s not kind to them… or their loved ones.”  

The man brushed his moustache down regarding him. He sighed and clapped his hands on his knees.

“People like this one.” He said walking over to stand by May. He nudged her side and she rolled over so her face was toward Peter. It took everything in him not to scream. He fisted his hands so tight they left imprints on the skin of his palms.

“Who is she?” Ross asked.

Peter ignored him again and when he thought the man would give up, he struck. It was an easy display of strength and cruelty. It was sick. Wrong.

He grabbed May be the hair and pulled her head up. Her body moved like a puppet on a set of strings. There was no expression or light in her face. There was nothing there and he almost couldn’t recognize her. This time, Peter did throw up. The sick splattered all over her olive-green couch and more tears fell at the burning in his throat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve ignoring the pain in his wrist.

When he caught his breath, he screamed at Ross: “Don’t touch her. I’ll fucking kill you if you lay a hand on her again.”

Ross laughed. He dropped her onto the ground with a thud and her hair fell covering her face from view.

“This is only the start. It will always follow you. Death, that is. It will follow you through time and space because of who you are. There is no point in trying to change anything. Your efforts will not produce the results you want. Nothing will be different. Remember these words, Peter Parker.”

Peter sobbed. Tears stung his eyes as gross hiccupping noises came from his mouth.

“Shut him up.”

Someone walked around the couch. Peter let them hit his head. His head bounced off the back of the couch but it didn’t matter.

“You need to listen to me Peter.” He said again. Ross sat down in front of Peter but he was done listening. It didn’t matter. Nothing did without May. Peter fought. He kicked and screamed; spit at Ross yelling every hateful word he could think of. The chains snapped but something was grabbed onto him, holding him away from Ross.

“He’s in no state to continue this conversation. Chip him and we’ll be back.” Something hit him again but Peter kept fighting. He didn’t care if they hurt him. He wanted them to. Maybe then time wouldn’t just stop, maybe then it would rewind and he could save May.

He felt a needle pierce his neck and then there was nothing. No pain or hurt. The past 24 hours hadn’t happened and he was waiting for May to come back to the living room with popcorn for their movie night.

He felt a needle in his neck and the next there was nothing. There was no pain, or hurt. Time would repeat itself when he awoke but for now, the past 24 hours hadn’t happened. He was lying on the couch, waiting for May to come back with popcorn for their movie night.

-

Peter awoke screaming. His legs thrashed and kicked causing him to fall on the floor. The carpet scrapped his skin and chin. He opened his eyes. The room was normal. The chair, the table, the TV. Everything was exactly how it was before. The spot where… it happened. Where his life had ended.

He was too late. The moment it all mattered and he wasn’t there in time to stop it. Peter didn’t have the power to change anything in the end. Not his strength or healing or abilities. Nothing helped.

He pounded his fist into the carpet over and over until it was red and swollen. His forehead hit the ground. Endless tears soaked into the carpet, smearing down his face. His knees scrapped the floor as he crawled forward to the phone sitting on the coffee table. Should he call someone? Who would he even call? Underneath the phone was a paper.

In poorly written script it said: We’ll help you so nobody else gets hurt -TR

He crumpled the note in his hand. He couldn’t believe that nothing from last night was there in the apartment. No blanket unfolded, no book out of place. It was wrong. Peter got up from the ground, rubbing his sore wrists as he walked to the door without looking back.

Hours went by as snow and cold breezes blew past his spot on the sidewalk. Finally, a nondescript car pulled up to the side of the street. Peter climbed into the car. He spared one last glance up to his apartment. The first aid box was still sitting on the fire escape where May had left it.

Thank you!

Next Chapter Five: Honey Bear and Tony to the Rescue! 

[fallenfurther]

Virgil’s second topiary lesson

Another Post Buried Treasure Fic. I just couldn’t have Virgil not meet up with the groundskeeper again, who I’ve named Mr Greene, mainly for his green fingers though I realised halfway through the significance in relation to Virgil. I blame the early shift at work for that one not registering. Enjoy!

****

Virgil landed Tracy Two on the private runway and taxied her into the reserved area. He stepped off the plane into the cool morning air and sighed. He'd been looking forward to this day for a while. It was almost three months since the rescue had cause a sinkhole in the reclaimed land and he was looking forward to seeing it at its best again. He'd made sure they paid for the restoration of the area. The tunnel had been shored up to stop future cave-ins and the ground that had caved in had been covered over and a fresh topsoil added. It should look as it did before.

Virgil was currently driving to the park to meet up with Mr Greene, the Groundskeeper. They'd kept in contact since his impromptu topiary lesson and Virgil had apologised profusely for what had happened to his shrubs. Thankfully the swift work to put the damage right, had put Virgil, and to some extent International Rescue, back in Mr Greene’s good books. Yesterday the new bushes had arrived, and Mr Greene had agreed to let Virgil join him in shaping them. Virgil parked up and headed over to where the groundskeeper was waiting for him.

"I'm glad to see you didn't bring those machines with you." Mr Greene joked as he shook Virgil's hands.

"Me too. Hopefully they'll stay safely in their hangers for the rest of the day. Now, let's see what we have to work with. What's the theme we have to stick to?" Virgil rubbed his hands together. He was ready for a busy creative day and couldn’t wait to get started.

“It’s the same as before, seeing as no one got to see it last time, but thanks to your generous donation there’s more to do. They want three centrepieces for the area that got destroyed and an animal parade leading up to it. There are four trees and seven bushes that need to be shaped.”

“We’d better get to it then.”

Virgil followed Mr Greene along the sculpted paths that ran through the manicured lawns. There were birds in the trees and butterflies flying around the flowers, and with the wind and birdsong being the dominant sounds, it was peaceful. It was hard to believe that beneath their feet was centuries old rubbish and active mining! They stopped at a path that they would be focusing on. Looking down it, Virgil could see the lawn that had caved in last time he was there and the three large bushes that were to become the new centrepieces. Mr Greene stood and pointed to the trees as he spoke.

“The animals along the path will be in pairs, one on each side. First will be the wolves and then the next will be meerkats. After that will be a bear with penguins at the front. The animals weren’t my choice, they were voted on by the local children.” Mr Greene clearly didn’t like the idea of penguins; he’d screwed his face up as he said the word. “The three centrepieces will be a giraffe, an elephant and a gorilla. We’ll start with the path. We’ll do one of each of the pairs, at the same time, so I can give you pointers and advice as we go along. Sound reasonable?”

“Yes.” Virgil smiled. There was a lot to do and he was nervously excited that his work was going to be displayed alongside that of a professional. He hoped the kids approved.

Mr Greene had laid out the tools of the trade by the first bush, and Virgil climbed into the protective overall that had been provided. Picking up the shears he stood by the bush, ready to receive the instructions on how to best shape a wolf. Mr Greene gave him clear instructions, which Virgil followed, though he did give Virgil a little leeway, here and there, to put his own spin on things. Soon the wolves had taken shape, and they swapped to the secateurs to do the finer trimming and neatening. Once Mr Greene had given his wolf the once over, they swapped sides and started on meerkats. A simpler shape than the wolves, and with less leaves to trim away to reveal the animal, they were finished much quicker. Again, they swapped sides, and started on the bears. These were much bigger, and ladders were required to reach the tops. Mr Greene finished first and gave him encouragement from below. Virgil carefully snipped away at the top, shaping the ears and the snout. He wiped his brow on his sleeve as the sun’s glare warmed his brow. Once satisfied, he climbed down the ladder and let Mr Greene up to inspect his work. A few small cuttings, and his mentor was satisfied.

“How about we break for lunch?” Mr Greene said as he reached the bottom of the ladder. “I’ve packed us a few bits which we can eat in the shade of the trees.”

Virgil’s stomach growled in response, his focus on his work having distracted him from his hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything since he’d left the island.

“That sounds fantastic.”

Virgil followed Mr Greene down the path and further into the gardens. They headed into a hedged off area and he found himself in a secret garden with a large apple tree at its centre. Beneath the tree was a couple of cool boxes. Mr Greene sat down, opened one up and handed him a bottle of chilled water. Virgil took it gladly and gulped down the water. It’s cool touch on his parched lips was heavenly. Virgil plonked himself down by Mr Greene as the man passed him a box. Inside were ham and cheese sandwiches.

“I’ve got some sandwich pickle in the cool box if you want some. Not everyone’s a fan, but I love a good bit of pickle in my sandwiches.”

