#Dash commentary : it's an arms race

[awheckery]

all right, who wants to be a hero?

while watching olympic hurdles the other day, I suddenly remembered a hilarious video I saw posted here on tumblr, of a very different hurdler, that I now cannot find

I'm reasonably sure it was video from either a high school or college track meet, specifically a women's hurdles race, focusing in specifically on a young black woman who was blowing the rest of the field out of the water for speed, but her hurdles jumps were... um

so I am very much Not an athlete, but her hurdling technique was, going from the sour grapes commentary in the post and notes, somewhere between unorthodox and abysmal, but she was absolutely winning?

she was fully sprinting between the hurdles, but she'd shorten her stride and come nearly to a stop before each jump, popping over with all the grace of a baby deer, arms akimbo, then landing and hitting her stride pretty much immediately again

I consulted with a mutual to make sure I wasn't confabbing again, and we both remember it, but we also both have adhd and we don't remember when it crossed our respective dashes. she thought she reblogged it, but it didn't materialize when she checked her archive by post type.

I'm pretty gd sure I saved it in my drafts, but. well.

it took me a day and a half of scrolling to get to january of last year, so it goes to reason I saw it and saved it before then, but realistically it could have hit my dash at any time in the last four and a half years.

time is fake and so is tumblr search

can anyone help me find this post?

[mayhemproduces]

The Heist is quickly approaching, and though these teams will soon splinter off and fight each other for the chance to win a shot at the biggest prize in the company... tonight, there's some unity presented in the leagues. On one side, some of MPW's biggest stars. All three, former champions wherever they go, whether AEW or MPW itself. On the other, young guns aiming for the top of MPW themselves, all united at the moment in one thing.

Glaring daggers into the man that's joined the commentary desk for this match, one Maxwell Jacob Friedman. The world champion, smug bastard as he is, has settled in to watch the match and get a feel for some of the most enticing faces in the race to the Getaway. And as the bell rings, he's quick to start commentating on the action as it starts.

And, as the match begins, Phantom enters the ring first on her side, gaze briefly shifting from the opposing side, to the man holding the prize. For just a touch of a moment, their eyes meet. Silence, before Maxwell is the first to blink, looking away seemingly to talk to his "cohorts" on the bench with him. Meanwhile, Will Ospreay steps out to represent the other league, circling Phantom as the bell rings.

Though, interestingly... Phantom seems a little less stressed than she did at the match's onset? Sure, she's still tense as a rope ready to snap, but she doesn't look a moment away from either a rage attack or killing herself on camera, so. It's a start?

But before long, the two quickly lock up, hardly a moment testing strength before the two are trading holds back and forth. Ospreay circles to the back, Phantom grabs his arm and wrenches it back, he drops into a roll to right himself, she takes him down and works him into a headlock, dropping low to the floor to limit his movement. The two struggle there for a few moments, both trying to find better leverage without leaving an opening to exploit, but Ospreay manages to find something first, rolling over and pinning Phantom's shoulders to the mat!

One, two- no, Phantom slides him back, now pinning HIS shoulders!

One- nope, Ospreay rolls his shoulders, kicking Phantom away and leaving her to sit up, shaking her head briefly.

Wait, this is- Ospreay sees a chance, and dashes forward to nail her in the back of the head with the Hidden Blade, but before he can land it... she just whips around, staring him down as she catches his arm before it reaches her. Wow, most don't manage to counter the Hidden Blade that easy! And she's sure to use this chance well, grabbing his other wrist and sliding her own hold down to swing her knee right into his skull!

But before she can land it, he uses the force of her grip to slide under Phantom, popping up out the other side! Phantom turns to meet him, and the two both clobber each other with forearms at once! A bit stunned from the impact on both sides, they both fall to the mat. What a sequence, both are certainly making a case for themselves in the upcoming Heist already!

There's a few moments where the two simply try to get their bearings, Ospreay getting up first and Phantom managing to start on her way up after. The former is about ready to tag out, and he moves to his corner to (reluctantly) tag in Swerve for the match, but... as Will reaches out to tag him in, Swerve steps away from his hand? For a second, he just turns to the man confusedly, but he can't say anything before a sudden kick to the back of his knee sends him to the floor with a cry of pain, when Phantom grabs him by the hair and throws him back to the center of the ring.

For just a moment, Phantom and Swerve lock eyes for the first time since the aftermath of their match at State of Emergency. It isn't much, but... Swerve looks away, after a moment.

There's almost a smug air to Phantom as she turns to her quarry, cracking her knuckles against her legs as she passes by him. It's... interesting, such a lone wolf being able to simply walk back to her corner and hold her hand out, Dyln reaching back to make the tag. Almost immediately, Phantom crouches a bit, bending over and bracing... as Dyln jumps up to the top rope, then stepping off Phantom's back to deliver a sharp dropkick to Ospreay!

With that, Dyln starts his offense off right with a Cyclone Kick as Ospreay struggles to get up, and then another superkick following that up! Being the fresher man in the matchup, he's already got quite the advantage as he keeps up the pressure, and it seems that confidence is enough to have him rushing up for an attempt at a cutter, ready to drive Ospreay's head into the mat... but he has other plans!

As Dyln drags him down, Ospreay leans into it, using his palms to catch himself and leap away in a perfect handspring, followed by a superkick of his own as Dyln scrambles back up! Though it's not quite perfectly aimed, it's enough to knock Dyln away and give time for Ospreay to move in for a stundog millionaire! Dyln's down! Finally, Ospreay is able to quickly run to his corner, this time outright ignoring Swerve and instead tagging in Lacey Karmens!

Lacey, on their part, is much more eager to get into the match, as they immediately run in to throw down with Dyln! Trading blows back and forth, both trying to get one up on their opponent, before Lacey manages a quick kick to Dyln's torso and stun him for a moment. Perfect. They line it up, backing away a step before rotating into a discus lariat!! Before he can even get all the way upright again, Dyln is blown off his feet!! He's left on the ground, not quite out but reeling from the impact as Lacey moves to the corner. They're quick to make the climb, turning around and scoping out their target...

And they make the leap, with a splash crushing Dyln! Lacey tugs his leg up, pinning him!

One, two, t- kickout!! Dyln managed to get his shoulder up just in time! Lacey sits up, looking to the referee with a huff. That's on them, should have put more spin on it. Oh well. They get back up, as Dyln rolls back to his stomach to try to push himself up in turn... no dice, though, as Lacey ends that dream with a stomp to his back! And another, and another, and so on. Really laying into him now, they spare no expense to do damage, even as his tag partners (...well, mostly Riley) try to hype him up, both reaching over the top rope to try to get in for themselves to even it all out!

But no dice, Dyln's really getting bullied here... at least, until he manages a hail mary of his own! He manages to loop an arm around Lacey's leg, using their firmer stature to pull himself up and elbow them in the stomach! It's a perfect way to get them into position, and he traps their head against him to execute a picture-perfect DDT! But as they both hit the mat, it seems that was something of a last gasp, as now neither are moving!

As Phantom moves off the apron to the floor, to pound on the mat with a fist, imploring Dyln to get the hell up... the referee starts the count. For a few moments, both seem to be just... out. But Lacey stirs first, crawling their way up a bit to find their footing. Dyln follows in short order, making sure to crawl away a bit to give himself some space. It seems his opponent isn't so keen on giving him that space, as she immediately lunges at him the moment they have stable footing...

...only to fall once again, as Dyln suddenly trips her up with a drop toe hold! It's all the time he needs to finally manage to jump up, finally making the hot tag to the waiting Riley Ishimori! As the crowd cheers, Riley is quick to make her impact felt, nearly taking Lacey's head off with a bicycle kick! But she doesn't stop moving, her momentum carrying her to bounce off the ropes and slip down to smash Lacey's face down with a shining wizard from behind!

But as she slides in to lock in a crossface, Lacey isn't about to make it easy! No, they manage to twist in Riley's grip before it can get all the way locked down, smacking Riley's face into the mat and nearly breaking her nose as they quickly get up, staggering back to tag in Swerve!

And Swerve is already planning to make light work of Riley, as he turns to look at the crowd.

*"WHOSE HOUSE?!"* he calls, smirking at the response.

"SWERVE'S HOUSE!" replies the crowd, and Swerve leaps forward with a House Call straight to Riley's skull! She goes down hard, face down on the ground, as the Mogul simply shrugs and goes in for the cover!

One! Two! Th- another kickout!! Riley immediately sits up, growling under her breath as she kicks Swerve away from her, grabbing the nearby rope to pull herself to her feet, clearly pissed off that her initial plan didn't pan out at all. She could have had that in the bag! But now she's got Swerve to deal with, and he's got plenty left in the tank. The two meet in a lockup, one that Riley quickly turns into kneeing him in the stomach, followed by an elbow from Swerve, and the two are trading blows as the crowd goes wild!

Still, with two competitors like these, all it would take is one minor misstep to cost them, and it seems that's the case as Swerve barely misses a punch, giving Riley the space to slide to his side, grabbing him and lifting him up, and they crash down for a *Moment of Silence* into the damn turnbuckle! This could be it! Riley scrambles to pin him, and the ref runs over to make the count!

...But before he can, Lacey steps a foot into the ring, seemingly about to make the save! The ref is quick to move over to chastise her, forcing her back out.

But the crowd, they make the count too.

ONE! TWO! THREE! ...FOUR! FIVE!

Riley had him there! Lacey saved the match, seemingly entirely on accident! But even as Riley rises to her feet, it seems her luck hasn't gotten any better... as she's met with the World Title directly to the face?! No way, Max moved off commentary to smash her in the head with his title belt!! Both members of Riley's team immediately yell out in protest, Dyln barely holding back from entering the ring herself, but the damage is done. Even Ospreay is turning to Maxwell incredulously, yelling something at him as Max simply smirks smugly, returning to the commentary desk to leave the rest of the fight to Swerve.

And Swerve, though still a bit delirious from getting smashed into the turnbuckle, is more than up for the task. As Riley laid there on the ground unmoving, he clawed his way up the corner to stare down at her before taking flight!

Swerve Stomp! It's over! The ref comes down to make the count, even as Phantom tears past the ropes to try to make the save!

ONE! TWO! THREE!!!

The bell rings, and the crowd explodes into raining down boos on the victorious Blue League! Swerve simply grins as he stands up, moving to exit the ring again... but is met by Will Ospreay getting in his face!

*"Hey, what the HELL, bruv?! Did you have that set up from the start?!"*

With that, Will shoves him, leading to Swerve marching right back up to stare him down. Moments pass in tense silence between the two, the tension thick enough to be cut with a knife... are they about to come to blows?! A beat, another... and Swerve just moves right past him, pushing him out of the way with a shoulder as he laughs to himself, leaving the ring alone as Lacey takes in the crowd.

As for the other members of the Emerald League, both are absolutely furious at being cheated out of yet another win, but one seems to be taking it much worse. Phantom, fists clenched until they're white, is already jumping off the apron to storm around the ring, seemingly about to give the world champ a piece of her mind! Speaking of blows, is Phantom about to lay into MJF?!

*"YOU GODDAMN SON OF A BITCH!"* she yells, picking up speed as Max comes into view... only to have her own momentum suddenly halted as Dyln holds her back, getting in front of her and ushering her back a few steps.

"CASS! Cass, no, not right now! He's not-"

The rest of what he's saying is drowned out by the crowd as he quiets down, grabbing Phantom by the shoulders to calm her down. She's still burning with rage, it seems, but... she does step back, breath heaving and unsteady through her anger.

But even with all of this, all sorts of carnage through the ring in the fallout of it all, it seems that the ride isn't over just yet!

[philomena-zale]

" oh shit! Demons on the dash! Someone get a demon slayer! "

Lelia you little shit.

[babyybitchhh]

Ace x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 3,201

Warnings: oral sex, cunnilingus, semi established relationship, first time

A/N: Wrote this for my editor in chief, who just got to the climax of Marineford and is very upset about ... you know. She gave the okay to post it, so please enjoy! : )

♥♥♥♥

You were halfway through the motion of lifting the overstuffed laundry basket so you could hand it off to Marco when you suddenly caught movement at the corner of your eye. Distracted from the task at hand, you swivel around only to find Ace leaning through the doorway, beckoning you over with a wave and a big mischievous grin. You eagerly start to smile back, excited to see him, but the sound of Marco expectantly clearing his throat stops you from bolting.

Sheepishly, you turn back around to glance at the blond who offers you a droll look in response. “Don’t even think about it, missy … you’ve been shucking your laundry duty off on other people for weeks now. Do you really think I’ll just let you take off like that?”

Your mouth pulls in a frown, dejected, and Ace not-so-helpfully chimes in with a grumble of ‘no fun!’ Brow arching wryly, Marco shoots him a quick look of warning, putting a stopper on any further commentary before turning his attention to you again.

“Sorry,” you murmur, holding out the basket in resignation. Whatever Ace wanted would just have to wait until the chores were finished.

Silently, Marco takes the laundry from you, studying the dispirited droop of your shoulders for a long beat until, at last, he heaves a yielding sigh. “Go.”

Your head immediately comes up. “What? Really?”

“Yes, really.” He says, trying not to smile when Ace loudly whoops from his spot at the door. “But you owe me. Both of you do, so you’ll take turns filling in for me on the chore rotation, got it?”

“For how long?” You ask, not exactly trusting his generosity at face value. But Ace was already dashing across the room to grab your wrist and unceremoniously yank you towards the doorway, making you squeak and stumble after him.

“A month!” You hear Marco shout after you, just barely, over the racket of Ace’s heavy boots on the plank floorboards.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, clearly making the decision for you as he drags you down the hall like a clumsy toddler until you get your feet situated under you. Laughing, you pick up the pace to jog alongside him with your heart in your throat, cheeks flushed and warm. He was laughing as well, his howling chortle much louder than yours, as his grip adjusts to your fingers so he can swing your arm back and forth between the two of you.

“Where are we going?” You giggle, struggling to breathe around the happy flutter in your chest.

“You’ll see! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

That gives you pause - or at least it would have, if he hadn’t been steering you down the winding corridors of the Moby Dick at an excitable pace. You were completely at his mercy now that he had you in his clutches and all you could do was go along with it, tittering the whole while.

You’re a little surprised, though, when he pulls you right up to the door of his cabin a few moments later, but Ace doesn’t so much as pause. Swinging the door open, he storms inside and slams it shut again before yanking you towards the cot.

“Sit.”

You do, but not without shooting him an inquisitive look.

“Now close your eyes.”

You do this, too, with butterflies in your stomach. Ace was a kind soul, certainly, but he was also prone to making impulsive, sometimes questionable decisions so you weren’t really sure what to expect while you listened to him move about in the small room. It was really anyone’s guess at this point, and you start slightly when you feel him slide something into your lap.

“Okay,” he says, plopping his butt on the mattress to sit beside you. “Open them.”

Obediently, you do just that only to find yourself blinking down at a ribbon wrapped box. It wasn’t very big at all, so likely not anything too extreme, but you could tell the bow on top wasn’t messy enough to be his doing, and you shoot him a questioning glance.

Ace’s grin only widens though; big and boyish, and so frustratingly charming that it makes your heart twist. You still couldn’t believe the effect he had on you, sometimes. “Go on, take a look. I think you’ll like it.”

Certain you would like it, you take the end of the ribbon in hand and tug. It comes loose with a slither and you feel for the seam with your fingertips, quickly finding it and working the top off so you can peer inside.

“Ace …” you warble after a prolonged moment of surprised quiet, eyes wide and glossy. “You shouldn’t have.”

He snickers as he leans close to your shoulder, proudly joining you in regarding the small, personal sized tiramisu sitting within. “It’s your favorite, right? I knew I had to get you something when I saw the bakery in town and I hurried back to the ship as fast as I could so it wouldn’t get all soggy. I hope it still tastes okay.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, trying valiantly to fight back the happy, reflexive tears that threaten to spill over your lashes. “You really shouldn’t have, but thank you. That was so sweet of you.”

His smile falters slightly when he looks up at your face and sees the misty quality of your eyes, fluster quickly creeping into his expression. “Hey, hey! It’s nothing to cry about!” He huffs, suddenly awkward, as he reaches over to drag his index finger through a corner of the cake. “Here, give it a taste. Tell me if it’s any good.”

Your mouth opens, wanting to tell him you’re sure it’s delicious, but he slips the cream covered digit past your lips before you can get so much as a word out. Cheeks warming, you noise around the intrusion and turn a plaintive look up at him even as you shyly clean the tip of his finger with soft little kitten licks. That seems to please him a great deal, his grin returning at full force in just a matter of seconds.

“Yummy?” He prompts, withdrawing his finger.

“Yummy …” you agree as your hand comes up to timidly touch at your mouth. “It’s really good, actually. Thank you.”

“No problem. You know I’m always looking out for you!”

Mouth tugging into a smile, you watch as Ace leans back with his hands braced on the cot, face tilted up at the ceiling. He seemed so content and happy just to share his space with you, lightly humming a faint tune under his breath while he kicks his feet back and forth over the edge of the bed. In so many ways, he reminded you of a little boy when he was like this. Carefree and easy. Untroubled. It wasn’t a side of him that many got to see and, feeling quite fortunate, you start to reach for the cake.

“Here, you have some too.”

“Mmmm. No thanks. I’m good.”

Blinking, you curiously glance over at him. “Oh? You liked it the last time, though.”

“Yeah, but … I’m not really in the mood for dessert right now.” Neck turning, Ace drops his cheek to his shoulder and casually sends a meaningful glance down the length of your body to settle on the spot between your thighs. A sharp thrill immediately races through you, face warming alarmingly quick. He laughs at your reaction, all good natured humor and charming as he starts to tip his head back again. “I’m just teasing ya’, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to - -“

“I don’t mind.”

His laughter abruptly cuts off with a sputter. “What?”

Face growing even hotter, you nervously shuffle your feet against the floor. “I said I don’t mind. If you really want to, that is. It’s okay if you were just joking - -“

Ace jumps up from the cot so fast you’d think he accidentally set it on fire if you didn’t know any better.

Eyes widening, you let him snatch the cake box from your slack hands and watch as he urgently sets it aside with quick, jerky motions. His expression is suddenly dark when he leans down to hook broad, calloused hands under your knees and pull up, flipping you onto your back.

“Ah - Ace!”

“Were you serious just now?” He asks, not stopping long enough to hear the answer before sinking down to the floor and sending you a hopeful puppy dog look from where he was now knelt between your legs.

