#LITERALLY FAINTS<3<<<3>3<3<3>3<3<3<33<<<3>3><2> <2<3<<<3<3<<4<<3<4<3<3<<<3<<<3<>3>3<3>4<4<=*÷>%&=&=*%;$&$(%;:;*

[bigmack2go]

Reasons albert is my favourite newsie

1ITS ALBERT

2 I DONT NEED NO REASON, ITS ALBERT! HE HAS MY HEART

3 DID U SEE HIS PIRUETTES??????

4 Ginger

5 his sheepish smiles in the background are so adorable it kills me

6 SHOUR BUY A TICKIT DEY LED ENYONE IN, HA!

7 the way he talks with only one side of his mouth

8 everytime he takes is hat off (if he does so at all) he seems to have completly different hair

9 aint afraid of asking help

10 perfect

11 HIS JAW???

12 his good with littles but still somehow a jerk

13 his little breathy chuckle when race said „to prove theys still alive“

14 hes always hyping everyone up and so caring and (again) STILL Somehow MANAGES BEING COCKY WHILE DOING SO

15 the look on his face when the newsies waved up to pulitzer

16 his little triumph jumpy dance thingy

17 everything about him

18 there is literally no reason for him not to be

19 his voice when he said his lips were still tingeling. Idk why but there’s something about it that just has me fainting on the spot

20 „youre done“ with a teary voice when jack scabbed like BRO? WHO EVER PUT THE MIC LeVELS TO WHERE THEY ARE; YOURE MY HERO AND I ASPIRE TO BE LIKE YOU

21 his little steps when he carried crutchie were so funny idek

23 the way he moves

24 the way he talksn

22 everything

25 the way he seems to hear everything and sometimes looks like he wished he didnt

26 he helps race who is second in comand and in charge when jack is away? I loved that!

27 katherine: lets get drunk

Al: i like this lady!

LIKE I CANT BELIEVE THAT HAPPENED?? I LOVE THIS?? THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME??

28 he looks so happy when tap dancing

29 the way he engages in everything and is extroverted and his facial expressions ykwym?

30 every single thing he did when getting katherine to dance and when watching her dance (there are just so many things about that)

31 he looks so proud during king of new york

32 we all talk abt the many times race sticks his tongue out during kind of new york but no one talks about the obscure amount of times albert bites his lip and gives someone a once over during king of newyork

33 whatever the hell it is thats going on with him in brooklyns here

34 his little hand-flick and face and everything when he said „a leg if lamb“

35 his voice

36 when everyone has thsi specific smile on their face that people have when tapfancing (ykwym? The one that just slightly fake? Yk?? Pls tell me u know what i mean!!!) his is just so genuine and real and u can rly see how sky has genuine fun dancing and i just love that. I comit a felony fir that.

37 i can relate to him and his character tp a deep level cause were both gingers

38 the way he balances his whole body on his hands on the railing at the beginning if carrying the banner he looks like he has so much fun idek

[fandxmslxt69]

CLEM!!!

Happy birthday, lovely! I hope you're happy and healthy! So sorry I didn't see your post earlier, I've been having a very hectic year with studying, working and just generalized stuff! BUT BUT I couldn't send you a inbox!

So like a said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! you are one of the sweetest mutuals ever! And to celebrate that a gotta ask

What is your latest read?

And I want to know your all time favorite Jason fics, please with links and all!

LOVE OF MY LIFE HELLO!!!

OMG PLS DONT APOLOGISE I KNOW HOW HECTIC LIFE CAN GET!! i hope you are taking good care of yourself, resting and relax outside of studies and work!!! remember that none of it matters if you aren't feeling good <33

MY LATEST READ OKAY

um truth be told my love i have been in SUCH a slump lately,,,, its been tough out here.

i only read like 3 books very recently (last month or so)

I did read All The Little Raindrops by Mia Sheridan my QUEEN. its like a mystery thriller with a side of romance!!! Sheridan's books are ALWAYS a hit (she's very popular for her booktok famous Archer's Voice? And Travis !!) I've read like. most of her books at this point. I have never devoted myself to an author so much. She got me into the whole thriller genre and I LOVE her. so much. ITS SO GOOD AAAA. its not for the faint of heart and on more than once i find myself with the need to throw up with how HORRIFYING and messed up some of this stuff is (most of her thriller books are not for the faint of heart. lots of horrific stuff that is all too real and it makes it 10x more disturbing). Anyway i loved it i think i gave it a 4/5 stars it was so so good

2. i ALSO started Ana Huang's If Love series. I literally never shut up about Ana Huang like. EVER and i had been wanting to read this for a while and IM SO GLAD I GOT IT STARTED !!! Its a LOT less popular than hr Twisted and Kings of Sin series; she wrote it well before she got popular/published but its so good. its def not Twisted/Kings of Sin series but it makes it sooo clear how much she's grown in her writing, character development and general story telling!!! I read the first 2 books and UGHGUGHUFGHUFGHG yeah. new comfort series fr fr fr fr.

I also got digging through Lynn Painter's works (Love Wager, Mr Wrong Number, Better Than The Movies, etc) 10/10 her rom coms are sacred to me. this was a while ago though like. months ago lmao but i think abt her books always!!!

OH OH OMG I READ BIRTHDAY GIRL BY PENELOPE DOUGLAS !!!! SOME TIME AGO!!! yeah it changed my brain chemistry. i dont remember if i told you or not. but it changed my life. i think about it always.

edit: omg shut up i forgot i read some banger books months ago that i did not mention. i ate up Liz Tomforde's sports romance series (Windy City series) it was SO FREAKING GOOD. she had hockey romance, she had basketball romance she had BASEBALL ROMANCE. 10/10 amazing vibes

I ate through the latest of Lauren Asher's (Love Redesigned) IT WAS ALSO HELLA GOOD!! Ana Huang's King of Greed was also a vibe. not my fav but it was good. I ALSO delved into hockey romance SOOO DEEP. Fav series is probably Becka Mack's Playing For Keeps. It's the silliest stupidest fluffy no plot head empty series ever. the first book is 90% porn. its just for the giggles. the second is a bit better but the third is def the best in terms of actual plot & character development for example but the vibes are astronomical and i live for them

i ALSO started reading Sarah Adam's small town romance series (very very good). All fluffy fall vibes. CHLOE GONG HAD COME OUT WITH A NEW BOOK IN THE SUMMER AND I GOT TO IT AROUND THE NEW YEAR AND IT WAS SOOO GOOOD. Immortal Longings mm......she destroyed me once again.

OKAY ALL TIME FAV JASON FICS ok i dont have links (is lazy to go find links) but i will tell you two blogs im like religiously stalking:

@in-som-niyah has AMAZING THOUGHTS on Jason 10/10 i love getting all my jason content from her GOD BLESS THE HARDWORKING PEOPLE OF TUMBLR DOT COM

@fcthots also has some kick ass Jason stuff....like....from smutty to fluffy and domestic its....yeah. oooghgubjgubgn yeah yeah.

anyway i've probably forgotten to mention a bunch of books but thats all i can remember that was actually good. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN READING !!!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Basket of Ripe Fruit

1 Thus hath the Lord Jehovah shewed me, and, lo, a basket of summer-fruit. 2 And He saith, ‘What art thou seeing, Amos?’ and I say, ‘A basket of summer-fruit.’ And Jehovah saith unto me: ‘The end hath come unto My people Israel, I do not add any more to pass over to it. 3 And howled have songstresses of a palace in that day, An affirmation of the Lord Jehovah, Many [are] the carcases, into any place throw — hush!

4 Hear this, ye who are swallowing up the needy, To cause to cease the poor of the land,

5 Saying, When doth the new moon pass, And we sell ground corn? And the sabbath, and we open out pure corn? To make little the ephah, And to make great the shekel, And to use perversely balances of deceit.

6 To purchase with money the poor, And the needy for a pair of sandals, Yea, the refuse of the pure corn we sell.

7 Sworn hath Jehovah by the excellency of Jacob: ‘I forget not for ever any of their works.

8 For this doth not the land tremble, And mourned hath every dweller in it? And come up as a flood hath all of it. And it hath been cast out, and hath sunk, Like the flood of Egypt.

9 And it hath come to pass in that day, An affirmation of the Lord Jehovah, I have caused the sun to go in at noon, And caused darkness on the land in a day of light,

10 And have turned your festivals to mourning, And all your songs to lamentation, And caused sackcloth to come up on all loins, And on every head — baldness, And made it as a mourning [of] an only one, And its latter end as a day of bitterness.

11 Lo, days are coming, An affirmation of the Lord Jehovah, And I have sent a famine into the land, Not a famine of bread, nor a thirst of water But of hearing the words of Jehovah.

12 And they have wandered from sea unto sea, And from north even unto east, They go to and fro to seek the word of Jehovah, And they do not find.

13 In that day faint do the fair virgins, And the young men, with thirst.

14 Those swearing by the guilt of Samaria, And have said, Live doth thy god, O Dan, And, Live doth the way of Beer-Sheba, And they have fallen — and rise not again!’ — Amos 8 | Young's Literal Translation (YLT) The Holy Bible: Young’s Literal Translation is in the public domain. Cross References: Genesis 6:13; Genesis 21:16; Exodus 31:13; Leviticus 13:40; Numbers 28:11; Deuteronomy 33:26; Deuteronomy 33:29; 1 Samuel 3:1; 1 Kings 12:28-29; 2 Chronicles 15:3; Job 5:14; Job 24:4; Psalm 14:4; Psalm 18:7; Psalm 60:2; Proverbs 29:18; Isaiah 9:17; Isaiah 24:20; Isaiah 41:17; Jeremiah 24:1; Jeremiah 24:3; Lamentations 1:18; Lamentations 2:10; Ezekiel 20:3; Amos 2:6; Amos 3:9; Amos 4:1; Amos 5:16; Amos 7:17; Matthew 24:29

[epicrox]

Till The End Of The Moon Thoughts - Episode 2

WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW

PARTS: 1.1 | 1.2 | 2 |

This is mostly for me to look back on and see the moments that I caught my eye. Nothing analytical. I offer nothing to the table

I'm also a visual person so there's a lot of screenshots x

This is called my thoughts because I refuse to call what I'm writing down as a review. Reviews inform people and this post does nothing for people.

I’ve seen posts on Tumblr calling Tantai Jin a Disney princess cuz he’s being mistreated and talks to animals 🤨

The scenery is so pretty.

3. There seem to be Chinese subtitles on the right side of the screen indicating that background music is playing but I think they cut it out because I’m not hearing anything. Maybe it’s because I’m watching it on YouTube. I don’t know about other platforms.

4. Yeah, they cut the music now and it just sounds awkward and empty.

5. Omg she’s just leaving him there! Aren’t you supposed to keep him alive?

6. He legit looks like an old man because of the snow.

7. This man looks so delicate.

8. Even at the brink of getting hypothermia, he looks like he has a better chance of getting a modelling contract than me.

9. Disney Princess indeed.

10. Bingchang looks really sweet. I’m praying she doesn’t turn out evil or two-faced.

11. Wtf is this crow’s voice?!

12. It sounds like a demonic robot. This further proves my point about this show being sci-fi.

13. The crow’s basically a camera.

14. Then don’t let him die! That celestial being never told you to kill him and didn’t even mention the evil bone, your dad did. He literally told you that Tantai Jin’s torment and death triggered his demonic powers. All you need to do is prevent that! And what do you mean he deserves this?! He hasn’t done anything yet!

15. Her strategy is irritating me.

16. It looks like she’s cradling a head. Just the head.

17. I love that he just had to faint for her to understand the severity of the situation.

18. Wtf is that? His subconscious?

19. This demonic being reminds me of that demon that trains Luo Binghe after he gets pushed off the cliff.

20. He wants Tantai Jin to give him his soul to allow him eternal peace? Does he want to use Tantai Jin’s body as a vessel?

21. It’s the 2nd episode and we’ve got Xi Wu feeling him up.

22. Ma’am, how are you sleeping with that on your head?

23. She even got her dangly earrings on!

24. Get over what?

25. Ha! Xi Wu is having thoughts.

26. So am I.

27. She beats him?!

28. Why am I surprised?

29. OG!Xi Wu was an evil person.

30. The fact that she is hesitating about hitting him! Put the whip down! Even though he’ll see you’ve changed and would make him suspicious, at least he’ll be happy about not getting whipped.

31. She cares more about staying in character than changing the past.

32. At least take the gear off before you go to sleep.

33. After literally TORTURING HIM, you're worried for his health. It seems you’ve figured out actions have consequences.

34. AHHH!!!

35. Also as an otherworldly being, deity or whatever she is, Xi Wu can be really dense. I’d understand if she didn’t know how some things worked in the mortal world but for someone responsible for saving the world, your strategy is confusing.

36. I know she’s grieving for what had happened but she can prevent tragedies if she were a little smarter.

37. Is that even comfortable? I’ve always envied my parents for being able to sleep while sitting down because for some reason I can’t.

38. Awww. I love how confused he is.

39. He’s so delicate (This man is over 10 years older than me).

40. Yes, she’s possessed.

41. Just like villainess stories, is she hated by her family?

42. Oh no. She seems to be the favourite. Makes sense since the OG!Xi Wu was running around making trouble without much consequence. How can you be punished for your actions if you’re the Apple in your family’s eyes?

43. Also how many concubines does Xi Wu’s dad have? Does Bingchang and Xi Wu have different mothers?

44. It’s very clear from the beginning that the eldest brother is going to be useless.

45. Ze Yu just vanished. And make Xi Wu apologise to Bingchang. OG!Xi Wu must’ve thought she was entitled to everything. Bingchang must feel ostracised by her own family.

46. Wow, even the kitchen boys are bullying him. They’re probably gonna get beaten by Xi Wu and zapped when Tantai Jin gets into power.

47. This whole thing must be so humiliating as a prince.

48. How is he working in the kitchens and doing dishes while looking so pristine?

49. Is that ice?

50. Are they purposefully making him wash dishes in ice-cold water? Or is it something people did historically?

51. HE HASN'T DONE ANYTHING YET. But he’s going to.

52. I’m not sure you’re aware of this but you’re in the body of his abuser. Of course, he’s avoiding you. Like didn’t you whip him last night?

53. Also, you haven’t spent long enough in that body to make this statement.

54. Yep. I think they put the ice in to torment him.

55. This reminds me of a trope you mostly see in isekai mangas/manhwas where the ML is so rude and aloof towards the FL that all the servants start to think they can do it too.

56. One thing that irks me about these tropes (it irks a lot of other people too) is that when the FL begins to stand up for herself against the servants, she slaps them.

57. Ooh, the music changed.

58. Not only does he speak to robotic crows, but he’s also talking to flies. Or was that a wasp?

59. I was under the impression Tantai Jin would commit murder but he just made the head cook (I think) swallow a fly. His reaction after swallowing the fly would have made you think he was being poisoned or choked.

60. It’s funny that she’s lecturing the staff about how rude they are even though this whole time she kept on saying he deserved it. You left him in the cold and whipped him. You know he’s a captured prince.

61. She’s putting all the blame on the servants rather than saying that OG! Xi Wu and even herself were wrong.

62. Instead of Xi Wu slapping them, they’re slapping themselves.

63. “If I had dignity, I would’ve died years ago” He really is a Disney princess.

64. More specifically, Cinderella. I saw a video essay from a channel called The Take. They talk about how people victim blame Cinderella a lot for not fighting back her abusers. In one part of the video, they talked about how Cinderella allows the abuse to continue as it is very likely that her stepmother would kick her out if she acted out.

65. Tantai Jin doesn’t know that the Xi Wu in front of him is not the original. So if I were him, I’d be more cautious about what type of food Xi Wu feeds me than the servants. Although, OG!Xi Wu could’ve ordered the servants to poison Tantai Jin’s food.

66. This man gives me Jin Xixun vibes or Mo Xuanyu’s cousin who died in the first episode of MDZS/The Untamed.

67. Oh, this is hard to watch.

68. That guy threw the cake on the ground and then stepped on it. Even if I was hungry I could never take a bite of it. It took me a while to even eat/drink something that someone else touched with their hand or mouth.

69. Is she drugged or drunk?

70. omg

71. They kissed! And we’re on the 2nd episode. I know it isn’t the FL but still. I count it.

72. Ok, they’re drugged.

73. I remember the two actors were together in a previous drama and there was a make-out scene that everyone freaked out about. So I assume they know what they’re doing in this drama.

74. So someone tried to make Bingchang and Jin Xixun prince spend the night together by drugging them but instead, they both ate it. It was 100% OG! Xi Wu.