“I’m good. My brother, Gordon, the blond one, is the big pickle fan in our family.” Virgil smiled as he bit into a sandwich, thinking of all the times he’d watched Gordon make one of his sandwiches. His brother always tried fit as much as possible between the slides of bread. As he ate, Mr Greene laid out mini-sausages, tomatoes, radishes, celery sticks and a sharing bag of crisps. Virgil tipped a few crisps into the box with his last sandwich and grabbed a few tomatoes, popping one in his mouth. He avoided the celery. Years of sitting next to Gordon crunching Celery Bars meant he’d gone off it.

“How are you finding the topiary today? You’re doing very well for a beginner. You’ve a real eye for detail, and how you want the shape to be.”

Virgil took the compliment with a smile, “It’s great. I love creating things. I paint, when I get the chance, and I find this is just another way of expressing and revealing the images that can form in your head. At least, that’s how it works for me. I see the image of the bear, you tell me how it should be standing, where its arms need to be, and I picture it in my head. Then it’s just working out how to translate that image into the bush. I’m loving the 3D aspect of it.”

Mr Greene chuckled, and it was strange but good to see the lightness in his face normally stern face. “You have a way with words young man! I wish others saw this like you do. When the area is open to the public, people waltz in with their phones in their hands, gaze and gape, take a few photos then move on. They barely stop to truly see what’s before them, and they certainly don’t think about all the effort that’s gone into it. It’s why you don’t get so many people doing it nowadays. It’s considered old-fashioned and a relic from the days of nobility.” Mr Greene sighed.

Virgil sat back and thought about it. There were parts of it that made sense. As an artist he could appreciate the effort that goes into the production of a sketch or painting, and some of his brothers understood that. Yet when he dragged Alan to an art gallery, he’d whizz around it before getting bored, and Virgil was never quite sure how much the boy had taken in.

“I can see where you’re coming from. But at least they are taking an interest and getting out of the city. This place is amazing, and even if they take just a little bit of that home with them, then we’ve done our job right.” Virgil ate another tomato before continuing, “and just look at this little garden. I’ll remember this moment forever. It’s secluded and peaceful, the flowers have been carefully chosen to highlight the area and bring your attention to exactly where it needs to be to highlight its beauty.”

Mr Greene sat a little straighter, “Well, I did try my best. It wasn’t easy, mind you, to convince the higher-ups to see my vision. But once people come here, they’ll trust me.”

They finished their meal, which was completed with homemade banana bread, while discussing artists and beautiful places. When all was eaten, they packed up and headed back to their bushes. Mr Greene passed Virgil a straw hat, to keep the sun off his neck and out his eyes, for which Virgil was grateful. They made light work of the penguins, and then they started on the centrepieces. Mr Greene asked him to get the basic outline for the elephant done, while he started on the gorilla, which was to stand in the middle. Virgil worked away, losing track of time. He finished his rough outline and got Mr Greene’s approval to continue. Trimming closer, he got out the secateurs and started clipping the detail into the ears and face. He smoothed out the body and trunk, making sure it curved in just the right way. Standing back, he gazed up at his handiwork.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” Mr Greene’s voice came from behind him. Virgil turned around, a contented grin on his face, and looked at Mr Greene. Except Virgil’s gaze fell on the bush behind the man. His jaw dropped. It was a male silverback gorilla, made entirely from one bush. Mr Greene had managed to sculpt most of it, and it was breath-taking in its detail. The hands were still a work in progress, but it was the face that caught his attention. The gorilla was gazing straight down the path and had such a dignified look on it’s face.

“That good, huh? I have a soft spot for gorillas. Used to draw them all the time as a boy, and although I don’t do it much anymore, I still have that soft spot or the apes.”

“It’s incredible.” Virgil slowly walked around it, taking in the way it had been cut, trying to work out how it had appeared from the ordinary bush which has been there just hours previously.

“Thank you. How about you try the giraffe? Be careful with the neck, that’s the tricky part. I’ll come join you once I’ve finished the hands, and we might get it all done before sundown.”

Virgil nodded, not quite ready to take his eyes of the gorilla. With a renewed determination to master the art to that kind of level, Virgil walked towards the last untouched bush as made the first snip with the shears. Mr Greene soon joined him, and they made light work of it, and soon the giraffe appeared. True to his word, the sun was low in the sky when they had finished. Virgil slipped out of the overall and placed the shears, hat and secateurs into Mr Greene’s wheelbarrow.

“I’ll clear up the cuttings tomorrow.” Mr Greene said as he picked up the cooler boxes and Virgil pushed the wheelbarrow towards the exit. When they reached the carpark, Virgil placed in down and shook Mr Greene’s hand.

“Thank you so much for today. It was fantastic.”

“You’re welcome, young man, and if I need a hand or inspiration, I know who to call.” Mr Greene gave Virgil a smile before heading off towards the groundskeeper’s shed. Virgil sat in the car; his body was exhausted. It definitely wasn’t safe to fly, and he was thankful he had planned to stay the night in a hotel. A quick call to John to confirm everyone was okay, and he drove off. A shower and some clean clothes and Virgil lay in the bed with his sketchpad. Despite the exhaustion, he sketched a few different views of the secret garden, though his favourite was the view from under the tree. He added a few extra details to it before yawning. Another yawn and Virgil knew he was done for the night. He placed the pad on the bedside table, pulled the covers over himself and turned off the light. His mind was full of flowers, gardens and shaped bushes which he knew would fill his dreams. He closed his eyes and hoped there were no callouts tomorrow. He wanted to start on his painting of the secret garden, hoping to permanently capture its beauty in paint.

[drsilverfish]

Dean’s Jungian Shadow Arc in S14 - Confronting the Internal Father (2x22 to 14x20)

“This meeting with oneself is, at first, the meeting with one’s own shadow. The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. But one must learn to know oneself in order to know who one is” 

(Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious 1991: p21) 

Jung believed that the psyche was composed, in part, of a relation to “archetypes” (shared human psychic formations). One of these is the archetype of the father.

He distinguishes between the actual father (i.e. your Dad) and the “imago” of the father (a term he borrowed from Freud). That means, the psychological internalised construct of the father, which partly resides in the unconscious, and which is not identical to your real Dad, because it’s about your childish and foundational perception of them, but, also, for Jung (not Freud) it is linked to the archetypal (or mythic) father. The father archetype (for Jung, who has a gendered perception of the world rooted in his time-period) is about power and control. And when someone subconsciously over-identifies with the father-archetype, this results in out-of-control power fantasies:

"The danger is just this unconscious identity with the archetype, the more a father identifies with the archetype, the more unconscious and irresponsible, indeed psychotic ... he ... will be"

 (Jung, 1906-1916 writings collected as Freud and Psychoanalysis: 1961:p316).

So, subconsciously over-identifying with the father-imago has negative consequences for a person, and those around them. 

Let’s talk Dean, The Shadow and Dean’s Daddy Issues.

Remember this? (Gods but the colour palette was gorgeous back then).

This is Dean shooting Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon who killed his mother, Mary Winchester, with the Colt in 2x22 All Hell Breaks Loose Part II.

He does it with his father, John Winchester’s spirit’s help (released from Hell):

But, when I say help, remember that, symbolically, John has also been mirrored to Azazel, by means of Azazel’s possession of John (1x22 Devil’s Trap):

Hooboy -  Daddy issues right out of the gate. That’s not news to any of us. The whole show is about “wayward sons”, after all.  

Fast foward twelve years, and this is Dean (in the role of The FatherTM) almost shooting Jack, his own adopted Nephilim son (who also represents his child-self) with the Hammurabi, the mystical gun Mark II, which Chuck forged and named after an ancient Babylonian law which codifies “an eye for an eye” (i.e. a “Revenge Gun”TM):

Jack the Nephilim, whose eyes glow yellow when he is in his power, and who has (apparently) killed Mary Winchester (again):

(Jack in 13x14 Good Intentions)

Notice that both scenarios - Dean, mystical gun, yellow-eyed supernatural being who killed his mother - take place in a graveyard. 

Mary is dead twice (at least as far as Dean is concerned) and her death haunts the scenes.

Chuck has deliberately set up the second scenario to mirror the first (he is, in my view, testing Dean, the way he tested Abraham).

At this moment, in Moriah, we could say Dean is possessed by his Shadow, in the form of the father archetype, the Ghost of John Winchester, in his subconsious. He is ready to act out John Winchester’s revenge quest redux, and in doing so, to do violence all over again to his child-self, in the form of Jack, who symbolises child-Dean in this moment. 

A repetition of the damage done to Dean himself as a child; who was forced, by the tragedy of Mary’s death, and his own father’s traumatic revenge-quest, to grow up too fast, is playing out before our eyes.

