#The Penn Report

[insidecroydon]

Kerswell keeps councillors waiting for her tribunal feedback

CROYDON IN CRISIS: How will the borough’s £192,474 per year chief executive explain the suggestion that she lied under oath when defending herself against allegations of racism? By KEN LEE, Town Hall reporter Time to report back: Katherine Kerswell, the council CEO Almost a month has passed since the end of the controversial Employment Tribunal hearing that cost Croydon’s long-suffering Council…

[gay-jesus-probably]

Gotta say of the new characters in TOTK, my favourite is easily Penn, he's delightful. Some of the reporter quests were kinda obnoxious, but I loved working with Penn, he's so fun. And it's absolutely bullshit that his chain of quests ends with him becoming depressed and questioning his worth as a reporter because he feels Link did all the real work, AND WE JUST LEAVE HIM LIKE THAT. What the fuck Nintendo, you can't just rip my heart out like that. I didn't even get the option to tell him that I'm actually Link the famous swordsman!

...If there is a way to help Penn afterwards and/or tell him we're actually Link, please let me know, because I couldn't find it and I'm still heartbroken over having to just leave my partner in journalism thinking he was useless. OUR AMAZING INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER WORK WAS THROUGH OUR COMBINED POWERS OF JOURNALISM, AND I NEED HIM TO UNDERSTAND THAT.

[picory]

i honestly can't bring myself to care about the ancient hyrule that zelda was sent back into... i don't care about rauru or sonia or the sages or whatever. except for the zonai constructs + weapons, cuz those are cool. i'm barely following the plot. i just care about the world as it is now and the people in it

[theconfusedartist]

Hm

Somehow, despite my meticulous research and information retaining skills, I've been writing Desmond’s DOB as 1984 instead of 1987

I've been using this date and Alex's DoB to figure out when things happen in the timeline. I already got screwed over once when I found out Alex was born in 1979 and Dana was 9 years younger, and had to change a bunch of things around to make them fit the original canon, but this?? this might be (strained squeaky voice) a small problem

[hislop3]

Penn and Teller and the Disappearing SNF

When I got married to my wife and business partner (the partner came after), part of our honeymoon was spent in Las Vegas. While there, we caught Penn and Teller’s Vegas show and it was AWESOME! I love magic and in particular, the kind that is up close and personal. The trade term now seems to be “illusion” versus trick but in terms of the title of this post, there is no trick and no…

[reasonsforhope]

"When bloodstream infections set in, fast treatment is crucial — but it can take several days to identify the bacteria responsible. A new, rapid-diagnosis sepsis test could cut down on the wait, reducing testing time from as much as a few days to about 13 hours by cutting out a lengthy blood culturing step, researchers report July 24 [2024] in Nature.

“They are pushing the limits of rapid diagnostics for bloodstream infections,” says Pak Kin Wong, a biomedical engineer at Penn State who was not involved in the research. “They are driving toward a direction that will dramatically improve the clinical management of bloodstream infections and sepsis.”

Sepsis — an immune system overreaction to an infection — is a life-threatening condition that strikes nearly 2 million people per year in the United States, killing more than 250,000 (SN: 5/18/08). The condition can also progress to septic shock, a steep drop in blood pressure that damages the kidneys, lungs, liver and other organs. It can be caused by a broad range of different bacteria, making species identification key for personalized treatment of each patient.

In conventional sepsis testing, the blood collected from the patient must first go through a daylong blood culturing step to grow more bacteria for detection. The sample then goes through a second culture for purification before undergoing testing to find the best treatment. During the two to three days required for testing, patients are placed on broad-spectrum antibiotics — a blunt tool designed to stave off a mystery infection that’s better treated by targeted antibiotics after figuring out the specific bacteria causing the infection.

Nanoengineer Tae Hyun Kim and colleagues found a way around the initial 24-hour blood culture.

The workaround starts by injecting a blood sample with nanoparticles decorated with a peptide designed to bind to a wide range of blood-borne pathogens. Magnets then pull out the nanoparticles, and the bound pathogens come with them. Those bacteria are sent directly to the pure culture. Thanks to this binding and sorting process, the bacteria can grow faster without extraneous components in the sample, like blood cells and the previously given broad-spectrum antibiotics, says Kim, of Seoul National University in South Korea.