“Y - yes,” you tell him truthfully. “I was. But you don’t have to though, I just - -“

He abruptly drops his face into the meat of your thighs, startling a squawk out of you. Embarrassed, your grasping fingers shoot down to tangle in his wavy hair as he inhales a deep, stuttering breath that makes his shoulders rise dramatically like some sort of hunching beast.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.” He practically growls against you.

“You should have said something then …”

Ace’s only response is a low, rumbling groan to accompany the tight squeeze of his fingers on your hips. You tense and shudder for him as he drags those big hands of his further down to take hold of your thighs and ease them apart. The breath catches in your throat when he promptly nuzzles into you, rubbing his face against your tingling cunt as if he were a cat marking its territory. You struggle not to screw your eyes shut at the sensation of him so intimately close to your core, smelling you and basking in the warmth bleeding through your clothes, but you force yourself to keep watching.

To bear witness to the way he presses in so tight his nose wrinkles up, brows furrowed in unconcealed pleasure. To see how the wavy strands of his hair rest along the curve of your thighs and then cling to the fabric of your skirt when he impatiently shoves it up out of his way. To appreciatively drink in the sight of him, all dark eyed and freckled, staring hungrily at the pudgy seam that runs down the center of your panties just as a starving man might look at a bountiful harvest.

He was easily the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and, based on the way he was looking at you, that feeling was apparently mutual.

“You’re sure?” It’s a soft question, but it rings loud in the quiet cabin.

“I … I’m positive, Ace. You don’t need to hesitate.”

Loudly exhaling the breath he’d been holding, he snags his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs. Your throat constricts as you twist on top of the bed, helping him work the cotton down over your legs. He tosses them without a second thought as soon as they’re loose, quickly diving back in to shove his face into your bare pussy, making you jolt.

You have to bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet when you spread your legs further apart for him, delighting in the way he eagerly nuzzles against you without another thought to the matter. His lips purse against your slit and he kisses you, just as passionately as he does your mouth when no one’s looking. A whimper promptly claws up the back of your throat, high strung and needy, and Ace responds in kind with a rumbling sigh of his own.

Blunt fingers knead into the doughy soft flesh of your thighs as he tilts his head so he can better work your labia apart. You shiver at the sensation of warm spit gathering along the crease of your body, slowly dribbling down your skin and mixing with sticky slick to leave you feeling obscenely damp. The realization that he was excitedly drooling all over your pussy, panting and faintly moaning into you as if you two had been at this for hours, has your toes curling in premature ecstasy.

His rough lips were the perfect contrast on your delicate folds, sending intense shockwaves of friction through you that felt like something akin to fireworks. You heave, spine arching off the bed when Ace finally dips the plushy swell of his tongue inside to truly taste you and tease at your clit. Fingers scrabbling across his broad shoulders, you latch onto him with your nails, fighting to keep yourself grounded rather than let the heat of the moment swallow you up.

It was the middle of the day on a heavily manned ship, after all, and there was no lock on the cabin door. If someone came calling on him for one reason or another they probably wouldn’t hesitate to barge in unannounced. This was Ace you were talking about here. He wasn’t someone that often concerned himself with pleasant niceties such as knocking so why would they show him that courtesy?

It would be over in an instant and you’d both be caught red handed, no questions asked. Word of this incident would spread fast, no doubt, depending on who found the two of you like this, but everyone on board will have certainly heard about it by sundown. You just couldn’t afford to get carried away right now, for your sake as much as his - but it was so hard not to cry out in pleasure when he was languidly dragging his tongue up and down the length of your slit to gather all the accumulated fluid and swallow it down in one big gulp.

Seething, you finally give in to the urge and squeeze your eyes shut as your head tips back against the haphazardly strewn sheets, the smell of him swarming your senses all over again. “Ace … please …!”

“Mmmm, yes, baby,” he murmurs against you, muffled by the meat of your cunt. “Say it again. For me?”

“Ah! A - Ace! Please … pleeeaaase!”

It’s hard to keep your voice down but, somehow, you manage to hush your desperate pleas to a mere whisper, strained and cracking. He responds in kind, moaning softly as he nuzzles deeper, making your pliant pussy lips mold against his face. Hooded obsidian eyes rove up to regard you as he does it, watching your expression twist in pleasure with nothing short of a fierce, almost predatory interest reflecting in his dark irises.

Ace was hungry for you in a way you never would have anticipated, his lips and his tongue voraciously laving you in warm, wet attention, quickly winding the spring inside you tighter and tighter. Your sensitive cunt was already throbbing for him, threatening to burst at a moment's notice if he wasn’t careful. You could hardly breathe through it, so heavy and gratifying, as his insatiable, relentless mouthing continued to work you over until you were half delirious with it.

Despite wanting to savor this, you knew, instinctively, that you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Ace … I - I’m gonna’ …”

The sound he makes in response is very nearly a snarl, bordering on animalistic and feral. His fingers come up to press into your labia and spread them, finally - finally! Exposing your clit fully to his mouth. You suck in a haggard gasp of air and try to brace for it, but still jolt as if you’d been electrocuted when he drags the flat of his tongue over that pulsating little bud tucked away inside silken folds. Your vision whites out for a split second, entirely overwhelmed, nails clawing at his shoulder blades with an almost savage sort of desperation. A scream rises in the back of your throat, choking you when you refuse to give it voice.

Embarrassingly, all it takes is three quick swipes of his tongue to send you into a fit of convulsions, fresh tears instantly welling up in your eyes. This time, however, they track freely down the sides of your face while you struggle to keep yourself in check even as you twist and writhe underneath him, mewling as quietly as you can. You sound like something broken, an injured calf in its death throes, and Ace the ravenous wolf drinking your lifeblood as if it were sacrament.

He doesn’t let up for what feels like a small eternity, persistently lapping at your sensitized clit until you finally issue a wounded, half stifled shriek that seems to echo against the cabin walls. Coming up off you with a wet, wheezing gasp, he watches the way you slap a hand to your mouth and quake through the lingering tremors of your orgasm from under the fall of messy, sweat slicked bangs. So obviously entranced by the sight of you even as his bare chest contracts with quick, heavy breaths that give away the true extent of his tense arousal.

“You look so good like this ..” he murmurs, comfortingly dragging his hands across your trembling thighs as you start to ease down from your high. “Coming apart just for me. How’d I ever get so lucky, huh?”

Whimpering, you reach for him with shaking fingers and Ace attentively obliges, climbing up onto the cot and settling over you with his knees bracketing your hips. He swoops down to catch your mouth with his, and you moan at the taste of yourself as you languorously stretch out beneath him. The buzz of your afterglow was potently intoxicating, making your head spin long after the pulses had finally stopped, leaving you warm and comfortable. Satiated.

Sighing pleasantly into the kiss, you card your hand through his hair, working out a few errant knots here or there before tilting your head back to look up at him. “I think I’m the lucky one, actually … I’ve never felt so good in all my life, Ace.”

He chuckles when he leans down to adoringly press his forehead to yours, eyes locking from just a scant few inches away. “Guess we’re both lucky then, baby girl. I couldn’t ask for anything else, you know that?”

“That makes me happy,” you warble, feeling like you could just burst all over again.

“Me too.” Sighing contentedly, Ace snuggles somehow even closer to you and tries to get comfortable, but the prodding weight pressed into your thigh seems to give him a bit of trouble. He shifts awkwardly, looking for a position that will ease the strain on his cock, but it doesn’t appear as though one is very forthcoming in his current predicament.

You hesitate to do it but, quickly making up your mind, you reach down and shyly grasp at him through his pants. It’s his turn to jolt as if he’d just been shocked, and his attention whips around to practically gape at you. It probably would’ve been rather funny, the flabbergasted look on his face, if only your pussy wasn’t still soaking wet and silently begging to be stretched.

“I want to.” You tell him quietly.

Ace visibly gulps, swallowing his nerves. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I know for a fact that there isn’t a single soul in this world I would rather have. Please …?”

Luckily, you don’t have to ask him twice.

[demonprincezeldris]

Angel of Chaos AU (part 1)

Arthur, Elizabeth, Meliodas, and Zeldris join up with Drole and Gloxinia to fight off the Demon race, who has attacked a human settlement. Arthur stops, horrified at the scene in front of him. Human are being slaughtered left and right, killed instantly by a blast. However Meliodas and Zeldris waste no time and charge straight in, killing their former allies.

Arthur goes up with Elizabeth to try and convince the Demons not to fight, saying that nobody really wants this war in the first place. Arthur steps up, saying that they don't need to have any more bloodshed. They will not kill them. To Arthur's slight surprise, the Demons turn around and begin to leave, going back to the Demon Realm.

The pair of them fly back down, where Meliodas is speaking to a human, and Zeldris is a little ways away. He walks up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder reassuringly as Zeldris looks at him tiredly. "Are you alright?"

Zeldris nods, leaning into him slightly. "Yeah. Thanks for chasing the demons away," he said softly. "In the end, nobody really wants this war. Pointless fighting between clans,it doesn't help anybody in the end. It only divides us," Arthur reassured. He wrapped an arm around the Demon, both men holding each other for a few sacred moments before Meliodas walked up to them.

His usual demeanor was somber as he looked at his brother. "Come on, let's go back to camp," he said. They all went back to their base, looking at the tower that was situated at the very center.

Gelda walked up to Arthur and Zeldris, coated in darkness as she looked at them. Zeldris and Gelda exchanged hugs, relieved to see each other again, but Arthur wasn't paying any attention. His eyes narrowed as he saw a figure walk out.

Nerobasta.

Both Meliodas and Zeldris growled quietly as they were all slandered for finally being able to defeat one of the commandments. A more powerful energy swept over the area as she told the gathered people to bow down to their leader.

Ludociel of the Four Archangels walked out, saying that it was time for the Holy War to be over once and for all. Elizabeth seemed happy, asking if that they finally found peace with the Demons. Arthur secretly hoped the same.

But his expectations were dashed as his smile grew wicked, and he said that it was time to erase the demons once and for all. Zeldris, Meliodas, and Gelda all froze at the commentary.

Arthur placed his hands on the two of them, feeling their fear as he looked over at Elizabeth. The two Goddesses stared at each other, nodding slightly at each other. He turned to Zeldris and Gelda, saying that they should go and eat now.

Zeldris looked at him quizzically. "And what about you?" Arthur waved his question aside. "I'll join you both soon. I just have to check on something real fast." "I'll hold you to that," Zeldris smirked as he turned around, leading Gelda back to the shade of the forest, Meliodas and the other humans following them.

Arthur summoned his wings, he and Elizabeth flying up to the tower as they prepared to intercept Ludociel and ask him what the hell he was talking about. And in front of Meliodas and Zeldris as well!

[tirednotflirting]

you and i'll be safe and sound

good evening buds. i am a mess of a lack of sleep and fluffy feelings after watching dash and lily and i wrote spacey fluffy jalex while watching it. and then i decided to post it after reading through it once. have at it

have at it on ao3 here if you wanna too. 

It’s nearly 3 in the morning and the world has never felt so loud, Alex thinks.

It’s been years since he had trouble sleeping on the bus. The restlessness takes him back to the early days of doing this, when he would get homesick for his mom’s cooking and dad’s commentary on the evening news after two weeks on the road. Back then it would usually work to write about it, use his smallest handwriting to fill postcards to drop off in venue mailboxes or his songwriting journals he would hide up in his bunk until ready to share with the boys. It kept him distracted and usually didn’t help him sleep but he was still young enough that it didn’t really matter. The shitty gas station coffee and energy drinks and adrenaline were enough to keep him smiling and dancing through the day.

Over the years, the jitters and sleepless nights faded away. The humming of the wheels against the interstate just beyond the walls of his bunk window became a line in the job description. Funnily enough, he found himself missing the in between sights and sounds of touring when he was again confined to the stillness of his home. 

So it’s lost on him why it’s the middle of the night and his mind is racing while they’re somewhere in the middle of Texas. They had all decided to call it a little earlier in the night, knowing they were set to chat on a few radio shows in Dallas in the morning. But after three hours of staring at the ceiling, the gentle rumble below the floor that typically lulled him into bright, brilliant dreams only makes his thoughts spiral and Alex quietly slips out of his bunk and wanders toward the front of the bus.

He carefully and quietly fills the electric kettle, drawing back to his roots and hoping that a mug of tea will settle his mind. He opens up the cabinet above the counter and pushes past a few stacks of plastic cups for a mug and his stash of herbal tea he hides from Zack. The kettle clicks off after a few minutes and Alex methodically moves through the process of fixing up the drink how he likes it. He cradles the colorful mug between both hands and makes his way to the back lounge with the thought that maybe watching the nighttime scenery fly past in the windows from a spot on the couch might help slow his mind. 

He gently shuts the door behind him, aware of how tired the boys had seemed before heading to their own bunks several hours earlier and wanting them to be well rested for the morning’s activities. He flips the light on once the sliding door clicks shut and sets his mug on the table to pull a blanket around his bare shoulders before taking a seat and facing the windows. The calming effect the open road had on him was unmatched by almost anything else. It’s a special kind of peace, Alex thinks, and he makes a mental note to try to write something about it some time.

He’s so focused on the deep dark blue fields just beyond the glass that he doesn’t notice the sliding door open and close again behind him and jumps a bit when the couch dips slightly. “Al, what are you doing up?”

And okay, maybe the peace and comfort he feels from the road is a very close second to another sight Alex has the pleasure of seeing everyday. 

He turns, the blanket slipping from one of his shoulders, to where a concerned Jack sits beside him. Alex always hates to worry him regardless of the context. He knows Jack’s mind works faster than the average. It’s the cause for his brilliance and quick wit but also for his tendency to jump to conclusions far too quickly for his own good. A small smile pulls at Alex’s lips as he lets his free hand reach up to rub away the lines between Jack’s brows. “I’m okay. Just having trouble getting to sleep tonight.”

“Is something bothering you? Did something happen?” Jack asks, the gentle intention in his voice warming Alex like the tea he’s sipping. Alex feels a blush in his cheeks when Jack lifts the corner of the blanket back over Alex’s shoulder before his hand drops to his waist, his thumb rubbing comforting circles against the skin. 

And it’s his questioning that makes Alex realize that yes, maybe something is bothering him. He sighs both at the feeling of Jack’s comforting touch and at his inability to articulate how he’s feeling all stuck up in his head right now. He’s a songwriter. It’s pretty much his job to spin up words for things that don’t have them. 

“We don’t get to have quiet all that often these days, do we?” Alex asks as he sets his nearly empty mug on the table in front of the couch. The question doesn’t really have an answer but Jack pulls him by the waist so his legs fall over his waist and maybe there’s an answer somewhere in there. “I love the sounds of the tour. I love the voices and laughter and music. I love hearing the crowd call back at us every night. But I think my brain just doesn’t know what to do with silence and it’s somehow giving it a sound to fill the space and it’s just,” he pauses and worries his bottom lip, suddenly embarrassed because he’s not sure he’s really making any sense. “It’s the wrong kind of loud. And I could just really use some quiet.”

Alex drops his head to Jack’s shoulder and closes his eyes at the feeling of a hand combing through the hair at the back of his neck. “Well, what kinds of things feel quiet to you? What brings you peace?”

It’s a loaded question. Especially given the conversations they’ve never really had and the way that Alex is draped across Jack and the way Jack is wrapped around him. It’s not a position unfamiliar to either of them and the way that Alex adjusts to press his face closer to Jack’s neck isn’t either. He lazily smiles again at the familiar cologne he catches on the collar of the tank Jack sleeps in. “Those moments right before we drop the lights at a show, when the crowd is just about to pick up for the first song. A scalding hot tea in the middle of the night. You.”

Alex feels Jack let out a short laugh while his arms tighten around his waist. “What about me?”

Alex shakes his head. “Everything about you feels peaceful.” And he’s not sure of any other way to say it really. “Any time the world gets too big, I just find you and then it’s okay again. It’s possible, you know?”

They’re both quiet for a moment then and Alex worries if maybe he’s said something bigger than he intended to when in this kind of state of mind. He picks his head up to meet Jack’s eyes, the night sky making them deeper somehow. When Jack lifts a hand to cradle Alex’s cheek, he can’t help but lean into the touch. “You make the world feel safe, too.”

Neither of them can think of anything more to add so they sit in silence for a while longer, letting the hum of the road and Jack’s thumb brushing across Alex’s cheeks do the talking. Eventually Jack yawns though and Alex laughs though he finally feels his eyes starting to droop at the late (early?) hour. 

“Come on,” Jack whispers into the space between them. “Let’s go get some sleep. We’re going to be busy boys in the morning.”

Alex giggles quietly again and drops the blanket from his shoulders to head for the door. Jack carefully crawls back into his own bunk before his eyes ask a silent question in the quiet of the night they’ve stepped back into and Alex climbs in after him. It takes a moment to figure out how best to arrange their lanky limbs, both of the heights battling at that moment. But then Alex lets his head fall against Jack’s warm chest and nuzzles impossibly closer when he feels an arm wrapped across the middle of his back. 

He feels Jack press a kiss against the top of his hair and sure enough, a silence and stillness blankets over Alex’s tangled mind as he drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[otterknowbynow]

Gotcha Day (3/3)

The catalyst for Team Voltron adopting a dog might be an offhand demand from Lance, but let’s be real: several of them are very much on board with this plan.

Written as part of Gentron Week 2020 as a combination of the prompts “Adopting a Pet Together” and “Cultural Exchange”, in two three parts.

Part 1 Here | Part 2 Here | Also on ao3

Keith sleeps terribly, of course. She’s warm, for one thing, so temperature regulation is next to impossible. And any time he moves she moves too -- at one point ending up draped over his legs, which would maybe be fine, if it didn’t mean they were trapped. When she starts whining around fourth varga, he supposes he must have fallen asleep at some point, since that’s the only explanation for the groggy way he’s dragging himself into consciousness now. 

“Yeah, alright,” he grumbles when she steps her front paws onto his back and sticks a very cold nose against his ear to whine directly into it. “I get it.” He carefully extracts himself from under her, moving her to the side of his bunk that’s against the wall, and sits up, scrubbing at sleep-heavy eyes. Folding his legs under him, he turns to look back at her. “I guess you probably need to pee, huh.” As if in answer, the hyrassie leaps over his lap and to the door to his quarters, whining again. Before she can escalate to anywhere near the shrieking sound they had to contend with last night, he makes a gesture at the control panel so the door will slide open, and she dashes out. “Oh, shit,” he mutters -- right. A leash would have probably been a good idea. 