Jack-the-mirror, who lost his own mother at birth, and looks twenty-something but is only two, kneels, a willing sacrifice, in the role of child-Dean, before his father, adult-Dean, who is shadow-possessed by John’s Ghost, ready to be murdered, just as John “murdered” Dean’s childhood. 

“The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not made conscious, it happens outside as fate. That is to say, when the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious of his inner opposite, the world must perforce act out the conflict and be torn into opposing halves.” 

(Carl Jung, Collected Works “Christ: A Symbol of the Self”).

Jung suggests we are subject to “fate” (i.e. our own unconscious forces taking control of our actions) when we do not confront our Shadow. 

Ties in beautifully to Supernatural’s larger theme of fate vs free will, right?

Now, back then, when Dean shot yellow-eyed demon No 1, Azazel, Dean was (as his subconscious taunted him at the time) “Daddy’s blunt little instrument” (3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me)....

Back then, Dean obeyed his father and called him “Sir”,  “...following Dad’s orders like a good little soldier” (Sam in 1x10 Asylum). Sammy was the rebellious one.

When Dean stood up to his Dad, it wasn’t for himself, it was to protect Sam:

(1x20 Dead Man’s Blood). 

Dean’s obedience was linked to his angel-engineered role as the Michael vessel (God’s obedient son) whilst Sam’s rebelliousness was linked to his equally engineered role as the Lucifer vessel (God’s rebellious son).

They ripped up that script and wrote their own ending in 5x22 Swan Song, but, while Sam said “Yes” to Lucifer (his Shadow-self) and beat the Devil, Dean said “No” to Michael.

S14 is the season in which Dean, having said “Yes” to AU!Michael in order to beat Lucfier (again) in 13x23 Let the Good Times Roll, undertakes his own Shadow-work. 

Dabb’s Ouroboros narrative is in full swing.  

Back then, John’s revenge quest, to get the yellow-eyed demon who killed Mary Winchester, became Dean’s mission too. He internalised it (even before he knew about Azazel). Sam wanted to get out of hunting, Dean was driven to follow in his father’s footsteps (whatever his real feelings and desires were, he buried them to follow the “family business”). 

Here is Young!Dean in Bad Boys (9x07) looking out of the window at Young!Sam in the Impala, about to give up his happiness at Sonny’s and his young love with Robin in order to put his Dad’s way of life (hunting/ revenge), and his brother (who needs him) first:

One way a child deals with a parent who is hurting them is to want to become them, to idolise them and to believe that they’re right (Dad’s car, Dad’s music, Dad’s machismo, Dad’s heterosexuality, Dad’s way of drinking and squashing down emotion). 

DEAN: “We have the coolest Dad in the world.  He’s a superhero.” (3x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas). 

Jung would say Dean internalised a strong identification (partly conscious, partly unconscious) with the father imago. 

Dean’s been on a long, long journey to get out from under his father’s shadow. We’ve seen that struggle over many seasons.

AU!Michael in Dean’s head in S14 represented the repressive ghost of John Winchester embodied as a destructive archangel in Dean’s mind, i.e. serious crunch time for Dean’s psyche - things coming to a real crisis point for him, psychologically. 

Dark!Kaia makes the parallel in 14x03 The Scar (just hear “John Winchester” for “him”):

KAIA: “You’re no different from him. Threats, violence anything to get what you want.” DEAN: “I am nothing like him.” KAIA: “Yeah you are: you always have been!”

You can read some of my previous meta on Dean’s struggle with AU!Michael as his repression/ the Ghost of John Winchester here (which also emphasises that one aspect of John’s repression of Dean is, in subtext, the repression of Dean’s queerness):

Queer Gods and Monsters (14x02)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/179226151009/queer-gods-and-monsters-14x02

14x03 The Scar - Dean Confronts Dark!Kaia (Dopplegangers, Mirrors and John Winchester’s Ghost)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/179463975289/shirtlesssammy-14x03the-scar-meta-writers

AU!Michael and the Closet (14x10 Nihilism)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182120562849/aumichael-and-the-closet

Jung and Dean’s Journey Towards Self-Integration in 14x11 Damaged Goods

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182299438269/jung-and-deans-journey-towards-self-integration

In 14x02 we get this shot of Dean facing his mirror-self, AU!Michael, and Michael tells him, “I own you!”

In 14x10, Dean, desperate to contain AU!Michael, manages (with Sam and Cas’ help) to lock him in a fridge-locker in his own mind:

 And he says, “I am the cage!”

Dean then builds a Ma’lak box and intends to lock himself in it and throw himself (and AU!Michael with him) to the bottom of the ocean. Yikes. At the start of 14x12 Prophet and Loss, he dreams that he is alone, and terrified, in that very box:

Sam says to him about this plan (14x12 Prophet and Loss):  “But what you’re talking about is far worse than death. Michael’s an archangel. He could literally keep you buried in a coffin, alive, forever.”

Remember Dean also described his possession by AU!Michael as like “drowning” over and over (14x03 The Scar): 

DEAN: “I don’t remember most of what Michael did with me because I was under water. Drowning. And that I remember. I felt every second of it - clawing, fighting for air. I thought I could make it out but I couldn’t: I wasn’t strong enough.”

Now hear what is happening, psychologically... 

Dean’s subconscious, his Shadow-self (aka AU!Michael representing the Ghost of John Winchester) i.e. Dean’s own self-repression and over-control, both inherited from John’s impact on him, is saying to Dean “I own you” and “I am the cage”, you will be buried in a coffin, alive, with me forever. You are under water and you can’t make it out.    

That’s pretty scary right? Dean is trapped by himself (by the traumatic internalised impact of his past and his consequent over-identification with his father).

If this were IRL, we’d have given Dean the name of a good therapist, a long time ago. But it’s Supernatural, so instead Dean gets to confront the ghost of his father, John Winchester, in the flesh, in 14x13 Lebanon. He wishes on the magic pearl to get “Michael out of my friggin’ head” and lo and behold John Winchester magically appears before him (cemeting the symbolism of AU!Michael in Dean’s head representing/ mirroring John Winchester). 

Dean gets to hear his Dad say, “You are a grown man and I am incredibly proud of you.” Dean gets to say to Sam, that he wouldn’t change anything: “I’m good with who I am. I’m good with who you are. ‘Cause our lives – they’re ours.”

He gets to tell his father he “has a family”, not a conventional one - “an angel and Lucifer’s kid”, but it’s good: 

 An Angel, and Lucifer’s Kid? Queer-Coding and Dean’s “Found Family” in 14x13 Lebanon

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182794294534/an-angel-and-lucifers-kid-queer-coding-and

And he gets to choose to let his Dad go, with love. What beautiful psychological progress, huh? AU!Michael is out of his head and so is the controlling Ghost of his Father, replaced by a loving one!

But, it’s not that simple. When the pearl is destroyed, time is reset and AU!Michael is still installed in Dean’s noggin. It’s only when Dean and Cas have been whammied by the Queer Gorgon, that AU!Michael (Dean’s repression, remember) finally gets out of his mind (14x14 Ouroboros): 

The Kiss of the Queer Gorgon in 14x14 Ouroboros

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183323000224/the-kiss-of-the-queer-gorgon-in-14x14-ouroboros

Jack (Dean’s child-self mirror) kills AU!Michael (John’s repressive ghost mirror) but, the burden is great and the cost is (at least part of) his soul. 

Moreover, when Mary is subsequently “killed” by Jack (you all know by now I have a theory she’s been fake re-fridged, and she’s actually been blasted into an AU, and we’ll see her again), Dean regresses. He goes back into uber-controlling mode, over-responsible mode, as a way of dealing with the fact his world has fallen apart again. Psychically (as many of you clever people have already pointed out) he’s been taken back to the trauma his 4 year old self experienced when Mary died the first time. 

So, Dean puts on his control-mask, the one he learned from his Dad, and (just like John did) he focusses on dealing with the yellow-eyed “monster” who killed Mary, to contain the pain. He refuses to listen to Sam or Cas. He tells them to get on board with his (suicidal again) plan or get lost. HE is the one who instigates locking Jack (remember, also a representation of his child-self) in the Ma’lak box:

And he is the one who won’t listen to his loved ones,  but jumps all over and obeys without question, the Word of God (the Law of the Father) that the only way is to shoot Jack with the new mystical gun (Colt Mark II) when Chuck shows up with it. 

 Displaced-in-time John said, in 14x13 Lebanon (having been filled in by his sons):

JOHN: “I-I went out takin’ out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? I mean, get the thing that killed mom.”      

Chuck offers Dean the same choice (and, again, I think it’s a test).