75. Oh wait, they actually did it? But they’re clothed.

76. He has every right to be suspicious of you and the food you’ve given him.

77. Gosh. That crow’s voice is terrifyingly comedic. I giggle every time it opens its beak.

78. Tantai Jin is definitely planning something.

79. At least he’s pretty while doing it. Look at this shot.

80. This king looks familiar. Wasn’t he the emperor from Ashes of Love?

81. Tantai Jin is definitely ripping his head off.

82. This whole political drama is going to push Tantai Jin to join the dark side.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 20-21-22

The bad news is that I missed yesterday's update. I apologize! I have no excuse except that wrestling Tumblr's queue into compliance tries my patience unto violence.

The good news is that the story is finished! So now, instead of once a week, you'll get updates once a day until everything's posted.

AO3 Link

Buy me a Ko-fi?

Remember: Tumblr has no algorithm. Reblogs give me life.

1-2 + 3-4 + 5-6 + 7-8 + 9-10-11 + 12-13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21-22 + 23-24-25 + 26-27-28 + 29-30 + 31-32-33 + 34-35-36 + 37-38 + 39-40-41-42

TWENTY

Hitter and wizard headed back to the loft, Mouse on a leash that Eliot doubted very much would give the young dog a pause if he decided to challenge it. He took the time to examine Harry out of the corner of his eye.

The wizard was, in many ways, an open book. His emotions burned close to the surface, in his eyes, the tight line of his mouth, the way he walked and carried himself. The hitter had never met someone who was both so aware and unaware of his surroundings; Harry was always expecting an attack, he just didn't seem to know he was doing so. His anger at the situation with the selkies still burned in his eyes, distracting him, blinding him. He couldn't compartmentalize, like Leverage did. He'd seen something unfair, and he was mad about it, and he would do his damnedest to fix it.

He was, in sum, a good person.

"Harry,"

"Hm."

"When she said they smelled you -"

"They didn't. A friend did." The wizard seemed to think on those words for a moment before he nodded tinily to himself. "And it's literal. It's the smell of my magic. It's a new smell to the area, and without the lake to ground me it's probably very obvious. I told Sophie, I figured she'd passed it on: they'll know I'm here. Everything on this side of the river can -"

Mouse growled a quiet warning and both their heads came up. At the same time, a young man pacing in front of the loft entrance looked up. He had the kind of perfect looks, flawlessly tousled hair and incredibly expensive clothing that you only see on a billboard, advertising fancy watches or men's cologne. He had sunglasses on, and for a moment Eliot thought something looked wrong with the face behind them, but he was more focused on the man making any sort of sudden move.

Harry's face was made of stone. Eliot didn't need to see anything else to recognize bad magic.

"Oh, good," the man breathed when he saw us. He had a faint French accent. "You are wizard Harry Dresden, are you not?"

"Nope." Harry kept on walking.

The man frowned, trotting and planting himself directly in the wizard's path. "But -"

"I am. The answer's no."

That instantly started to ring alarm bells in Eliot's mind. With the women, Harry had been polite, uncertain but kind. This man was getting nothing but blanked.

"Please." The man pleaded, managing to get in Harry's way once again. "Please, I need your help."

"I'm on a job already." Harry pointed at Eliot. "For him."

The man glanced at Eliot. Before the hitter could so much as say a word, or even think it, the stranger's eyes flicked away; he'd been dismissed without a thought, without a care. That was a very personal pet peeve, though for the moment Eliot was willing to count it an advantage. When you didn't think someone was a threat you never watched them very closely.

"I won't take much of your time, I will pay for it -"

"I'm on retainer," the wizard snapped, forced to stop once again. "That means I do the work he wants, nothing else, nothing more."

That brought the stranger up short. He looked, really looked, at Eliot. In return, the hitter made himself look at the man, truly look at him, even though some primeval part of his brain kept telling him not to do so. This time, he saw the blink of far too many eyes behind the sunglasses, and when the man spoke again, he saw the odd way parts of his mouth didn't move.

The stranger spoke in a tone that managed to be both embarrassed and coy. "I am not sure I am comfortable speaking freely in front of… food."

Harry beamed at him. The wizard might have no poker face to speak of, but when he did sarcasm it came out like a masterpiece. "Then you don't really need my help, do you?"

"But -"

Moused growled.

The stranger bared perfect teeth, hissed low and stepped back. Two men and one dog moved past him.

"It's my wife -"

"Then I absolutely don't want to help you."

"No, wizard, my real wife!" When that still didn't stop them, he cried out. "She might be cheating on me!"

Several people stared, slowing down minutely before they moved on. Next to Eliot, Harry stopped.

Sighed.

Dropped his head.

What power those words may hold over the wizard, Eliot didn't know. But he did know that Harry couldn't, wouldn't walk away any more, and he didn't want him to believe he had no options. A lot of what powered the wizard's actions was so… lonely. In him Eliot was seeing echoes and ghosts of the man he'd once been, before he'd fallen from all grace. He knew being alone had been a very contributing factor to that fall. And he'd be damned if it happened to anyone else on his watch. "Harry?" he asked very quietly.

The wizard flicked him a quick, surprised glance. That, Eliot knew, was another odd quality of the man; he wasn't keeping secrets or holding back information or going off on his own out of a sense of greed or mistrust; it wasn't a con for him, he wasn't running a job. He was just so used to being alone that it didn't occur to him to act otherwise.

With one word, Eliot had reminded him he wasn't alone. And with one startled look, Harry had got the message. The hitter saw muscles work restlessly along the wizard's jaw before he turned to face the stranger. "And if she is?"

The stranger shrugged. "I want to live, wizard."

Harry's mouth went to a thin line. That, apparently, was the right answer. Unfortunately, it was as obvious to the hitter as it was to the stranger, who took a half step forward. "I will leave," he hurried to add. "I will go as far away as you wish me to go if you bring me proof."

The wizard's breath puffed out of him in a tiny, angry sound, and he pointed sharply. "Go sit in the pub, I'll deal with you when I can." He whipped around to walk into the building, whirled once more, hurried down the steps and added, very tightly, "And don't eat anyone!"

That was the opposite of reassuring, wasn't it? And still Eliot couldn't help but be amused. He kept his questions to himself until they were going up the stairs. "So what was that all about? I take it the crack about food was for me?"

"Yeah."

"What is he?"

"Uh, spider, sort of."

"He's… what, he's a spider, he's made of spiders, he's got spider magic, what? Information, Harry. And while you're at it, why don't you want to help him? You were much nicer to the selkie ladies."

"They get a raw enough deal," the wizard muttered.

Harry opened the door to the loft. "Hardison, wizard in the house!"

"Couch's free!" the hacker called out from before the bank of screens.

"I've got a job for you too."

"Uh, excuse me?" Hardison turned to stare after the hitter in insulted disbelief as the wizard and his dog dutifully took their spots as far away from the computers as possible. "I've spent all morning trying to create a profile out of fairy tales. Fairy tales, Eliot! I've been translating so much Russian I think I've learned the language by, by infection. I -"

"Is this a new fridge?" Eliot asked, in the process of grabbing a beer.

Hardison gave him the most pointed of looks. "No, it is not."

Eliot said nothing, he merely nodded minutely. "Harry, you want anything?" The coffeemaker chirped something that didn't sound nice and the hitter gave it a wary squint. "That isn't coffee?"

"Beer's nice."

Eliot provided, and then moved over to Hardison's work area. "This shouldn't take you long. Just need a look into this guy's affairs."

"Eliot! Does it look like I have time -!" Hardison was already taking the printed piece of paper. "Who even is this dude?"

"Scumbag."

"Yes, thank you, that answers absolutely nothing."

"Fourteen years ago he stole a selkie's skin. A seal-woman, a shapeshifter." Harry pitched his voice to carry; he'd had plenty of practice with Eliot earlier. "The magic in the skin bound her to him," he pointed the bottle at the piece of paper.

"Bound her, bound her how, because I'm not liking what you're telling me, Harry."

"Married. Has a kid. Guess whose skin's gone missing now." Eliot grinned, thin and feral. "Like I said, scumbag."

Hardison sighed in resigned exasperation and moved over to his keyboard. "Is this going to fry my systems, Dresden?"

"It shouldn't."

"So what sort of criminal is he, then?"

"Uh… none?" the wizard ventured.

Hardison stopped typing and turned. "Harry, what's wrong with the man, is what I'm asking."

"Literally, nothing." It was Eliot who replied. "This isn't one of our cases, Hardison, it's his."

The hacker visibly stuttered to a halt. He looked at the printed page, at the wizard with his horse-sized dog half-asleep on his lap. He looked at Eliot and at the screens. "Alright." He went back to typing. "Meet William Wellington Wattsford, what a name. Lawyer."

"Figures," Harry muttered.

"Harry, how far can he stash the skins, is there a range on the magic?" Eliot stared at the man on the screen, as perfectly nondescript a creature as one could be found, slightly balding, a little on the lanky side, fit by virtue of his gym membership.

"Yes, actually. They should be within the city limits. The further away, the more likely the link between selkie and skin will snap."

"What happens then?" Hardison asked warily.

"She goes insane and kills him. And dies. Or she just dies, and the curse on the skin ricochets and kills him horribly. I mean, it'd be a great solution," the wizard agreed thoughtfully, "except for her dying."

"Jesus, Harry, is there anything about magic that doesn't kill, explode, set things on fire or create general mayhem?" Eliot demanded.

Harry shrugged and pointed at himself. "Ta-da?" Mouse's tail wagged once, as if he'd said something funny.

"Well, there's his house." The hacker pulled up a map, typed again and little flags appeared all over it. "And there's anywhere else his name pops up. Man, it feels weird looking up someone so… normal. Job, kid's school, gym, therapy - yeah, that surely helped not make you into a skin-kidnapping psycho, didn't it," he muttered. "Log cabin."

"Bank." Harry pointed out.

Hitter and hacker looked at him, then the screens. "It can't be that easy," Hardison protested.

"Why not?" the wizard countered. "Who's gonna believe a tale about a selkie-wife?"

Hardison had to accept the rationale of that after a moment. "Is this really what your work is like?"

"Yeah. Only I can't do that," the wizard waved at the computers, "so there's a lot of legwork involved, a lot of people-watching. She's a stay-at-home mom, so it can't be in any of the places where they spend time as a family. It can't be near the kid, she's on mom's side. He'd get weird looks at work trying to stash a full-sized seal pelt, let alone two. It's at a bank. Safe deposit box."

"Harry, I feel like I ought to ask, what happens if she gets her skin back?" Eliot's tone said he had hopes and dreams about the answer.

"She'll leave him."

"Th- that's it?" So much for the hitter's hopes and dreams.

"That's all she wants. She wants to go home, to her family, to her people. She -" Harry tried to explain. "You're thinking of her in human terms. She's not human. She just looks like it because it's good camouflage. Even if you're starving and seal's all there is to eat, you're not gonna shoot a person if you can help it, are you?" He shrugged. "The lawyer, he's not even an afterthought."

"Somehow, I think that would hurt his ego even more." Hardison looked deeply pleased. "Is there a reason we, us, can't give her the skins back?"

"No." Harry looked deeply amused, and suddenly very interested. "If it was me, once I figured out where they were stashed I'd just tell her. The friend who sniffed me out? If he's what I think he is, he'd get them back for her in no time flat. Me, I'm just not the sort that goes around breaking into banks, like you people."

"No, no, excuse me, I do not break into banks." Hardison picked up his phone. "I have a Parker for that."

"What about the dude down in the pub?" Eliot asked.

"What dude down in the pub?"

"Oh, you know. The one Harry specifically warned not to eat anyone."

"Excus- I'm s- What did you - There is a man down in the pub and you specifically had to warn him not to eat anyone?" Hardison had forgotten to dial.

"Spider." Harry mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah, he's not a man, he's a spider." Eliot beamed.

"WHAT?!"

"Kin. He's spider-kin."

"That's freaky. You do realize that, right? That is freaky."

"Just - just put the pub cameras up, Hardison," Eliot huffed. "You still haven't told me why you didn't want to help him." He directed that at the wizard.

"I try not to help bad guys," Harry admitted tightly. "Spiders are predatory. And assholes."

"He changed your mind, though. When he told you about his wife, his real wife."

Harry rubbed at his face wearily. "She'd eat him."

Eliot drew in a deep breath. "I'm guessing you mean literally."

"Yeah. Spiders keep groupies, tons of them, so they can pick and choose their food -"

"Please do not speak of people as 'food'. I am people," Hardison requested indignantly.

"Not to him. To him you're a burger. Many keep wives or husbands, they make for good cover."

"But that's not cheating, because you can't cheat on a burger," Eliot followed the train of information and ran ahead of it.

"Exactly. The only actual cheating is between their own kind. And he has to do everything he can to keep his wife happy. If he doesn't, like with some spiders -"

"He goes on the menu," Hardison finished. "That's why he's so desperate that he came looking for you - is this what you do back home?"

"No, not for him. Back home he'd know better than to show his face at my doorstep. But yes, otherwise. Cheating spouses is a big part of what I do. I'm actually cheaper than a PI. Faster, too."

"How?" Eliot asked, and both hacker and hitter turned to look at the wizard, openly curious.

"Uh, spell to see if they're actually cheating. Nine out of ten times they are. Tracking spell to follow them until I can get pictures."

"You can use a camera?"

"An old one, but yeah. And those cheap disposables, if I'm quick getting them developed."

Eliot and Hardison looked at one another, and Hardison grinned. "Alright. And having seen me work," he pointed a thumb at the screens behind him, "how would you go about it?"

Harry frowned, his focus suddenly and completely on the screens. "I'd get a picture of his wife."

"Reasonable," Hardison crossed his arms and waited. "Why?"

"Because if she's cheating, it'll be with someone who looks like part of her circle of groupies. And he will have his own circle as well." Harry lifted a hand and gestured. "Circle to circle to circle, I'd follow the faces, the ones that repeat." He grinned ruefully. "I just can't do picture searches on a computer.'

"I get the feeling the only thing holding you and your magic back is, um. Your magic, man," Eliot said, then pointed. "There, upper corner, that's him."

Hardison brought the camera in closer. And stared. "Him?"

"Yup."

"That's your man?"

"Yes."

"Uh, spider?"

"Yes, Hardison, that's him." Eliot's voice was turning into a growl.

"The one playing with a smartphone?"

All three men crossed a startled look. On the screen, the stranger looked up when a drink was brought to him, then returned his attention to his phone, tapping rapidly.

All three of them launched themselves down the stairs, leaving Mouse to hold the fort. As they hurried to the pub, Eliot asked one last question. "You'd let the guy get eaten, wouldn't you?"

Harry grimaced. "I wouldn't throw him a rope if he were drowning, but -"

"But he asked for help."

"No, he agreed to leave. That's one less heavy-duty predator in Boston, among people who can't see him coming. I'll take that win all the way to the bank."

Eliot grinned, then fell back as both Harry and Hardison moved forward. Something crackled in one of the hacker's pockets and, grimacing, he handed his phone over to Eliot, whispering something to the hitter before he hurried to catch up to the wizard. Eliot made a call as the other two walked away.

Harry slid into of the booth's benches, opposite the spider, who looked up in surprise before relief flooded his expression. "Good afternoon. Harry Dresden, wizard. This is my employer, Mister Hardison. Nothing happens if he doesn't allow it."

Hardison had too good a poker face to betray the surprise he felt in hearing the hard, stony tone Harry was suddenly using. He was also, like the rest of the team, quite good at picking up cues on the fly, particularly when they were so blatant. "Mister Dresden is doing some very important, time-sensitive work," he told the predator across the table, putting just enough Sophie in his voice to make the spider sit up and take notice of the, ah, talking burger. "He has pleaded with us to hear your case. Please, convince us." It was both invitation and challenge.

The spider fumbled his phone to one side. "Ah, yes, you see -"

"I understood magic made the use of modern technology impossible," Hardison pointed out casually.

"What? … Oh, the phone. No, no, it's not technology, it is magic." When Hardison gave him a mildly disbelieving look, the spider surrendered the phone readily. "No, you see, we don't use the human connection. We use ours. We use our magic to weave our devices directly into the electronic web the humans have wrapped around the world."

Hardison was flicking through screens, listening with half an ear until the meaning of the words actually sank in. "You w… You wove your way into the systems. Because it's a web. They're all webs."

The man spread his hands. "It's a family talent. It makes for a very profitable business."

"That's how you found him, isn't it," Hardison nodded in Harry's direction.

"Yes. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you, wizard Dresden, you warp the very lines of Boston's web. For us, you are far too obvious when, ah. Well, when existing nearby."