He follows the faint sound of whining and catches up to her at the entrance to her deck -- thankfully on the same level of the castle as the paladins’ quarters; they made a good choice there -- where she’s scratching at the door with two hoofed feet and the whining is threatening to grow again. 

“Shh, shh,” Keith mutters at her, and activates the panel to let her in, grateful that she came straight here when the entire castle could theoretically have been accessible. The first thing he does once he follows her into the deck -- Turnip practically flying to the patch of grass -- is go to the chest of essentials they’ve set up by the door and stick a lead in his pocket. Sure, he can probably just carry her to the lounge to hang out until the others get up, but if there’s any hope of not being stuck there until someone comes to take over, he should probably try to get a leash on her. Keith is musing over the harness and collar options that Coran seems to have dug up from the castle’s recesses when he hears the door swish open again and looks up to see Shiro standing in it, looking a little too casually curious. 

“How’s she doing?” he asks immediately, and not at all casually.

“See for yourself,” Keith says with a shrug, trying to work out how the straps of the harness he’s holding are supposed to go around a six-legged animal. He may as well have not said anything, though, since Shiro is already halfway across the room and kneeling on the ground, with both hands outstretched. Turnip, seeing him and having apparently taken care of any business she needed to attend to, races over joyfully, before stopping abruptly and jerking her head back slightly from his right arm. Slowly, she moves her nose closer to it, investigating. Shiro waits, not moving, whispering reassurances to her until her tails give a low wag, and then scratching her under the chin with his hand. She tentatively licks at the metal fingers of it, and he grins down at her. Keith is surprised to find he’s grinning, also, given how crappy he feels overall. 

--

They try keeping her in Shiro’s quarters that night. He’s adamant that they should crate train her -- everything he’s read says it’s best practice, apparently, and Keith can’t help but support that option given the uncomfortable sleepless hours when she was on his bed. He’s a bit surprised that Lance doesn’t demand she stay with him, but apparently even just hearing about the fit she threw in the middle of the night is enough to deter him. He does volunteer to go with Coran to find something suitable for the pup to sleep in, though, which Keith hopes means he feels at least a bit responsible. 

“Looks like we’re all set,” Shiro says as Coran clicks the last support of the crate into place. It looks remarkably like an ordinary dog crate, to Keith at least, and they’ve put one of the cushions in it to try to make it more homey.

“Sure hope so,” he says, shooting Coran a look he hopes will be interpreted correctly as a reminder that he’s not going to take sole responsibility for the hyrassie pup overnight again. The Altean gives him the tiniest of nods in response and stands, dusting off his hands and looking over at Shiro. 

“It should be just fine, I think, especially if you give her a couple of those treats Hunk whipped up this afternoon -- the boy’s a wizard in the kitchen, especially with baking -- reminds me of my cousin Ira.” Lance, who Keith would normally expect to be annoyed at too much commentary from Coran, just smiles instead. 

“He sure is,” he says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket and leaning against the wall by the door back out to the hallway. “You know he’s this close to figuring out sourdough biscuits? Like, perfect ones, I mean, since obviously even the quote-unquote failed attempts --” he’s mercifully cut off from continuing by a tone announcing there’s someone at the door. 

“That’ll be him and Pidge,” says Shiro, gesturing at the door panel to let them in, one sleepy hyrassie pup in tow. They coax her toward the crate, Hunk pulling out a couple of crunchy-looking treats that smell good enough that Keith almost wants to eat them himself. Almost. Luckily, they seem to smell even better to Turnip since she extends her head as far as she can to sniff at them as Hunk moves them toward her crate. When she walks in, she settles down almost immediately to demolish the treats, which sound as crunchy as they look, Keith lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and Shiro grins at all of them. 

“Well, that’s settled,” he says, waving them toward the door. “Goodnight, everyone.” 

And Keith is relieved to find himself in his quarters with no wriggly puppy and no shrieking, just peace and quiet. He climbs into bed, grateful that at least if his sleep is disturbed tonight, it’ll be by the usual suspects, rather than an all-too-present animal. 

Or so he thinks. Instead, he nearly knocks his head against the wall next to his bunk when he’s awakened again by that same shrieking sound. Looking at the timekeeper by his bed, he sees that at least it’s a bit after fourth varga instead of first, but he’s still not exactly thrilled. Where is Shiro that he’s not already handling this? Keith shoves his face into his pillow, pulling his blankets up around his head to block out the noise as best he can. Shiro will take care of it, he thinks. He probably got woken up just now, also, so it’ll just take him a second to get the crate open and get Turnip to her deck...but the sound keeps going on, and when he can’t take it anymore, he rolls out of bed, grabs his jacket from its hook, and shakes his head a bit to clear it before heading down the hall to Shiro’s quarters. 

Weirdly, he’s the only one of the paladins who seems to have noticed the sound. He can understand how it happened the first night -- since his room is closest to the deck they’ve set up for Turnip, with the Alteans’ quarters on the other side -- but shouldn’t at least Pidge have heard something? When he gets to Shiro’s door, he pokes a hand at the panel irritably. She’s still just keening away in there, which -- he notes as the door slides open -- doesn’t seem like something Shiro would just let continue. 

“Keith, what’s up?” Shiro’s voice comes from his bunk, where -- Keith can see from the light spilling in from the hallway -- he’s still at least half-asleep. 

“What do you mean, what’s up?” he asks, frowning. “Can I -- please --” he doesn’t wait for an answer, going straight to the crate in the corner of the room and opening it to release a highly relieved puppy. He picks her up quickly, before she can dart out of the room or -- worse -- pee on the floor. “She’s been screaming for like, ten minutes.” 

“She has?” 

“Did you not...did you not hear her?” 

“I haven’t heard anything.” Shiro sits up, picking up the timekeeper next to his bed and squinting at it, frowning in the dim light. “I’d be up in like half a varga anyway, but..” He trails off, and Keith is still a bit too stunned by a new realization to say anything for a moment. It’s just his luck that the new puppy -- a puppy he did not ask for, important to note -- apparently cries at some frequency full humans can’t hear. 

“Just another joy of being part-galra, I guess,” he mutters, as Turnip happily nuzzles at his hand before licking it. He grimaces, wishing he’d grabbed his gloves. “I’m gonna take her to her deck.” 

“Yeah, go for it -- I’ll meet you there in a couple minutes -- dobashes -- whatever.” 

She’ll have to sleep in his room, Keith realizes as he walks her down to the door to her deck. Allura has the mice, and Coran has already said no once. He draws a bit of comfort from knowing that at least she’ll be in a crate from now on, even if it does mean he’ll be getting up a couple vargas earlier than he usually would. 

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he mutters as he gestures the door open and lets her down to race over to the miniature Altean field. 

--

Lance helps him move the crate later that morning, once the rest of the castle residents are up. They don’t bother folding it up again, carrying it between the two of them down the hallway. It’s awkward and heavy, and Keith is grateful for his gloves keeping it from digging into his hands too uncomfortably. 

“Can’t believe you’re stealing my puppy,” Lance says, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice. Keith can see the corners of his mouth twitching too, though, and he lets out a small huff of amusement. 

“Stealing, my ass,” he says. He gestures at the control panel as they approach his door, and adds, “I didn’t ask for any of this.” 

“Stealing her right out from under me,” Lance continues dramatically as they put the crate down in the corner of the room. He opens the door to it and resettles the cushion inside. “Like some kind of...puppy-smuggler. Thief.” 

“You didn’t even like her when we brought her back,” Keith says, trying to keep his amusement out of his voice. It’s creeping in anyway, though, he can hear it. 

“So my judgment slipped for, like, a second!” Lance stands up, dusting off his hands so he can prop them on his hips indignantly. “That’s no reason to steal a man’s dog!” 

“I can’t even steal her long-term, not if I’m getting back to Blades training next week -- movement -- whatever.” He hopes that will settle it. Can’t steal something if you’re not here to keep it. 

“What’s gonna stop you from just taking off to the Blades, puppy in tow, huh? I bet that guy --- Kolivan -- would be all for having a deer-puppy-shark on the team. You’ll raise her up to be her own canine special ops unit, and then where will I be? Puppyless! A broken shell of a man!” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Keith says, rolling his eyes as he heads back out into the hallway and starts walking away. “You coming to the lounge to see your dog one last time before I steal her away forever?” He hears Lance slide the door shut behind him, and he catches up a few seconds later. 

“Keith, seriously, you better not monopolize her time now. Like, I was joking back there, you know I was joking, but you can’t just take over, like, she’s all of ours, you know that, right? Just because she’s sleeping in your room doesn’t mean she’s more yours than the rest of us, and --” They’ve reached the lounge, and as he gestures the door open, Keith is incredibly relieved that the rest of Lance’s words are drowned out by a gleefully yipping puppy, who is decidedly not going to be his sole responsibility from now on, as if that would even be a desirable outcome. 

--

“I’m not sure we’re ever going to be able to just give her free run of the castle,” Hunk is saying later that afternoon as he gathers up the pieces of yet another chew toy Turnip has shredded mercilessly with her razor teeth. “Not if this level of destruction is any indication.” 

“I mean, she is a puppy,” Shiro says, grinning from where he’s sitting on the floor against the couch, Turnip curled up napping in his lap. Her middle set of legs jerks every once in a while, and she’s growled at least three times in her sleep so far. Katie wonders idly if there’s a reason it’s the middle set of legs, or if it’s just that the back ones are folded under her and too squished to be a part of it. “She might grow out of some of it.” 

“I don’t know about that.” Hunk shakes his head a little, dropping the pieces in a waste chute at the corner of the lounge and dusting off his hands. “They’re supposed to keep needing to chew, like, forever. And a lot.” 

“It seems like if we give her enough alternatives, we should at least be able to keep the important machinery and stuff safe,” says Katie, grabbing her tablet from beside the couch she’s sitting on and opening a note. “Do we have any toys she hasn’t destroyed?” 

“Uh, a few, but a lot of those even are hanging on by a thread.” Hunk wrinkles his nose, sitting down on the couch next to her so he can see the tablet screen. “Like, the one ring seems like it’s holding up mostly okay, but even that’s got some divots starting from her teeth.” 

“Seems like we should figure out what that’s made of and go from there,” Katie says. “You good here, Shiro? Hunk and I should probably go down to the lab.” 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Shiro says in a tone that suggests it’s a bit absurd to think they’d be anything but. He scratches behind Turnip’s ears gently. “Besides, Lance at least said he’d stop by once they’re done on the training deck. By all means, go do some R&D.” 

--

By the time Keith gets the call from Kolivan that he needs to start a new phase of training, they’ve fallen into a routine. Turnip sleeps through nearly to fifth varga before she starts whining, and he manages to get enough shuteye that that’s not the nightmare it could be. He doesn’t need all that much, anyway, as long as it’s relatively peaceful. 

They’re never alone on her deck for long. Even if he can’t hear Turnip wake up, Shiro can certainly hear Keith, and he usually shows up just as Turnip is finished relieving herself and ready to play, which works out well for everyone involved, especially with the nigh-indestructible toys Hunk and Pidge manage to produce. It’s just a few at first -- a rope toy of extra-strong fibers, a ring with some give in it that she somehow can’t rip through -- but pretty soon it becomes a game of who can come up with and produce the best designs that are also functional. 

One evening, the night before Keith is going to rejoin the Blades for a while, Hunk comes into the lounge holding a nondescript bag. Everyone’s off-duty at the same time, for once, since the bridge is automatically retuning its maintenance protocols, and he stands in front of them looking utterly triumphant. 

“Gotta say, I’m particularly proud of this one,” he says, then makes a dramatic fanfare sound with his mouth as he pulls something out of the bag. 

“Was that supposed to be a trumpet?” Keith asks.

“It’s clearly not a trumpet, Keith. It’s a cow.” Lance manages to sound both dismissive and slightly awestruck at the same time. 

“That’s a pretty incredible likeness, Hunk,” says Shiro, still holding the other end of a rope Turnip is pulling at enthusiastically, seemingly unaware that any conversation they’re having has anything to do with her. 

“Isn’t this a toy for her to chew on?” Allura sounds somewhat baffled. 

“I mean, yeah,” says Hunk, frowning at the cow in his hands. “That’s the idea. I used a new polymer we developed that’s firmer than the first one -- less give, more for dental care than general play -- that’s why there’s this texturing for her teeth.”  He indicates one of the legs of the cow, where he’s shaped ridges and spikes that do seem to approximate a toothbrush. If a toothbrush also kind of resembled a medieval morningstar.

“And it’s made to look like another living creature? One we ideally...don’t want her chewing on? Wasn’t the idea that they might be friends?” 

“Oh, I forgot about that,” says Lance. 

“You forgot you got us all into this by claiming you were some kind of cow-whisperer?” Pidge sounds as amazed by Lance’s lack of recall as Keith is. 

“I never said cow-whisperer!” Lance objects. “I said she needed a puppy friend. All cows need a puppy friend; it’s a fact of life.” 

“Shall we go introduce her to our fair lady Kaltenecker, then?” Coran slaps his knees twice and stands up, stretching. As if in answer, Turnip races over to Hunk and leaps toward the cow toy, snatching it out of his hand and giving it an emphatic shake when she lands back on the ground, growling. 

“Maybe we wait until she’s slightly less puppy,” says Hunk, inspecting his hand carefully for injury. “Maybe what Kaltenecker really needs is a calm adult dog friend.” 

[crutchie-with-a-y]

Good Day

(Warning: Drinking, Drunkedness) 

“Oh, good mooooooooorning ugly!” Race pulled open his dark red curtains and looked out over the rainy Manhattan streets. He didn’t necessarily dislike ugly weather, he was just telling it like it was. The clouds were a smudged pencil gray and had opened up on the pedestrians scurrying to their office or subway station to start the week. Race decided he wasn’t dreading this morning, at least, not as much as everyone else. Even though the Monday after a long holiday weekend always seemed to be particularly grueling, Race wasn’t having it. He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up, looking in the mirror as he fixed his collar. A good day, that’s what this was. He rolled his wrists around in his crisp cuffs as he shook out his golden curls. Medda from human resources had once told him that every day was a good day if you just decided it was. He cracked his neck and slid his hands into the deep pockets of his dark dress pants, and, deciding he looked respectable enough, slid across the floor in his black dress socks, skidding through the doorway of his bedroom as he grabbed his shoes off the ground. 

A good day, he repeated to himself as he hopped into his kitchen, popping the shoe on one foot and then the other as he leaned against the counter. Let’s think about it, he thought, opening a cabinet to grab a tumbler for his coffee, a great job, great friends, the holidays just around the corner, and he had just gotten HBO go, and what a great investment that was proving to be. He popped the lid off the tumbler and walked over to the coffee machine. Now, some may call him old fashioned, but Keurigs were wasteful, and it was just a lot easier to make one pot of coffee and just always have it there, in case he needed a pick-me-up when he got home. The first thing he did in the morning was to hop out of bed and start the coffee, then shower and get dressed. Another thing to be grateful for, Rave thought as he poured, routine. A healthy one at that. How many people could say they had that, he asked himself, opening his fridge and grabbing his hazelnut creamer. Not a lot of people. He flipped off the lid and was disappointed by the few dribbles of white that splashed into his coffee. 

“Grrrrr,” Race growled to himself, tossing the empty bottle in the sink. “Hey Ale-no, excuse me, HEY GOOGLE,” He corrected himself as he dumped an unidentified but still horrifying amount of sugar into his coffee. He’d recently parted ways with his Alexa, and since Jeff Bezos was as an asshole, he’d decided not to get a new one. 

“How may I help you, Ra-aCecRACK?” The automated voice responded, causing Race to bend over in silent laughter. He’d somehow gave the machine his name wrong, but it was just soooooooo fucking funny to hear that clunky robot voice say Racecrack that he’d just left it that way. 

“Yeah, oh my god, uh, please add creamer to my list, and uhhh,” He opened the freezer and frowned, “ ice cream, breakfast sandwiches and grapes I guess, to balance it all out.” 

“Creamer, ice cream, breakfast sandwiches, and grapes have all been added to your list.” We're rollin', Race thought as he grabbed his coffee and snatched up his keys, wallet, and Juul from a clay olive dish on the counter that he’d gotten in the office white elephant last year. 

“Thank you so very much, Google, I will order you around more when I get home, servant speaker” He opened his apartment door, patting his left pocket to make sure his phone was there. 

“You are very welcome. Have a good day!” The voice called as he opened the door. 

“Already decided I would, Bitch,” 

“...okay then, Ra-aCecRACK.” 

Race clambered up the steps of the subway station, glancing down at his phone as he did. 8:34. Perfect, he thought, dashing across the crosswalk as the orange hand began to flash. He speed-walked down the sidewalk and up to a Jack in the Box. Plenty of time, plenty of ti-

Race’s thoughts on timing were immediately cut short when a man walked past him through the door of the fast-food place. His breath hitched. He blinked and walked into the building, taking a sharp right to the restrooms and ripping open the door to the single-stall, locking it behind him. He slammed his back against the door and slid down it to the floor, his hands attempting to rub the small tears back into his eyes. 

The man he’d walked past hadn’t done anything wrong, Race didn’t even know him. The only offense this man had committed was wearing the same cologne as a certain man named Austin. 

Who just happened to be Race’s ex. As of quite recently. 

The two-year relationship had ended with lots of fights and lies, and then finally an evening where Race had come home to a practically empty apartment. 

“God, Race you’re so so so so so stupid.” Race said to himself, smashing his eyes into his fists. He sat there for a moment, eventually giving up and letting the angry, heartbroken tears come. This was why he had to remind himself to have a good day. This is why he had gotten that stupid Google Home to replace the Alexa that had been taken. Because he couldn’t stand a lonely, empty apartment, where it was always silent, a constant reminder he was alone. The only were sounds were the ones he made, him going to the fridge for a beer, him sobbing into a pillow, his sarcastic commentary to no one but the walls. This is why he’d gotten that stupid thing, to just make it seem like he wasn’t entirely alone, give the illusion that there was someone to talk to, even if it was just to tell them to turn on music or to remind him to buy something. And this is what led to him laughing alone, at 7 am, in a kitchen with only a microwave and the fridge that came with the apartment and some plastic silverware because he wasn’t ready to face the fact he needed to go furniture and appliance shopping by himself, to his fake robot roommate calling him Racecrack. 