Remember, as well as being the Revenge GunTM, the Hammurabi is also know as “The Equaliser”, so whatever happens to the person who is shot, also happens to the shooter. A perfect, perfect metaphor for the way in which John’s revenge quest rebounded on his sons (compounding the emotional trauma of losing their Mom). 

If Dean’ follows in his father’s footsteps and shoots the yellow-eyed “demon” who killed Mary, his own adopted son Jack (who, did I mention, represents his child-self) he will die - literally, according to the “law” of Chuck’s mystical gun, but also symbolically.

Because symbolically, that choice represents the fact that Dean has been crushing the life out of himself, for a long time, thanks to the internalised Ghost of John Winchester in his head (demanding that he be a substitute-parent to Sammy, that he stay “on mission”, that he perform a certain kind of masculinity, that he is responsible for everything and everyone, that he constantly fails [because he is trying to live up to an impossible standard]).

And at the last, Dean passes the test. He says, “No,” to the ultimate Father FigureTM (God) who is shouting at him to pick up the gun and pull the trigger.

He says “No” even when Chuck promises to bring Mary back from the “dead”. 

He does not repeat the cycle of his father’s revenge quest. He lowers the weapon of RevengeTM and of Re-bounding Suffering/ DeathTM.

He (finally) has compassion for Jack and thus (hopefully, hopefully) for his own child-self mirror. 

On symbolic Mount Moriah, Dean confronts his Shadow-self, the part of him that is “just like” his father, the part that keeps controlling or pushing away his key relationships (with Sam and Cas and now Jack) the part that finds safety in orders, and in a black-and-white view of the world where monsters are monsters, and in which revenge is the answer.

Confronting the Shadow, as I wrote before 14x20 aired, can release us from “scapegoating”:

The Scapegoat: Speculative Musings on S14′s End (Moriah) (Linked to the Season’s Jungian Themes - Scapegoating and the Unacknowledged Shadow)  

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184068368304/the-scapegoat-speculative-musings-on-s14s-end

So, Dean says, “No” to God, the ultimate father-figure, and in doing so he is released from his Shadow-possession by the father-imago in his unconscious

DEAN: “No, my Mom was my hero, and I miss her, and I will miss her every second of my life, but she would not want this.” 

As a counter-point, he embraces the feminine (his internal anima, according to Jung). He evolves.

And so, the mirror is broken through between the self and the Shadow-self, the ego and the id. AU!Michael/  the Ghost of John Winchester/ the Voice of God are out of Dean Winchester’s head. They can no longer control him: he has faced them all. 

Now,  Dean has to learn to be himself, a whole new final chapter in the journey.

“The shadow, when it is realized, is the source of renewal ...  no progress or growth is possible until the shadow is adequately confronted and confronting means more than merely knowing about it. It is not until we have truly been shocked into seeing ourselves as we really are, instead of as we wish or hopefully assume we are, that we can take the first step toward individual reality” (Connie Zweig, Meeting the Shadow, 1990).

And, if you’ve been following the thread in the links to my other meta on Dean’s Shadow here, on how John’s repression in Dean’s mind was depicted (in subtext in S14) as, in part, Dean’s repression of his queerness (the Ma’lak box and the fridge-locker in Rocky’s mind-bar being symbols of the closet) then this culminating confrontation with the repressive image of The FatherTM in the form of God himself, as symbolic of Dean’s own controlling, self-repressing, self-closeting, Shadow-self, does seem to clear the way for... interesting developments (dramatic irony claxon - Dean still doesn’t know God is, in fact, himself bisexual). 

However, as always, I caution that the overtly homoerotic denoument is more than likely to remain closeted at the last, in favour of the “familial”. 

[vampirefreakism]

The Scientist (Chapter 29)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

AO3 Link

The Soundtrack So Far

Warnings: angst, Loki being a casual bitch

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: Amazing, and look at me, releasing a chapter in less than 2 weeks. Thanks for sticking with it so far. I have never written something this massive, but I'm glad I started. This chapter was going to be one huge one, but I figured I'd go easy on you guys and split it into two parts. I know some of y'all got school and finals looming on the horizon, so take it easy. But make sure to take it.

Masterlist

----------

The first few days of the New Year progressed as they had for the past few months as though nothing had changed. Interactions went as desired, and peace in the home remained sustained. Luna's holiday break from work would last for another long weekend, as would the snow surrounding her apartment complex. Once the time was gone, it was back on the grind.

Loki was getting his fill of her, watching her every move whether she was aware of it or not. He carefully gauged their conversations, asking questions to things he felt she may shy away from, each time toeing the line set between them. It was tempting to cross it or sway Luna to move it, but he staved off such desires. It was too soon to take such heavy risks.

Engrossed in his new device, Loki perused the internet, reading clickbait-y tabloids and watching cat videos, all from the palm of his hand. If he had such a thing on Asgard, he would have never bothered to venture outside his room. As much as he detested Stark, his products were fantastic.

On the opposite end of the couch, Luna was deep into her own activity, her own phone sitting in her room. In its place, she busied her hands with a bundle of strings and a piece of paper dictating instructions on how to tie them.

“What are you doing?” Loki inquired.

She threw him a side glance. “Making a friendship bracelet for Tony. I promised him a Christmas present, so here it is,” Luna said, tying another colored knot.

“I thought you said he wasn’t really your friend.”

“Yeah, but what do you get a man who has everything and can buy anything?” She held up her partially-done creation. “Something handmade, of course.”

Loki gave a light chuckle. “Of course,” he echoed.

She set the bracelet back in her lap and continued. “If you’re jealous, I can make one for you too. I used to do it for all the Avengers, no matter if they liked jewelry or not.”

Loki put his gaze back to his phone. "If you wish, I won't object,” he said, missing Luna’s little smirk. She could read him well, but sometimes he suspected she forgot how well he could read her. Or rather, how hard he tried.

He could assess her emotions with ease, but their origins were tricky. He got a goodly amount of information from her diaries and the personal belongings he looked through, but the blank spaces were a mystery. Any piece he came upon, he filled in with his own experiences involving other people. Such things have been unreliable in his past. However, when push came to shove, he was forced to make do with them now.

Forgetting the random blog post on the screen, Loki pondered on his findings in regards to his unlikely friend. She was kind, headstrong, loving, intelligent, and realistic. Any problems she had, she dealt with and didn’t try to create more. She kept a sturdy house despite being alone in it. It perplexed him, but he accepted it wholeheartedly.

But Luna’s sides didn’t stop. Peter and Tony were closest to her, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with them. Mentions of her family were met with quick diversions, and talks of love or past relationships were countered by indifference and disdain. She hid something from him. As impressed as he was by her ability to do so, he craved the unknown.

And now she makes friendship bracelets for people she’s not friends with. Interesting.

Clicking his phone off, Loki angled his body towards Luna. “I think I’ve got it.”

Luna glanced his way. “Got what?”

“You.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. I’ve finally figured you out.”

She scoffed and returned her attention to the assembly of the bracelet in her lap. “Alright, tell me what you think you know about me.” She acted as unfazed as she felt. She’s heard such lines from the boys she was acquainted with in college. In this instance, Loki is no different from them, so she expects falsehoods and misconceptions.

Loki threw an arm around the back of the couch, his hand inches away from Luna’s shoulder. “You’re all alone here.”

“Obviously.”

“And that makes you lonely.”

“Again, obviously.”

“Though you’re friendly, you don’t cling to people. You keep them close, but far enough so you can push them away at the right time. You do this with Stark, Rhodes, and Peter. You guard yourself from friends and from love.”

Luna shook her head. “You know, you’re really going to have to try harder because that sounds just like every depressed teen going through puberty.”

“You find some aspect about yourself undesirable. Whether someone told you or you decided it is, you can’t get rid of it, and it eats at you.” Loki gripped the back of the couch and pulled himself closer to her. “Your cordiality is a façade to cover up for something seated deep within you, something dark.”

Luna's hands stopped their knotting. Her skin felt icy and hot, her jaw clenched tight, and her heart beat like a bird’s wings in flight. The air unsettled around her. Could Loki feel it too?

“Again, Loki, try harder,” she said quietly.

Loki leaned back. “Oh, I intend to, so long as you play these games with me.”

Luna gasped and whirled around, aiming her pointer finger at Loki’s chest. He pulled back more, surprised. “Don’t ever say I play games with you! I do no such thing!” she yelled, her nerves and face on fire.

Loki knew she was right, but old habits die hard. “Well, what do we have here? Is that anger?” He leaned his face closer to hers and watched as her expression contorted into one of shock, then rage.