Harry shrugged awkwardly.

"How profitable?" the hacker asked. "If I wanted you to wire my phone the same way, how much would it be?"

The spider smiled, very much a business smile, hollow and professional. He gestured for his phone, and when it was handed back to him he dug out a stylus from one side and wrote something before passing it over to Hardison.

Who nearly choked on the six-digit figure. "For one phone?"

"As I said, very profitable. Of course, if you were willing to loan me the services of the wizard for just this one small bit of business -"

"I'll do it," Harry said before Hardison could protest. "But I'll need a picture of your wife."

"Yes, of course!"

"And access to her social media," Hardison added.

"I, uh, I only have some of her passwords."

"Whatever you have." Hardison found a business card and handed it over. "Send all the information here. We'll use your contact information to communicate any findings."

"With the understanding," Harry stepped in, his voice dead cold, "that I expect you to do exactly as you said you would if you get your proof."

The spider spread his hands. "Mas oui! My word, wizard. I will leave. I like being alive. You need only name the destination."

Harry chewed on his lip. "What's the biggest Red Court site you know of across the pond?"

"Uh, Brussels?"

"There, then." A flinty little smile on the wizard's face suddenly put Hardison in mind of Nate at his most lethal. "And once there I suggest you rarefy your palate."

The spider nodded, threw two twenties on the table, and slipped away hurriedly. Wizard and hacker watched him go. "You know it's gonna take like, ten minutes for me to find out if she's cheating, right?"

"Yup."

"You know Eliot's right, right?"

Harry started laughing.

"I mean it, man." Hardison gave him a very level look, then remembered he wasn't supposed to, and looked away. "You're sharp, Dresden. You're good at what you do. It's a weird, hinky, explode-y kind of skill, but you're just as good at it as we're at ours. The only problem is that it is explode-y." He stared at the spider's business card. "Why couldn't we do this here in Boston? Why couldn't we help you do it, back in Chicago?"

"Because they won't come to us." Eliot slipped into the booth with them, pushing aside the glass and the twenties so they'd be easier for the waitress to pick up. "Because we're humans. Tactical nuke."

Harry nodded wryly. "I'm a wizard." He gestured lightly. "I'm half in, half out. But humans? Humans don't like things to get weird. Humans get twitchy when things get weird."

Hardison understood just as swiftly as Eliot had. "They don't trust we won't call the cops. Or worse."

"I called Parker. She's on it." He gave them both a quick look. "She's not having a good day."

Hardison immediately roused, frowning in concern.

TWENTY ONE

Parker was not having a good day.

Jessamine Lochlin, apparently, had not known about a secret art auction that might or not include the priceless Sokolov portrait. She had not appreciated Parker knowing about it and refusing to provide her, or the authorities, with the information needed to find said auction and recover the portrait. Things had been said. Tempers had flared.

Why was friendship so complicated? It wasn't like that with Hardison, or Eliot, or even Sophie. It was a little strange with Nate, but he did try. Was it just because Jess was not a criminal?

She got herself a coffee and stalked angrily down to the T. She liked the T. She liked trains. There were so many people, so many stories. She could take a dozen phones, a double handful of wallets, and put them back with no one the wiser, skimming over the lives and the stories of the people who carried them, finding out their little sins and their hidden graces. Like the sour old man who didn't like people but kept pictures of all the foster dogs he'd adopted out. Or the scowling, scary lady that kept a laminated little card in her wallet to remind her not to be afraid of the outside world. Or the nice man with all those fake gold chains and tattoos who kept a journal full of baking recipes in one pocket and two butterfly knives in the others.

People weren't always what they seemed, but when Parker turned out not to be what she seemed, then they got angry and shouty and and and -

Her phone rang with Hardison's number. "What."

"Hey." Eliot's greeting got immediately derailed by concern. "You OK?"

"Jess is mad at me," she admitted at once to one of the few people she trusted implicitly. "Why do you have Hardison's phone?"

"He's with Harry. What happened?" The sounds of the pub dulled, replaced by the faint echoing quality that said Eliot had stepped out and was going up the stairs.

"She didn't know about the auction. And she's mad I won't tell her about it."

"Ah." A pause. "You want something fun to do?"

"There's nothing fun to do," she grumbled at him.

"How about getting into a safe deposit box and walking out with the contents?"

Oh. Ok, that was fun. She stopped walking. "Where?"

"Two banks. Two boxes. I'm texting you the info. Hardison said you have an alias in one, and you can probably wing Sophie's alias for the other."

She took the phone away from her ear and looked at the information coming up on the screen. She was less than a block from one of the banks. She began to walk again. "What am I looking for?"

"Um."

She frowned minutely. Eliot only got um-y with info when it was weird info, but his definition of weird was… Well, weird. "What?"

"Fur coats."

Parker's mind began to fly through some swift calculations. "Full size? Half size? Scarf size?"

"F… Full size. Maybe a little bigger. And there'll be two of them."

"So just the coats? We don't want money or documents or anything?"

"You know, I'm not sure. This is Dresden's case, not ours. So use your judgment. The guy's human, but he's a scumbag."

Oh, there was magic involved. Suddenly Parker's day was looking infinitely better, even if the sour tang of her parting with Jess still hurt. "Alright. I'll need you to come get me at the Shawmut Bank location in two hours."

"Alright."

Parker pocketed the phone and stopped, looking up the street at the Fleet Bank dead center of the block. It was a sham, she knew. There were a dozen names for what was, essentially, one bank in Boston metro, in most of New England. But Bank of America kept some of the names to preserve an illusion of choice. Fleet was the one with her alias, and she couldn't remember what she'd stuffed in the safety deposit box. It was either a spare costume and a lockpick kit, or a lockpick kit and a rig. Or maybe a rig and a copy of Eliot's chili recipe. Or a lockpick kit and a change of clothes?

She was pretty sure about the lockpick kit.

She tousled her hair, took off her jacket. She got a pair of sunglasses from a woman arguing about the price of newspapers with the newspaper seller. She bumped into a man with a grin, a blush and an apology, and took his keys and his belt, moving his wallet from one pocket to another as a decoy. She plucked a phone from another man's pocket and a silk scarf from a woman's purse. She 'found' the phone of a man that was loading shopping into his trunk and handed it over, to many thanks, while she acquired one of the empty reusable shopping bags off to one side of the trunk. She untucked her shirt and settled the belt loosely around her waist, changing the character of the clothing with nothing but a hat, a belt and her posture. The scarf went around her neck while she typed into the phone.

She walked into Fleet with a smile to the guard and a quiet little, "Hi, Frank" in Boston's unmistakable purr, a privileged daughter of that august, eclectic city. He flushed minutely and returned the greeting with uncertain courtesy, trying not to show that he didn't know who she was.

The manager was equally disarmed, all the more when he was shown the confirmation text for an appointment to check the young lady's safe deposit box. He was nothing if not apologetic after checking her information against their accounts, though he kept his eyes from bugging out at the amount of money involved, if only just. He got even more flustered when his own phone began to buzz insistently, hanging up just as he got to it. Twice. Then three times.

A few minutes later, a supervisor was escorting Parker to the side vault where the safe deposit boxes were kept. The manager, upstairs, was not getting anywhere trying to return those pesky calls. The stolen phone was in one pocket of the supervisor's smart blue business suit. The battery was in the other.

Parker picked the lock to her own box. Damned if she knew where the key to it might be, or if she even had one. But it was a dinky little lock, and she had no trouble using the few seconds between the supervisor finding and using her own key for it to do the deed, the stolen keys hanging from her hand and jangling reassuringly, like a good little decoy, the lockpicks tucked between her fingers, invisible. The supervisor left. Parker looked around and nodded to herself. It had been quick, dirty, there were a dozen holes in it, but it had got her what she wanted. Out of curiousity she peeked into the box and frowned minutely, pulling out a box of Girl Scout cookies and a rig. She'd been so sure of the lockpicking kit!

… She opened the box of cookies. Inside it there was a single sleeve of cookies, and a spare lockpicking kit.

"Ah-ha!"

She got the other safe deposit box out and frowned. The entire box, the largest the bank could offer, was full of a white, gravelly substance. There was a little black book on top. She picked up one pebble and rolled it between her fingers. Sniffed it. The smell was startlingly familiar, and she licked it.

Salt.

She pocketed the book. Little black books were usually very, very valuable in one fashion or another. Then she stared at a box full of salt, which did nothing but sit there quietly.

No one kept a box of just salt in the bank.

Parker rolled up her sleeve and began to worm her hand into the salt. She had to be careful; salt spilling everywhere wasn't going to be easy to explain, and she didn't want to burn the alias unless she had to. Her fingers brushed something lavishly soft a few inches under the surface, and she huffed. This wasn't going to be easy.

Seven minutes later she was out and on her phone. "Eliot."

"No, it's me," Hardison replied. "You alright?"

"Yes, just annoyed. Two banks, two fur coats."

"Well, that's smarter than I expected of the man, honestly. But are you alright?"

She blew out a long, exasperated breath. "Friends are hard," she muttered.

"They are," Hardison had to admit. "It's one fight, Parker. People argue. People disagree. Doesn't mean she doesn't wanna be your friend, just that she's mad at you right now. That might change tomorrow."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Well… Sometimes friendships are like that. They just don't work. You move on, you find another friend."

"I don't want another friend," she growled. "I gotta go, I found my car."

The car key in the stolen keyring belonged to a very plain, dark brown sedan. She drove to the Shawmut Bank; here, at least, she could streamline the process: she actually did have an appointment to open Sophie's safe deposit box, and Hardison had apparently had the time to create an electronic ID for her. She was escorted in with little fuss, though the lock to the box was a little trickier to pick. She was left alone once again.

She found another box full of salt, a few folders on top of it, and sighed in exasperation. "Magic's beginning to look like just a lot of trouble," she muttered, once again working as carefully as she could to get the fur coat out. On a whim, she replaced the box in its nook and laid the coats out side by side on the empty table.

They were beautiful. Parker's understanding of what was appealing was limited to what she liked, but it would have been impossible not to see the glory of the furs before her. One, the larger, was a dark dappled silver, nearly black on one half, the dappling fading until it was the palest gray on the other side. The smaller one was true silver, its pile much thicker, with black spattered at random here and there. There were no clasps, no buttons, no hems, no seams of any kind. Just two flawless pieces of fur softer than anything Parker had ever touched. They looked more vivid, more alive than any piece of fur or leather clothing she'd ever seen or worn or touched or stolen in her lifetime.

She couldn't get over a deep sense of wrongness to see them there, on that table, surrounded by the cold, hard lines of the safe deposit boxes, pinned under the harsh halogen lights.

Parker pocketed the folders, rolled up the furs and shoved them back into the shopping bag. Eliot was waiting for her just outside, and she threw the keys of her stolen car into said stolen car through an open window, hopping into the hitter's truck. "Go," she instructed, waiting until they were on Storrow Drive to ask, "What did I just steal?"

"Pair of selkie coats."

"Cool. What's a selkie coat?"

Eliot grinned and began to explain.

By the time they got back to the loft, the thief was seething. "HARRY!" she shouted as she charged in. Nate and Sophie, who'd just walked in, winced.

"Parker, what's wrong?" Sophie asked placatingly.

"Nothing," the thief declared tartly as she put her shopping bag down. "As long as Harry can put a curse on someone. A really bad one. Like, full of warts and, and clowns and -"

"Oh-kay." Nate put aside their dry-cleaning and moved over. "From the beginning, please?"

"He's not here, he's back at the safehouse," Hardison came out of the back with a shallow box fresh from the 3D-printer.

"Fine," Parker whirled around and stalked off.

Nate looked at the rest of his team. They gave him back the most guileless looks. He believed none of them, and that included Sophie's, who'd been with him all afternoon. But those same innocent looks also told him this was a fight that he was not likely to win. "Part of the case?"

Eliot shrugged. Hardison looked mildly confused.

"Right. I'm gonna go get a shower, get ready for dinner."

They all watched him pick up one of the dry-cleaner bags and disappear up the stairwell. Sophie turned and cocked a single brow at both men.

"Some people found Harry," Eliot admitted quietly.

"Found him, found him how?" She was immediately alarmed.

"One said she smelled him," the hitter explained.

"And the other found him through the web," the hacker added.

"Through the internet?" The grifter was puzzled.

"No, the web. It's -" Hardison suddenly realized why the wizard always looked so pained when he had to explain something. "Look, it's complicated, but it checks out. We dealt with them."

"Dealt with them?"

"They weren't looking to make trouble," Eliot said mildly. "They needed his help."

"So you freelanced with the wizard." She gave them both a very stern look.

Hardison shrugged. "One was a cheating wife. That took like fifteen minutes once Dresden told us what to look for."

"The other was this one." Eliot picked up the shopping back and showed the contents to Sophie.

She gasped just to see the beauty of the rolled-up fur on top, reaching out to run admiring fingertips over the dappled pattern, the unmistakably fine fur. They watched her go from admiration, to confusion, to understanding and horror and cold, cold fury in just a couple of seconds. "Eliot, tell me this isn't what I think it is," she breathed.

"It is." Calmly, he added, "And her daughter's."

Sophie stiffened. "A daughter," she murmured. "Is he even the sort that's going to be sorry when they vanish?" she demanded tightly.

"Sorry, probably not," Hardison admitted. "Embarrassed and socially destroyed? Oh, yeah."

"Parker also snagged these." Eliot offered the hacker the folders, and the grifter the little black book. "We kinda strong-armed Harry into taking the job, seems only right to follow through to the end."

"Good," was all Sophie said after leafing through the book and handing it back, picking up her own bag of dry-cleaning and stalking rigidly off. "Shatter him."

TWENTY TWO

While everyone else in the team gleefully engaged in further levels of what Hardison called 'hardware mode' and Nate called 'wanton destruction of property', the mastermind took Sophie to meet Vanya Fedorov.

"You rarely doubt your assessment of a client," Sophie said as he helped her off the car Fedorov had sent for them.

His face went through a dozen different emotions. To be fair, a good part of it was that the grifter had been taking his breath away and shutting down his brain since she'd come out dressed in an absolutely gorgeous violet silk dress that draped in waves over her like blessings from on high. Nate hadn't been able to string more than two automatic thoughts together every time he looked at her. She was wearing cascade earrings and a matching necklace, and her hair was up in an artfully disarrayed bun. The graceful line of her neck would have toppled empires.

Then she laced her hand through his arm, and Nate remembered he was the lucky one.

He settled on honesty as they walked up to the frosted glass doors of a gracious Greek restaurant. What he'd told Dresden back in Chicago still stood. "I'm biased," he admitted to her. "I saw it, I felt it. I'm still biased. I keep catching myself looking for explanations. Looking for, for…" His free hand groped for words. "Comfortable lies."

"It's kind of a critical change in thinking, Nate. I thought I believed, until I had to."

"Yes, but I don't have time to indulge myself. If we're right, and things are coming to a head at this private auction, we need to deal with what we have. With what is. And I don't know if my bias judged Fedorov fairly."

"You want to know if he was lying to you."

"Among other things." When she cocked her head at him he flailed a little. "Just, you know. Just try to get a good read on the man." She was grinning at him and he scoffed at himself.

"Alright, alright, I'll do my best," she reassured him, brushing lightly at the lapels of his black jacket, where a 'I<3Boston' pin was mostly hidden out of sigh, a gift from Dresden, who was 'getting sick and tired of having everyone's heads scrambled'; her own pin was a cute little Duck Tours boat, pinned under one of the folds of her gown. "But I trust your judgment, even if you don't."

The restaurant was half-empty, it being the middle of the week. A flowering wisteria, a magnificent work of stained glass, sprawled over the ceiling, lights burning in the blossoms as accents. Music, a fine strumming guitar, filled the air with warmth. Somewhere, a woman was laughing in the throaty undertone usually reserved for lovers. Closer at hand three older men were arguing over a bottle of ouzo and the remains of their dinner, their body language one of deep camaraderie for all their angry gesturing. Farther to the back, Sophie could hear what sounded like a family, their voices full of contented enthusiasm.

All this information came to her as it always did, to be soaked up and filed away for future use, the human element that did most of her work. It meant the one jarring element caught her attention instantly, even as she surrendered her delicate white jacket to Nate.

Vanya Fedorov was already there, waiting for them. He'd taken a table that put his back to a wall and gave him a line of sight to most of the restaurant, the entrance, the bar and the kitchen door. He had a glass and a shot in front of him, both half-full. He was wearing a dress shirt in deep burgundy under a dress jacket as black as his hair. Sophie's impression was the same as she'd had back at the museum: of a wolf, tongue lolling, content to lounge while waiting for a chance to rip someone's throat out.