“Racecrack.” Race whispered. He giggled sadly. “RaaACEcraCk.” He let his hands drop to his side and he sigh-laughed, his shoulders slumping with emotional exhaustion as the misspoken name echoed against the tiles of the bathroom. 

“rAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaacccccccceeccccRrRrRaccccccck.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. He pulled himself up with the corner of the sink and looked at his red eyes in the mirror. “Ew.” He splashed water on his face, figuring that if it worked in the movies he might as well try it. He dried his face and rolled his shoulders back, looking himself in the eye one last time before leaving the bathroom to go and order. 

“Good Day.” 

“Morning, Race!” Hannah looked up from her receptionist’s desk as Race walked in. “What kept ya so long?” 

“There was a line for breakfast.” He leaned against her desk, waving his breakfast sandwich around before taking a huge bite of the greasy sausage and cheese mess which he held together between two paper napkins. Hannah chuckled. 

“Don’t worry I covered for you.” She reassured him, and then, before he could react, leaned forward and snatched a chunk of his breakfast. Race’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Lying-for-you-tax,” Hannah said, covering her full mouth as she talked. 

“RACE!! Race, have you filed your report yet, dumbass?” Jack’s head suddenly poked up out of one of the many cubicles in the office. Davey’s head popped up next to his, his hair a little rumpled, causing both Hannah and Race to look at each other. 

“Yeah, because all of that hard work you’re doing with Davey in there?” Race raised an eyebrow at them.

“Oh it’s hard alright,” Hannah added, followed by many OOOOOOOOOOOHs erupting from the cubicles of people who were eavesdropping. Race high-fived Hannah as Jack elbowed Davey out of his cubicle. The chuckles died down while Jack hopped up on top of his desk so he could stare down at everyone in their cubicle like he usually did when he needed to tell everyone something important, or at least something he thought was important. People leaned back in their chairs or stood up and leaned their arms over the tops of their cubicles, chewing on pens or making stupid faces at one of their coworkers while their boss talked. 

“Oh yeah, haha, very funny everyone. But seriously though, we need need to actually get some work done today-”

“But that’s not my job!” Henry shouted over the complaining noises that followed. Jack looked at him like he was a spot of mold on a brand new loaf of bread. 

“Yes actually, it is.” Crutchie reminded him, rolling his eyes. 

“DAMN IT.” Henry slammed his hand on his desk. 

“Aright, seriously though,” Jack said as chuckles shook the cubicle walls. “The new Company Event Planner’s first day is today, and they’re gonna be working in our space so Joe will be bringing them down.” 

“What’s their name, Jack?” Mike called, tapping his cheek with a pen. Jack rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know..I didn’t actually open the email so,” The office sigh-laughed collectively at their always-behind boss. “BUT Joe will be in here, so we do have to have something to show for our day.” A collective groan washed over the office. 

“Also,” Medda snapped for everyone’s attention from her corner of the room. “We’re having a welcome party for them at 3:30, so if you didn’t remember to bring a dish to share I suggest running to Trader Joe’s on your lunch break.” 

“And I already brought chips and salsa so you will have to be creative,” Finch added. 

“You going to visit the Trader, Race?” Buttons poked his head in Race’s cubicle while a large group of their coworkers gathered by the door. Race looked up from his computer and then to the form he was filling out. 

“Uhhh, I’ll catch up with you guys, I want to finish this before lunch.” 

“Okay, see ya!” Buttons darted off to crowd into the elevator with everyone else. Race sighed. He had a lot of work he needed to get done. With a new event planner, his job would technically be easier, but would also require a lot of teamwork between the two of them. Race’s official title was “Community Outreach Supervisor” and, like everyone else in the office, his job was actually meant for like five. I don’t mind though, he thought to himself, and he didn’t. He liked getting to work with prominent community members, he’d met some incredible people since he’d gotten this job, and he liked being busy, it kept his mind off other things he’d rather not think about. And lately, that was a lot of things. 

Currently, Race was working on organizing job shadowing and internships by local high school students. He’d been emailing back and forth with a counselor who was plenty nice, but kinda sucked at providing him with all the information he needed. He hoped it would work out though. After going to several job fairs in gymnasiums crowded with confused students, he realized how important it was. The kids he met with were wonderful, they were polite and eager to learn, and he wanted to make sure they all got jobs they liked, were good at, and could make a living doing. This goddamn counselor, however, was not exactly putting a lot of effort into helping him do that. 

“Whatever.” Race closed a few tabs and put his computer to sleep as he stood up and slid his jacket off the back of his chair. He walked out of the office and down the hallway, jogged down a few flights of stairs, and took a deep breath of city air. Before he could exhale, however, an aggressive rain whipped across his face. 

“For fuck's sake.” Race flipped up his hood and rammed his hands into his pocket, as he ran as fast as he dared down the block with his head down. He dashed across the Trader Joe’s parking lot and headed toward the sliding doors, unsuccessfully trying to dodge the several shoppers who were losing control of their carts on the wet concrete. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” A voice said half-heartedly as the sharp metal corner of a shopping cart jammed itself into Race’s ribs, temporarily knocking the breath out of him. 

“Good...day,” Race wheezed as he dragged himself into the store, clutching his side. He staggered through the isles, trying to think of something nobody else would have thought to grab, which did not exist. He looked longingly at the shelves lined with liquor but knew that today was not the day to break office policy. Wondering if there was some sort of pizza bagel-esc thing he could grab, Race turned abruptly into a freezer aisle. Only to be hit in the face with the edge of a freezer door. 

“Oh. my god.” His hand slammed over his right eye and he steadied himself against a closed door, one arm still wrapped around his torso. A young woman holding a pint of ice cream gasped and rushed over to him. 

“I’m s-s-o sorry, sir!” she stuttered, unsure of what to do. “Are you alright?” Nope, Race thought, feeling a bruise forming, but a glance at his watch changed his answer. 

“Yep, no worries!” He straightened up immediately and darted down the aisle, ignoring the water that flooded his eye when he looked into the light. Joe was set to bring in the new event planner in ten minutes, and Joseph Pulitzer was always right on time. He squinted across the entire store, finally giving up and returning to the freezer section and grabbing the first thing his eyes landed on. 

“Gluten-free cheesy quinoa bites. Perfect.” Race declared aloud, stacking his arms withs several boxes, and then heading toward the express lane. 

“RACE FINALLY!!!” Jack threw his arms out toward the wet-haired blonde that stepped through the office doors holding a ripped paper bag. 

“Calm the hell down, Jack.” Race snapped, carrying his bag into the kitchen where the table was piled high with jugs of apple cider, plates of cookies, and vegetable platters. He chucked the hipster cheddar snacks or whatever the fuck they were on into the freezer and jammed the bag into the recycling. He stomped back to his cubicle and shrugged his coat off as he plopped into his chair. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. 

“Hey, Race! Want some more coffee?” Davey stepped up to his desk and shook the coffee pot he held in one hand and winced when he splashed some on his hand. 

“Yes, God Please.” Race grabbed his mug that had been sitting on his desk for who knows how long and held it up to be filled. 

“Joe’s gonna be down in a few minutes so make sure you look like you’re working,” Davey advised as he poured. He looked at Race’s face for the first time and gasped. “What happened to your face!” 

“What?”

“Oh, I mean not like, it’s just....your eye.” Davey sputtered. Race whipped around to look at himself in his computer monitor. 

“What’re you talking ab-oh, my god.” A black eye had formed where Race had been hit in the face had Trader Joe’s. 

“It’s not that bad.”

“Davey, you are a terrible liar.” Race snapped, opening a desk drawer and shoving boxes and papers aside. 

“Can someone get Race some ice?” Davey yelled towards the kitchen. 

“On it.” Someone yelled back. Davey looked back down to see Race unscrewing the cap of a flask and pouring its contents into his coffee. 

“What is that!?” Davey pointed with a dropped jaw. 

“Creamer.” Race said knocking the contents of his mug back and then slamming it onto his desk. 

“Race! You can’t be tipsy during Joe’s visit!” Davey whisper shouted as Finch spun into the cubicle with an ice pack wrapped in paper towels.

“Oooh, Race is tipsy?” Finch grinned mischievously. 

“I won’t be able to survive Joe’s visit if I’m not tipsy.” Race retorted, taking the ice pack from Finch and pressing it against his eye. Finch chuckled and leaned against the empty desk on the other side of the cubicle from Race’s, crossing his arms.

“So you get in a fight or-” 

“wHYYYYY HELLLOOOOOOO THERE! IF IT ISN’T JOSEPH PULITZER HIMSELF!” Jack shouted his greeting to alert the rest of the office of their boss’s presence. 

“Ah, shit.” Finch leaped up onto the empty desk and hurled himself over the wall into his cubicle. Davey shot out of Race’s space and dashed across the office, the entire office hearing him jump into his chair and then spin into his desk with a thud. A sweaty Jack escorted his boss and a new hire into an office full of stifled laughter. Joseph Pulitzer raised a critical eyebrow but decided to let it slide, and walked up to the front of the office so that he could introduce his newest employee. 

“Hello, everyone. As I’m sure you all know, I’m here to introduce our new event planner. Our company has long been on the search for a...” Race paid absolutely zero attention. As Joe droned on, he attempted to balance a pencil on the tip of his nose, wobbling it back and forth until Sniper reached over the wall and snapped it off his face. 

“You bitch!” Race’s exclamation was met with a round of disapproving hushes. He just scoffed and pulled out another pencil continuing to wobble, his chair creaking underneath him. When that pencil fell, he looked at it on the ground, decided it was too much work to reach down and pick it up, and grabbed another one from the broken mug by his keyboard filled with pens with mismatched caps, bent paperclips, and an assortment of chewed pencils. As he tilted his head up to place the pencil on his nose, he noticed the middle-aged man still talking at the front of the room. God, he’s still here? Race thought. He shook his head lightly and gently pressed the eraser against his nose. 

“So please join me in welcoming Spot Conlon!” A round of applause shook the office, knocking the pencil off Race’s nose. 

“Oh, we’re clapping.” Race banged his palms together obnoxiously before realizing there was an unopened email from the school counselor he’d been working with sitting in his inbox. He clicked on it and read it speedily, his eyes scanning for any ounce of the information he’d actually asked for. 

“Now, I’ll show you to your desk,” Pulitzer said, Race barely noticing as he scrolled through the counselor's useless paragraphs. “Good afternoon, Mr. Higgins.” 

“Look, lady, I don’t care about how many years you’ve been doing this, I just need to know how many kids are applying!” Race yelled at his monitor, completely oblivious to the two men standing behind him. A snort that Race didn’t recognize caused him to look up, and he met eyes with his annoyed boss. 

“Wha-Oh, hello, Joseph.” Race grinned widely. “How are you doing on this lovely winter day?” 

“Mr. Higgins, I’d like you to meet our, new event planner, Spot Conlon.” Pulitzer gestured to the short but broad man standing next to him with an amused look on his face, the same one who’d snorted at Race’s email rage. Race turned in his chair. 

And looked into the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. 

They were dark brown and deep, eyes that had seen everything, smart eyes. Eyes that told a story. Eyes that looked at something and figured it out. Eyes that saw people for what they were. Eyes that were smart and hardworking. Eyes that lit up when the rest of the face barely moved. Eyes that Race could get lost in forever. 

Eyes that were looking down at him with a confused look. 

“Oh my GOD, I’m an idiot, as you’ve probably already guessed.” Race lept up and over-enthusiastically shook the hand that had been outstretched for way too long without meeting a second one.

“No shit,” Spot said with a smirk. Race wanted to crawl into his desk. 

“Ah yes, well. I’m sure you will enjoy working here with Mr. Higgins. I will have IT bring up your computer.”

“Sounds good,” Spot nodded. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Pulitzer stretched a hand out to shake, but Spot had already turned around and flopped into his chair. He, unsuccessfully, tried to turn it into a wave and then turned around to leave, Jack jogging up to him to walk him out. 

“So tell me,” Spot said, spinning around in his chair to look at Race. “Is he always such a pompous asshole?” Race laughed nervously, still having trouble looking him in the eyes. 

“He can be a bit much.” Spot snorted.

“Don’t sugar coat it. I came in a bit late because my bus got in an accident, and he goes ‘oh so you don’t have a car.’ This is New York. Who the fuck has a car?” Race laughed and shook his head. I love this guy, he thought. It’s been five minutes and he’s already my favorite person on earth. 

“Alright, fine. He is such a goddamn snob that he puts a minimum price for how much out outfits for the yearly gala cost, and,” Spot banged his hand on his desk in laughter, the sound of his chuckles and the smile on his face making Race’s heart flutter. “and we can’t wear the same thing as we did the year before.” 

“Oh god. I wear the same thing every day, he’s sure in for a shock.” Spot looked at the ceiling, right as their coworkers came up to their cubicle, some of them launching themselves over the walls and landing next to them. Spot’s eyes widened. “Is....is this normal for you all to come at each other like the stampede that killed Mufasa?” He leaned toward Race as he said this, and Race felt like his face was on fire as the rest of the office laughed. 

“Only when old Scar comes sauntering in and throws someone new into our gorge.” Specs responded, jabbing a thumb towards the door their boss just went through. Everyone laughed, and Race couldn’t help but stare at Spot as he rubbed his chin as he chuckled. You could cut ice with that jawline, he thought. 

“Yeah...Alright, so I’m the head of this floor, Jack,” Jack stepped forward and motioned for the others to follow. “This is Hannah, she does most of the talking with prospective new clients, and she will greet you by the door every morning-”

“I’m not like a talking welcome mat or anything, that’s just where my desk is.” Hannah butted in, her comment greeted by a smirk from the coworkers. 

“Right, and this is Davey, he does budgeting and money stuff, and this is Albert, head of marketing....” Jack continued to introduce everyone, each person stepping forward as he said their name. “And, saving the best for last, this is the lovely Ms. Medda, head of HR.” 

“Alright.” Spot nodded with a pleasant look on his face. “I’ve already forgotten everything you just said, but I’m sure by Christmas I will have stopped calling you the names you’ve all been assigned in my head.” 

“No worries,” Medda smiled as everyone chuckled. “We are having a little welcome party for you, so if you wanna follow us to the break room.” Everyone turned out of the cubicle and headed towards the break room, but Spot waited until Race had stood up to start moving. 

“Lead the way,” he said, making Race’s ears turn bright red. Once they got there, people were pouring drinks and stacking paper plates high with cookies and tortilla chips and chatting about the events of the day. Medda waved Race and Spot towards the table.

“Help yourself! It’s your party.” She smiled and gestured to the array of food in front of them. Spot bit his lip and inhaled loudly, causing Medda’s face to drop. “What is it?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Spot shook his head, “It’s just that....I’m gluten-free.” Race looked up quickly.

“Oh, dear. Well...I’m sorry about that, we’ll have to keep that in mind next time.” Medda shook her head. 

“No, no wait!” Race ran over to the freezer and held up his Trader Joe’s purchase. “I got this gluten-free ch-” 

“CHEESY QUINOA BITES!” Spot interrupted and grabbed the box out of Race’s hand giddily. Race chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah...”

“I’m sorry, I LOVE these things, bro,” Spot apologized as he opened the box. 

“Wait, really?” Race’s heart leaped. 

“Yeah,” Spot looked up at the microwave and squinted at the buttons. “How do you work this thing?” Race laughed at walked over to help him, his smile practically busting his face with the joy that his desperate purchase and been a good one. 

An hour or so later, the cheesy bites were gobbled down and everyone was seated at the table, telling Spot office stories and asking him questions. Race sat on his left, sipping root beer and watching closely. Spot was absolutely fascinating. Race just couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. The way his chocolate brown eyes dance when he talked, how he leaned forward on one elbow when he told a story. And his stories! They were incredible! He told stories of growing up in Brooklyn, which was mere miles away, that kept everyone on the edges of their seats and made the walls shake with laughter. 

“Speaking of drunks, I’m new to this area, any bars you all would recommend?” Spot asked the group, pulling Race out of his daze. 

“Oh well, THAT, my friend is a question for no other than Racetrack Higgins.” Finch walked around the table and gripped Race’s shoulder. “He holds the shot record of the office, and has the best drunk stories this side of the Hudson.” Race felt his ears go red. What a great way to start things off with the cute new guy, he thought, ‘Hello, I’m the office drunk!’ He wanted to just laugh it off, but then he looked up at Spot. 

“Is that so?” Spot turned to face Race and placed his elbows on the table, leaning forward, challenging him with his eyes. “Then, please, Enlighten me.” Race looked directly into those eyes and rose to the challenge, straightening up to meet his gaze because he knew, no matter how attractive Spot was, nobody told a story like Racetrack Higgins. 

“I’d love to,” Race responded confidently, recognizing his comfort zone. “But I think some tequila would make it a little better.” He looked up at the clock as the group snickered, and back at Spot who wore a smirk that recognized exactly what Race was doing. “It’s about five, what say we all pack up and go down to Maria’s for some shots and tacos?” 

“But, Race...it’s Monday,” Crutchie said, looking around for someone else to agree with him.

“Yes, and if I remember correctly happy hour at Maria’s starts an hour earlier on Mondays, so let’s get going.” Race slapped the table and stood up, heading out of the room and all but declaring that they were going. Spot was close behind him and the others shrugged and followed suit as Crutchie silently shook his head. 

“So how’s the bartender at Maria’s?” Spot asked Race as he walked into their cubicle, pulling his laptop back off the floor and setting it on his desk. 

“Oh, Aaron? Fantastic, heavy pour and great mustache.” Race responded as he slid his jacket over his shoulders. 

“Ah, I see you know him quite well.” A look of...something flashed in Spot’s eyes. Was it...jealousy? He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, Race grabbed hold of it and dragged it back. 

“Oh yeah, we go way back.” He said, chuckling as if remembering an embarrassing story. “I’ve spent many a bad breakup with his shaker and that mustache giving me advice.” The same look stayed in Spot’s eyes, but he laughed as they headed out of the office and into the elevator. 

“TINA!” Race shouted as he walked through the doors of Maria’s Mexican Bar and Grill, throwing his arms toward the hostess leaning on her elbow at the front desk while his coworkers piled in behind him, shaking off droplets of rain and stomping their feet on the mat in the doorway. She looked up at the group, her long dreadlocks framing her well-highlighted cheekbones and jawline that she drummed against with her long, glittery maroon nails. 

“Oh well if it isn’t Shitface Race!” Tina grinned mischievously, gathering a stack of menus in her arms for what was going to be a large table. The group laughed and Spot looked at Race with a dramatic jaw drop. 