Using her finger like a spear, Luna stabbed the center of Loki’s sternum, pushing him further into the cushions. “Don’t,” she growled.

Grabbing her craft and its instructions with a crunch, she got up and marched back to her room without another word. Pushing the door shut and locking it, Luna sank down to the floor, hands covering her face. The raging fire in her veins simmered down as it was joined by the telltale prickle of fear. Her temper got the best of her. Loki’s words deserved to be silenced in the manner they were, but they made Luna lose herself. It was embarrassing and disgraceful and made the scars on her legs itch and ache. She scratched her thighs over her leggings, but it did nothing to help.

Loki was dangerous. His inquisitive nature proved as much. It was clear he snooped through her things, but what else did he know and think? He was capable of toying with her emotions and not feeling the least bit sorry if he poked the wrong area. Luna knew so, but she let her guard down enough for him to hit her where it hurts.

But he was right; right about her harboring a dark secret close to her heart. Much of it was written out on her skin. He showed no signs of knowing what it is, but he was determined enough to make her spill it if he wanted to. Luna ground her teeth.

On the other hand, he accused her of playing games with him. Manipulating him. She never did and had no intentions to. How dare he charge her with such a fault? Luna rose back to her feet, whipped her glasses off, and face-planted on her bed. She hoped Loki was happy with himself because she certainly wasn’t.

Loki sat quiet, one hand lying still by his side and the other over the spot where Luna jabbed him. He stared at the wall – mind blank – trying to see through it, past it. Over the many people he’d angered in his life, being on the receiving end of Luna’s anger felt like the worst of them all. His snide comments got the better of him, and he touched a nerve he wasn't supposed to. A place no one was meant to tread. And here he went in and walked all over it without her permission.

Bringing his hand up and covering his mouth, the last words his mother spoke to him surfaced in his mind: ‘Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.’ With an anguished groan, he put his head in his hands and shook it. He made the mistake of mistakes. He transgressed in a way he may not be able to redeem himself from.

Next in the imaginary line to whisper words of wisdom in his ear was his brother: ‘Life is about growth. It's about change.’ Yes, indeed it was. Loki had changed enough to gain a worthwhile companion. Someone not looking to use him or hurt him to get what they want and pervert the title of ‘friend,' but someone who knew the value of him. Someone who liked him – free of all illusions and disguises – but he gracefully dashed those prospects away. The look in Luna’s eyes told him enough of how he hurt her and how deep it went.

‘But you seem to just want to stay the same.’

No. Loki did not want to stay the same. He wouldn’t stand idly by and let his beautiful friend slip away from him. She clothed and fed him when no one else would, stayed up with him when he couldn’t sleep, danced with him solely for the sake of having fun with him. Nothing was worth maintaining her fury against him.

Grabbing his phone, he opened up the text app and sent one to Luna: ‘please come back out.’ Loki heard a ping from her room and watched the screen with anticipation, willing a response from her to pop up. A little ‘read’ appeared beneath his message, but nothing more of note. He tried again, but no sound was heard. Another ‘read’ marked his text, and he was granted no more.

Loki kept up a repetitive motion, of sorts. He would choose a spot to sit, send a text, and pace, waiting for a response. He never received one, but he’s as stubborn as they come. Luna had to emerge from her room at some point. She couldn’t stay in and go hungry. The thought to break her door down drifted into his mind, but it left as quickly as it came. The apartment was public property. If he destroyed it, Luna wouldn’t be the only person cross with him.

She did come out about an hour after the sun had set. The glance she shot him on her way to the kitchen burned his heart like a hot knife. Albeit calm, her upset emotions hadn’t settled. He didn’t blame her. He would be mad too.

“How about leftovers? I don’t feel like cooking,” Luna called out. Reluctant to raise his voice at her, Loki shot up from his seat and made his way to her side in front of the open fridge. “I'll have curry and rice. You can have whatever." She pulled a bowl and water glass from the cupboard.

“I’ll have the same,” Loki said evenly, treading lightly with his words. Though Luna wasn’t looking at him, she was speaking to him, and he wanted her to keep it up.

From the cold pot of rice, she pressed into it firmly with a clean spoon, slowly breaking apart the mass into pieces she could scoop into her bowl. Once done, she pushed the pot and spoon in Loki’s direction for him to take as much as he liked. He copied her method and served himself.

They filled their bowls the rest of the way with as much leftover curry as they liked, effectively emptying the Tupperware container. Luna heated hers up first with Loki waiting patiently for his turn. Bringing everything they needed to the couch, Loki sat in his spot and switched on the television. Luna placed herself as far away from him as she could. It made Loki antsy. She always sat closer.

Leaning towards her, Loki spoke, pleading with her. “Talk to me.”

Luna didn’t bother looking at him. “I have nothing to say to you,” she stated, taking a sip of water and changing the channel to a nature show about Indian wildlife.

Loki took the hint. She was intent on not talking to or hearing him. However, circumstances as they were, he still admired her. Personally, he would have started a fight as soon as he could and argued his way to receiving an apology from his offender. Luna's method ensured she gets her way as well as keep the peace in the home, her silent treatment stoking Loki’s guilty conscience as it was meant to.

They took their time eating, hungry for good food but lacking in a proper appetite. Luna finished hers first and rinsed her bowl out at the first chance she got. She didn’t rejoin him. On the way back to her room, she stopped at the doorway to the little hallway and gave him one last look.

“I’ll be up for a while so you can shower first if you want to.”

Loki didn't get a chance to respond. She was gone, the door shut and locked behind her, allowing her to have the last word. He opted to let her sleep on it. In the morning, her temperament would be cooled down enough for her to hear him with a level head. He would have a proper apology ready by then.

He did take her advice and freshen himself up enough to sleep comfortably. Leaving the books alone, he read anything and everything he could find on his phone until it slipped from his weak hand. He took the hint from his body and turned it off, eager for sleep to take him.

----------

Taglist:  @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life

[geminimoonbeamx]

Sweet Tooth: Part Three

A/N: I’m a little addicted to writing this and while I have the time to update frequently, I will. Don’t get too used to it though, my sweet babies. I’m about to be really busy coming up here soon. Oh and I forgot to mention this last time, but I actually got the name of Lance’s sister from a fic I read a while ago! Brooklyn just fits so perfectly, I feel like it should be cannon! So kudos to that author because I now think of Brooklyn Tucker as a real character lol.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: All the cursing and Yonce listening in this one.

Summary: Lance Tucker has come back to his hometown with his ego bruised and his look on life more tainted then ever. When he runs into Y/N; a vibrant plus size woman he went to high school with at her bakery ‘Cake Faced’, he leaves the shop with the taste of sugar on his lips and a hunger that has nothing to do with the cupcakes.

💘💘💘💘

You wake up the next morning, still fuming.

A bottle of wine, six hours of sleep and a scalding hot shower later and you still feel like you could swing on that mother Tucker.

You try to push it our of your mind as you brew a pot of coffee and prepare for work but you just cant. You cant stop the thoughts that are sharp and assaultive.

How dare he?

Who did he think he was?

Who the hell did he think you we’re?

Some sad pathetic fat girl, an easy fuck? That he could ask you, rudely, to drink with him and you would just accept because, what? He was the only man who ever made any advances, and you should take his pity attention. You audibly scoff as you slide into a pair of pointed toe loafers and shrug into your camel coat, flicking your hair out of the collar as you do, assessing your appearance in the mirror by the front door mindlessly.

Yeah, you weren’t a supermodel. Yeah, you we’re over weight. But you actually liked your self, something that had come with years on years of hard work. You liked your fat ass and your curvy waist. You liked the way your eyes looked when you lined them with sharp eyeliner and the way your hair tumbled after you doused it in smoothing oil.

You stomp down your porch steps, irately slamming the door of your jeep after you get in. As you make the drive to the shop, you have to remind yourself that life is short. And you’re not going to let an asshole like Lance ruin you entire day. Because yeah, you liked all of those physical aspects of yourself, but what you liked most about your life; is that you had worked damn fucking hard. You owned your own business. You we’re your own boss.

Boss ass bitch.

So you crank up your Beyoncé playlist and let Queen Bey serenade your morning drive. By the time you get to work, belting out the lyrics of ‘Flawless’ you feel better, and you unlock the store and start morning prep- the stones in your stomach all but gone.

“You look good today Mrs. Thang” Shane, whose opening with you comments as he enters and you just hum and lick a bit of frosting from your knuckle.