Ah, she did so love Russians.

She frowned minutely: Fedorov was not alone. More, his mood was definitely suffering for it.

She examined the second man. He was standing next to the table, speaking quietly. He was older, built just as powerfully as the Russian enforcer, dressed neatly. Unlike Fedorov, he made no effort to hide the presence of his gun, though his gray suit was so exquisitely tailored that it was barely noticeable. The tattoos over his knuckles had been rendered all but illegible by old scars. His gray hair was cut and sternly combed back, and he had brown eyes as hard as the lines of his face.

"Ready?" Nate asked.

"Wait," she murmured, and felt him go perfectly still behind her.

The older man was trying to hold onto his rising temper, and failing. Vanya was being far more successful, though he was no less irritated. He was also adding a lot less to the conversation; it made it easy to identify the clipped 'Nyet' that was all he offered to the older man's latest tirade.

"Do you actually want dinner?" Nate asked mildly.

Sophie knew he was right; the mood at the Russian's table was growing dangerous quickly. "Alright." She let Nate take point, using him as cover to keep watching. The older man offered an envelope to Fedorov; Vanya took it and promptly threw it carelessly across his table. "I'm still not interested," she heard him say in Russian.

"Vanya, you need these people!" The older man's voice was a snap.

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting?" Nate asked pleasantly. Both Russians turned their temper on him.

Both of them drew themselves up sharply straight as Sophie took a half-step forward and laced her arm with Nate's. Fedorov automatically rose from his seat. "You are not," he assured them both, his tone forcibly pleasant. "My uncle was just leaving."

"Ah, Mikhail Sagorov." Sophie offered her hand. "No finer mind for business and secure transport along the East Coast," she added in Russian, her voice a purr.

The older man flushed, instantly thrown off-guard. He took Sophie's hand and barely squeezed, though she could feel the strength dormant in that grip. "One does not expect beautiful women to find such things interesting," he admitted.

"There is much no one ever expects I will find interesting." She let her hand linger.

Mikhail Sagorov gave her a measuring look. Gave his nephew a puzzled look. Glared impotently at Nate. No one offered answers to the wealth of questions Sophie had thrown at him with a few measured words and an enormity of the unspoken. "I will leave you to your dinner," he said in English. "We will speak later, Vanya."

Vanya started laughing almost before his uncle was out of the door. "You are terrifying," he told Sophie.

"Me? Never," she beamed at the compliment as Nate helped her into her seat.

"My associate, Sophie Deveraux, mister Fedorov."

"Ah." His handshake was firm and friendly, his expression full of amusement. "So not an art curator?"

"I can be, if you need one," she flirted shamelessly before her expression grew serious. "Is everything alright, have there been more… situations?"

"No, no, it's not that. It's been quiet since the museum, thankfully." He looked relieved. "No one died then. As far as I'm concerned, that's a win."

The waiter came to tender their menus. Fedorov ordered them vodka. Nate, with a profoundly resigned sigh, spoke in the silence that followed. "You were right."

"I will never be believed if I tell anyone you offered me those words," Vanya replied mildly after a brief pause. "But you are going to have to be more specific, Ford."

Sophie could see Nate struggling to accept that he had to say the words out loud, that he had to send them out into the world. "About your grandmother," she said very gently.

Fedorov, about to reach for his glass of water, froze. He picked up instead the shot of vodka and downed it smoothly. When he put it down the blue of his eyes was hard and uncompromising. "I see."

"She's not the problem," Nate added.

"She is - Grandmother is not the problem?" Vanya stared at him in disbelief.

"No. She's one of the targets."

Before, the Russian had simply been shocked into stillness. But his sudden motionless at those words filled the space around the table with deadly menace. "Who?" he asked, and the one word was a dark, lethal promise.

"I guess that depends on how deeply you believe," Nate replied casually, picking up the abandoned envelope, examining it idly. "What's this for?" He handed it over to Sophie.

She found a different sigil embossed in the heavy vellum under her fingers, but she didn't take her eyes off Fedorov, even though she couldn't readily identify it.

"Who?" the Russian repeated.

"Well- "

"Who, Ford?" That black menace was looking for a target, and if it couldn't find the right one it was liable to settle for the nearest one.

"Khan Koshan," Sophie said very quietly.

They both saw understanding come to the Russian enforcer almost immediately. His mouth opened, but he snapped it shut with the same motion. "It would be him," he muttered tightly after a long moment. When the waiter returned he was instructed to leave the bottle, and Vanya poured himself another shot that he merely played distractedly with before he leaned back with a nod. "I will wire your payment."

"We're not off the job," Sophie told him.

"This is not for you. I'm not even sure who -"

"Fedorov, you don't understand," Nate worked on organizing his thoughts. He picked up his shot of vodka and took a moment to organize his words as well. "He already knows we're involved. We can't be off the case." He downed the vodka with a grimace.

"Ah." Vanya stared thoughtfully at his drink. "It was not my intention to put you in the line of fire, you and your people."

"I know." Nate shrugged minutely. "I took the job to prove you wrong."

The Russian snorted laughter at that. "Well."

"What can you tell us about him?" Sophie asked delicately.

"About the Raven?" Vanya sighed. "The old stories are full of him. He's a meddler, a manipulator. He will come to you when you need help, and make promises. He will offer what you want, disguising it as what you need. He does not betray, understand that. He merely uses your own desires against you. Tricks of words and gifts."

"He's a grifter." Sophie smiled wryly.

"Not a very good one, but yes."

"What about his heart?" Nate asked.

"The stories or the jewel?" Fedorov asked, confused.

"See, he knows about the jewel."

Nate rubbed his forehead. "You know what, let's get the easy one out of the way. The jewel."

Fedorov shot Sophie an amused looked. "The Emerald Heart of Koschei the Deathless. It's supposed to be an African emerald the size of a man's fist, set in platinum and diamonds. A myth, a fairy tale, if it weren't because the story doesn't fade, because the descriptions always match. Everyone knows about the Heart, but no one has ever seen it."

"I told you," she declared smugly.

Nate chose to move onto a fight he had a moderate hope of winning. "And the other half?"

"We've been told," Sophie offered, "that he took out his heart to give to a woman, as proof of his love. That her rejection poisoned it, and him." She sipped at her water. "Our source thinks that last bit is bull."

"Your source is well-informed," the Russian grinned, "and smart. You have the bare measure of a truth. He did cut out his heart. He did mean to give it to a woman - to his mentor, the one who taught him everything. As proof of her love for him, he wanted her to take on the burden of keeping it safe."

"Ah," Nate breathed.

"Well, of course she would refuse," Sophie declared, toying with the envelope.

"She did not refuse," Fedorov corrected her. "But there was a trap in the heart, a means for him to steal her power, if she had agreed. So she simply did not take it. That limbo is what cursed the heart. She wouldn't take it with the trap, he wouldn't surrender it without her agreement. It bound them together."

"He's just greedy, isn't he?" Sophie declared.

"My milk-mother used to say he is lost to what he sees but cannot hold. A hungry man at a banquet that does not realize he cannot possibly eat all the food there, wants to hoard it all for himself because hunger tells him so. So it is with him and magic."

"Your what?" Nate blinked at the archaism.

"I think the closest English word is nursemaid. The one who took over when my mother died." He grinned thinly. "The one I did not grow up with, of course."

"Mm. In those vast, wild Vladivostok forests," Nate added mildly.

"Just so."

Sophie held up the envelope. Fedorov scowled and took it. "My uncle wants me to go to some sort of art auction. A private affair. He wants me to meet the people there, people who will help with our business, he says."

"You should go," Nate said mildly.

Vanya blew out an irritated breath. "Ford -"

"You should take Ekaterina with you."

The Russian ran out of words mid-sentence.

"It is an art auction," Ekaterina's pleasant Russian burr pointed out. "It is sensible to bring a curator if you mean to bid, no?"

He stared at her in shock, unable to see Sophie past Ekaterina. "How -?!" He threw his hands up, rejecting that line of questioning, laced them before him on the table, and stared levelly at both of them. "Why?"

"Bunch of reasons, really," Nate admitted readily. "I suspect it might be the site of the next 'incident'. I think your Raven's going to be there."

"Will Grandmother be there?"

"I'm not sure yet, but odds say yes."

"And you're sure she's the target?"

"As sure as I can be of anything at this point," the mastermind admitted wryly.

Fedorov seemed to think deeply on all of this. Nate refilled his vodka shot. Sophie picked up her water.

It nearly ended up all over her lap when someone bumped her chair. "Excuse me!" she exclaimed, turning around. It was their waiter. He was walking by, sedately, slowly. His shoulders were twitching minutely. The air smelled of the sea. A flute was trilling quietly.

Sophie frowned.

Where was the guitar?

Where were the three arguing men?

Why did the sea smell wrong?

"Nate," she said. Just the one word. Her tone was all the warning he needed to immediately abandon whatever conversation he'd been having with Fedorov and look around.

"Where is everyone." It wasn't even a question from Vanya; his hand was already under his coat.

"They left." Nate reached out a hand and put it on the enforcer's arms. "Maybe we should do the same."

Sophie was already on her feet. Automatically, responding to all she'd seen on the last few days, she grabbed the salt shaker from the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the mastermind put a hand over the lapel of his coat and twitch, fighting the urge to jerk it away, but just barely.

The waiter met the manager before the front door. They each opened one half of it, moving with the jerky, uncertain motions of puppets at a show. A delicate breeze swept in.

"Thank you, thank you, so kind, so sweet," the trill of the flute sang in Russian, a woman's voice of such utter beauty that it hardly seemed real. "Such kind children, such sweet children, you should sleep, yes. Sleep, sleep, sleep." The heads of both men lolled down, boneless, and they fell obediently asleep on their feet

Sophie smelled burning silk. Without looking, she knew the cheap tin pin had just burned a hole in her dress.

Something as large as a horse slipped carefully past the open door. The wisteria blossoms began to sizzle and burn out.

Sophie backed away a step.

"Kitchen," Nate whispered.

The thing at the door immediately whipped around, long neck twisting like a snake. A woman's face, flat and unearthly, cocked at them.

Fedorov caught Nate's shoulder. The gesture was so quick that it drew the attention of both mastermind and grifter. The Russian put two fingers to his mouth.

The thing at the door trilled, the flute's song rising in an inquisitive note. "Are there little ones here?" The creature hummed to itself, its voice a singsong. "In here, but there's out there. In here, but there's games to play. In here, but there's fun to have. Out, out, little children, out to play." It stepped forward and the last of the lights burned out.

Sophie stepped carefully out of her shoes. Silence, Fedorov had gestured. Did that mean the thing was blind? That it needed sound to find them? She picked up a piece of silverware from the table and flung it across the restaurant. The sound of it clattering was frighteningly loud in the quiet.

The thing was suddenly immense, five times its original size, hissing like a teakettle. "Silver. Knife." The flute turned into an angry, plucking violin. "No. Not the little ones."

Nate and Sophie crossed a look, then glanced at Fedorov. The three of them were backing away to one end of the bar. The Russian enforcer bumped a chair and they all froze.

The thing jumped onto a table. In the dim light from the streetlights outside, struggling through the frosted windows, Sophie saw immense talons, like an owl's, sprawled on the pristine tablecloth. Glass went tumbling down to shatter on the floor. The thing's neck swung this way and that in a way that was inhuman, but still maddeningly familiar. A vast train of some sort followed it.

Then it unfolded its wings in response to the breaking glass, and Sophie had to bite back a little sound of disbelief. It was a bird. A bird with a woman's face and a woman's voice attached to a serpentine neck, a raptor's body, with a peacock's tail, with talons that could all too readily go through one of them and poke out the other side, with a voice that could charm people into doing whatever it wanted them to do.

A bird, that ruthless part of her mind that never slept pointed out, that had shepherded everyone out, that was still trying to shepherd everyone out.

Why?

She peeked quickly at Fedorov. He looked tense and keenly focused. She and Nate had an excuse; why was Fedorov unaffected?

She lifted a hand, catching both men's attentions. The grifter pointed at the creature, and then at Vanya. His expression ran through surprise, fury, resignation, and then stone-cold defiance.

The creature laughed, and the flute came back, lilting and merry. "Silly silly silly bird, broke the cup, broke the bed," it sang, almost to itself. "Now where where where is the little one, the little prince. Where does he play, where does he hide? Come out to play, little prince, come out to sing, come out to dance, come out, come out, it's time for bed, it's time to go."

It crouched down and leapt at the table where the three of them had been sitting, talons leading. It cut it to pieces effortlessly, slid past, crashed into a chair. Everything went flying in an almighty cacophony of broken wood and torn fabric, breaking glass and tinkling silverware. It flapped immense wings to catch itself and whipped around. "Caught you!" she sang triumphantly.

The three of them were already around the bar and hurrying along in the dark as much as they could, freezing when the sounds of mayhem died on the other side of the counter. Nate peeked over it briefly.

The bird-creature was crouched over the table, neck arched. She was sniffing at the mess she'd made. A low, disconcerted little sound came out of her and her head came up, cocked this way and that. In the gloom her eyes shone dull and white, like a snake's when it's ready to shed. "Not here? Yes here. Not here but yes here, where here?"

Without warning she leapt to the bar counter. Nate dropped down hastily. Fedorov dropped to a crouch.

Sophie opened the salt shaker and poured the contents out in a shaky circle around her bare feet. She then picked up two glasses, found the bottle she needed on the shelf and straightened up. "Sorry," she said calmly in Russian. "You just missed him."

The bird-woman launched herself directly at Sophie, and crashed to a skidding halt on the counter before the grifter, wings half-mantled, head bobbing. "Are you dangerous? Are you mean?" the violin shrilled. "I will gut you, I will flay you, I will eat your -"

"Stop," Sophie said, sounding bored. She put down the two glasses and grabbed the bottle, pouring two generous portions of vodka. "We're both here for the same reason."

"We are not!" the creature drew up straight, then sniffed. Hesitated. "Are we?"

"We're both here to protect Fedorov." Sophie picked up her glass, paused. "Unless you're not. In which case we do have a problem. You are here to keep him safe?"

"I am," the bird agreed at once. "Not safe out here. Too many eyes and ears and tongues." The long neck twisted around. "How to know you're not one of them? Dancing dancing dancing on the strings. Perhaps I should gut you and find out from your entrails after all."

"Fat lot of good my entrails would do you right now." Sophie slid the bottle aside. "Look, we both have the same job, we both bungled it. He had an argument with his uncle -" She kicked at Nate, who was too aghast to start moving when he should've, and finally the two idiots underfoot started creeping away. "- and you know how men get when they're upset. So. I'm thinking I should go to all the places I know of that he likes or something. Start all over again."

The bird drew herself up stiffly, insulted. "All entrails are useful if you know how to read them," she declared haughtily.

"I'm sure the entrails have a lot to say. I wasn't talking about them," Sophie shot back sharply.

The bird huffed, then ducked her head. "I should not have come," she admitted mournfully, her voice a haunting, low woodwind. "Not right now. Two days, maybe three, it would have been fine. Oh, I should not have come."

"But you did," Sophie held up the glass and tapped her nail lightly against it. "Taste of home?"

"Oh, I shouldn't."

"Who's going to tell?"

The creature licked her lips. An immense taloned foot came up and caught the glass, and she sipped at the vodka. "Oh, like home, like home," she hummed.

"Right?" Sophie tapped her glass against the bird's, and they both drank. "Well, I might go check his home, maybe his office -"

"I went to his worky-work nest. He was not there."

"Eh, men are strange like that. They like to put their nose to the grindstone when something upsets them, he might go back if his mood's black enough."

"Too true, too true," the bird agreed. Nate and Fedorov were already disappearing past the kitchen doors. "Who are you? What are you? All I smell is silk and flowers." She paused, finished her drink. "And vodka."

"Wouldn't you like to know," Sophie said, letting just a touch of smugness seep into her tone. "Well, I'm off if you don't have anything useful to add. Can't let him get too far ahead of me."

"Pah. Groundbound thing."

Sophie recoiled and shot right back. "Blind old hen."

"I will get my eyes back," the bird countered with angry dignity. "You'll not grow wings if you don't have them already!"

"I haven't needed them yet."

The creature shrilled at Sophie, an angry teakettle whistle, and hopped down from the counter. "No groundbound thing will beat me to my charge!" She flapped her way to the door and charged out into the night, airborne and away in a second, taking with her the sound of flutes and the scent of the Balkan Sea.