Cutting out the initial blood culturing step also relies on a new imaging algorithm, Kim says. To test bacteria’s susceptibility to antibiotics, both are placed in the same environment, and scientists observe if and how the antibiotics stunt the bacteria’s growth or kill them. The team’s image detection algorithm can detect subtler changes than the human eye can. So it can identify the species and antibiotic susceptibility with far fewer bacteria cells than the conventional method, thereby reducing the need for long culture times to produce larger colonies.

Though the new method shows promise, Wong says, any new test carries a risk of false negatives, missing bacteria that are actually present in the bloodstream. That in turn can lead to not treating an active infection, and “undertreatment of bloodstream infection can be fatal,” he says. “While the classical blood culture technique is extremely slow, it is very effective in avoiding false negatives.”

Following their laboratory-based experiments, Kim and colleagues tested their new method clinically, running it in parallel with conventional sepsis testing on 190 hospital patients with suspected infections. The testing obtained a 100 percent match on correct bacterial species identification, the team reports. Though more clinical tests are needed, these accuracy results are encouraging so far, Kim says.

The team is continuing to refine their design in hopes of developing a fully automated sepsis blood test that can quickly produce results, even when hospital laboratories are closed overnight. “We really wanted to commercialize this and really make it happen so that we could make impacts to the patients,” Kim says."

-via Science News, July 24, 2024

[disease]

"MASCARA WARS" IRVING PENN | NYC, 2001 [fujicolor crystal archive print | 40 x 61 cm.]

"Mascara is not small business and brushes sell mascara. Companies spend millions of dollars developing breakthrough technology, and we were reporting on the latest 'Mascara War' between two of the giants. The model’s eyes were closed for two hours while Penn photographed every possible variation of the dueling brushes. He had a picture that wasn’t especially exciting or memorable, but there was nothing that he hadn’t tired. Still standing behind his 6 x 8 cm camera, he said, 'Thank you. We’re all finished.' Our model opened her eyes, and I saw that they were completely bloodshot. Penn said, 'Don’t move.' He did just two or three more exposures. Here was the shock that was missing. Then we were finished." —Phyllis Posnick, Executive Fashion Editor, Vogue

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Darkness, Imprisoning Me | Cooper Adams/Abbott x F!Reader

Gif credit to @billy-crudup

Synopsis: News reports of The Butcher leaving his latest victim across the street from your house wasn't enough to spook you, not even into locking your doors. In fact, you were enticed by the idea of him getting in. But is it everything you wanted?

Warnings: Dark!Fic, Angst, Mentions of Murder, Victim!Reader, Cooper is so cute then a baddie, Essentially what I would think would go down with The Butcher

Rating: R

Word Count: 6.2K

A/N: I promise to write fluff pieces with Cooper eventually, but this man has such a choke hold on me I cannot contain. It’s the parasite in me, I blame them. I need the angst, I need the hurt. Originally this was gonna be just straight up porn but, I didn’t want to burn out.

Tagging: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica

If you would like to be tagged for my fics, please fill this out

“The Butcher is a megalomanic, a typical wolf in sheep’s clothing. They’re meticulous and calculated. They are the perfect killer – and that is exactly why they slipped out from under the FBI’s nose.”

Calculated, that is the best way to describe most things in life, explain most passions as well. It isn’t a bad thing to be calculated, no, it’s a good thing after all. There is something about knowing that you are taking precautions and closing gaps before they can form that is rewarding. The endorphins it sends to the brain get mistaken for happiness and content. Calculated is good, calculated is safe. It means there are no possible tracks to follow or fall back on; A burned, fraying edge of a ribbon. It shrivels up under the intensity until nothing stands but a solid nub of what used to be. Calculated keeps the sanity flowing, for the opposing party that is. It brings a great sense of pride to the killer, knowing they are untraceable. Until they’re not; Their day of reckoning comes quick, quicker than they anticipate. They cannot run or hide anymore – they become infamous, they become hated. They become real.