“Ah, Tina.” Race ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and leaned over the desk on one elbow. “Try not to expose me to much in front of my guests.” 

“Oh I won’t,” She assured him, throwing her dreads over her shoulder and beckoned for the group to follow her through the crowded restaurant to the largest booth. “Now will you be requiring any tissues on this visit and will you be ordering your usual three margaritas?” She joked as she winked at Race and gestured for the coworkers to sit. 

“Actually, my dear,” Race clarified over the chuckles, folding his hands on the table and swallowing hard when he noticed Spot sliding into the booth next to him. “We are here for shots!” 

“And food!” Elmer added, greedily opening the menu and licking his lips. 

“Then I’ll start y’all with some chips and salsa?” Tina clasped her hands together in front of her. 

“And guac!” Race hit Tina with finger guns and dancing eyebrows.

“It’s extra!” She shot right back at him with her manicured nails. 

“We can stretch it,” Jack said and slung his arm over Spot’s shoulders. “This is a cause for celebration, after all, Spot here is new.” Spot waved awkwardly at Tina and leaned away from Jack, causing Race to inhale sharply when he felt his shoulder brush against him. 

“That’s code for ‘Jacks buying.’“ He said, jutting a thumb towards his manager. 

“Good to know I won’t have to split the bill!” Tina smiled, and spun on her heel and walked towards the kitchen, ignoring Jack's protests and the group's laughter. 

“Hey!” The group looked up to see two women holding hands, one redheaded and one dirty blonde, waving at them as they weaved in between tables to get to their booth. 

“Oh my god, Kath and Sarah!” Henry waved back and scooted as far in as he could, attempting to make room for the couple. 

“What are y’all doing here?” Sarah asked as Katherine squished up against Henry and pulled her down to sit on her lap. 

“We’re celebrating a new member of our team on floor six,” Mush gestured towards Spot. 

“With shots!” Race said gleefully. Spot leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. He was barely able to hear what he said over the pounding of his heart. 

“Who are they?” Race opened his mouth but was unable to form words, wishing he had asked Tina to break a round of waters. He swallowed and looked straight ahead at the women, knowing that if he looked Spot in the eyes this close he would explode. 

“The lively ginger is the one and only Katherine Pulitizer, yes, the daughter of our boss. Interestingly enough, she works for our biggest competitor.” Race explained, stretching his hand toward his superior’s offspring.

“A fact that he does not know and shall never know,” Katherine added, her eyes wide. Race could see Spot’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and he melted a little bit just at the sight of it. 

“And that lovely gal on her lap is Sarah Jacobs, she works upstairs in design and is Davey and Les’s sister.” Medda continued the introduction. Sarah grinned, fanning her dimples with awkward jazz hands.

 “And this, ladies, is Spot, our new event planner.” Race looked back at Spot and caught his eye, and immediately whipped back around when he felt his face on fire. Katherine noticed and waggled her eyebrows at him before cupping her hands over her mouth to whisper into her girlfriend’s ear, whatever she said resulting in Sarah dramatically dropping her jaw at him. Thankfully, before either of them could say anything, Tina came up to the table, her arms lined with baskets of chips and ramequins of salsa and guacamole. Followed close behind her, to Race’s excitement, was another waiter, holding a tray of shots. 

“Holy shit,” Romeo laughed as the group clapped and whistled, excitedly rubbing their hands together for the next events of the night. As Tina took down orders, Race tried to get someone’s attention to slide the shots his way. Eventually, Spot noticed and he smiled, making Race want the liquor even more so it could calm the butterflies in his stomach. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Spot grabbed his napkin and slid the fork out of it and, reaching across the table, dragged the tray towards them. Race quickly followed suit, sliding the salt shaker with them as they pulled it across the table.  

“Good thinking,” He winked at him, and Race immediately reached for a shot while Spot licked the back of his hand and poured salt on to the moistened area. By now, Tina had taken everyone’s order and the group was munching on chips and watching the pair like popcorn and a movie. “Now, if you please, Race, entertain me with some of your infamous drunkard’s tales.” Their friends banged on the table in excitement, egging Race on. 

“Once,” Race quickly dabbed on and licked off his salt and then downed a shot, slamming the glass back onto the table when it was empty, “upon a hangover....” Spot’s eyes caught his, the way they dance intensifying the warm fuzzy feeling the tequila had gifted Race as their group erupted into wall-shaking laughter, carefree and ready to get plastered. 

“Are you FUCKING serious!?” Spot jokingly shoved Race as they exited the bar for the night, a little harder than he probably meant to as the liquor coursing through him had lessened his awareness of his strength. “Rhiana was really there?” Race’s heart still jumped at his touch, but it was less overwhelming with the buzzing of his head. 

“Yes, and let me tell you, Rhi-Rhi loves her RUM RUM RUM RUM RUM,” Race stumbled into cool Manhattan air, imitating the hip-hop star. 

“That’s amAZING!” Spot’s eyes went wide at him as their drunk friends staggered out behind them, each laughing harder than the next. 

“HOLY! FUCK!” Sarah shouted as she stomped onto the icy cement. “IT IS! COLD! AS FUCK!” 

“YES! We should build a lil’ fire.” Davey squatted down to warm his hands on an imaginary bonfire, tripping, and landing on his ass in a puddle of giggles. 

“We cannot do that, SILLY.” Jack bent over to help him up, almost falling himself. “There is no wood!” He waved around at the absence of trees as his friends nodded in agreement. 

“Well, then maybe we can heat things up ourselves,” Davey retorted, slamming his lips on Jack’s and aggressively pushing his fingers through his hair. The friends gasped and whooped at them, until Jack pulled away, scratching the back of his head with rosy cheeks. 

“Ah, AHEM, there’s our Uber!” He pointed, grabbing Davey’s hand and dragging him towards the black sedan that had just pulled up in front of the group. Jack waved goodbye as he opened the door until Davey kissed him again and shoved him inside the vehicle. The coworkers laughed as they pulled away, all drunkenly mumbling about the cold or about work tomorrow, as one by one their Lyfts and Ubers came to take them home. 

“Oh my god, I’m going to be hungover for my second day,” Spot whispered to Race as they watched Sarah and Katherine hop into a red Toyota. It was only when he said that did Race realize how close they were standing together. He immediately sobered up as he felt Spot’s shoulders rub against his as his coworker huddled toward him, trying to escape the brisk winds. 

“It’-” His voice cracked and Spot laughed obnoxiously, adding to the pink the weather had spread on Race’s ears. “It’ll be fine. I’ve been popping aspirin and vomiting in between meetings on multiple occasions. And this time everyone will be just as gone, so you won’t stick out as much.” Spot chuckled again.

“I guess.” They stood in silence for a while, watching their friends leave, and soon they were the only two left. Race wondered if he should say something, or if he had made him uncomfortable, but Spot spoke before he could. “I had a really fun time here,” He said and turned to look at Race. “I’m going to like working here. I can feel it.” Race laughed dryly, looking directly forward and watching his breath curl into the evening air. 

“Don’t be too sure, you’re going to have to sit next to me every day.” Spot turned to him again, and Race felt compelled to meet his gaze and realized his eyes had gone soft. 

“That’s the best part,” Spot smiled, and even though he was freezing and he could barely feel his legs and his fingers were burning from the cold, Race felt a rush of warmth shoot through him, racing through his veins and into his joints, his heart almost bursting. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to know what the fuck a gray Corolla looks like do you?” Spot looked back down at his phone as if he hadn’t just set Race’s heart on fire. It took him a minute to form a response.

“I-uh-I think you have your answer right there.” Race pointed to a car pulling up to the sidewalk. Spot looked up and nodded, waved to the driver, and then turned back to Race. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“Yeah,” Race shuffled his feet. Spot looked at his own feet as if searching for something to say between his shoe buckles. 

“By the way,” He looked back up, having found the right words. “Where is a good place for coffee by the office? You know your bars so well you must know the best place for recovery from them in the morning.” Race chuckled. 

“The Chadwick Sister’s Coffee makes a mean latte.” He responded. He debated saying more, and then finally took the risk. “I could...meet you at the office early, walk you to it, say 8:30?” He licked his lips and waited for what seemed like thirty hours for Spot’s answer. 

“Sounds good.” Spot smiled. This seemed like the end of the conversation, but he didn't turn to leave. “Thanks for showing me the bar, it was fantastic, even though I still think you inflated your shot numbers a little.” 

“You’ll beat me next time.” Race smirked. Spot cocked his head as if studying his features with intense curiosity.

“Today was a good day, Race." He said, slowly turning away. "Good night," 

“Good night,” Race said, quieter than he meant to, so quiet he wondered if Spot even heard him. He watched as his new coworker climbed into the Carolla and pulled away. He stood there until he could no longer see the brake lights of the car, contrasted by the exhaust shooting out from underneath the trunk. 

“I need to go home.” He said out loud to himself once the street was dark and the only light was coming from the bar behind him. He hadn’t called a cab, and he pulled out his phone to do so but then realized a stop for his bus was just a block away. He jogged towards it, his fists firmly pressed against the bottom of his pocket, wondering if he missed the bus. He wasn’t concerned. Nothing in the world could upset him right now, not even the aggressive sleet that came ripping through the air as his bus stopped at the light just before his stop. 

“Sorry about the wait,” The bus driver, a nervous red-headed woman with a septum piercing, apologized, anxiously squeezing the steering wheel as Race climbed through the bus’s open door and up the steps. 

“No worries,” He assured her, scanning his bus pass through the back of his phone case. “No worries at all.” He walked to the very back of the bus, passing an old woman who squinted to read her beauty magazine in the dim light and a short man in his early thirties, who sat clutching several paper grocery bags close to his chest. Race slid into a seat just as the bus pulled away from the curb. He leaned his head against the window, watching the raindrops speed down the window, illuminated by the bright traffic lights of the city, Spot’s words echoing in his mind. 

He’s right, Race thought to himself.

Today was a good day. 

[dungeons-and-hermits]

Victorious Return

Genre: Angst/Fluff Characters: Doc, Beef, BDubs, Etho Summary: The nHo are gone, but never forgotten... and not quite gone Word Count: 4178 (yeah. I might have gone ham) Author: Mod Lori

In time, Doc came to refer to the event as the Incident.

The Incident that had taken the lives of his closest companions, the Incident that had left him alone and lost, the Incident that had sent him into a life of isolation. It had been a year since the Incident—in fact tomorrow would be the exact anniversary. They were dead, and to the world, he was dead along with them.

He wished that were true.

In the back corner of a dingy, dank tavern, he sat at a table with a mug of ale in his hand and three empty chairs before him. It was far later than he should have been staying out, so late that he was one of only three remaining patrons.

Hee downed his drink and then rose to his feet, body heavy. He wanted nothing more than to stay here and continue to drown his sorrows, but, if he remained in one place for too long, he risked being recognized. So, he lifted his hood and exited the dim light of the tavern, stepping into the night and keeping his head down—though that did little to hide just how much space his half-orc body took up.

He couldn’t be recognized. If he was, he didn’t have it in him to explain, hadn’t had it in him since his friends had been killed, and he thought that maybe he would never have it in him to do anything ever again except carry on as he had been, wandering from town to town.

His friends were dead, and yet, he was still here. Why? Why was he still here when the others were gone, wrenched from his life unceremoniously like they were nothing?

They weren’t nothing, and they never had been. They were his companions, his best friends, his family, and for the longest time he couldn’t have imagined his life without them.

He wished that were still true.

He was out of the town and along the beaten forest path within minutes. A lesser man might be nervous walking through a forest at night with all that he owned on his back, but it was a rare and impressive feat to find someone who could pose him any true threat.

Besides, even if he stumbled across someone like that, it wasn’t as if he had much to live for.

Now that he wished wasn’t true.

It was a dangerous thing to be alone with his thoughts, but he couldn’t stay anywhere for very long, and especially not in such a small town that would immediately know about a half-orc stranger come morning.

Because of that, he had to leave. Maybe someday he would build himself a house in the middle of a thick forest and live there, where nobody would find him. The hermit life sounded good. It was alone, unbothered.

He walked for the entire night, not bothering to stop to rest. By the time dawn broke, he was in the middle of the forest, still trekking along the winding path. He’d seen a few people as morning approached, mostly lone riders or merchants with carts.

He’d paid them little mind until he came upon an upturned wagon. It was blocking the path entirely, and a good ten or so people were surrounding it. Once, he would have stopped to help. Even now, had he been in a better mood, he might have still done it.

Instead, his heart hung heavy within his chest, and the last thing that he wanted to do today was help turn a cart right-side up. Ignoring them, he turned, venturing off the path and into the forest proper before any of them saw him.

He’d only just lost sight of the cart when his foot slipped.

It was stupid, really; a misstep on a loose stone, but sure enough, the stone fell out from under him, and then he was slipping uncontrolably down a hill that started gentle but, as he soon found out, eventually became steep and then dropped off to a vertical cliff.

He scrambled for purchase, mind blank with panic and limbs flailing wildly for a branch or a root or something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, he found nothing, and then he was free-falling off a cliff so high that he couldn’t see the bottom. It would come eventually, though, and so he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate and bracing for impact.

But, before he hit the ground, his arm—the one made of wood, not flesh—was yanked upward. A hand grasped it and lifted.

There was light; searing, blinding, brilliant light that burned into his mind even through his closed eyes, and as the light surged and then faded, he was surrounded by a familiar feeling.

He’d recognize Beef’s spell to reduce fall damage anywhere. Even a year later, even in the last place and time he would expect it, even with Beef dead and gone. The magic coated him like a warm hug, undeniably Beef; it was the immense, overwhelming power of a fireball and the soft, reassuring touch of a heal. It felt like companionship and inside jokes, cozy and safe and there to catch you when you fall.

As his feet slammed into the ground below he felt tears spring to his eyes not from pain—no, the spell negated any pain—but from sheer, unbridled emotion, emotion that increased infinitely as Doc looked up. Beef was there, right before him, face awash in terror and confusion and excitement all wrapped up in one, hand still grasping Doc’s wooden wrist.

“How-“

“You’re dead,” Doc said.

Beef blinked. It was at that moment that Doc realized he wasn’t… whole. Beef was a ghost; there was no other way to put it. He was translucent and pale, with the slightest tinge of washed-out blue. His torso could be seen but his legs faded into nothing, and he was just hovering there, dressed in the very clothes Doc had witnessed him die in.

“I don’t think I am.”

“Well, you’re not alive.”

“That’s true,” Beef conceded.

Doc’s heart was pounding in his chest, his ears ringing and mind whirling with a cocktail of emotions that dashed through his conscious far too fast for him to grasp or comprehend.

Impossible. It was impossible. Beef couldn’t be here, and yet, and yet, the feeling of the spell that had saved Doc’s life was fresh and full in his memory. There was no way of faking that; it was uniquely Beef, his magic a fingerprint that left no room for doubt. It was him, there was no way around it.

But it was impossible.

Doc told him as much. Before him, Beef shrugged transparent shoulders. The smile that the human gave was some odd conglomeration of sheepishness, confusion, and relief.

“I can’t tell you anything except that I am very glad to be back here. Well,” he glanced down at his body, briefly inspecting it, “mostly here, anyway.”

It hit him then, so sudden and elating; it was no wonder that it took so long to sink in. Beef was here, with him, somehow, by the hand of some benevolent god or fortunate magic. The realization forced tears to his eyes once again, and he named a few of the emotions that eddied within him: elation, sheer joy, overwhelming relief and excitement because Beef, his friend and longtime companion, a man he thought dead and long gone, was back, returned to him from beyond the grave.

Beef didn’t leave, mostly because--as they soon found out--he couldn’t; he was present, but he wasn’t corporeal, and he was unable to go much further than Doc could see. Doc was also the only person who could see or hear him, a fact they learned quickly when they came across a town, and one which Beef just as quickly used to his advantage, loudly interrupting Doc or talking smack about the people they interacted with at every opportunity. They fell into an easy dynamic within days; they’d spent too much time together for that to be difficult.

Beef couldn’t touch anything, either, save for Doc’s wooden arm. They weren’t sure why that was, exactly, but Beef had a few theories. Strangest of all, though, through some connection they shared, Beef could somehow cast spells through Doc. They were limited, of course, and immensely draining, but the power that rushed through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The month following Beef’s return was filled with experimentation. They tested the limits of his capabilities together, and Doc was happy beyond belief that, not only had his friend returned, but that he had a purpose once more.

Most troubling of all, though, was that they still didn’t know where Beef had been.

Beef’s running theory was that the artifact a year earlier had banished him to another plane. He didn’t like talking about it; whenever Doc mentioned it, even in passing, the man grew distant and quiet. On the rare occasions when Beef mentioned it, Doc got the feeling that it wasn’t entirely in the past tense.

There were times when Beef faded, times when he wasn’t quite there. It was terrifying. Every time it happened, Doc could only watch as the man’s form grew thinner, as his eyes began to focus on things unseen, as he ceased responding to Doc as if he weren’t really there. And every time it happened, Doc was convinced that that was it—that Beef would fade away entirely, and that this strange sort of being had been temporary, fated to be whisked off within months.

But Beef would return, and all would be well, and Doc didn’t ask where he’d gone. Maybe they would get to that point some time in the future, but he didn’t want to push anything. He was all Beef had at the moment; he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable.

So they settled into a routine, and it wasn’t long before it felt like it had a year prior, even though they were still missing half of their group.

It was about three months after Beef’s appearance that that changed.

Doc was well used to getting in trouble. He was half-orc; there were few races that faced more vitriol than him, and he was well used to the prejudice that came along with it. Because of this, he wasn’t particularly surprised when he found himself arrested one day.

It was a small town, the kind which tended to be insular and not particularly welcoming to outsiders. Beef had been particularly brutal in his commentary that afternoon, and that hadn’t helped Doc with any attempts to remain inconspicuous.

They hadn’t intended to remain very long, but they did stop by the tavern for a drink (one drink, for Doc, seated at an empty table because Beef could sit but could not drink with his friend). He’d been getting up to leave when he had passed by another table and had overheard a human man saying something downright foul to the (extremely uncomfortable) tavern maid giving him his ale.

He’d grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him from his seat and then throwing him to the ground. Beef had cheered him on, but he would have done it even if he hadn’t had someone encouraging him to.

The fight that ensued was completely one-sided. The man had three friends, but all four were dispatched and running off with their tails between their legs within minutes.