“Why thank you, kind sir. You’re looking good today, too. I like the new hair” gone was the beach blond and in was a pretty lavender shade that highlighted his cheekbones. It was almost sad to think that it probably wouldn’t last long. Shane went through hair colors faster then the then the changing seasons, never keeping the same tone for more then a month at a time.

You loved it. Encouraged it. Because you weren’t one of those cunt-y bosses. Yeah, you had rules but mostly they we’re enforced with friendship and mutual respect. Not fearmongering and superiority.

You think that’s why most of your employee’s had worked for you for so long. A couple, like Shane, had been with you from the very start.

“Really, it was an accident” Shane shrugs, running a hand through the fluffy purple locks as he does the chores, straightens and preps before flipping the open sign over just as Ashleigh, one of your girls runs in- whimpering “sorry’s” as she hurriedly grabs her apron from the back and clocks in. You make her explain it to you, obviously, why she was a half an hour late and she goes into a frantic story about having to drop off a sister somewhere.

“Ash, it’s okay” You place your hands on her shoulders, placatingly “Just give me a call next time”

Your firm, and warm at the same time. She wasn’t known for being a flake, and everyone deserved a break sometimes. You weren’t going to bust her balls for her first offence. She looks so grateful it’s almost comical.

“Thank you, I love you, thank you”

“Bitch, go set up the display up front. I’ve done everything else this morning” Shane snaps playfully at her and you chuckle, clucking about language(even though you had the WORST mouth) before going to check on your cinnamon rolls.

It was going to be a good day, you encourage yourself…

And it was.

Even through the intensely busy hours that came with breakfast and lunch, your shop frequented at least thirty-forty people at any given moment at those times. But you couldn’t complain, how could you? Your business was booming. So you were on your feet all day. Boo hoo, the price of success was never promised to be cheap. Luckily you have a near full staff today so you can focus on things behind the counter.

Which def isn’t as much fun. You’d rather be baking, or working the register, but the books aren’t going to balance themselves and you have some business calls to get done. You also may or may not text Courtney and bitch about the night befores endeavors.

-I told you, he’s total piece of shit. Fucking dick-

She messages you about Lance and your nose crinkled. Yeah, he was. Which is sad, because you hadn’t always believed that.

“Hey, Y/N” Your head rises to look at one of your girls, she’s peeking her head into your office “There’s a problem with the corner mixer again”

You sigh through your nose, you’d just had maintenance in a couple weeks ago “Okay, I’ll be right out”

Still, you think, it had been a decent day.

Even when you get splattered with batter as you help fix the mixer. You agree to take Shane’s place at the front counter because he’s better at tinkering with the machine then you are and your only there for what seems like five minutes when your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. There’s a tall head of dark hair, and broad shoulders that have just walked in.

And bright blue eyes that meet yours.

You feel a flash of heat spread through your body and you probably would have told him to get the hell out- but of course Lance Tucker never played fair.

At his sides are two young girls, who you know are his nieces because you’d seen Brooklyn around with her kids before.

You meet his stare, determined not to back down. Your eyes are scowling harshly at him as he approaches you, and really, you wished you hadn’t left your office.

As much as you dislike Lance in that moment, those girls didn’t do anything to you and their giggling excitedly as they get up to the glass, looking at the extensive display of sweets with eyes bigger then their stomach’s.

“Hi” You grin at them, genuinely. Brooklyn Tucker really had reproduce well because her two daughters are gorgeous, some of the prettiest children you’ve ever laid eyes on. The younger one even has those hypnotic baby blues you figured must run in their family line.

They both chime their hello’s at you, the older girl holding the youngers hand in a way that makes you ache- missing your own sister dearly at that moment in time.

“Hi” That’s from Lance, but you don’t even acknowledge him.

“Do you guys see anything you like? Just point out anything you want to taste, okay?”

Both girls press even closer to the glass at that, their foreheads all but plastered to it. The little one seems to be having trouble though, she’s on the very tips of her toes and she’s still not quite tall enough to see all of her options. Lance doesn’t warn her, he just scoops her up in his arms and she squeals as he lean’s her down haphazardly so she can get a peek at all of the pastries.

“Thanks, Uncle Lance”

Your eyes meet his, just for a moment before you quickly divert them again.

So he did one cute(ass motherfucking) thing?

That didn’t pardon last night’s…and all the nights before that’s sin’s.

“I never know what to get when we come in here there’s just soooo many options. I’m going to have a mental break” The older girl blabbers and you chuckle. How old was she? Ten? Oh, sweet child, you want to tell her. You don’t know anything about mental breaks yet.

“Why don’t you ask, Y/N. She really knows her stuff” Lance chances a peek at you, but your still refusing to look at him.

“Really? Please halp me” The young girl balks and you laugh out loud.

“Okay, kiddo. what do you like? Are you into fruity flavors or are you more of a chocolate girl?” you start the process of helping her choose, one you’re well acquainted with.

“Give me all of the chocolate”

“A girl after my own heart, I like you” You smile as you start collecting samples for her to try.

The Mud Slide, the Dirty Old Man, and finally the Cookie Monster.

You knew she’d like that one, it was a hit with kids.

“What about you, sweet pea?” You ask the little one in Lances arms.

“Well I was thinking I would just take another one of those one’s I got last time” Lance answers you cockily, with a playful glint in his eyes.

“I wasn’t talking to you” you say at the same time that his older niece says “She was talking to Lula!”

Lance’s gives her a pointed look “Don’t team up on me now. You’re supposed to be on my side”

Again, ignoring him you ask “Lula, do you see anything you want to try”

You can tell she’s quieter- maybe not as bold as the other Tucker’s in the shop and you don’t want her to feel left out. When she points to the Strawberry Crunch Bar you smile and give her the little tester spoonful, your eye brows wiggling friskily at her. She giggles and tells you that, that’s the one she wants.

“Well I’ll try it too then” Lance decides and you hand him a tester, not nearly as nicely. He wraps his lips around it, his eyes glued to yours and smiles.

Fuck.

Why is his smile still so gorgeous?

“Mmm- it’s okay”

You glare at him and he chuckles and holds his hand that’s not occupied by holding the child up “I’m kidding, jeeze”

“Will that be all for you guys?” you’re not trying to rush them- but you really are. He was already getting on your nerves.

Lance wants to sigh, and reach over the counter and shake you because obviously he was throwing up a white flag, couldn’t you give him a break? He’d spent the entire morning, with a gnarly head ache(because he, in fact, had finished that case of beer) and an itch he couldn’t scratch. An annoying one that had led him back to this shop. Luckily, he was babysitting the girls while Brooke was at work so he knew you wouldn’t turn him away.

But that didn’t stop you from being really damn difficult.

“No, actually. It wont. Le'mme try that one” He points to a swirling green cupcake with chocolate sprinkles. And then five more after that. It get’s a little ridiculous because you can tell he’s not even really into it. He’s just doing it to annoy you.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” You ask tensely after his sixth taster, your really trying to be professional but he’s really getting under your skin.

“I don’t know you tell me”

You huff at his answer. Why was he tormenting you?

“Uncle Lance I want to eat my cupcake!” The older girl pulls on his arm, hurrying him.

“And you can, when my friend here tells me that she’ll join us”

Has he lost his damn mind?

“I’m working” you instantly snap.

“Well isn’t one of the perks of being your own boss being able to take breaks when you want to?” Lance pushes “Just a quick one, we’ll eat in the store”

“No”

“Come on”

“Please miss- it’ll be really fast I promise” The older girl begs and you could hit him for doing this to you. The store was quiet enough that you couldn’t use that for an excuse…and really, you owned the place. You had no superior to look out for.

“Fine. But I cant hang out for long, It’s almost four, it’ll start to pick up again” You bend with a sigh as you ring them up and Lance stands a little straighter. The shit eating look on his face makes you want to puke. You sit at one of the tables with them and watch with fond amusement as the girls begin feasting on their cupcakes animatedly.

You learn that while Lula isn’t much of a talker, her older sister Zoey is. The girl, who tells you that she’s nine and a quarter, is maybe the most talkative child you’ve ever met. You cant even really absorb all that she’s giving you.

“Jesus, Zo. Give the woman a chance to breathe” Lance teases her, wiping a stray bit of frosting away from her cheek with his thumb.

“You don’t mind, do you Y/N?” Zoey asks around a bite “We’re friends now”

You smile widely at that but very seriously tell her “Of course we are”

“See?” Zoey shoots at Lance “You’re just mad because she’s my friend and not yours”

Lance covers his grimace with a smirk as he looks down. The kid’s not wrong.

“Maybe your on to something”

“Don’t be weird” Zoey alerts at the sound of his gruff voice “We can all be friends, right?”