That’s what your criminology professor used to say before she got on the case of The Butcher – what the media is dubbing him – a psychopath who likes to lure their victims into a sense of security, torture them, and then dispose of them in public places. The kicker? It’s never in one piece. All twelve victims so far have been cut into fourteen pieces, never thirteen. It made sense, thirteen being the unlucky number after all – it created a sense of bad luck for all killers to dwell on. But not The Butcher, they were clean. They clearly were not a loner; this was someone who could blend in at the drop of a hat. Disappear quickly if need be and never look back. Yet in Philly, everyone seemed that way.

Moving here wasn’t ideal for you, but Penn State offered you a great position as a first-year professor while you were pursuing your last year of your Masters. You’d be a fool to pass up that opportunity; The pay wasn’t awful but, it put you right where you wanted to be. Being the trainee of Dr. Josephine Grant was a dream come true, working under her and picking her brain about serial killers was exactly what you wanted. Since you were a kid, growing up watching all of those crime shows when everyone thought you were sleeping, you felt a connection to the field, like it was beckoning you. There was something about putting a psychopath away and finding out why they committed their crimes that intrigued you. What fired off in their synapses to where they thought killing was the only way to conduct their life. You wanted to make a change in the criminal justice field; You wanted to be that change. Philly happened to have a sociopath of their own running amok, and you wanted to be in the midst of the chaos.

Everything fell in line after that – your condo was bought at an extremely low rate compared to other mortgages in the area. You could walk to and from work and classes on the daily, leaving your afternoons open. Hell, it even helped that your grocery store was directly across the street, right across from the park. It was a sweet spot and one you felt like was too good to be true at the end of the day. But alas, you were not questioning fate as it saw you as its pawn. You were just living your life; Single, brazen, and ready to be the face of change in the field. Plus, working close with Josephine meant that you were right at the forefront of The Butcher’s ideas, patterns, schematics. Young, attractive; They all knew he was a male, and not a woman – especially with the craftmanship of the bodies.

It excited you, a man that dedicated to ending the lives of others. You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud but, being a young woman in your position was compromising. If you ever told Josephine your plan of luring The Butcher in to get more information, you’d be fired. But that was your plan at the end of the day – in hopes to uncover more. But truly, you were doing it to entice someone else. When your condo complex became the hub for the police, after another victim was found chopped up across the street from you, you wanted to lay a welcoming hand out for a certain someone. Which is why you stopped locking your doors, your windows, even barricading the deck door. Naivete got the best of you, you were most certain. But it was all for the cause, the further exploration into a serial killer’s mind. You hoped it wouldn’t be him who got in but someone else entirely, yet a girl can dream. As fucked up as it was to think; You were Grant’s pawn, a willing one at that. It was a stupid plan but, God it made you feel alive. The only other thing that did was off the table.

It's always easy to crush on the neighbor next door, not having an establishing factor caused you to admire from afar. Though it was hard not to with how thin your walls were – hearing everything that happened on the other side. It wasn’t provocative to say the least but intriguing. Nature documentaries, Golden Girl re-runs, even some mix ins of Robocop and Midnight Run to lull you to sleep. It was comforting knowing a person was there who happened to like the same things as you. But it only complicated the crush you grew to have. That wedding ring tended to complicate a lot of things – though you never saw anyone but him. It was weird to say the least but, you had no control over it. Pining from afar was the betterment of your time anyways, school took up too much.

The only time you ever talked to him was when The Butcher claimed yet another victim, tossing their remains on campus. It was obvious you were a student worker by your hoodie you always wore, showcasing the department and school. You were notorious for wearing your headphones in as you walked home anyways, which happened to spark his interest. “It’s not safe to do that nowadays – you wouldn’t hear anyone come up on you, sweetheart. I’m just looking out for you.” The sentiment of Cooper Adams’ words struck a deep chord within your body, not ever feeling something so live within you. Having someone car for you was foreign, especially with how your parents were growing up. But Cooper, he really was like a dad – if he wasn’t already. He was the neighborhood watch dog, only wanting what is best for everyone, if everyone wasn’t just you. His autumn eyes never looked away when you left or came home, they watched your every step with ease and precision – notating in case something happened. Cooper was a man, and you needed him.