Doc had stayed longer than he should have, making sure that the woman was okay and apologizing for reacting on impulse (he should have made sure she wanted his help from the start, but Beef had egged him on and the man’s actions had left him in such a rage that he hadn’t thought that part through). She was fine, fairly thankful, and the owner of the tavern had come out to assure Doc that the men wouldn’t be welcome back.

He left the tavern and intended to go on his way, Beef floating along beside him pantomiming the fight and describing it in hilariously excited detail. He was met by guards before he even neared the edge of the city.

As it turned out, one of the disgusting men had been the brother of the captain of the guard, and so, with little ceremony, Doc was thrown into a small cell and abandoned to await his punishment

Beef found the whole thing hilarious, and if Doc could float through walls and didn’t have to touch anything in the cell, he’d probably have found it amusing too. As it was, he was less than enthused. Still, he had no regrets. He was just waiting for the right moment to activate his barbarian rage and get out.

The sun was beginning to set when the captain of the guard came up to his cell.

“I don’t suppose you know what you did wrong.”

“Enlighten me,” Doc drawled.

The man huffed, speaking slowly as if Doc didn’t speak Common. “You assaulted four men completely unwarranted in a tavern.”

“Wouldn’t call it unwarranted.” Doc rose to his feet. “They were harassing a tavern maid.”

“It wasn’t your place to intervene.”

Doc’s hand clenched into a fist. He was beyond tired of this. “Man, I don’t know who raised you, but I was raised to respect women, which includes not making lewd comments at them when they’re just doing their jobs.”

“She was a tavern maid, they’re there for-“

Doc’s fist was already in the man’s face. The noise that resulted was undoubtedly the sound of his nose breaking, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing down his face and completely unconscious.

“Damn,” Beef said, drawing out the word as he hovered over the body. “One hit. What a punch!”

Doc stepped out from his cell, over the man’s body and into the hallway. Then he heard a gasp.

His head snapped towards the source. At the end of the hallway, a young woman stood with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.

“Uh.” Doc looked down at the unconscious man next to him, then at the cell behind him, and then finally at the blood on the floor and his fist, which certainly didn’t look good. He returned his gaze to the woman, lifting his hands immediately and opening them to show that he held nothing in them. “It was self defense?”

The words had just left his mouth before a luminous light shone through the room. It was white-hot and familiar, and he recognized it as the very same that had heralded Beef’s return.

The magic that flowed through him this time was boisterous and jovial. It was the smell of a summer rainfall and the sound of a wild wind through trees; the feeling of family, of home, of belonging.

When it faded, the woman made no acknowledgement that it had occurred. She blinked once, eyes glazed over, and then murmured “self defense” before nodding absentmindedly and then turning around to walk off.

Doc’s jaw was on the floor. “That worked?”

“Not at all!”

Doc whipped about to see the source of the voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. BDubs. There he was, floating next to a wide-eyed and grinning Beef, with an endearingly arrogant half-smile plastered on his face and hands raised in a fashion that resembled a performer having done some impressive trick.

“I, however, worked beautifully.” A charisma buff. The kind that BDubs would give back when they were alive and getting into the same shenanigans Doc had gotten into now.

Beef, suddenly free of his shock, let out a whoop of excitement. He was laughing, all but manic, joy and surprise evident on his face and in his laughter.

BDubs was grinning, more genuine and relieved this time. He was laughing with Beef and his eyes were shining with tears and it wasn’t long before translucent drops were falling to the floor, dissipating rather than remaining.

Doc ran out of town with his companions flying behind him, the duo even louder and more chaotic than Beef was on his own.

The routine they’d fallen into picked BDubs up without issue, and now even more experimentation could be done thanks to the inclusion of another ghostly planar-stuck mage.

BDubs’ presence brought the group’s morale up even higher. He’d always had a way of doing that, as if his simply being there lifted spirits and created happiness. Doc had thought he’d never feel it again, and yet here they were, Doc and Beef and BDubs adventuring again.

But there was one part missing.

He felt guilty for it, selfish, as if two friends miraculously returning from the dead (or whatever plane they had been imprisoned) wasn’t enough for him. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why couldn’t he be happy with that?

But it was impossible to deny the palpable hole in their group. They were three-fourths of a quartet, not a trio. It felt wrong. They all missed Etho, he knew it. There was a part of him holding out hope that Etho would show up, just as Beef and BDubs had.

Days had gone by; days which became weeks, weeks which became months. Still no Etho. Still some glimmer of hope remaining in Doc’s chest, every breeze and odd occurrence sending him into a bittersweet whirlwind of emotion.

It was times like these when the disparity was most felt: Doc was in the middle of a battle to enter an ancient temple, one which he, Beef, and BDubs had hoped might help them on their quest to return to their home plane. It was the kind of fight Etho would have reveled in, but despite Beef and BDubs at his side, Doc was not winning.

His chest heaved with the heavy breaths he was taking, and he was practically using his battle axe as a crutch. Blood was gushing from wounds all over his body. His energy was giving out, he could feel it.

BDubs and Beef were doing their best, and Doc was eternally thankful for it; the magic that flowed through him could never replace what it had been like to fight with them by his side, but their familiar and combined presence made him feel more calm and capable.

Before him, two frost giants approached. He’d used his battle rage to take down their three companions, and he’d thought he could finish them off.

He’d gotten far too comfortable. Back before the Incident, he and the nHo could have taken these buffoons without any trouble, but BDubs and Beef weren’t really there, not physically, anyway, and Etho was still…

There was no time to think about that now. The frost giants were fast approaching, and Doc knew that he wouldn’t survive the encounter.

He looked up, and saw Beef and BDubs hovering above him, watching over him with magic at the ready. He couldn’t bring it in himself to say anything—he wanted to apologize, to thank them, to say something, and yet nothing came.

His heart ached. After everything, after all that they had done, this would be the end. At least, he thought, he’d been able to spend these last few months with Beef and BDubs.

He only wished Etho had been there, too.

He hefted his axe and strode forward to meet his enemies. The familiar, comforting feeling of Beef and BDubs’ magic surged through him, and he turned and faced the giants head-on.

The first swing of his axe hit home in a giant’s ankle; frost began to creep outward from the connection, spreading quickly towards the handle and Doc’s hands. He pulled it out before the cold reached leather, leaping backward and ignoring the screaming pain in his knee as he narrowly avoiding the swing of a huge club.

He wasn’t so lucky with the second one. A wooden cudgel the size of a large tree met its mark in the middle of his chest, sending him flying. One of Beef’s spells cushioned the resulting collision he had with a pillar behind him, but the sickening crack of his head slamming into it wasn’t dampened, and he fell to the ground in an unshakable daze.

Still, he scrambled to his feet, determined to fight for as long as possible, and ducked blindly downwards and to his left with his vision still blurry. The deafening sound of one of the giants’ clubs smashing the enormous pillar to dust made him immediately thankful that he did so.

In his peripheral vision, he could see BDubs’ spectral form beginning to materialize and brighten. Beneath Doc’s feet, the grass became greener; the trees around the clearing rustled in nonexistent wind. Knowing that it was the work of his friend, Doc allowed his wooden arm to raise and point, palm open, towards the giants approaching.

There was a scorching heat; fire erupted from the very air around him, surrounding the giant that had thrown Doc into the pillar and closing in, whipping about in enormous flames to envelop the creature. It was gone within moments, reduced to steaming ash.

Doc had no sympathy, and unfortunately, he also had no strength. The spell, cast by BDubs and channeled through the arm Doc had been gifted by all three of his friends, had drained what little energy that had remained in the half-orc.

He fell to his knees, grasping his battle axe desperately, only barely able to keep himself from collapsing to the ground entirely. The sole remaining frost giant advanced. Beef and BDubs hovered above him.

Doc blinked once, twice, eyes burning with tears that would never fall. He’d shed them all months ago, anyway.

I’m sorry. He didn’t even have the strength to say it; could only mouth it. He’d failed. They wouldn’t come back. They wouldn’t even know if it had been possible.

If there were one consolation, at least they would be together again, really together, at last.

Doc wondered what he would say to Etho.

He dropped his head, unwilling to watch as the giant lifted its club to drop upon his weak, broken body. He could feel the air displaced as it swung.

What happened afterwards was a confusing blur of broken memory and pain. He knew that the club met its mark; he remembered feeling it, remembered hearing the sound, but he couldn’t recall what it had actually felt or sounded like, even if he wanted to. The gap in his memory was a small gift for which he would always be thankful.

He hadn’t died, that much he knew, though he had been well on the way. There had been mere seconds of time between life and death, moving quickly closer to the wrong direction; he was fleeting and unconscious, but he saw the light.

There was a white light, warm and radiant, the kind he’d seen only twice before, only this time it was brighter and stronger and accompanied by an unknown and otherworldly but comforting feeling that sank into his very bones. He felt his body heal, felt wounds seal up, felt a spectral hand pull him firmly and briskly—though not without affection—from his place between life and death. He was back within his body, which was whole and strong once again, healthy like he hadn’t been in years; even scars as old as his time as an adventurer were smooth and clean.

He opened his eyes, still kneeling, to find a hand in his face.

“Stand up, Sir Doc.”

Doc looked up into Etho’s phantasmal face, the scar over his eye stretched white as his eyes crinkled in a grin that was covered by his mask, and took his hand.

His hand, Etho’s hand, there and outstretched for Doc’s wooden one to grasp, covered in the gloves he always wore but firm on his prosthetic despite the fact that he could see through it. After all these months of hoping, after two years of mourning, his best friend had returned.

He should have known. The magic was the rattling of glass bottles, the ring of dulcet laughter, the sight of mischief dancing in mismatched eyes. It was soft and proud, a quiet kind of power that left ripples of enchantment in its wake—it was Etho.

He didn’t even care about the dig. Etho was back, they were all back, everyone was together again and they were here and he wasn’t alone—and Doc was alive, he realized at the end of it all, alive and healed despite best efforts otherwise.

“Etho!” Beef shouted, voice positively jubilant. He sped over to the man only to fly straight through him, and Etho began laughing, and BDubs shouted something of a celebratory expletive. The three had already fallen into boisterous conversation, and Doc had no choice but to join in loud, raucous chortling, eyes filling up with tears of pure joy.

They were together again; not realized, not safe, not nearly whole, but together, and he had them back. He’d bring them back for real, he swore. He wouldn’t stop until he managed it.

[philomena-zale]

Tag dump !!!

Ask : so cleaver whatever

Dash commentary : it's an arms race

Verse: DMC - I can see right through all your empty lies

Verse : tsukihime - i see nothing in your eyes

Verse tag pending; I have found the perfect end

Crack! - WAKE ME UP INSIDE

Visage - love won't save us

[newstfionline]

Headlines

UN calls for global cease-fire (Foreign Policy) United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres has called for a global cease-fire in order for countries to focus on the coronavirus pandemic. “End the sickness of war and fight the disease that is ravaging our world,” he said. “It starts by stopping the fighting everywhere. Now. That is what our human family needs, now more than ever.”

Lost jobs, income, and mortgages (Wall Street Journal) Mortgage companies are bracing for a severe cash crunch when Americans who lose jobs and income because of the coronavirus pandemic stop making payments on their home loans. The companies expect a wave of missed payments from borrowers as early as next month that will force them to come up with tens of billions of dollars on short notice.

US airline shutdown coming? (Wall Street Journal) Major U.S. airlines are drafting plans for a potential voluntary shutdown of virtually all passenger flights across the U.S., according to industry and federal officials, as government agencies also consider ordering such a move and the nation’s air-traffic control system continues to be ravaged by the coronavirus contagion. No final decisions have been made by the carriers or the White House, these officials said.

Trump Weighs Rollback of Lockdown Measures as Economy Worsens (Foreign Policy) At a White House briefing yesterday, U.S. President Donald Trump said that normal economic activity would resume in weeks, not months. “Our country was not built to be shut down,” Trump said, “This is not a country that was built for this. It was not built to be shut down.” His comments highlighted the growing friction between public health experts keen to halt the spread of the coronavirus and White House advisors who see the economy as the priority. “The president is right. The cure can’t be worse than the disease,” Larry Kudlow, the director of the National Economic Council said on Fox News on Monday, “And we’re going to have to make some difficult trade-offs.” Such sentiments are not limited to the White House. There is a growing chorus among conservatives and in mainstream publications calling for a rethink.

Britain Placed Under a Virtual Lockdown by Boris Johnson (NYT) Facing a growing storm of criticism about his laissez-faire response to the fast-spreading coronavirus, Prime Minister Boris Johnson announced on Monday that he would place Britain under a virtual lockdown, closing all nonessential shops, banning meetings of more than two people, and requiring people to stay in their homes, except for trips for food or medicine. People who flout the new restrictions, the prime minister said, will be fined by the police.

With live sports gone, announcer offers play by play of the everyday (NYT) Freelance rugby announcer Nick Heath is filling a sports-sized void with short videos where he provides a running commentary on regular life in London. In one clip, four women walking with strollers are suddenly competing in the “international four-by-four pushchair formation final.” Pedestrians using a crosswalk are in the “2020 crossroad dash.” Each clip is an absurd delight that’s both funny and very British.

As Coronavirus Surveillance Escalates, Personal Privacy Plummets (NYT) In South Korea, government agencies are harnessing surveillance-camera footage, smartphone location data and credit card purchase records to help trace the recent movements of coronavirus patients and establish virus transmission chains.

In Lombardy, Italy, the authorities are analyzing location data transmitted by citizens’ mobile phones to determine how many people are obeying a government lockdown order and the typical distances they move every day. About 40 percent are moving around “too much,” an official recently said.

In Israel, the country’s internal security agency is poised to start using a cache of mobile phone location data--originally intended for counterterrorism operations--to try to pinpoint citizens who may have been exposed to the virus.

As countries around the world race to contain the pandemic, many are deploying digital surveillance tools as a means to exert social control, even turning security agency technologies on their own civilians. Health and law enforcement authorities are understandably eager to employ every tool at their disposal to try to hinder the virus--even as the surveillance efforts threaten to alter the precarious balance between public safety and personal privacy on a global scale.

Pakistan moves toward lockdown (Al Jazeera) Pakistan has moved closer to a countrywide lockdown to attempt to control the accelerating spread of coronavirus cases across the country, as cases hit more than 850 and doctors complain of dwindling personal protective kits. On Monday, a full lockdown went into effect in the southern city of Karachi, home to more than 20 million people, while Punjab province--home to almost half of Pakistan’s 207 million people--also announced widespread restrictions on public movement.

India orders 21-day lockdown (Foreign Policy) India, South Asia’s largest economy, has ground to a halt since the weekend. Authorities urged people to take curfew orders seriously, shutting down domestic commercial flights and rail services. In a televised address to the nation on Tuesday, Prime Minister Narendra Modi announced a strict 21-day nationwide lockdown. “If we are not able to manage the next 21 days, we will be pushed back by 21 years,” he warned. “For 21 days, forget what it means to step outside your home.”

Documents Show Modi Govt Building 360 Degree Database To Track Every Indian (Huffington Post) The Narendra Modi government is in the final stages of creating an all-encompassing, auto-updating, searchable database to track every aspect of the lives of each of India’s over 1.2 billion residents, previously undisclosed government documents reviewed by HuffPost India establish.

Reducing Afghan aid (NYT) The State Department said it was cutting $1 billion to Afghanistan this year, and potentially another $1 billion in 2021, after rival Afghan leaders failed to support a unified government. It’s a condition that U.S. diplomats consider crucial for peace talks.

China ends Wuhan restrictions (NYT) Officials in Wuhan, China, where the outbreak started, said today that public transportation would resume within 24 hours and that residents would be allowed to leave the city beginning April 8, as infections appeared to be dwindling.

Tokyo Olympics postponed to 2021 (AP) The IOC announced a first-of-its-kind postponement of the Summer Olympics on Tuesday, saying that the Tokyo Games “must be rescheduled to a date beyond 2020, but not later than summer 2021, to safeguard the health of the athletes, everybody involved in the Olympic Games and the international community.”

Libya becomes theatre for drone combat (Guardian) The blind eye the western world is turning to Libya has allowed it to become the world’s main theatre of drone combat, with the UAE and Egypt introducing Chinese-made drones to the field of Middle Eastern warfare. Not only does this undercut America’s short-lived monopoly on military drone technology, it has also shown the world that Chinese drones, as well as other equipment such as guided artillery, are the cheap and effective alternative for proxy warfare. It is a foreboding symbol of the future of arms proliferation and the technological upgrade that smaller, regional conflicts are set to experience.

African finance ministers call for debt waiver (Foreign Policy) In a joint statement, African finance ministers called for $100 billion in stimulus to allow the continent to weather the dual storms of coronavirus and falling oil prices. The statement calls for a waiver on interest payments on public debt and sovereign bonds--a move that would free up $44 billion and “provide immediate fiscal space and liquidity to the governments in their efforts to respond to the COVID-19 pandemic,” the ministers said.

South Africa imposes lockdown (South China Morning Post)​​ South Africa will impose a nationwide lockdown for three weeks as it tries to contain a surge in coronavirus cases, which on Monday jumped from 274 to 402 in a day. President Cyril Ramaphosa said it was “a decisive measure to save millions of South Africans from infection and save the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.” The country’s 56 million people have been told to “stay at home” from midnight on Thursday until midnight on April 16 “to prevent a human catastrophe of enormous proportions in our country.”​

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Hounds of Justice--Ch. 45

Chapter 45

           Noise filled the arena. It rose to a crescendo, fell into a low hum, rocketed upward again. Roman and I sat at the commentary table, headsets on as we watched Seth and Dean defending their Tag Team titles against The Revival. It was a beautiful sight to watch the two of them working like a fluid machine in the ring. I loved both of them more and more every time I saw them in action.

           “I’m impressed that Rollins is still performing at this level after having defended his Intercontinental Championship already tonight,” Corey said as Seth landed a slingblade on Dawson. “His body has got to be wearing down.”

           “This is what Rollins lives for, Graves. Competition, showing he’s one of the best.” Renee was my favorite on commentary, she never took any of Corey’s bullshit. “This is the payoff from all those hours in the gym. If anybody can handle this kind of grueling pace, it’s Seth Rollins.”

           I grinned, giving Renee a playful little jab with my elbow where no one would see. She never failed to support The Shield when they were in the ring.