Sophie slithered down to the floor behind the counter, shaking like a leaf. She was still there when Nate came back looking for her, clinging to the glass of vodka as if it were a life-raft, but she threw it away and clung desperately to the mastermind instead with a strangled little sound.

"What were you thinking?!" he demanded.

She gave him a shaky little grin. "I'm a grifter," was all she said.

[thearsenalofmegadeth]

0. 5'5 (friedman sized)

1. 14

2. 9.5 (womens)

3. weed, yes

4. yes

5. not anymore

6. anywhere between 16-19 ☹️

7. too young

8. maybe

9. my ears

10. my ears are enough but maybe my nose or my eyebrow pierced

11. my friend vicky or um... nick, maybe maybe not

12. single

13. long hair, good personality, funny, caring, gentle but can be rough

14. mean but in a serious way, can't take a joke, smells like they haven't showered for 2 months

15. don't have one, fav docu is the making of youthanasia (if its even a docu idk)

16. you like thrash, support lgbtq and have long, clean hair

17. my ex bsf (she just randomly blocked me last month)

18. drowning (like almost literally) or fainting over an allergic reaction to a chemical

19. i'm stubborn and bitchy but im nice trust me

20. my body type

21. my hair or my eyes

22. i wanna play in a band and maybe open a music store

23. siblingless moment

24. love them, they argue quite a bit but i love them

25. record shopping and dinner at a park under the stars

26. untuned guitars, loud chewing, squeaking in my mouth

27. i don't have a crush rn

28. really curly blonde hair, blue eyes (not james hetfield guys.)

29. for my own safety

30. going, straight up just going

31. "are you coming over tomorrow" (to my cousin)

32. one person's name that i will not say

33. being called pretty, just bc

34. long pretty hair, boobs, ya

35. long hair, moobies, plump lips, just, ya

36. germany or smth

37. my hipdips

38. astronaut

39. chocolate chip cookie dough

40. more myself

41. in bed

42. a poptart

43. dave mustaine

44. dave mustaine peed on the floor of a white house bathroom ☺️

nosy anons let's go

0: Height

1: Age

2: Shoe size

3: Do you smoke?

4: Do you drink?

5: Do you take drugs?

6: Age you get mistaken for

7: Have tattoos?

8: Want any tattoos?

9: Got any piercings?

10: Want any piercings?

11: Best friend?

12: Relationship status

13: Biggest turn ons

14: Biggest turn offs

15: Favorite movie

16: I’ll love you if…

17: Someone you miss

18: Most traumatic experience

19: A fact about your personality

20: What I hate most about myself

21: What I love most about myself

22: What I want to be when I get older

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

25: My idea of a perfect date

26: My biggest pet peeves

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend

30: What I hate the most about work/school

31: What my last text message says

32: What words upset me the most

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

34: What I find attractive in women

35: What I find attractive in men

36: Where I would like to live

37: One of my insecurities

38: My childhood career choice

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

40: Who I wish I could be

41: Where I want to be right now

42: The last thing I ate

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately

44: A random fact about anything

[andyouweremine]

I posted 1,499 times in 2022

70 posts created (5%)

1,429 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@absentlyabbie

@gffa

@perioddramasource

@obscure-sentimentalist

@itwaswhileyouweresleeping

I tagged 1,115 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#star wars - 98 posts

#nancy drew - 72 posts

#nancy x ace - 67 posts

#bridgerton - 44 posts

#persuasion 2022 - 33 posts

#kris writes - 27 posts

#obi wan disney - 27 posts

#obi wan spoilers - 26 posts

#leverage - 21 posts

#legacies - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 115 characters

#like i've been on this earth 30+ years and i've never understood going out and having sex with a practical stranger

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

and now you're beside me (and look how far we've come)

(5107 words) by always_a_queen

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Nancy Drew (TV 2019)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Ace/Nancy Drew

Characters: Nancy Drew, Ace (Nancy Drew)

Additional Tags: Forehead Kisses, 5 Times, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Dancing, Slow Burn, Requited Love, Post-Season/Series 02

Summary:

When the door creaks open sometime in the late afternoon, she assumes it’s her dad. Figuring he’ll assume she’s asleep—she’s trying to, her throat feels raw and her head is pounding—Nancy doesn’t bother to lift her head to look. It’s only when she hears her name spoken softly that she realizes the person who just came in is not Carson Drew. Or Ryan Hudson. It’s Ace.

Or: Five times Ace Kisses Nancy on the Forehead.

24 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

#4

sometimes a family is an ordinary redhead bartender, the heir to the magic world’s mafia, the kid whose parents own hogwarts, the orphan with literal inner demons, and the most notorious rogue of all time who is no-so-secretly a marshmallow

29 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

#3

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Nancy Drew (TV 2019)

Relationship: Ace/Nancy Drew

Characters: Ace (Nancy Drew), Nancy Drew

Additional Tags: Episode Fix-it, Fix-It, Morse Code, Requited Love, no beta we die like nancy's moms

Summary:

Before Nancy puts her hand on that knife, before Ace blips back into existence and she wraps her arms tight around him, before all of that, Nancy feels the faint tapping again.

It’s not Ace’s name this time or even a foggy explanation of what happened to him.

It’s just dot-dot, then a pause. Enough time for Nancy to fill in the letter. I. Then, dot-dash-dot-dot. L.

Ill? Illegal? Illegitimate?

Three dashes, and her heart is in her throat. That’s an O.

---

Post 3.10, "The Confession of the Long Night". There's one more thing Ace needs to tell Nancy before he blips out of existance.

30 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

#2

So the last time I got sick and ran to the store for supplies I bought extra and made myself an Emergency Sick Kit, and I know this sounds super simple and adult, but MAN it’s was such a lifesaver this week when my throat started hurtling last Thursday.

In the kit:

Canned Chicken Noodle Soup (put in bowl, put bowl in microwave, let brothy soup soothe sore throat). I’ve also snagged chicken and rice, potato soup, tomato soup, anything easily sipable or something that wouldn’t irritate my throat. 

Jello (pour in bowl, pour hot water in bowl, stir, pour cold water in bowl, stir, throw in fridge overnight, enjoy soft goodness on sore throat) (honestly, jello works better for me to relieve some of the throat ache than a lot of things)

Applesauce (decent shelf life. rotate out. pour. enjoy. fridge after opening.)

I also like oatmeal as it’s filling and easy on my throat and I can put honey in it. I never see it mentioned as a sick-food, but I like it and it lasts well. I eat it fairly regularly for breakfast so whenever I get a new box from the store I rotate the old stuff out. 

Saltines. (for the stomach upsets)

Ginger ale. (also for the stomach upsets)

Tea. (my throat and I swear by this one) (and honey if you want it)

Cough drops. (a brand you like and or find helpful. I like Ricola, personally)

Vaseline or other ointment or Chapstick (for that ow between your nose and upper lip from blowing your nose all the time)

Emergen-C. You may also want Gatorade. If you like Gatorade. Which I do not, really. You might also want just regular vitamin C.

Over the counter cold meds. You know what you like to use/what works well for you. Ask your doctor or pharmacist if you’re taking other medications so there are no negative interactions. 

I also, having had sinus issues in the past, 100% recommend using a Neti-pot or other sinus rinse because MAN it helps SO MUCH. I like the squeeze bottles. 

Vicks vapo-rub. I’ve yet to try the lavender but it sounds WAY more pleasant.

Hand Sanitizer. (especially if you live with another person. sharing is not caring)

Thermometer. 

I’d also recommend any other easy-to-make foods if you’re cooking for yourself. I used the sore throat friendly foods while I had the sore throat, and then once the sickness morphed more into more congestion I went for other simples, like pb&j. 

Anyway, being sick sucks, but being sick and feeling like you need to run to the store while sick sucks more so instead of doing that just prepare with a little at a time per-grocery run and then when The Sickness Hits you’ll have an arsenal of things to feel better.

58 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Librarians of tumblr, recently my (public, not school) library introduced self-checkout, which I’ve been using because pandemic. (They also have the option for no-contact-pickup, which I have also used periodically. I call in, read off my library card, and they bring my holds items out onto a table outside.)

The self-checkout is just SO easy, especially if I’m running in to pick up something I didn’t put a hold on. I just scan my card and put my books/media on a little reader and it checks them out for me and emails me my receipt.

My concern is: Will this negatively impact librarians jobs? Is it better for me to call in and do no-contact pick-up, or take my books to the front desk for a librarian to check out? Or is this a ‘no, because of pandimic your librarians probably appreciate you using the self check out, but once it stops go back to using the front desk’?

Genuinely curious because I love my librarians and my library and want to keep them around.

460 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mjilightworker]

The Duality Of Humankind

The Duality Of Humankind

Your soul-spirit was created with the Word written in your heart. God created you in perfection. The natural man or the outward man began in the Garden of Eden where you were “formed.” Thus creating a “dualism” between the flesh-mind and the spirit-soul which was created in heaven.

Jer 31:33  But this shall be the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel; After those days, saith the LORD, I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people.

1Co 15:44-45  It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. And so it is written, The first man Adam was made a living soul; the last Adam was made a quickening spirit.

“Sown” in the Hebrew has the meaning “through the idea of extending, to scatter or sow, (literal or figuratively).”  

“Quickening” in the Greek is a revitalization. The revitalization is no more than the true spiritual self overcoming the mind-flesh self.

Adam being the representative of the first created soul of all humankind. Thus humankind being the last man Adam by way of regeneration or being born again.

Gal 3:3  Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?

Heb 8:10  For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord; I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people: 

We discern everything from the flesh mind. To know your higher self even exists, it is constantly in a battle for your thoughts-actions when your higher self awareness is realized.

First reactions are of the mind-ego and not your true higher self. Knowing your higher self, which is pure love and truth, having the awareness to discern from your mind-thought self, making it easier to discern truth from a lie providing your thinking is from your higher self.

Scripture makes the distinction of two separate selves numerous times.

1Co 2:14 But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned. 

Jude 1:19  These be they who separate themselves, sensual, having not the Spirit. 

Rom 7:22  For I delight in the law of God after the inward man:

2Co 4:16  For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

1Peter 3:4  But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.

Rom 8:9  But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his.

Christ has not gone anywhere. The flesh masks the appearance of Christ and false teachings from the perspective of there being a separation.

Pro 8:13  The fear of the LORD is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate.

1Sa 2:3  Talk no more so exceeding proudly; let not arrogancy come out of your mouth: for the LORD is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed.

The ego, being of the outer self or natural body, can be a positive image of oneself or a negative one. Usually, it includes both positive and negative aspects. The ego contains the individual's sense of self-worth, self-confidence and self-esteem. It has desires such as wealth, prestige and success.

1John 2:16  For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. 

Arrogance and pride begin from the ego. Your ego is a mental organ that functions in the structure of our personality creating emotions in our lives.

It hides behind opinions that have the “appearance” to be in truth.

Generates deceptive powerful emotional reactions and blames us or others for how it makes us feel.

The ego produces a false sense of protection based upon events of the past that establishes an opinion related to future events. A false sense of protection because ego can not predict the future nor establish any basis on an event being in truth. This emotional reaction is not from your spiritual self but rather from your flesh physical mind-brain and can be manifested by your senses into your reality, or simply kept within the mind.

With your ego not being able to predict the future, and its basis for protection is from the past, how can that be any assurance of correctly seeing a future event?

If you are “sealed” with the Holy Spirit of God, what is the need for your ego to “protect” you or lead you into false thoughts?

Eph 4:30 And grieve not the holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption.

Every created soul is no different then the next created soul other then in personality-conscience. God's love is always the same in any given instance or situation no matter what loves or evils are manifested in the mind or from the senses. God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit has not gone anywhere.

The understanding is in knowing that Creation has within truth and goodness. All of Creation is linked together and have equal importance no matter what the “mind” thinks and the senses “feel.”

Think past the weakness of the flesh-mind-ego unto the truth of your created spirit-soul knowing that God did not create some flawed soul that seems to think it needs to protect itself.

As Jesus said; "and if thou wilt be perfect," (Eph 4:13) till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ”, your mind-brain, your deciding consciousness, is the freedom of choice in "goodness" or "from the error of his way." (James 5:20)

Since God is good and love, the closer you get to living this life in that realm, the closer to God you will be balancing heaven or hell within you in your present life. Our perception of what we call reality; life through our interpretation are experiences.

Awareness through your higher selves consciousness should be your reality in your present “time.” Your created spirit-consciousness is not in time. Time is a construct from your conscious mind-brain.

And saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel. (Mark 1:15) Is not the kingdom within you? (Luke 17:21)

Since God's work is finished, (Gen 2:1 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.) The heavens have no time, therefore all is in the present, and since you control your world, your thinking should be from your spirit-soul not your mind-ego.

Trusting in God's perfect plan.

Mat 10:28-31  And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. 

These verses of Matthew are interesting. Fear not humankind that can kill the body and not able to kill the soul. One of them shall NOT fall on the ground without your Father. Every moment of your eternal existence, God has full knowledge and control.

The “him” that is able to destroy both soul and body in hell is the self. The “hell” that a soul experiences in the soul living from life to life in the progression to the balance in favor to heaven within.

Life is an illusion produced by your conscience. Your created reality is consciousness manifested by your senses.

MJI (LightWorker)

[yamikawas]

U two have great chemistry <3

THIS IS TOO CUTE IM LITERALLY GOING TO DIE /POS<3

[lesbianpikachuu]

I'll give you the biggest hug ever honeybunny! I love you so much~!

-Yoomtah

INSERT GAY SQUEALING HERE<3<<<3<3<3<3<3<>>3<<>3<3<3<3<3<<3<33<<<<3<<4<<4<3<<3>33<<3<3<3<<3<<3<33<2<3

[kryptonitejelly]

Flyboy (Part 5) | Jake Seresin x Reader  Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader  Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers Warnings: tw: violence; tw: being hit on; tw: unwanted physical advances from some creep tw: suggestiveness (no outright smut, but nudity, touching, ass squeezing, etc - MINORS DNI) general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies. Length: Mini-series, chaptered - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue 

Summary: Jake gets called back to TOPGUN the same time you’ve been granted a sabbatical from work. He invites you, his purely platonic best friend of years, to live with him for 6 months and you accept. Just two best friends kicking it back for 6 months in San Diego, Fightertown USA, right?

A/N: Aaaaand Part 5, before we move on to the last, and final Part 6 (and of course, the epilogue). I am super excited for Part 6 (because I literally have had the end to Part 6 written out for a while now) and the epilogue, but at the same time, I don’t want Flyboy to end :’( Work is going to be crazy in the coming week, so please be patient with me on Part 6! As usual, thank you all for your likes, comments and reblogs, so many of you are honestly so fucking sweet. I love you all, you guys have really motivated me to finish this mini-series <33 I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed reading your comments, reblogs (esp the ones where ya’ll QUOTE????)

Also, yes, I know they aren’t a couple (but really, they are) - but just trust me please, it will all go somewhere.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist

(If you haven’t already seen them - blurbs and asks (one-shots coming soon) are also listed on the Flyboy masterlist!)

Flyboy - Part 5

PART 4 <<

Approximately 5.3k words

It is the loud ringing of an alarm, the persistent noise growing louder by the second, that pulls you from your sleep. As your mind adjusts to being awake, you recognise the alarm as Jake’s. You typically don’t wake up with Jake’s alarm, because unlike today, he usually manages to get to it immediately after the first ring.

You feel a dip in the mattress and hear a faint clatter as he shifts to swipe his phone off the bedside table. Jake silences the alarm, and you hear a quiet, barely audible sigh from him. The mattress dips for a second time as he arches his back to stretch himself out. The faint rustling of sheets follow and the trickle of cool air under the covers and the loss of warmth beside you tells you that he is about to slip out of bed for the day.

You don’t open your eyes, mind still hazed from sleep, but reach out blindly, fingers managing to curl around his forearm. You feel the muscles in his forearm flex in surprise as a response. Jake is not entirely sure if you are awake, or if this is a reflex of yours while you are asleep, and you feel the fingers from his other arm over yours, attempting to gentle uncurl your fingers from his arm.

“Don’t go.” You mumble without opening your eyes, voice soft, foggy from being half awake, but a clear indication to him that you are indeed not fully asleep. It earns you the quiet rumble of a chuckle, and fingers which skim across your face brushing hair back behind your ears as a thumb runs across your cheekbone.

“Go back to sleep.” His voice, coated with his own haze of sleep, is deeper than usual.