She looks at you with a child like innocence that renders you speechless for a moment, grasping for the right words.

This was so unfair,

“I don’t make friend with boy’s. Their gross” Lula is a godsend you decide as she breaks the silence with her comment.

“Live your entire life by those words” You advise the younger girl and Lance chortles.

“That’s a little sexist” Zoey is something else. The girl spoke like she was far older then her nine years.

“I promise that when you get to be my age you’ll understand”

She just goes back to her cupcake and idle chatter after you tell her that.

“What if the boy really wanted to be your friend?” Lance asks lowly as his nieces debate something between themselves, not paying attention to the two of you.

He’s leaning into you a little bit, his shoulder is nearly touching yours and his knee brushes your thigh.

You knew what he was doing. And you weren’t amused in the least.

“I don’t think the boy knows what friendship is”

“C'mon Y/N. Don’t be like that”

You snap your eyes in his direction warningly.

“I’m not being like anything. Like I told you last night-”

“You don’t give a shit about me. Yeah, I remember”

You chew on his words, they taste sharp and bitter and ugly.

“I didn’t mean it like that” your voice is softer, softer then you’d meant it to be.

“Then be my friend”

The way friend rolls off his tongue is suggestive and almost sinful and even though you refuse to look at him, his eyes bore into the side of your face and you attempt not to squirm in your seat. Hating that he was getting this kind of reaction out of you.

“Y/N!” Saved, once again by the bell. Or fate. Or Shane. You scoot out the chair to stand instantly, extremely relieved to have an out.

“It was really nice to meet you guys, I hope you liked your cupcakes” You bid fare well to the girls.

“It was nice meeting you too. We’re friends now, so I’ll be back” Zoey informs you, matter of factly and you bite a laugh.

“I’ll be waiting” you salute her as you prepare to leave.

Your not expecting Lance to be so…bold. Which is stupid. Because bold is pretty much who he is. He reaches out to block your path with his long, toned arm and your thighs bump into it.

You look down at him, irate.

“Thank you” He looks up at you, that insanely pretty jaw tensing and his eyes literally cutting holes into you.

You shake your head, trying to banish the feeling.

Really, it just looks like your shaking your head at him being a total ass hat.

“Your welcome” You mutter, but his arm doesn’t drop. He’s still caging you in, in a way that’s making your chest flutter uncomfortably. It’s like he can sense it, because he grins and his voice comes out smooth as butter.

“It really was delicious”

Was he fucking with you?

He had to be fucking with you.

“Yup. It’s my job, now move” if the children weren’t there you would have been a little more…colorful, but the way you say move is enough for his arm to retreat.

He cant decide whether he wants to smile, or glare. Whether you’re actually annoying him by being so stubborn or turning him on. As he watches your hips sway he thinks it might be the latter.

“I like her” Lula announces, as she licks at the cupcake wrapper for any remaints of icing and Lance’s mouth twitches as you toss your head back and laugh at something someone said to you. He did too. He thinks he always had.

Part Four

——————–

@huntressxtimelady @i-had-a-life-once @zombiewerewolfqueen @spookyscaryscully @adyseesbeauty @geekyweed @peacefulwriter88 @pegasusdragontiger @yslbucky @iamwarrenspeace @maximum-effort-minimum-life @booklover2929 @ultrafangirl000 @sophiealiice

Okay, what did we think about this one? I know their relationship is slow burning and for all intents and purposes Y/N still isn’t his biggest fan but isn’t that realistic? Lol he’s sooooo full of shit and I think the woman that finally caught Lance Tucker would def know that. Please leave me some comments, some feedback about what you think. Even if it’s constructive criticism. I really like this story and I want to know if you guys do too!😭💛

[charlotjafield]

Avenue south residence3

In these times of financial peril, with unemployment rising and property values falling like a sped up game of macro economic chutes and ladders, most every American feels the crunch of debt loads they had accumulated in happier times. Alas, as seems the eternal nature of credit freely given absent responsibility or the proven ability to repay obligations, capricious purchasing and sloppy household budgeting have effectively undercut our national character. The United States of America was built upon a tradition of self reliant labor independent of feudal allegiances, but, as the constant usage of credit cards and the accompanying unsecured debts grew alongside home mortgages and automobile loans, we may have lost track of an essential element of our native spirit by abandoning the steady accumulation of savings as an integral part of financial development for the country as a whole. Credit card debt has become a veritable cancer upon the American economy with millions of our citizens facing bankruptcy or worse as they succumb to an endless succession of bills.

It is so easy, these days, for American consumers to lose themselves in the thicket of debt and credit accounts. For too many of us, bankruptcy (giving up, really; admitting there would be no workable solution to debt management) can seem the only way out of their crushing burdens. Economic issues were not always conducted in this manner. Avenue south residence  Bankruptcy used to carry with it an immense stigma and credit of any sort was once believed to be the solace of the weak and vaguely criminal, but so much has changed. Most every commercial advertises the necessity of plastic as an implement of modern society. An individual's credit rating (and the credit cards that, to be sure, help garner those all important FICO scoring system points) is considered more important than actual income history when determining worthiness for home mortgages or investment opportunities - or even, more and more, potential employment. Everything about the system has gone thoroughly wrong, and, to a large degree, our current national financial difficulties may be seen as a thoroughly deserved case of chickens coming home to roost. The United States has found itself increasingly dependent upon debt merely to keep the markets humming, but one cannot rely upon credit cards forever.

Indeed, by counting upon madly driven consumer purchasing that has been expected to overcome the necessary down cycles which every economy must deal with at one time or another, we have lost sight of the importance of savings both as a citizenry and as a nation. Perhaps, even just a few years ago, we could have attempted to change the direction our spending habits (and market capitalization) were inevitably heading towards, but, with the recently plummeting stock market and string of band failures, it's probably too late to ward off recession. Instead, consumers (and, once again, the nation in general) must concentrate upon proper debt management while trying to best repair the damage that credit card bills and towering financial obligations have already wreaked without resorting to bankruptcy protection or other potentially ruinous solutions. Had more households (and our supposed economic leadership, for that matter) taken care of their budgets and spending patterns when times were relatively healthy, then such steps would not have been necessary, but, with unsecured debts - primarily those of credit cards - threatening untold Americans, it is now all that we can do merely to ensure that things do not get worse.

In this way, your authors strenuously insist that all borrowers reading this article do whatever they find reasonable to rid themselves of virtually everything that they owe. Even those of you that have not yet hit bottom and, while perhaps still nervous about your ever climbing credit card debts, are just curious about one of the programs newly available for borrowers anxious to avoid bankruptcy should the worst happen, would be wise to recognize the importance of truly understanding the repercussions of maintaining any sizable debt balances regardless of your family's current financial status. After all, no matter how impressive your income at present and no matter how seemingly unlikely the potential for unpaid credit card debts to present the sort of problem that could force Chapter 7 bankruptcy or any sort of desperate stabs at debt relief, even the wealthiest of households are but one or two bad turns away from calamities that could severely harm their base finances. Emergencies and accidents, by dint of their very nature, are not to be anticipated, of course, but, at the same time, that does not mean one can not reduce debts, make certain future payments would not cripple eventual budgets, and instill correct spending and purchasing behaviors to assist borrowers in the event of untoward economic disasters.

Once again, we are largely worried about the unsecured sort of debts; they are the true cause of the grand majority of Chapter 7 bankruptcies. Business loans and mortgages for primary residences and vacation or investment properties, as long as the purposes behind the loans have been intelligently chosen and the interest rates and terms are in order, should ideally be looked upon as advantageous to household economics. Automobile and other vehicle loans (though, as we will continue to underline, the specific aspects and fine print of each note should be analyzed to the nth degree and compared to similar offers) are, we suppose, a component of modern life it would be foolish to deny. Though, at the same point, in this age of escalating gas prices, many borrowers concerned about their debt loads are trading in their larger cars, trucks, and sports utility vehicles for mid size options with greater fuel efficiency so as to better pass on the savings toward paying down their credit card bills. This is precisely the sort of forward thinking consumer decision that allows for greater leverage when managing debts and saving for the future - and, we do understand, buying cars can be remarkably fun regardless of how genuinely beneficial the ultimate action may turn out to be for the purchaser.