           “If Ambrose and Rollins win tonight, three of the four titles currently held by members of The Shield will have been successfully defended,” Michael Cole interjected. “Roman Reigns, you will face Kevin Owens for the Universal Championship. And Llane, you will take on Ronda Rousey for the Raw Women’s Championship. How are you guys feeling going into your matches?”

           “Owens is a great competitor, and he always gives a hell of a match.” Roman paused, watching his brothers as they tagged in and out of the ring in a dance-like sequence. “But he doesn’t have the drive to take my Universal Championship.”

           Before I could answer, there was an explosion of activity in the ring. Dean and Dawson had beaten each other into a pulp. They crawled toward their respective corners, both their partners reaching as far over the ropes as they could without letting go of the tag rope. The hot tag landed the same time on both teams. Dash and Seth burst out of their corners, racing at one another across the ring.

           Dash hit Seth square in the chest with a massive clothesline that planted him flat on his back. He bounced up, rolled to his hands and knees. When Dash came back toward him, Seth checked him by grabbing his ankles. He fell forward onto the mat, giving Seth enough time to get to his feet. I saw the look in his eyes.

           I grinned.

           “Looks like Rollins is getting fired up!” Renee leaned forward, watched eagerly.

           My heart burned in my chest. It was an absolutely beautiful sight to see him work himself up into a frenzy of motion.

           Corey opened his mouth to say something sarcastic. I smacked him on the arm. “Shut the hell up, Graves!”

           Roman and Renee laughed. Here it comes, I thought. The move that Seth had perfected. He grabbed Dash by the wrist, spun him out, followed him with a knee. It was the ripcord knee that hadn’t failed him yet.

           Cover. Dean kept Dawson busy until the bell rang.

           I smirked, looked over at Corey Graves. Before I took my headset off, I pointed to the ring. “That’s what The Shield does, Graves. We win. And tonight, we all will.”

             Nervousness burned across my skin. I’d just left hair and makeup. My title match with Ronda was up next, right after Becky’s defense of the Smackdown title. It didn’t help my anxiety that we were booked to follow it. Everyone knew that Becky gave fantastic matches whenever she was in the ring, and I knew it was going to be hard to actually get anywhere close to beating it.

           I met up with Seth and Dean in gorilla. They were both wearing Lunatic Llane merch, which made me grin. “We’re going out to your music, dollface. It’s your turn to shine.”

           The trepidation I felt about the upcoming match started to fade away. It was going to be painful, and there was a decent chance that I was going to get hurt, but if I came through it, I’d be the Raw Women’s Champion. Just thinking about getting injured made me rub my shoulder in anticipation.

           Seth pulled me into his arms, dropped a kiss on top of my head. “You do everything you always do, Llane. Be as safe as you can be. If you get hurt, we deal with it.”

           A dull ache ran through my right side. It started at the back of my shoulder and radiated down across my ribs. Ronda didn’t pull anything from her throws. Fifteen minutes into the match she’d tossed me around like a ragdoll—one judo throw after another, a whip into the turnbuckle. There was no doubt about it… she dominated.

           For the first time in my life, I questioned my choice of career. There was so much pain. And I just wanted it all to stop.

           I caught sight of Seth and Dean at the apron. They watched me with worried expressions and bright eyes. Seth was leaning on his elbows, covering his mouth with both hands. Dean looked as if he wanted to roll into the ring to drag me out.

           A spike of adrenaline. Anger at myself for how easily I had been willing to give up. I forced myself to my feet. Pounding in my ears. Dizziness.

           I stood up, squared my shoulders, leaned against the turnbuckle to catch my breath. My thoughts went to the two men standing ringside, to the one who was backstage watching this as he waited for his own turn in the ring. I wanted desperately to make them proud.

           I stretched my neck side to side, feeling it pop along my spine. A thousand possibilities rushed through my mind. The end was set, but the how was something else entirely.

           I made a fist, held it up in front of me. With a smirk, I used my other hand to mimic cocking it. I shot out of the corner, threw everything I had behind a Superman punch. Pain radiated through my knuckles as it landed, but it was just a glancing shot along her jaw. I whipped into the opposite corner, turned and threw out my arms, roaring toward the ceiling. Ronda turned, and I took off. My feet left the floor, and I barreled my shoulder into her midsection.

           Both of us hit the mat hard. It dazed me, sending a jarring ache up my shoulder again.

           She stirred, not quite taken out yet.

           I rolled to my feet, winded and aching. It hurt to breathe. Ronda stood up and squared off across from me. Her face was set in her trademark angry scowl. Both hands were balled up in front of her face. I was so exhausted. I didn’t know how I was going to finish this.

           She came at me, hooked my arm and gave me another throw. I landed hard on my back, felt my breath fly out of me in a rush. Ronda had my arm stretched out, prepping for the armbar. I knew the second she locked it in, there was nothing I could do. I would lose, regardless of what was supposed to happen.

           Before she could step over, I rolled toward her until I barreled into her legs. It was enough to knock her off balance and get her to release my arm. She bounced against the ropes. I struggled to my feet, shaking the pins and needles out of my right arm.

           Ronda ran at me. I bent to the side, slipped an arm beneath her to scoop her onto my shoulders. Pain nearly caused me to drop her.

           Hook an arm around the back of her neck. Legs out, fall back.

           Samoan drop.

           I backed up, grabbed both legs and pulled as tight as I could until all our combined weight was on her shoulders. One… two… three…

           The pop that spread through the arena was deafening. But it faded away when Seth snatched me up into his arms and swung me around.

           When he set me on my feet, Dean was standing there with the title held out, a proud grin on his face.

Tag List

@sammyfireheartashryver @cburdine @xbutterflius-effectusx @lakamaa12 @bethany99stuff-blog @echrai @themumbler @0paint-the-stars0 @easyobsession @bruiserw8 @iwritewwe @vebner37

[stalebreadsticc]

“First Snow” Secret Santa

Hey, hey! @badwigbrando I was your secret santa! And I apologize for the belated gift but I wrote you a little drabble! Hope you like it! Happy Belated Holidays! 

“First Snow” 

The wind whips through the village with a strange unmatched vengeance. It takes the small ball of snow and throws them around without a care. Kankuro sits by the window glaring at it all, as if his stare would be enough to stop it. It was their one down-time day during their trip to the Leaf Village, and of course it had to be one of the rare times where the weather dipped to chilled weather and snowy precipitation. 

Gaara had gone hours ago. The green-clad ninja had come looking for him and they both disappeared into the day without so much of an invite. Though, he knows better than to think his brother wouldn’t invite him to a friendly occasion, and the way their eyes met with one another Kankuro decided he shouldn’t intrude and invite himself. So he finds himself just staring out the window glaring at the collective swirl of snow. 

The village is quiet for the most part, he hardly sees anyone wandering around, running errands, rushing home... 

That is until he catches the sight of a lone shinobi trudging through the thick blanket that’s already on the ground. Kankuro blinks, watching as the boy in the leather jacket makes the trek from the street and up the steps to where he sits. Kankuro perks up, blinking as he watches him knock on the door. Lazily, he finds the will power to rise and answer the door. Something about the messy-haired man makes him have an extra spring in his step. “Figured you might be holed up in here still.” Kiba grins at him with that lopsided smile of his. 

It’s contagious. 

“I ain’t going out in that mess,” Kankuro agrees instantaneously with his own smile peaking through. 

“Well, you can either starve here, or get food with me.” 

“Both sound awful,” Kankuro teases. He earns a laugh from the other.

  “So, you’re coming along?”

“I am hungry.”

The two shuffle from the room onto the elongated porch. Kankuro’s feet force him to drag them along as soon as they feel the chill on his face. But he forces them forward and soon they’re standing on the balcony, overlooking the snow-covered world.

“Where’s the pup?” He asks, quirking a brow as he didn’t see him on his heels.

Kiba points knowingly to the courtyard, where Akamaru is dashing through the show, rolling playfully and barking at particularly nothing. “It’s his day off too,” Kiba reminds him pointedly, leaning on the railing to watch the dog chase circles into the fluff.

“And, here, I thought you were asking me on a date.”

“Oh, I am,” Kiba responds with a laugh, “We just have a chaperone. We’re a two person package.”

“So, I can’t just hang out with Akamaru? Bummer.” Kankuro laments dramatically.

The two share a laugh before they kick away from the railing and begin down the steps. The moment their feet touch the chill awaiting on the floor, Kankuro almost regrets agreeing to the adventure. His groan of displeasure is masked by Kiba’s whistle to his companion, who bounds over excitedly. He circles the two as if they’re obstacles in a race track. When he stops his mini circuit, he bounds over and jumps to greet the Suna native. “Hey, buddy.” He offers a small greeting an a pat on the head before he eases the dog’s paws back to the ground.

The wind howls through the yard. Kankuro shivers.

“C’mon,” Kiba nudges him forward and the two are off into what Kankuro deems a dreary day.

He tries to quell his obvious shivers and does his best not to complain. The second seems to be harder, because he deems himself an expert at commentary. But his teeth are chattering, making it hard to mold words, even when Kiba is talking to him with idle chit-chat. He tries focusing on that and not his discomfort.

Even as they chatter, Kankuro suspects that Kiba is some type of mind reader (because it’s not because he’s showing the weakness to the cold, no way). As they’re joking about nothing in particular, his movements are slight. But after a few moments, Kankuro feels a warm feeling on his shoulders. He blinks down to find Kiba’s heavy leather jacket draped over his shoulders.

He opens his mouth to protest but Kiba speaks before him. “Sometimes I forget that stuff from our villages are so different.” He admits to him as they continue along.

“Yeah, it’s not such a shock now, so I forget too.”

Kiba offers him a smile, showing off enlarged canines. “I haven’t been to Suna in ages, so, I forget you don’t get weather like this.”

“Oh, well, you guys don’t get it too often, either, right?”

“Eh, depends.” Kiba glances over to him, keeping that breathtaking smile on his features. “But I’m more used to it than you. You good now?”

Kankuro mulls it over a moment before he sighs, “Yeah, but my hand’s still cold.”

Kiba laughs before he shyly reaches for the other’s hand. Their fingers intertwine like long distant lovers in an embrace. Their beaming grins fall to small smiles that is just shared between the two of them, alone through the snow. Their bodies inch closer, so they’re sharing heat between shoulder blades and intertwined fingers. There’s some type of potential energy that emits to kinetic, transferring in the most equal balance the world has ever known.

“You should visit more,” Kiba tells him seriously as their pace slows. The sign to the establishment is in their sights, but they’re too busy talking to think about eating.

“Things have been crazy since I became a protector and all that stuff. Not like Gaara needs protecting, but it’s better for him to have someone in his corner.” 

“So… When he has things to do here…”

“I have an official reason to go on dates with you,” Kankuro interjects, nudging him playfully.

Kiba laughs, beaming at him with bright eyes. “Good. Good…” He trails off before he allows their hands to drop. “You know, come to think of it, I’m a little cold now.” 

“Oh?”

“Come fix it?”

“All you had to do was ask.” Kankuro closes the space between them before he wraps his arms around his waist, feeling the other embrace him that instant. There’s a world whipping the wind around them, and snowflakes are falling in Kiba’s hair, tickling Kankuro’s nose. But that’s worlds away and the frigid temperatures are bounced off as though their position creates a shield. There’s something about him that makes everything feel warm. He’s a fire, like a burning personality that refuses to dim. It’s warming, not even just physically, but warms the heart with every smile, each laugh. His warmth is reflected in the physicality of how he’s radiating like some type of heater. The Sand ninja grins against his shoulder.

And he decides he’s glad he went out today.  

[m0onbean]

enemies to lovers!eunwoo

okay so rivals to lovers!AU with eunwoo where do i start

the rivalry began one day when you were sitting in the library at your normal seat, studying for your next exam

and you usually go to the library everyday because when you’re at home you can’t seem to stay focused because of your roommate who’s always inviting her friends in your dorm at midnight and blasting Katy Perry

so the library is your go-to study spot and it’s always been for the past school years

you would always plop yourself at the table in the deserted corner of the library where all of the boring textbooks are

until that one day you came to your table, ready to cram in your last minute studying when you see a boy????? already sitting there????????

aND YOURE LIKE WHOMSTDVE WOULD DARE TAKE MY SPOT

the boy is wearing this plaid shirt with the buttons near his collar not buttoned up

and he’s super handsome

and he’s like reading this small book and he’s so immersed in the story that he doesn’t even realize your presence until you set your backpack on the table and clear your throat

and with your most polite voice you’re like “you’re sitting in my seat, can you please move to the other chair?”

bc the table you sat at only had one (1) chair and all of the other tables had people at them (ew)

but the brunette haired boy just glances at you for a secOND then returns to his book aND YOURE LIKE ???!???!!!???

so you repeat yourself and you’re like “sIR this is my seat!!!! pLs move im dying”

“i don’t see your name on it” he mutters without batting an eye anD you’re like so done and you’re about to yell at him until your phone rings and ur like brb lemme delay this ass beating later

when you check, it’s your mom & ur like sh00t so you blast outside of the library and temporarily forget your anger

so the next day, you return to your table only to find the SAME EXACT boy sitting in your seat this time with a different book

and you don’t even feel like arguing you just sit at another table and do your work

...although you prefer your own isolated table because nobody else sits there

and from then on it becomes like a race everyday to see who can get to the table first

if you win, then the boy ends up sitting at the other tables with the loud teenagers and you swear you can feel him glaring into your head from across the room

but if he wins, you have to sit there and now it’s your turn glaring at him

and the weird thing is that you two never directly communicated with each other?

you don’t even recall hearing his voice tbh

it’s like this unspoken rivalry ,,, and even though it’s super irritating how he snatches your table,,, it adds a dash of playfulness and fun into your boring school life

so this game you two play goes on for weeks until one stressful day

your teacher yelled at you in front of the class which made you late to your next class which led to another mad teacher and so on

you left your binder of homework at your dorm so you got marked off on your grades

your roommate left the house in a hot mess after a slumber party she had last night

and it’s just,,,,, everything is crashing down at you at once and it’s just so,, suffocating

and you’ve managed to hold everything in until up to moment you’re in the library

the minute you reach your table you just collapse on the ground from exhaustion

you hear a yell and you feel an awkward hand on your back

and in a sweet voice you hear “hey!!?? are you okay? (y/n) answer me”

and when you look up you’re surprised to see the boy who’s been snatching your table looking down at you with concern swimming in his eyes

and wow,, he’s so good looking up close

then you see a blush creep up on his cheeks and you’re like shIT i’m staring

you nod shyly and tell him you’re just tired af because it was a rough day

next thing you know he’s leading you to a convenience store and buying you a cup of latté

he introduces himself as eunwoo & you remember that he said your name earlier so you’re like “hey eunwoo how did you know my name??”

and he gets flustered and is like “uHhh you’re really well known... around the campus”

and even though you’re like hMMM you let it slide and you end up spilling your feelings to him

feelings about how you’re pressured for the future and how school is a pain in the ass

and the whole time he just listens and nods his head while giving commentary like “oh that’s horrible” or “wow i cant believe she did that”

by the end of it you’re both done with your drinks and you feel so so much more better

then you see eunwoo hesitating and you’re like ?!!!

he was actually contemplating whether he should hug you or not but mans is too awkward for that

he ends up just ruffling your hair

WHICH makes your heart go dududududu

and you’re like “thanks for listening... i feel so much better because of you.”

eunwoo just smiles and says something along the lines of “o-of course”

when you check the time you see that it’s close to your curfew so you both wave goodbye to each other

the next day, you see that eunwoo is still sitting at your table, only this time there’s an extra chair on the other side

so when you approach him he immediately shoots up and is like “i got you an extra chair so we don’t have to fight anymore”

& ur like oh.. o h okay we should’ve done this earlier

you two spend most of your time in peaceful silence while you study and he reads a different book everyday

occasionally you would steal glances of him because he looks... so attractive... just READING

and while you’re not paying attention eunwoo also stares at you bc wow.. you look so beautiful focused on your homework

there would be moments where you two would catch each other staring which leads to two very flustered faces and awkward tension

but trust me it’s adorable

even the librarian is cooing in the background

eventually eunwoo asks for your number and tries to make an excuse like “oH just in case you’re stressed out again”

in reality he just wants to talk to you

and when you smirk and say “oh okay eunwoo are we stepping up this friendship??”

he’S LIKE W O T .... PPFFFT seriouslyhowdidyouknow

and since eunwoo is rlly romantic he would send text messages like “did you eat?” or “stop studying and sleep”

and it’s so sweet and considerate you feel your heart bursting with so much love how can someone be so cute??????

occasionally you’d flirt around to purposely make him flustered

like you’d hold his hand randomly in the library when it’s “cold”

or you would randomly text him “i miss you”

the day he asks you out is when you two are talking on the phone at midnight bc eunwoo called you to stop you from studying

and while you’re talking you hear his sleepy voice say “you’re so adorable i just want to hug you”

and by this point how is this considered platonic AAAAAAAAA

you’re about to respond playfully but he continues and is like “i really like you”

AND YOURE SIDDJSOKASKS SCREKAING INSIDE

but in real life you’re like “i do too :)”

the next day he finds you outside your dorm and hugs you tightly before you can even get out a “good morning”

he tries to get you a new drink every morning but fails many times since your classes are so early and eunwoo just caNT wake up that early

and since you’re dating now he moved his chair next to yours so you’re both on the same side of the table :))

you two share earbuds and alternate from each other’s playlists everyday

he introduces you to his loud friends and his roommate Moonbin

moonbin is like a wild version of eunwoo and loves teasing you two every chance he gets

he’d use eunwoo’s embarrassing childhood stories as blackmail if eunwoo didn’t cook him something

regardless though, he would still tell you about that time eunwoo married a tree in elementary school dkzjsoakao

eunwoo as a boyfriend would try not to be clingy but he just can’t help but squish your cheeks and wrap his arms around you bc you’re juST so cute <3

you’d listen to him rant about books and give you summaries about each book he’s reading

how he manages to finish one whole book each day is still a mystery to you

but because of that he’s literally so smart

he excels in literature and language and leverything

he’s just a little... weak... in math LMAO

a lot of girls would glare at you two bc they’re jealous you got the hottest guy on campus and they’d probably be like “you don’t deserve eunwoo” a lot

and that honestly ... lowers your self esteem so so much because you understand why you don’t deserve him

this leads to an argument you two have where he’s telling you that you deserve him just as much as he deserves you!!!!!!!!

of course, this takes a lot of time for you to learn but eventually you’ll feel like you Deserve him because yes!! yes you do!!

it’s also tiring for eunwoo to always be seen as the model and the perfect and hot guy of the school ,,,, that’s why he likes you so much

you treat him like the most precious human being and are genuinely interested in him... not just his looks

you assure eunwoo so many times that even if he looked like your foot you would love him as much as you do now

aND that makes him giggle and wow he’s so in love with you

[friendshipcampaign]

Session Recap 8/12/18: “Rated ‘Arrrr’”

Hubris suggested to Voski that she and some of the others speak with Loremaster Studious Bakewell on the subject of dream magic, though she advised that they perhaps not mention Hubris’ name in the process, as the two of them were deep academic rivals. The dragonborn slipped back out into the lobby, carrying a couple of necromancy books with her to keep up the charade that she’d been speaking with Hubris about the topic they’d discussed earlier. Nettle, Hubris’ assistant, was offering the rest of the group tea and assorted baked goods.