Jake stills, feeling your fingers loosen their hold against his arm, and your arm droop back onto the bed. He hears your breathing settle back into a steady pattern and slowly, silently, extracts himself while biting back another sigh, his second of the morning. The Navy had made Jake a morning person and waking up had not been an issue for him for years; since he had been in the Naval Academy, but the past three weeks of waking up to you had him strangely reluctant to leave you in the mornings, struggling to start his day.

Jake flicks the light switch to the bathroom on before cracking open the door. He turns, to glance back at the unmoving heap in his bed which the sliver of light from the bathroom falls on, hidden by the covers and existing within the ridiculous heap of pillows that you had moved from your bed to his, and slips into the bathroom to face his own reflection in the mirror, smiling back at him.

-

You wake up to a barrage of notifications on your phone.

Coyote: Why….

Fanboy: It was supposed to be fried chicken Friday :-( Fitch says to tell you he is sulking.

Rooster: Hangman told us to order chicken. It isn’t the same.

Bob: Have fun at dinner!

Payback: I’m sulking.

Tash: Dear lord, I have never seen a bunch of grown men so depressed over chicken.

Bob: But can we please have fried chicken Friday next week?

Tash: Who are you and Hangman meeting for dinner? He refuses to tell. Also, are we are still on for the beach tomorrow?

Rooster: Can we come for dinner?

Coyote: Consider my heart broken.

You find yourself equal parts amused and confused as you scroll through the individual notifications from each person. You had made fried chicken once in the almost 3 months since the group of you had been here, following the recipe you had learnt from Jake’s mother years ago during a break when you were both home from college, and it had the group floored. They had begged and wheedled for another round, which you had been reluctant to give in to, because the clean up from deep frying was always horrendous. However, after weeks of persistent pleading, you had finally succumbed and today had been designated as the long awaited fried chicken Friday.

Locating Jake’s name, you shoot off a text while still lying in bed.

Is fried chicken Friday cancelled?

Jake’s response is immediate.

J: Yes. I’m taking you out for dinner.

His response makes you smile, your heart flipping in your chest. Neither you nor Jake had discussed, or spoken more about what you both were since the beach football day, but unlike the build up between Annie’s wedding and that one fateful day, there was no longer a stretched out, building tension between you both. Instead, what existed was a mutual understanding which you both felt. You were his, and he was, undoubtedly yours. What you had both agreed on however, in words, was maintaining, or trying to maintain, the status quo with the people around you - it wasn’t hiding, just keeping what was yours, yours for a little longer.

You know that peanuts and beers at The Hard Deck does not count as dinner.

You send off your reply as a joke, only to have your phone buzz in response, Jake’s face flashing across your home screen.

“What kind of heathen do you think I am.” His voice comes across the line in an amused drawl and you can hear the sound of voices behind him fade as he walks away to find some semblance of privacy.

“The kind that brings a girl for peanuts and beers and calls it dinner.”

It earns you a bark of laughter, and you can almost picture the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.

“I’ll be back at 6.30.”

“I’ll bring a bag for the shells.” You say, keeping your voice impassive. You can’t see across the phone line, but it makes Jake grin on the other end before he drops his voice.

“Darlin, I guarantee you that if any, you’ll only be having one type of nuts.”

You can hear the smirk tilting his lips even through the phone. It is clear that it is a joke, but you groan loudly at the incredibly bad sexualised innuendo, while making a face which Jake can hear through the line.

“God, you’re awful.” Your response only earns you a guffaw from him which rings loud and clear over the phone.

-

You find yourself sitting on your bed, covers intact, but devoid of any pillows, body wrapped in a towel, eyes staring into our open closet. You had moved yourself, all your pillows and a choice number of toiletries to Jake’s room and bathroom, but had kept the rest of your belongings, including your clothes, in your original room.

“Do I wear jeans?” You call out loudly, hoping that your voice manages to travel out of the door that is ajar, and down the hallway and to Jake, as you slide off the bed into a stand, to rifle through the garments hanging in your closet.

“Wear whatever you want.” You hear Jake’s voice call back and you can’t help but roll your eyes lightly.

“Do I wear a dress?” You try again, ignoring his answer. He hadn’t told you where you were both going, and you were probing, trying to get a sense of what would be an appropriate dress code. You don’t hear a response as you flick through the hangers, your mind focused on the rustle of fabric and scrape of hanger hooks against the metal pole in the closet.

“You could wear a potato sack, I’ll still take you out.” The sound of Jake’s voice in your ear, the feel of lips against your earlobe and the weight of his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you flush against his body causes you to jump in surprise.

“Are you trying to kill me.” You puff out, attempting to adopt a affronted tone, but your body betrays your words as you relax into his hold.

“Kill you?” Jake asks, in between trailing kisses down the column of your neck, and onto your bare shoulder. “Never.”

It had come as no surprise to you, because Jake had always been comfortable with physical touch with you even as friends, but being with Jake had showed you a whole new side to him, and also to himself. Whether it was running his fingers through your hair while you watched a show together, tugging you towards him before he fell asleep, having his lips on some part of you every chance his got, or subtly placing his hand on your thigh under the table whenever you were together with other people in a group - you (and he himself), had come to realise that Jake always wanted some part of you against him.

You feel his hand work his way in between the fold of your towel, dipping behind the material to come to rest on the skin of your stomach.

“Jake,” you warn, and you can feel his smile against your shoulder as his lips continue against your skin.

“What?” He asks innocently, but lets his hand dip down, grazing skin right above the waistband of your underwear. You feel his thumb swipe lazily along the front of your underwear and you shake your head slightly. Two could play at that game.

“Do that,” you say and twist in his arms. It forces him to move his head up, allowing you to plant your lips at the base of his neck to suck lightly at his skin, “and we won’t make dinner.” You tip toe, lips moving higher along his neck, the stretch of your body causing the towel around you to drop, leaving your body bare, and you in nothing but a thong.

The drop of the towel causes him to groan, allowing Jake to catch sight of you, lips against his neck, back bare, ass cheeks standing out against strip of white lace between them, in the dresser mirror across the room. He reaches his hands down, cupping your ass in his hands, as he allows your lips to continue their work against his neck, as your fingers slide along the inner waistband of his jeans.

“Keeping doing that,” he breathes out, voice slightly rough from the feeling of your lips on his neck, bare breasts, nipples hard and pressing against him, “and we definitely won’t make dinner.” He squeezes your ass cheeks in his palms, and you pull your lips away from his neck, letting your hands come to a rest on his chest. Jake looks down to meet your eyes, which are sparkling with a mischief usually seen in his own, before he feels you press a chaste kiss to his jaw.

“Can I get dressed now?” You ask, while reaching up to run a hand through his hair, causing it to fluff up slightly.

“Please.” Jake meets yours lips with his.

-

“But how could you have not read even one review.” You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you shake your head ruefully.

“It said washable on the box in the picture,” he shrugs as he squeezes your hand, which he has interlaced with his, lightly as if to punctuate his point. “It also said ages 2 and up.”

“Did she make you buy a new chair?” You glance over at Jake, taking in his side profile, his outfit of a brown bomber jacket, grey tee and dark jeans making the dark blonde of his hair and green of his eyes pop even more than usual.

“She did,” he grimaces, “cost me a bloody fortune.”

“And did she throw the markers away.” You tease to which he nods, his expression as he recounts the whole situation he had been retelling - of him buying his niece ‘washable’ markers, which she had promptly used to decorate Jake’s older sister’s brand new white, designer, armchair - making you chuckle.

Jake had, true to his word, driven you both to the main city area, and brought you out for dinner. It had, undoubtedly been a nice change of pace, away from the group of aviators, and being amongst complete strangers which had allowed you both to just be yourselves, together. It had given you the freedom to tuck yourself under his arm and slide your hand into his back pocket while waiting for your table at the restaurant, allowed him the liberty to slide his fingers together with yours as you walked down the street, and raised the opportunity for him to freely press numerous kisses to your temple, forehead, lips and jaw in public over the course of the evening. The conversation between you both was the same as it had always been, circling everything and anything. Being together in other ways hadn’t changed that.

“Immediately,” he responds. You open your mouth to speak, when a tap on your shoulder interrupts.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you both could help me and my husband with a picture?”

You both turn to find yourselves face to face with an older couple on their 50’s.

“Sure,” you respond and Jake lets go of your hand as you receive the phone from the lady. “Just against there?” You point towards her husband, who is standing in front of a small restaurant that looks old, but quaintly so.

“That would be great,” she flashes you a wide smile, before hurrying across to come to a stand beside her husband. You wait for them to position themselves, she sliding her arm around her husband’s waist, and he, his arm around her shoulders, their heads both tilted together. You raise her phone, with a count, and snap a series of photos, Jake standing behind you, his hand positioned lightly against the small of your back.

“All done,” you call out, and the older couple walks towards you. You hand her back her phone, allowing them the time to flip through the pictures, ensuring that they are satisfied.

“They are fantastic, thank you.” The couple beams at you both.

“Special day?” Jake asks, conversationally, and the older man nods.

“It’s our 30th anniversary,” he says, and throws a fond look which his wife meets with equal emotion, “we met here,” he gestures behind towards the restaurant, “30 years ago.”

“That’s impressive,” Jake returns, his words referencing to both the length of their relationship, as well as the restaurant that has remained standing, as both your gazes dart towards the restaurant before going back to the older couple.

“Well,” the older lady laughs, as she tucks her phone back into her bag, before sliding her arm through the nook of her husband’s elbow. “I’m sure you and your wife will make it to 30 years as well.”

She winks, and you feel your face heat. You open your mouth to correct her, only to find Jake sliding his hand back into yours. You turn your head towards him, only to find a smile on his lips.

“M’am,” he drawls, tipping his head at the older lady “I can’t wait.” Jake presses the back of your hand to his lips, not bothering to correct her, before throwing a glance at you, and your heart fills with a warmth, while you meet his glance in a curious wonderment. You hadn’t had any doubt that what was between you and Jake, what this was, was serious, real, despite neither of you having voiced it out - but hearing him say it out loud, not even directly, and so casually as if it were a second nature to him, had your heart doing olympic level somersaults in your chest and your brain turning into mush. You are pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to speak.

-

Jake feels yours eyes focused on him as he drives you both back home. He knows that you think you are being subtle about it, but given that you are lost in your thoughts, you most certainly are not.

“Sweetheart,” he says conversationally, pulling you gently out of your thoughts, “it’s rude to stare.” He reaches over with his right hand to gently squeeze your jean clad thigh, keeping his left hand and gaze on the road.

“When?” You ask him, while simultaneously letting your left hand fall onto his right. Jake flips his palm skywards, catching your fingers in his larger ones, his thumb stroking the back of your fingers lightly.

Jake knows what you are asking even without you having to use too many words; when did your feelings begin?

“Astutely, 6 months before your break up with Dan,” he starts, thumb still stroking against against the back of your fingers as he pauses, “less so since you told me you had started seeing him.” Jake turns to glance at you, as he comes to a stop at a red light. “If I were being completely honest, knowingly or unknowingly, sometime around the last year of high school.”

His confession hits you hard, catches you by surprise, and Jake feels your shock through the grip of your fingers around his. He squeezes back instinctively, offering your reassurance, focusing his gaze on the front of the road as the light flashes back to green.

You stay silent, and he lets you, until the car rolls to a stop in front of another red.

“First year of college, Christmas break.” You say softly, and it’s Jake’s turn to stare at you, dumbfounded, and in complete surprise, his fingers falling lax against your hand. It’s your turn to squeeze his hand, holding it tight in yours.

He recovers, glancing at the rear review mirror, noting that there are no cars, before shifting the car’s gear into park, and jabbing on the hazard light. Jake reaches over the center console, his right hand firm, but gentle, cupping the side of your face and pulling you to him. He stares deep into your eyes, your noses bumping against each other, before he captures your lips with his. This kiss is deep, bruising, but unhurried, and you let him lead you, a sense of calm and peace washing over the both of you, the same question in his mind, mirrored in yours - why the hell, did you both wait so long?

-

“I’m leaving,” you call out, while pulling a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and throwing it into the bag you have slung over your shoulder. You hear the beep of a car horn and chime of your phone, signalling Phoenix's arrival to pick you up.

You are beside the door, hand on the frame, tugging on your sandals when you feel Jake’s hand on your elbow, tugging you around. He smells like a combination of aftershave and soap.

“Don’t burn,” he orders you, as he brushes his lips against yours in a quick kiss.

“You’re bossy,” you say, as you run a hand through his hair, which is still half damp from his shower. You are about to reach up to kiss again him, when Phoenix beeps the horn again, this time longer, and louder.

“Patience is not her strong suit.” Jake says, and you see him roll his eyes. You unlock the door and push down on the handle, stepping out into the sun, hand raised in a wave towards Tash whose hand is hovering above the horn, ready to beep it again.

“I’ll see you at The Hard Deck tonight. Have fun at golf with Javy and Rooster!” You call over your shoulder, managing to catch him shaking his head openly at Tash, judgement on his face. It earns him another beep of her horn, and you turn towards Tash just in time to see her flip Jake off before he shuts the door. It makes you laugh.

-

“He’s hot,” you hear Tash say as you both lie flat on your fronts, the last rays of the evening sun on your backs.

“He’s no Rooster though.” You tease, and she flushes pink.

“Not for me,” she deflects, as she slides her shades down the bridge of her nose, “for you.”

“I’m good Tash.” You laugh, as you turn your attention back to the book in front of you, flipping a page over.

“Come on, don’t you want a vacation fling.”

“Not particularly.”

“He’s coming,” she hisses and you look up just in time to see the man she was talking about, tanned, tall, dark sandy brown hair, approaches.

“My friends and I were going to go in there for a drink, care to join us?” He gestures to his group of 3 friends before pointing towards The Hard Deck.

“We -” Tash starts, and you cut in immediately.

“- are meeting some friends.” You smile, apologetically up at him, your own shades covering your eyes.

“Friends?” The beach stranger asks, with a small laugh, while tilting his head to a side, “or boyfriends?”

“Friends.” Tash affirms for you before you can get a word out. “How about we catch you inside.”

“Sounds good,” he flashes you both a wide smile, and thumbs up, “I’m Paul.” He says, before jogging back to his friends.

“Tash,” you start, only to have her press a finger to your lips.

“Nu-uh, I’m doing this for you, you’ll thank me.”

-

“You guys should come with us the next time.” Coyote tips the mug of beer to his lips.

“You can see Bradshaw make a fool of himself first hand.” Jake chimes in, tone smug and slightly mocking, his words directed at the table, from beside you, his ankle leaning casually, against yours under the table the group is seated at.

“No thanks,” Phoenix snorts as she pops a fry into her mouth. “Golf seems boring. Besides,” she dusts her hands off before propping her elbows on the table and pointing towards you, “we had an arguably more fruitful day than the lot of you.”

“Fruitful?” It’s Fanboy who asks, his head swivelling from Phoenix to you.

“Did you kill someone Trace,” Payback jokes, to a laugh from Bob.

“Little miss here,” she points at you, while wagging her eyebrows, “had the attention of Paul there.” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder in an outright manner, causing the table of aviators around you to carne their heads to stare across the room over at Paul and his friends, before she finishes her sentence “on her the entire afternoon.”

You feel Jake glance at you, brow slightly raised, but expression otherwise unreadable.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you huff, as you take a sip of your beer.

“He was staring at her the whole afternoon,” Tash continues, much to your dismay and you can almost feel Jake bristling slightly beside you. “He introduced himself, and asked us to meet him in here.”

“I didn’t say anything, you said said yes.” You retort, shooting back at her, while you cross one leg over the other under the table to slide your foot up Jake’s calf in an attempt at reassurance.

“The. Whole. Afternoon.” Tash repeats, emphasis each words with a rap of her knuckles on the table.

“You. Are. Crazy.” You rap your knuckles against the table in imitation of her, and it earns you a round of laugher from the table, including from Tash herself. “I’m going to get another drink.” You say aloud, to no one in particular as you stand, pushing back your chair, your clear attempt at avoiding Tash’s persistent attempt to make the conversation about you and Paul.

-

You lean against the bar counter, catching Penny’s eye. She throws you an apologetic look, from across the hectic bar, and you shake your head, letting her know it’s fine and you’ll wait and give her a thumbs up. You twirl your card around in your fingers, tapping the plastic against the counter along with the beat of the music playing from the jukebox when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and a body close to yours, effectively caging you in against the bar counter. You want to think it Jake, but the scent of the cologne pervading your senses tells you that it’s not.

You manage to flip around, your back pressed tight against the bar counter, the edge of the wood pressing into your skin, to come face to face with Paul. The scent of alcohol hits you as he exhales, and a look at his eyes, which are glassy and unfocused, tells you that he has had too much to drink.