Even for those borrowers who have made poor choices as regards real estate investments (even those who find themselves unable to live without their favored vehicle whatever the vehicle's mileage) are, at the end of the day, only maintaining debts that they have already taken out and in which they already have amassed some degree of equity. Of course, such traditional tenets of finance are not necessarily true in this age of negative amortization mortgages and loans which demand nothing more than interest payments that never quite seem to touch the principal balance. Unfortunately, as loan officers have become more adept at flattering their clients' sense of themselves as ultimately wise and thrifty consumers, more and more families have been suckered into believing that, despite all extraneous evidence to the contrary and the warning of any trustworthy debt counselor or economic advisor, they will break a lifetime's habits and suddenly decide to pay more than the minimum each month. The increasingly elaborate schemes cooked up by mortgage lenders and credit institutions indulging the recent lapses of governmental regulations first allowed such theoretically professional (and federally licensed) Three Card Monte financial wizardry, and a sadly elevated portion of our citizenry yet falls for such financial stratagems apart from all of the clearly risky portends. The point of secured loans, after all, is to pay them off and inevitably be left with the ownership of whatever you had originally intended to purchase. Not just do interest only (or, God forbid, negative) debts virtually never result in such a change of ownership; these types of loan rarely benefit anyone besides the lenders.

[wesleybates]

Website Launch Quality Assurance Process: The Magic Behind a New Website Go-Live

Let’s say your website is slow and hard to navigate, or woefully out-of-date with regard to your business, or just plain ugly. Visitors land on it, possibly leave right away, or grow frustrated trying to find what they want. Then, one day, they open your website to find it shiny and new, with updated copy and design elements that sing your brand right off the screen. It’s like magic—at least, that’s how it seems from the outside.

Launching a new website, and getting everything right, is anything but magic. First, months of planning and development go into it as you partner with a Web Designers in Arvada, CO. Even when all goes according to plan, it can feel like a lot of work. It all pays off on “go live” day, or the day you launch the new website. But it’s the work that takes place in those final days and hours that makes the experience feel like pulling the proverbial rabbit out of a hat.

What Happens on “Go Live” Day?

Because designing a new website takes time, your design team will create it on a subdomain of your url, commonly referred to as a dev (development) site or staging site. They will insert code in the robot.txt file that keeps it hidden from public view so, for example, someone can’t stumble onto it from Google. In the meantime, your regular site will stay the same until the new one is ready to go live.

Your design and development team will test everything as they go along in the dev site. However, even when things work perfectly in a dev site, they can break when the code is pushed to production. To catch anything that might go wrong, a quality assurance (QA) expert will go over every aspect of your website, testing and confirming accuracy.

Your project manager will facilitate communication between your team and Bayshore Solutions to choose the best day and time to go live. If necessary, they can work with you to notify customers of any possible downtime. Your go live will typically take place during business hours, but options are available to launch in the evening or on a weekend. As with everything in web design, user experience is top priority!

 Go Live Quality Assurance Process

That “crunch time” when your website moves from the dev site to production are critical. At Bayshore Solutions, our team puts their full focus on your website during this period. Many clients choose to run their own quality assurance—and we welcome their hands-on approach—but another option is to engage one of our dedicated website QA experts.

QA goes through more than 35 points to find even the smallest glitch. They check functionality, usability, and compatibility with a range of browsers and devices. For example, they will test that all forms work correctly and consistently, and they test all internal and external links. They thoroughly test mobile responsiveness to cover a wide range of devices your customers might use.

Meanwhile, the development teams stand by to address any issues and resolve them as quickly as possible. The IT team makes sure backup systems are in place, should your website go down, and confirms that everyone, including you, has signed off.

Before finishing a go live, our team puts themselves in your shoes. They ask themselves, “If this were my company, would I be proud of this website?” We would never launch a client website that did not reflect our best work.

What Happens After Your Website is Launched?

Once your website is live, it has to become integrated into the internet. Think of it as getting plugged into The Matrix. A domain name system (DNS) tells the internet where to point your domain name and how to deliver your pages to users. The whole process can take up to 48 hours since DNS all over the world need to relay the information.

Next, Google and other search engines crawl the site to index your content, which can take from a few days to a few weeks. However, you can avoid that wait time by submitting an XML sitemap and putting an SEO strategy in place in advance. Your SEO team can help you avoid mistakes to preserve your ranking by using the same urls or 301 redirects to tell Google where to find your new content.

At ADMS, we equip you with the resources you need to be successful post-launch. You’ll be trained to manage the site so you can monitor and adapt with your customer base. A website maintenance plan can equip you to add or change pages in the future, as you need to.

When you partner with ADMS to design your new website, you can rest assured that a team of in-house experts will handle each step with the utmost care. When it comes time to go live, we will celebrate together. If you’re ready to start planning a website that will grow your business, contact us today.

[cmbodiesinmotion-blog]

Final Journal

           Overall I thought the goal setting aspect of this class was very real world and beneficial to what we were doing. Breaking the class up into three sections: mind-body, nutrition, and physical fitness, was good in theory, but I do not think that each section really got fair representation. There was a lot of time spent on the mind-body connection in the beginning, and nutrition got a good amount of time too. I felt that fitness did not seem to get as much time, when I feel that fitness is the part of the class that most people are interested in. The classes towards the end when we actually went down to the track, and went to the aerobics room, those were what I expected to be doing more of in this class.

           For my mind-body connection goal, I focused on getting more sleep. I am still trying to get under three hours a night restless sleep, but I feel as if the fitbit is helping me do that. I am now getting tips from my fitbit saying things such as “Hey! Get a more consistent bedtime and you’ll sleep probably more soundly for at least 40 minutes,” and other fascinating tips. Another way to improve my hours of sleep would also to do most of my exercise in the morning, as opposed to at night, which with softball I did not really have any control over. I know in Brain and Behavior, Dr. Davis taught us that exercising wakes you up, so if you exercise closer to bedtime, you will tend to be up longer, and more awake at night. I also think that over the summer I will be sleeping better too because I will have much less distractions. While I still will have inconsistent work times that will affect my sleep schedule, I believe that the lack of distractions at home will counterbalance the busy schedule.

           For the nutrition section, my goal was to have fruits or vegetables with two meals a day, and to try one new food or meal a week. I struggled with trying something new, though over the course of the remaining half of the semester, I did try both Kale and feta cheese. Not super exciting, but that does the job. Also I believe I tried a vegan dish at entrée. I enjoyed the feta cheese, and have recently cheffing up some sort of pasta salad, in which I include the feta. I did not like kale, on the other hand, and I found that the process of eating kale just seemed so tedious. Nothing exciting to the process, and mostly a lot of chewing. The unmemorable entrée dish I also did not seem to like, because I think I would have remembered more of the dish, had I actually liked the meal. I did make improvements eating fruits and vegetables, more so vegetables. I would make my pasta salad, which I included broccoli, and cucumbers, as well as some legumes. I would also try to find more asparagus and green beans. The fruits offered at the dining hall are not my favorite. I’m not a big melon person, and apples make my throat itch, but whenever they had strawberries or blueberries I would jump on that. I am hoping that when I go home, my nutrition continues to improve, and also that I learn how to cook, as I am living in Copper next year and will have to essentially fend for myself.

           I think my favorite section of the class was the fitness section, mostly because that was what I found most relative to the fitbits themselves. My goal was to hit one homerun this semester. Unfortunately, I did not complete that goal. I found that this season, some people got a lot more chances than others, and I found myself on the losing end of that. Although not a homerun, or even a double, my one consolation at the end of the year came in the last game I got an at bat in. I had a nice hard line drive to the outfield, drove in a run, stole a base, and scored the winning run. So, I will take that. Again, there is only so much I can actually control regarding when I get put in to have at bats. I think something to work on though is maintaining my level of fitness, to have the power behind a home run. I also will utilize my mind-body connection to remain focused and relaxed at the plate, which will enable me to more see my pitch and hit a better pitch, resulting in a harder hit ball.

           Overall, I did not mind this class, but thought that there should be some improvements. Firstly, the sections should be divided up more evenly, but there should be more focus on the math segment. There were MULTIPLE people / groups in their final presentation who were unsure if they were to reject or fail to reject the p value if p < .05. My suggestion is to split the teaching more evenly as well. For example, have one professor teach their half on the first day of the week, and the second professor teach on the second day of the week. Many people were clearly confused about the math, and I personally believe that is because math was really not taught to us more than two classes. Which is really unfortunate, because I was looking forward to having a real life math application course. Nothing against the final project, but I was hoping we could have integrated more math over the course of the entire course, not just a last minute ditch effort at the end. More active activities should be involved as well. The last activities we did were very real world and utilized our fitbits, but perhaps we could have done those early on in the semester, and a homework assignment could have been to use stat crunch to analyze that data we got from the heart rates. Just ideas. This was a pilot class and now things can be done to improve what went wrong. Not a bad class overall, just needed a once over before maximizing the full potential of the class.