The group decided to head back to the inn to talk about plans. Voski grabbed some cookies on the way out -- and Amaranth loaded up with a more-conspicuous armful. Back at the Way’s End, Erwyn and Ditto both paid for rooms for another night. Voski handed the concierge one of the cookies she’d grabbed. Once alone to talk, everyone decided it might be useful for them to search out some kind of public archive -- since Erwyn seemed very down about their chances to get access to anything that wasn’t just available to the public -- to try to engage in as much research as they could on the fae, portals, the creature Ditto had been contacting and a spell she wanted to learn, Old Sylvan, or any of the mysteries they were currently facing. Kriv dashed out to ask the front desk about some of the places in the city and was told about a Bookmoot, where the booksellers gathered.

Deciding it was as good a place as any to start their search, the party departed to head to the Bookmoot. On the way out, Ditto stopped by the front herself to ask about the city’s theater district, and picked up a couple of pamphlets. The Bookmoot turned out to be a fairly bustling place, with books both for students at the Learnstead and for more general public consumption, and even bards selling ballads and songbooks. Amaranth was delighted to come across a bookseller offering a selection of pulp bodice-rippers, buying one about pirates called Her Plundering Passion to read later. The buxom halfing woman at the stall informed her that it had several sequels.

Ditto and Erwyn, in the meantime, were browsing the area where some of the students were milling around. They came across a section of the Bookmoot that offered hand-scribed pages of certain academic texts for students to copy for their own work and then return. On spotting a Manual of the Planes with some pages up for copying, Erwyn inquired with the silver dragonborn handling checkouts, who asked him if he was another one of the students in Loremaster Fiddlehead’s class. Unthinkingly, though it was borne of knowing that he was unlikely to get access to the materials otherwise, Erwyn immediately responded “Yes” -- and instantly regretted it.

Erwyn was told that there were only a few sections available for checkout, but the one on the Faewilds was still available. Checking it out required a three gold deposit and a signature on the page. He signed his name, not as Erwyn Cestacelvar, but as Naill Isilmë. The dragonborn informed him he had two days before he started accruing both financial and magical interest. Erwyn took the pages and slunk away, shaking from nerves. Ditto, who had witnessed the whole exchange, restrained herself until they were fairly out of earshot and then elbowed him, congratulating him for being so sneaky -- to which Erwyn replied, in a panic, “Yes, let’s find the others, and possibly leave immediately.”

Kriv tried looking for some linguistics books but only managed to find a text entitled Infernal for Lawyers, which he squinted at while looking frustrated for some time. Voski wandered over to some of the musicians, but was disappointed that their “new” music just seemed to be a different iteration of a classic ballad about a noblewoman who ran away with an orc. Tragically, some of them kept trying to talk to her -- when one asked her about the fiddlehead on her belt, she simply replied, “Yes. It’s broken.” Kriv met up with her and told her about the book he’d found, asking about the chances that Hayel would ever show up again and try to drag them all to court in the Hells. They decided to split the purchase.

When everyone met up again, Erwyn had progressed from “nervous” to “deeply panicky” and had to explain why. Amaranth excitedly badgered him for details. Ditto told them that she intended to go check out the theater district -- to which Voski responded, “Why?” -- and dashed off. When asked why she was so disparaging of the theater, Voski said she’d spent some time stage managing for a crew, which “filled one up on the whole enterprise.”

As the others walked back to the inn, they asked Amaranth about what she’d bought, as she couldn’t disguise her excitement despite being so previously uninterested in books. She tried to lie that it was a cookbook, not wanting to explain the truth to either of the two boys in the party (who were so young for their respective races and whom she thus perceived as too innocent) -- but Kriv saw through her immediately and gave her a look.

“Sure, that’s a cookbook,” he said. This prompted Voski, who hadn’t been duped for a second, to lazily say, “What’s so strange about it? People need nourishment on the high seas.”

Kriv disguised his laughter with coughs for several seconds.

Back at the inn, Amaranth delightedly dug into her book while Erwyn nervously started doing as much copying of the Faewilds text as he could in shaky, nervous handwriting. Voski flipped through various criminal statutes in the book on Infernal -- reading aloud details of the “Fraud” section to Erwyn, and then “Crimes of Passion” when he told her that he hadn’t premeditated what he’d done in the Bookmoot. He kept frantically repeating, “It’s fine, I’m going to return it and it’ll be fine,” until Kriv very quietly told him to just copy things, trying to get him to ignore Amaranth and Voski’s commentary.

When Ditto returned, not having seen any play but just having investigated what was showing, Kriv and Amaranth were working a bit on furnishing the demiplane -- the latter starting to add some touches that were reminiscent of a ship’s cabin. Erwyn was still trying to copy down as much of the pages he’d picked up as he could, but he was visibly flagging, his hand starting to hurt a lot and beginning to accidentally skip lines. Ditto offered to help him, and made sure to grab him some dinner from the kitchens downstairs since it was clear he wouldn’t go down to make a trip himself.

Amaranth set herself up a hammock in the demiplane and kicked back with a drink and her book, until Kriv headed out for bed as well. As the evening passed, Ditto, who was still helping Erwyn copy some pages, was getting noticeably sleepy. Erwyn told her that she should sleep, but she was skeptical when he told her that he would rest soon too. Noting the lie, she convinced him he should trance.

When Ditto drifted off to sleep, Xakhesit opened up her dreams with another musical number, to which she responded with thunderous applause. Ditto asked her what she thought of the plays that were currently running in Wayspell, and the beholder her told her that the district seemed a bit backwater. Xakhesit seemed interested in hearing about what work the party was doing for the fae, as she was disappointed to hear that Ditto might not be at liberty to serve her every whim. This unfortunately confirmed that Xakhesit had full access to Ditto’s waking vision. Ditto agreed to go see a play for her, but was told not to tell any more people that Xakhesit existed, as the beholder seemed bothered that the gnome had filled in the other party members.

Erwyn was up early, as he usually was, and as he set to copying pages again Melima appeared to keep him company. They playfully acted like they wanted him to chase them, but he was a bit distracted. When everyone else was up, Ditto grabbed some more food and poked her head into Erwyn and Kriv’s room to bring him some more to eat. The whole group headed back to the Bookmoot when, thanks to his furious, nervous work, he finished copying the signatures on the Faewilds.

Amaranth stopped back at the stall of the bookseller who’d sold her Her Plundering Passion and picked up the rest of the series. Erwyn returned the signatures he’d checked out, seemingly without arousing any suspicion like he’d been afraid of. He didn’t risk trying to check out any more of the pages. Voski poked around some of the more academic texts and found a dry-looking history book that contained some information on nobility in the north of Ashona that had made deals with the fae, including a section in the back that detailed some information on the fae courts. She bought it.

Kriv, who wanted to know exactly what it was that Amaranth was purchasing -- even though she wouldn’t tell him -- poked around the stall where she’d been shopping. He confirmed his suspicions, then wandered over to the language section and, though he still was squinting a fair bit, found a book that served as an introduction to Sylvan, and a small pamphlet on codes and ciphers. Ditto poked around looking for information on Abjuration spells and managed to find one that seemed promising, but was stopped by the shopkeeper who told her they couldn’t lend magical texts to anyone not affiliated with the Learnstead.

The party wandered over to the Oldmoot to see what Hubris (who was a consistent speaker there, though her lectures were always just called “Learning!”) was speaking on. As they walked, Ditto snatched one of the books Amaranth had purchased from her, as she was still being cagey about what she’d bought. She started openly reading it in front of her, causing Kriv to side-eye the whole business as Amaranth burst out in surprise. Erwyn innocently asked Amaranth if she’d bought some books too, and she again asserted that it was a cookbook. Kriv shoved the Sylvan phrasebook he’d bought in front of Erwyn and asked if he could help with some pronunciation as a quick distraction, valiantly trying to protect him from having to discover the existence of smutty literature. Amaranth told Ditto she was welcome to borrow the books any time.

Hubris turned out to be giving a speech on the sentience and intelligence of constructs, which Ditto was extremely excited about -- though a couple people in the crowd actually booed her, causing her tail to swish angrily. When she finished talking, she happily noted the party and asked if they found any interesting books. Amaranth showed her the pirate smut, which Hubris seemed approving of. Erwyn also asked the Loremaster if she was at all acquainted with Loremaster Fiddlehead, who he’d heard was teaching the class on the planes. He was shocked when she suggested she might be able to get him an introduction.

Hubris talked with the group a bit more about how she might be able to get them some access to other academic materials, due to the unconventional nature of Wayspell as an academic institution, which was a lot more closely tied to the community than most universities. She regretfully informed them that she hadn’t heard back yet about her requests to get the party access to more resources -- then asked Voski if she’d followed up yet with her colleague on the matter they’d discussed. Clearly, the beholder problem still prevented her from giving them more help.

They parted ways due to Hubris having some other conversations to tend to, and Erwyn asked Voski about the referral she’d been given. She dodged conversation on it while Ditto -- and thus Xakhesit -- was still in earshot, playing coy about what this other Loremaster studied. She suggested she had actually spoken with Hubris about some necromancy things weighing on her mind, which seemed to worry Erwyn a fair bit.

Ditto -- and Amaranth, who invited herself along, though to the wizard’s delight -- peeled off to go see a show called “The Tinker’s Luck,” lured in by the promise of pyrotechnics. As the two of them split off from the others, Erwyn asked what the others thought they ought to do about the beholder.

“Erwyn,” Voski said. “You told a lie yesterday. Try it again!”

He did so, and failed miserably at sounding believable. Voski sighed, saying they would have to workshop this, but admitted to the boys that the colleague Hubris had told her about actually specialized in dream magic, and may have knowledge that could help them. She asked if the two of them thought they could just stay quiet while she handled the talking. They agreed to give it a try.

The door to Bakewell’s study was opened by a young-looking halfling in too-large wizards’ robes and a rat perched on their shoulder that introduced themselves as the Loremaster’s assistant, and asked the others what their business was, as Bakewell wasn’t generally inclined to speak with people sent there on the behest of Loremaster Steelfingers. They presented themselves as Voski Scalegloss, a general lover of knowledge with diverse interests, Erwyn Cestacelvar, someone with a bit of an academic interest in planar magic, and Kriv, someone with an interest in “theology.” Kriv followed up on his introduction by saying, in Draconic, that his Common wasn’t great. When Voski suggested they might have something that would interest the Loremaster in terms of potential publication, despite their own lack of credentials, they were invited in.

Studious Bakewell turned out to be a bright blue tiefling with halfling ancestry, who wore very traditional wizards’ robes and a dignified bearing. He invited them to sit down in his office, where a similarly well-dressed imp familiar served them fresh scones. As Bakewell went to shut the door for privacy, Voski made a comment that invoked the Gatekeeper’s secret slogan, but he had no reaction -- seemingly confirming that he and Hubris were colleagues in academics only.

Voski initially presented them all as some travelers who’d heard of a very strange case of dream magic -- a beholder trying to come back to the Material Plane through dreams -- on their way to Wayspell. She tried to keep it all in the hypothetical, posing it as a scholarly query about whether such a thing could happen and how to best avert it. But Bakwell was very prying, and when she avoided sharing details of a confirmed incident, he seemed to be losing interest and implied that they were wasting his time.

Frustrated at the fact that they weren’t being taken seriously -- and particularly frustrated by the kind of academic pretension he had such a problem with himself, Erwyn burst out with a great deal more information. Kriv joined in, revealing that this wasn’t merely a story they had picked up second-hand, but something that a companion might be in danger of. This piqued Bakewell’s interest enough for him to answer a few more questions. But soon he asked, for the sake of the safety of the city since this was no longer a hypothetical, if this companion was here in Wayspell. Voski shot a look at Erwyn before saying, “They are.” Bakewell replied, “Then I’m afraid there are some other colleagues of mine that I’ll have to have you -- and them -- talk to.”

[thisdaynews]

Greatest moments of the decade: Andy Murray wins Wimbledon

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Greatest moments of the decade: Andy Murray wins Wimbledon

Andy Murray became the first British winner of the men’s singles at Wimbledon since Fred Perry in 1936

On 7 July 2013, Andy Murray ended Great Britain’s 77-year wait for a Wimbledon men’s singles champion. In the latest in a series recalling some of the greatest sporting moments of the decade, former BBC tennis correspondentJonathan Overend,who was commentating on the winning moment, describes what it was like to be there.

When I look back at that men’s singles final between Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray, the top two seeds, my mind races, helplessly stuck on fast forward.

It races through the build-up, the walk-ons and the knock-up.Fast forward.

It dashes through the first game (Murray the first three points), the first set (Murray 6-4) and the second set (Murray 7-5, from 4-1 down).Fast forward.

It even swiftly spins through the third set with Murray again recovering from a break down to sensationally conjure a 5-4 lead.And pause.

Andy Murray, 26, from Dunblane in Scotland, was about to serve for the Wimbledon title after almost three hours on centre court and I think it hit us all.

“It” hit us. That very unique sporting sensation. You’ve felt it, right? The abstract sense of the imminent unknown. “It” had most definitely arrived.

What on earth was about to happen?

The noise at the changeover was incredible. Words can’t do justice to noise at great sporting venues, you need to hear it, you need to feel it. This, from the Centre Court Chorus, was a cacophony of support, elation and fear.

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That noise, in those 90 seconds, will never ever be heard again. So loud, so impassioned, it was like Murray was about to play the final game of his life.

I couldn’t talk in the commentary box, needing to gather my thoughts. John Lloyd and Richard Krajicek shuffled anxiously beside me. “Time!” bellowed Mohammed Layani from the umpire’s chair, playing up to his role, increasingly-exuberant calls laced with a similar sense of anticipation.

Time, indeed.

“Andy Murray of Great Britain is serving for the Wimbledon title…”

I first met Andrew Murray when he was 16 and vividly remember his first Davis Cup trip in 2004, juggling tennis balls with both feet to the amusement of Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski in a Luxembourg leisure centre. It was immediately obvious this was a story, as a journalist and commentator, you dreamed of reporting.

Things moved quickly the following year; an extraordinary Wimbledon debut, bravely qualifying and winning a round at the US Open, a first ATP tour final in Bangkok, a victory over Henman in Basle to become British number one. Yet domestic dominance was of no interest. He wanted to take on the world and we witnessed, as we started to get to know him, that incredibly single-minded ambition first hand.

With a small bunch of the British media following his every turn, the story was building. The ranking climbed, attention grew, pressure intensified. At times it was tricky to tell the story from the frontline because we could see his faults – and with every defeat came analysis of the faults – yet we could see they were far outweighed by his strengths.

We knew this was a story of lifetime. There were ups and downs in the player/journalist relationship but one desire remained constant; to tell this story through to a logical conclusion.

And that conclusion was the Wimbledon title.

So here we are, back on Centre Court. Gone 5pm. The noise, the nerves, the moment. Serving for the title. The sun still raking down.

Murray wins the first three points only to lose the next three. Fizzing anticipation almost blows, but not quite.

They were match points, by the way, championship points, history points.

40-15, 40-30, deuce, advantage Djokovic. Four points in a row. Djokovic thought he had him. Sneaky grin. Bond villain time.

A ridiculous sequence of see-sawing ensued.

The deuce points were fine, pressure off. Even the break points for Djokovic were manageable. Murray played some of his finest tennis at those key moments. Joy and relief all round.

We were all feeling it. As a commentator, you’re neutral. But I was willing him over the line because, like everyone else, I knew this was it. He had to win it here.

Andy Murray climbed into the players’ box to celebrate with his mother Judy

The hardest point to win is the last, so the maxim goes, and I firmly believe the closest Murray came to defeat was when he lost a third match point.

Imagine, just imagine how that must have felt. On the brink of victory yet also the brink of defeat. Make no mistake that’s where he was.

Match points lost, mind racing, body rushing, arm shaking. His racket arm literally shaking before his sweat-masked eyes, the peak of his baseball cap protecting him from the glare of 16 million people, one serve from greatness.

And that’s why this story is such a compelling one, the achievement so great. Not so much the history, the 77 years, the ghost of Fred Perry. Very simply how, Andy Murray – how on earth – did you win that match in that insanely frazzling situation?

After a nerve-defying serve to the Djokovic backhand, the ball flew up defensively and the crowd gasped collectively. Some yelped, as if stung. “Here it is, here it is” I remember saying. “Murray forehand, Djokovic backhand… into the net! Murray’s the Wimbledon champion!” It was such a relief to utter those words.

Breathe.

Ever the dull professional journalist, I’d only ever shaken Murray’s hand after victory. Even after his first Grand Slam title at the US Open 10 months earlier. “Well done, congratulations.”

Not this time. There was delirium tinged with disbelief behind the scenes. The champion emerged around a corridor corner in a white tracksuit, looking ready for sets four and five.

“Do I get a hug for that?” he said with his usual sarcastic drawl. Sure thing. He then insisted on holding my microphone for a photograph. It wasn’t plugged in, he wanted to hold it anyway. We were all a bit doolally by that stage.

Murray won Wimbledon again, in 2016, but nothing will ever pierce our emotions in the same way as that day.

I suppose if he were to do it a third time, with a metal hip, having recovered from multiple near-career-ending surgeries, I’ll revise my judgement. He’s such an incredible human, anything’s possible.

But even then, would it surpass the first time? That time?

Sunday, 7 July 2013 will be forever etched in British sporting history. The day of the decade, perhaps, and for men’s tennis the day of seven decades, plus.

It was the day we all bonded over a dream and a celebrated together as a nation. The day sport truly touched our souls. The day we all felt like winners.

Murray’s win in 2013 was the first of two Wimbledon titles, the second coming in 2016

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