“Hey,” he starts, and you can hear that his speech is slurred, “what took you so long. Your friend said you guys would be in here.”

You try to side step your way out, but he leans forward, his hands grabbing onto the bar counter on either side of you, firmly trapping you.

“I need to get back to my friends.” You say, voice firm, as you cross your hands over your chest in defence.

“Sugar,” he starts, and you cringe outrightly at the term, “forget about your friends, you’re here with Paul now.” He leers openly at you, his gaze dipping below your neck, tracing its way down the sundress which you had thrown over your two piece as a cover up.

“Let me out.” You unfold your arms, to push against his shoulder, attempting to force your way out. He doesn’t budge, but chooses instead to grip your upper arm, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Come on now,” he slurs, his fingers bruising into your skin, “why are you playing hard to get now.” He moves his other hand from the counter to run a knuckle down the side of your face, causing you to shudder openly at the contact of his skin with yours. “You and you little friend were lying on that beach the whole afternoon in those small little swimsuits.”

His words make you roll your eyes, anger rising in you.

“It’s a fucking beach Paul.” You shake your head, hitting his hand away from your face. It enrages him, and you see his eyes harden as his hand that is on your upper arm presses more firmly into your skin.

“You little-” He begins to say, and you brace yourself, ready to face him head on, when you see a familiar hand land on his shoulder. Paul stumbles backward as the hand on his shoulder yanks him away from you.

“Stay the fuck away from her.” Jake steps in front of you, putting himself between you and Paul, who has stumbled forward in attempt to regain his balance.

“Who the hell are you.” Paul spits out, but Jake doesn’t budge.

“Get the fuck out of this bar.” Jake says, and you can hear the anger burning in his tone. It’s an anger you have heard many times in your life, particularly so when you both had been young, and Jake had been alot more rash, and less collected than he was now.

“Or what?” Paul challenges, drawing himself up, to his full height, but Jake stands firm in front of you, unfazed as the taller of the two.

“Or,” Jake begins, and you hear a dangerous iciness to his tone that has started to interlace itself with his anger. You glance down, and see his fist balled tight, knuckles white. “I’ll make you sorry for ever touching my girl.” His voice is dangerous quiet, and low enough that only you, him and Paul can hear it.

You see the group of aviators now alerted to the commotion, and picking their way towards the three of you from your left, and Paul’s friends, who you decide look much more sober than he does, rushing over from your right. His friends reach him first, pulling him back just as Paul makes to raise his fist, and Rooster squares himself firmly beside Jake, the two men blocking you from view.

“Leave.” You hear Penny say, her tone cool, hard, angry as well, from behind the counter, and the bar, which has turned collectively to observe, watches, silently, as Paul’s friends drag him and themselves out the door.

-

“You okay?” You feel Penny’s hand on your shoulder, and Rooster’s concerned glance at you.

“I’m ok,” you say, throwing them each a smile, and Rooster nods, his gaze shifting from Jake, who has turned to face both you and Penny, his lips still pressed into a tight line, eyes still clouded with anger. Rooster tilts his head ever so slightly towards Jake, and you tip your head an inch down in a nod. You see him exchange a look with Penny, before both him and Penny back away, her back to the other side of the bar, which has once again started to bustle with noise as if nothing had happened; and Rooster, to gather the group that had managed to make their way halfway over to you, back to their corner, giving you space to deal with Jake.

“Jake.” You call his name, as you reach down to grab his fist, which is still balled up tightly and hanging by his side. He moves his gaze down to look at you, but the anger doesn’t dissipate.

“Jake,” you try again, fingers massaging against the skin of his balled up fist. “I’m fine.” You say and you see his gaze flick immediately to your arm.

“I should have punched that motherfucker.” He seethes, and you move your hand up to grab his wrist instead, squeezing firmly.

“I’m fine.” You emphasise again. You see his gaze begin to soften, and you move your hand up to his waist, your hand darting under his shirt, fingers squeezing lightly against his skin. It does the trick, and you hear a deep exhale from him as his anger begins to ebb away. “Let’s go home?” You ask, your bag already stowed away in his truck.

Jake nods, your last word pulling him back fully.

You both throw a wave at the group of aviators who have returned to their corner, receiving nods of understanding and waves in return, and you tug Jake out of the bar, your hand low and out of their sight, but your fingers interlocked loosely with his, as Jake follows behind you.

-

He comes to a stop in front of his truck, pausing before he unlocks the door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” He says, and it makes you frown.

“Jake,” your tone is disapproving, chastising, as you reach out to slide your hands around his midsection. “I can take care of myself, and you were there plenty soon.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut in with a firm “no”. There is a moment of silence, where Jake’s shoulders tense up, but you rub a hand against his back, pressing your cheek to his chest, grounding him, and he lets the tension go, choosing instead to wrap his arms around you.

-

You both don’t notice Penny watching with a small smile on her lips from behind the bar, looking out of the window as Jake folds into your touch and you mould yourself into him.

“Didn’t know they were together.”

Penny holds her arms over her chest as the bartender, Harry, comes to stand beside her, both watching as you both pull away from each other.

“They aren’t,” she respond, she and Harry watching as Jake says something to which you respond by punching him lightly on the shoulder, attempting to turn away, only for him to laugh before he catches you by the waist and connect his lips to yours.

“Sure looks like they are.”

Penny watches as you fall into the kiss, fully, wholly, completely, despite it being short before pulling away.

“Not officially” she says as Jake opens the door of his truck for you, letting you step up and in, before reaching over to buckle you in, both of you joking with each other, every single ounce of tension and anger from earlier gone, eyes twinkling in the faint glow of the street lamp towering overhead, “but they are.”

Penny had seen plenty of fights in The Hard Deck, and she had seen one too many involving Jake Seresin - but what she had never seen was him, or any man who threw a punch or came close in this bar, for that matter, let go of his anger as quickly as Jake had because of you

“They don’t need to be, to be, huh.” Harry asks as he slings the dishcloth in his hands over a shoulder.

“They’ve always been.” Penny mutters simply as she watches Jake shut your door and jog over to the driver’s side.

>> PART 6

Series taglist: @blue-aconite @rosiahills22 @luckyladycreator2 @britty443 @yanak324 @rule107 @fuckyeahhangman @spidey-d00d @dempy @barista-library @alexwinchester23 @shakira-sasha @bxwitched @lumenseal @obiwankenobis-lap @prettybiching @littlebadariell @actuallybarb @beaner-life-23 @coco-loco-nut @criminalyetminimal @tragzerus @alana4610 @tkmarvel-divergentbish @kilojulietsierra @imagineyneyjr r @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ive-got-more-wit @fuzzy-panda @helloimhereforabit @meowimakellysaurusrex @t-rexs @iangiemae @shawnsthighs @cxit-writes @shanimallina87 @dempy @mell-bell @saynotononsense @justsplendidd @dont-talk-me-down @the-cranck-hobbit @blindedbyyourgrace17 @fandom-life-12 @bxwitched @indynerdgirl @hope-love-equality2 @fangirlofallthings22 @alistocats @callsign-marlie @bellamy1998 @slayry @bladed-planes @turningtoclown @double-j @shanimallina87 @chiffondaydreams @capswife

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT  Vol.5 Sakamaki Kanato [TRACK 1]

Original title: ワガママ

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 5 Sakamaki Kanato

Audio: Here (Huge thank you to @filthyhelplessworld​ for providing the audio!)

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: The title of this track really describes the whole thing perfectly, haha. I have an insane amount of respect for all Kanato stans out there who keep up with this little brat’s selfish behavior because it couldn’t be me. However, I am excited for this CD before of the first 2-3 minutes of the track. I can already tell things are going to get intense.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 1: Selfish

The scene starts outside in the garden.

*Pshhhhhh*

*Thud*

[00:17] “Here you go. I purchased this tea because I figured it would strike your fancy. Since I decided to hold a tea party, I want to thoroughly enjoy it. Take a whiff. Does it not smell wonderful? Darjeeling is very subtle in taste, yet extremely fragrant. It fits you perfectly.”

You fail to respond.

[00:46] “Say, why would you ignore me? I prepared nothing but your favorites today, yet you won’t even say a single thank you...That’s a little strange, don’t you think? Why…? How…? I might as well just enjoy the tea party by myself then.”

You remain quiet.

[01:21] “I suppose you really won’t give me a response. ...You’re acting a little off today. Or is that just my imagination? Ahー Could it be because of that moon? The moon makes us Vampires feel restless inside. Perhaps it has the same effect on humans? Fufu...Fufufufu...Ahahaha!

*Cling*

[02:23] “Come on, you should try your tea before it gets cold. It is much more delicious when enjoyed hot after all. Take a proper look at these flowers I arranged for you!”

*Rustle rustle*

*Shatter*

“Haah...I prepared all of this for you...So be delighted...and smile…Hey? Say something! Look at me! I’m begging you…!!”

You fail to respond once more.

[03:07] “Hey...I’m talking to you…! Sniffle...Uu...WHY WON’T YOU SAY ANYTHING!?”

*SHATTER*

“Ah...Uu...Hic...Aaah...Uu...Why…!? Why!? Why!? Why!? Kuh...Why did you die…? Hey? ANSWER ME!!”

*FLASHBACK STARTS*

*Rustle*

[04:06] “Haah...Scoot a little closer. How am I supposed to suck your blood like this? Did you not hear me when I said I’m feeling unwell? Even having to sit upright in bed is rough. Are you not aware of why people come to the infirmary in the first place? You’re supposed to nurse me back to health, so be a little more considerate at least! ーー Come on, hurry!”

You walk over to the bed.

[04:47] “Took you long enough, gosh…”

You frown.

“...Hm? You’re asking if I’m upset? Hah. And what exactly makes you think that?”

You shrug.

“Hmー You choose to feign ignorance, huh?”

He looks away.

[05:11] “It’s nothing. ...More importantly, hurry up, will you? It’s difficult to drink your blood when you’re standing there, spaced out. Come closer. Don’t make me have to spell it out for you.”

You hesitate.

“...Why are you acting like that? Do you want to upset me?”

You shake your head.

“If you do not, then fix that attitude of yours.”

You finally step closer.

[05:50] “Exactly. You should have just kept quiet and obeyed me from the very beginning. ...Come on, now kneel down. I’ll suck your blood.”

*Rustle*

“Keep still? Ah…”

Kanato bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

[06:22] “Mmh…It’ll hurt if you move, remember?”

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...Hah...Didn’t I just tell you to keep still!? Aah...Or do you want it to hurt, perhaps? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

“Fufufu...~ So you actually do. You’re that kind of girl after all.”

You deny his words.

[07:01] “You don’t even know that about yourself? Well, I suppose it’s fine. I’ll be so kind as to tell you. Someone did say that humans are the most ignorant when it comes to themselves after all. I assume that goes for you as well? You see, you just love pain and suffering. Give that some serious thought (1). ...That’s why you did something which would upset me...It was on purpose, obviously!”

You shake your head.

[07:52] “Oh please, don’t play dumb now! I saw it with my own eyes! You were having a rather friendly chat with him ーー with Reiji at the manor, weren’t you? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

“Ugh…! ...Fufu...What a forced cry! You can drop the act now. I already know you aren’t opposed to the pain, since it actually makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Did you have some fun with Reiji in a similar fashion as well? Hahn…”

*Sluuuurp*

[08:36] “...Did you think I would believe you if you denied it with tears in your eyes like that? Think again! (2) ...Mmh…”

*Sluuuurp*

You start to feel faint. 

“Fufu...Are you pretending to suddenly feel faint as part of your act as well? Seems like you have become a natural at this.”

You explain.

[08:57] “You’re feeling unwell? Haha…That’s a new one.”

You ask him to stop.

“The answer is no. I’m not satisfied yet. After all, I’ve barely had any.”

You repeat that you’re feeling unwell. 

[09:19] “You still insist on acting as if you’re in pain? ...CUT IT OUT ALREADY! I mean, it doesn’t make sense for this to suddenly happen, does it!? I’ve always been able to suck this much blood without any issues! 

...Aah. I see. I get it now. You’re running low on blood because you let him feed off you, correct? That’s why you’re coming up with the random excuse of feeling unwell, am I right? That’s the only logical explanation! ...How dare you!”

Kanato continues to suck your blood as you protest.

[10:05] “If you’re so sure that I’m just misunderstanding things...Then why don’t you tell me straight up what you were talking about with Reiji yesterday!?” 

You flinch.

“...Cat got your tongue?”

You tell him. 

“You were discussing your health? ...Fufu...That’s a lie. After all, the two of you seemed rather close. Standing there together, whispering to each other.”

You look away. 

“See? You’ve gone quiet again. Do you have nothing to say!?”

You apologize.

[10:50] “Kuh...Giving me a meek apology will only add to my anger, you know? ...Well, I’m broad-minded so I don’t mind letting it slide this once. However, do not dare to even get close to him again in the future. Can you promise me that?”

You nod.

*Rustle*

“...Hah!”

He pushes you away.

*Thud*

[11:25] “Oh please, you’re overreacting. I only pushed you lightly, yet you act as if you’re about to fall over. ...There’s really no need to still keep this act up though. Good grief…”

*Rustle*

“What are you spacing out for? Come on, wrap your arms around me.”

*Rustle rustle*

[11:50] “...Took you long enough to embrace me, geez. ...Stroke my head, please. I’m exhausted after sucking your blood, so it only makes sense you reward me now, right?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Exactly, just like that...More…You belong to me. All of you. From head to toe. Down to the very last drop of blood. ...Do you understand?”

You nod.

[12:33] “All you need to do is be with me. ...Forever.”

*Rustle*

“...Say? You don’t think we’re done, do you? We still haven’t discussed how you will apologize to me, have we?”

You tilt your head to the side.

[12:58] “That should be a given. You had the nerve to upset me after all. Right. I suppose I’ll have you prepare me a sweet feast. Homemade, of course. A cake doused in plenty of whipped cream, cookies, and chocolate...Oh, pudding as well!”

You agree, promising him you’ll try your best.

“Fufu~ I don’t know how they’ll turn out, however, you better make them delicious. That’s all. ...Understood?”

You nod.

“Fufufu...I’m looking forward to it~”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) 胸に手を当てる or ‘mune ni te o ateru’ literally means ‘to put one’s hand on one’s chest/heart’ and is used when telling someone to think very deeply about something. (As if to look inside their own heart)

(2) 甘い or ‘amai’ doesn’t always mean ‘sweet’, but mean ‘weak’ or ‘naive’ as well.

[saintobio]

hello saint!!! I JUST READ SN 8 AND BRO WAS IT AWESOME

i decided to compile everything so i wouldnt burden your asks hehe

idk if this is important but im one of the people (im feeling ambitious so im also gonna say 'i was' aheheheheh *weird people noises*) who suggested getou and shoko share a cigarette 😭🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭😭😭😭😭 i just feel appreciated because an idea of mine was included IN LITERAL ART

when i read that scene i felt like fainting they're so hot together wtf i love them

THE DRAMA— i feel like im watching a telenovela but much better

sera i love sera now she's otw to character development AND I AM IN FOR THAT

im excited to see naoya again teehee that manipulative smooth talking bastard

but im kinda worried of how naoya could possibly block sera's character development

with all the fluff that is going on, i have come to the belief that toji and y/n will never happen

i have accepted it so its fine i love toji but this is a gojo fic so yk maybe i should open my heart to this beautiful cerulean eyed man

baby yuuta deserves the world why is his mom so hateful envious and greedy *starts singing i bet on losing dogs*

yuuta is TRAUMATIZED. what have you done to your son you evil wench his kind heart doesn't deserve this kind of torment

eula was the main antagonist all along

saint what about adding pacify her by melanie martinez to the playlist (just an idea idk if its right)

i am so overwhelmed in a goodway

so here are some questions i have!!

1. did sera see eula push dadjo off the stairs?

2. is naoya laughing behind the scenes?

3. will sn 2 be a battle at court?

4. okay this is not a question but saint i love you i love sn and thank you for the time and research you dedicate just to feed us pls drink ur water everyday i love you

5. will naoya show up? i miss him omg he's so cunning its attractive

6. i also miss toji dilf and the kids. what are the kids feeling about the art y/n designed for them? (this is like of a character interview but pls answer)

7. how is sera doing? did she stay in the house she recently leased or did she have to move? whats her job now?

8. WHERE IS GIRLBOSS GEN I ALSO MISS HER WHERE DID SHE GO

9. what does the mansion look like

10. will eula be published online for her behavior?

11. what does their wedding ring look like? is it embezzled with diamonds or just gold?

12. will sera also testify

13. what are the rumors— can we hear some rumors thats spreading across the company

in conclusion i love sn so much its my daily motivation and saint again im reminding you to drink water everyday because water has many benefits

thank you for dedicating time to write sn i really feel blessed everytime it updates

i love you i love you i love you i love you

thank you thank you thank you thank you

1. no, sera wasn’t there. it happened at the gojo mansion.

2. he is 💀

3. YES. expect a trial scene.

4. tysm !!! ilyt and yes this series requires so much research i can’t ��

5. naoya will show up for a scene w sera :>

6. they adore her as a person and admire her for her talent. they find her designs very sophisticated and suited for their taste

7. sera is jobless and depressed. they’d have to move back to their old rundown apartment

8. gen will be back soon i’m scared

9. you may check the sn gallery

10. hahahah maybe

11. just gold, i think it’s in the gallery too

12. hmmmmm :>

13. the rumors are wild; sera is prego, dadjo had a stroke bc of it, eula wants to claim all of dadjo’s assets, gojo and yn are not in a happy marriage

overall, thank u as well for consistently supporting sn !! it means so much to me 🥺 <33

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 7 “The Noisy Roommate” [Episode List] Tim spends the night at Dave’s house and they have to share the latter’s full-sized bed. As they go to sleep, Dave soon makes sure that it’s gonna be a noisy night.

The episode is inspired by TheFartingWolf’s video/premise of the same name. I had a similar idea sometime ago but I figured I could just combine my story and the video for, I don’t know, a real 4D experience? With that said, I’m ready to delete this story should TheFartingWolf want me to do so.

Also keep in mind that this is not a story about the IRL person who made the video linked above, but rather two fictional characters.

The Noisy Roommate

“Thanks for having me over, bro.” I thanked Dave, while rummaging through my backpack.

This was not the first time I slept at Dave’s house of course, not even the first during our 20s, but this time it truly was a last-second solution. This is not like the shower emergency from sometime ago, though water is involved again somehow.

“No problem dude. I needed someone to help me finish this case of beer anyway.” he said, cracking one open and throwing the can at me, which I managed to catch.

“Always up for it.” and I took a long sip of that cold nectar.

“I’m sorry you almost drowned.” he joked.

“Yeah it was terrible.” I played along.

Truth is that some pipe in my house literally exploded and water flooded the entire apartment. It’s not as bad as it sounds: the leak was already fixed but I still needed a place to stay for the night. I didn’t even have time to call anyone as Dave simply showed up at my place and drove me here.

We sat on the couch to watch some bad movie as we kept chatting about some random stuff and having beer. We were both dressed casually, Dave sporting a pair of grey shorts and a black t-shirt, outfits that doubled as our pajamas, even though Dave was probably gonna sleep shirtless as he usually does.

And again, as usual, I felt some familiar vibrations going through the couch. I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

“Straight to the point, I see.” I commented.

He laughed and slightly leaned, ripping the rest of the 7-seconds rip towards me, without the couch muffling the sound now. I always appreciate how my bud is so casual about my kink and that fart, needless to say, was impressive, despite being “small” for my bro’s incredibly high standards. Also, he basically almost always farted like this even before he knew about my fetish which, again, led me to appreciate more how his attitude towards me didn’t change at all -and he knows very well the “side effects” his blasts give me.

I pitched a tent in my own shorts but I managed to hide it by adjusting my position, crossing my legs. Whether Dave noticed that or not was irrelevant, as he kept ripping a couple of more loud toots.

We resumed watching the TV for like one hour until we both decided it was time to turn into corpses for the rest of the night, so we went upstairs, the beers making us a bit dizzy but nothing serious.

I was familiar with Dave’s house so I headed directly to the guest room, my bud right behind me.

I stepped into the dark room, turned the light on, and I saw it, staring at me from the bed.

Brave Dave was the first one to run away, pulling me outside of the guest room as I hastily shut the door. Team work!

“Okay, Tim. Were you cursed or something?” he asked.

On the bed we both just saw a huge spider, the biggest we’ve ever seen in real life. While we’re not properly arachnophobic, it’s not like *we like* sleeping with spiders hanging around.

We were both manly adult men and so we were both very afraid of the eight-legged monster sneaking out to murder us in our sleep, or simply existing, so the two of us rushed to the kitchen and came back with tons of duct tape to block up every nook and cranny of the guest room door.

“Alright.” I said. “I’ll just use the couch downstairs.”

“Nah bro.” Dave commented. “My bed’s full-sized. You can join me.” and he walked towards his room.

I needed some time to process what he just said. Me and Dave shared a bed many times but that was always before I came out to him. I wonder how-

“Look, I hate to interrupt your inner monologue about self-pity and all” he said, kind of annoyed. “But can we just for once skip your awkward bullshit and head to bed? Thanks.” and then disappeared into his room.

I chuckled a bit as I realized how “formulaic” I was being lately when he more than once proved to me that he had no issues with me, so I followed him. 

The bedroom was dimly lit and he was already lying on his side of the bed, shirtless, showing off some mild pecs and an overall nice-looking figure.

“I gotta warn you: I’m a screamer in bed.” I jokingly said, lying down on my side of the bed, just by the window.

“Oh yesss, scream harder, daddy.” he played along, laughing.

We were both lying down, mindlessly scrolling stuff on our smartphones and reading articles. That only lasted a couple of minutes.

“Well, time for your goodnight kiss” Dave announced, quickly wrapping his legs around me and planting his butt in grey shorts in my face.

I was still lying down as the fart erupted, almost making me deaf for how loud it was, so up close and personal. I couldn’t see the ceiling very well as Dave’s hairy legs mostly obstructed the view. The blast didn’t even smell that much, which made me assume it was on command rather than fully natural; not that it didn’t stink at all of course.

The beer-powered fart lasted about 10 seconds. He wiggled his ass on my face a bit and then let me go/breathe. “I thought you were a screamer.” he teased and went back on his side of the bed, which almost looked queen-sized.

I didn’t say anything and I simply turned my back to him, trying to be annoyed and failing miserably, feeling a faint scent in my nostrils every time I breathed.

“Looks like there’s a leak in my house as well.” he said, right before ripping another thunderous blast, this time far from me. I tried to ignore that, but I still pitched a tent anyway. I didn’t even turn around: I’m not going to let the teaser win!

After a couple of minutes, Dave turned the lights off and the room fell into darkness, the only source of light being a digital alarm clock inches from my face. 1:34 AM, not as late as I thought, but my body didn’t care and I fell asleep almost immediately.

2:44 AM I hear a loud noise and I woke up, only opening my eyes, the alarm clock greeting my sight in a room of pure darkness. Took me a couple of moments to realize that, of course, it was Dave farting, this time in his sleep. I turned around, noticing Dave’s grey pants as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

3:01 AM I was almost asleep as another fart snapped me back to reality, this time even louder. Again I instinctively turned around and stared at my bud’s butt as the blast erupted. Those felt very airy and pretty much odourless I think. I thought whether I should wake him up but I didn’t want him to think that I was listening to his sleep-farting, which is literally what I was doing sadly.

At this point I was playing the jump-rope between being asleep and awake, every time fully waking up because of Dave farting like crazy. After many farts, the blast at 3:59 AM felt particularly powerful and “meaty”, which made me look again at my friend’s butt, somehow noticing his pants moving because of the air being blasted out. A powerful rip that lasted around 11 seconds I believe. Was I dreaming? Similar farts then followed.

4:59 AM This one almost scared me as when I thought it was over it instead became louder and louder, as if it was a train passing nearby. It had a great sound and flow, one of the best I ever heard from my bro.

5:32 AM Another peak in farting activity. Falling asleep at this point was impossible. Each moment of silence was just the quiet before the storm and I completely gave up on the idea of resting that night.

6:21 AM This one was so loud and powerful that even Dave woke up for a moment. He simply sighed in relief though, but when even the farter wakes up, you know the fart was incredible.

6:36 AM A similar blast greeted the first lights of the dawn. 

Even more powerful rips were heard at 7:16 AM and 7:33 AM. At around 8:01 AM, Dave finally woke up by himself, one of his loudest farts acting as natural alarm clock.

That was a long night and as I heard Dave going downstairs to do his morning routine, I figured it was finally time to catch up some sleep, but ironically enough the silence made it more difficult as I was now so used to his blasts that they felt like white noise, fetish or not.

That teasing bastard won and wasn’t even done.

After merely 30 minutes, I heard him jump on the bed. I was facing the window, pretending to be asleep, but I knew he was standing on the bed, towering over me.

“Rise and shine, roommate!”

He squatted over my head, still sporting those grey shorts, and ripped a huge, loud and proud natural morning fart all over my face. I’m kind of glad I was already awake, ‘cause I would have been scared to death by that gas thunder. Where was all of this gas coming from? How was he not done?

I screamed, annoyed, and pushed him on his side of the bed, my hands touching his still-farting ass, the stench being this time unbearable. I heard him laugh like an idiot as he lied next to me, keeping one of his legs up as he finished ripping that loud, long fart.

“So you are a screamer!” he joked.

“And you fart in your sleep.” I replied.

“As if you’d mind me doing that.”

Whether he was aware or not of what happened during the night, Dave was as usual so comfortable around me that he just didn’t care and it was all just a big gassy prank for him. So I just lied there, awake, chatting with my bud about my house looking like Venice, so tired and so exhausted that I didn’t even bother about the spider staring back at us from the ceiling.

End of Episode 7

[lonelier-version-of-you]

So I found out from @riverstardis‘s classic Casualty liveblogs recently that there’s an episode (S28E36) with a patient who’s a Doctor Who fan. I thought that sounded fun. So now I’m watching it, and I’m gonna liveblog, because why not.

Edit 1: I was gonna say this is the first episode I’ve seen from while Dylan was away but then I remembered it’s not, I watched another series 28 ep because Katherine Dow Blyton was in it.

Edit 2: Connie and Zoe sharing scenes, I might faint from gorgeousness overload.

Edit 3: And here’s some of our guest characters for the episode, some bloke and the young woman he’s giving literacy lessons to.

Edit 4: Jeff and Dixie!

Edit 5: Oh, it’s fucking Fletch.

Edit 6: I think we’ve just met the Whovian kid. Meanwhile, Fletch is treating a patient and bumping into Tess, and I literally do not care.

Edit 7: The lighting in the hospital in this era is really weird.

Edit 8: Awh, the kid in his little bowtie!!

Edit 9: The kid’s just fallen off a playground climbing thingy that I should know the name for, and simultaneously, his grandma’s having shortness of breath and chest pains. Oof.

Literacy Lesson Man’s girlfriend is also struggling to breathe. Another oof.

Edit 10: Nice to see Fletch has always been useless. Also, insane to think that less than a decade after this he was literally CEO.

Edit 11: Oh hi there Ash.

Edit 12: Ethan and the Whovian kid is SO cute.

Edit 13: Is this kid giving off autism vibes or is it just me?

Edit 14: Whovian kid’s mum is going to prison!! Now that’s a plot twist.

Edit 15: The Whovian kid’s grandma keeps saying she’s fine, so she’s definitely not.

Edit 16: Zoe Hanna come back to us challenge.

Edit 17: Jeff suggesting Dixie could roleplay her upcoming interview regarding a patient complaint or whatever, Big Mac shakes his head. Jeff: “I don’t know why you’re shaking your head, you’re going to be the interviewer!” Big Mac: “Why can’t you be the interviewer?” Jeff: “Because I shall be watching and giving notes!” 😂

Edit 18: Dixie is great.

Edit 19: Connie being in the same scene as Fletch feels so odd.

Edit 20: Connie and Zoe in their rivalry era!

Edit 21: Poor Whovian kid, being treated by Fletch the Bland.

Edit 22: Oh no, two of the guest characters are running on the road!

Edit 23: Welp, guest characters had a near-miss with a car but haven’t been hit yet.

Edit 24: OH THERE WE GO. A ton of fencing or something just fell on one of the guest characters. Ouch.

Edit 25: And there we go, Whovian Kid’s grandma is most certainly not fine. Also, oh hey, here’s Robyn.

Edit 26: Dixie conveniently walks by and sees the guy who had the fencing fall on him. 😂

Edit 27: The fancy camera angles while Dixie was running up the stairs for her interview made me dizzy.

Edit 28: “Sorry... I got caught up in an emergency. *brushes dust off her jacket*” I love Dixie.

Edit 29: Literacy Lesson Bloke just died, oof. And now his wife and his student are fighting. Yikes.

The good news is, Whovian Kid’s grandma is fine.

Edit 30: Whovian Kid’s mum just said he doesn’t like being with people he doesn’t know. Yeaaah, definitely autistic.

Edit 31: My goodness Connie looks stunning.

Edit 32: Noel, my love, I miss you.

Edit 33: Funny how many characters from this era kept switching jobs! Louise, Big Mac...

Edit 34: Connie asks Zoe to go for a drink with her. Zoe: “What, like a date?”

Edit 35: Ah, the staff setting it up so the kid and his family can watch Doctor Who together. Cute.

Edit 36: I mean this scene DOES look like Zoe and Connie are on a date.

Edit 37: I DO NOT CARE ABOUT FLETCH.

Edit 38: Why did Tess ever go for Fletch? She could do so much better.

Edit 39: NOEL I MISS YOU.

Edit 40: Connie in her trying to get the clinical lead job era.

Edit 41: It’s no wonder Dylan and Zoe were so close. They both hate having to do management stuff.

[thisisourlovestory]

Ahhh thanks for the tag bestie!!! Also sorry this took me so long to repost

1- Ophelia (it’s my honorary middle name)

2- 3rd December

3- depressingly no

4- probably Percy Jackson because it’s my comfort book series

5- am I good enough

6- Joe Keery, Charlie Bushnell, Matthew Gray Gubler, Henry Moodie, Cameron Chapman

7- none lol

8- author but it’s highly unlikely to actually happen

9- I read 144 books last year that was a pretty big accomplishment (not including all the fanfic as well)

10- I fainted in school once because my tooth started falling out (I was a weak child)

11- highs- spending time with my bestie and just having fun lows- I’ve cried a lot. I don’t know why but yeah

12- Greece and Italy cause the history

13- at the moment by reading fanfic and watching stranger things but it changes like every month

14- Pinterest and these couple of stupid little games that just have no purpose but they bring me joy

15- is really quiet and shy when we first meet but when we become friends you realise I’ve probably got a screw loose somewhere and I’m a bit insane but nice

16- ummmm I have no idea maybe my hair and height (is being tiny attractive people?)

17- I’d like to say I’m really good at writing

18- art just art in general I truly suck at it which is sad because I’d like to be able to draw my characters

19- I used to tell my mum every morning no I didn’t read past 9. I would read well past after she went to bed

20- the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell (literally I know nothing)

21- my bestie

22- my teddy bear and my book collection

23- umm I think 4 years

24- I will never feel like an adult

25- I play netball sometimes and I really like athletics

26- I feel a bit meh

27- definitely a night owl

28- yep it happened for me but unfortunately not for him so that’s fun but I still believe in it

29- And I wake up in the middle of the night with the light on and I feel like I could die cause you're not here- Risk Gracie Abrams

30- watching tv and reading with something sweet to eat

31- Henry Moodie, Sabrina Carpenter, Gracie Abrams

32- boys, which is brilliant for me

33- people eating with their mouth open, it’s disgusting

34- the death scene of any of my favourite book or tv characters

35- likely just bafflement

36- should I write fanfic tonight? And hope everyone’s having a great day

No pressure tags @bunniesandsilk @platypusbearrr @cherrsnut @thosesillylittlegayghosts

Question Game

Are we tired of these yet?

What is your nickname?

When is your birthday?

What was your longest relationship?

What is your favorite book?

What is something you're insecure about?

5 Male celebrity crushes

5 Female celebrity crushes

What is your dream job?

What do you consider your biggest accomplishment?

What is a fact about you that nobody would believe?

What were your highs and lows for this last month?

Where is somewhere you'd like to visit?

How do you de-stress?

What are your favorite apps besides tumblr?

Describe yourself in one sentence.

What do you think makes you attractive?

What is something you're really good at?

What is something you're really bad at?

A time that you told a lie.

What's a totally random and useless fact that you know?

Who knows you the best?

What is your most prized possession?

What is your longest friendship?

When did you first feel like an adult?

Do you/ Have you played any sports?

How are you feeling right now?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Favorite song lyrics right now?

What does self care look like for you?

Describe yourself with 3 singers.

What makes you nervous?

What’s a pet peeve you have?

What will always make you cry?

What kind of first impression do you think you make on people?

Free Pass! (Ask any question you want that's not on the list)