”I respectfully disagree, I think The Butcher is sloppy and they know it. They keep fucking up and putting themselves on the line. I mean come on, who in their right mind leaves a trail of receipts behind them. For Lady Raven no less! The biggest popstar in the world has a serial killer coming to her concert I mean, it’s alleged but – the odds aren’t out on it, right?”

Grading papers and trying to finish the second of four halves of your dissertation on The Butcher caused you to leave campus late. A fifteen-minute walk down to your home was fine, but something about tonight felt off. October is a beautiful time to enjoy – the sweet and savory smell of pumpkin in the air, the crisp sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet. It was your favorite time of year, but you couldn’t enjoy it like you usually do. You ignored Cooper’s insightful thought to not use headphones on your way home, opting to listen to a podcast instead about The Butcher. Any new leads you could use for your dissertation you were taking, whether they came to full fruition or not. It helped to deepen your argument of what makes a killer, kill. You wouldn’t lie to yourself; The podcast was freaking you out with how soon the Lady Raven concert was coming up. Even if it was alleged, he was going to be at the Lady Raven concert, you didn’t want to take your chances. You knew how to blend in and keep an ear to the ground but, being a victim was not on your list.

Rounding the corner to your block, you saw that Cooper’s light was on in the living room – making you let a sigh of relief out. It meant he was up again watching you come home, keeping you safe as always. It warmed you heart and soaked your panties. It was a no brainer Cooper was extremely attractive; Beekeeping age to be exact. There was something about the power dynamic of an older man with you that lit you up on all cylinders, you couldn’t handle the thoughts. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t touch yourself to the thought of him – taking you soft and slow like you assumed he liked, treating you like a princess. It was what dreams are made of; he truly is prince charming in your eyes. No one is that perfect, that loyal to the job, or that kind. Beloved fire chief Cooper Adams, you wanted him.

Smiling to yourself, you removed your headphones from your ears, shoving them into your purse. The last thing you wanted was for Cooper to see that and think you didn’t heed his warning; in turn you did – the tail end of the trip anyway. Taking a deep breath, you let the weight of the world off of your shoulders, feeling safe again the closer you got to home. You knew it was silly to be spooked about this whole situation; The cleanup crew took the body away days ago and everyone trickled down from there. The caution tape still slapped against the barren tree trunks, shaking leaves from its head. But The Butcher moved on to another place and wouldn’t visit the same place twice you knew. Still though, the thought excited you of Cooper going into your home at some point to make sure you were okay. To reprimand you for keeping the doors unlocked, for seeing how innocent you truly were. You were begging for him, and hoped he caught along eventually.

You were thankful that the steps to your condo wasn’t too long, only a four steps to the front door. Hopping up each one softly, you gently put your hand on the doorknob, pushing the handle down with your thumb. The click of the stopped pushing back into its slot made you cringe, wondering how loud it was compared to what Cooper could hear. Surely, he was going to ask why he didn’t hear your keys tomorrow, and for that you’d had to think of a creative way to tell him. There was no way in hell you were going to come straight out and tell him why you left it unlocked. No, you needed to be smart about it. The heavy front door started to swing backwards for you, creaking at the hinges which in turn made you shy away from it, your heartbeat flooding your ears. The pounding in your head wasn’t helping your current situation, for every move you made was loud – causing your fingers to tremble. “Please don’t be awake,” you muttered to yourself, letting out a deep breath once the door was fully open.

The dark foyer of your condo made you feel safe, knowing once you get upstairs to the kitchen you could be okay – that nothing was coming for you. Letting go of the door caused it to fall back into place, clicking soundly when it is tightly shut. Reaching behind your back, you grabbed onto the top dial for the lock, turning it clockwise, then reaching up to deadbolt the top lock. Now that you were shut in tight – you didn’t have to worry about anything else. It was then the realization struck you; The Butcher couldn’t get into your house if he tried, if it wasn’t the front door. Your bedroom and kitchen were on the second floor. The deck stairs are padlocked shut – he would have to use a ladder. How you didn’t think of that previously was lost on you but – at least you had a good chuckle at the thought.

Grabbing onto the railing, you toed your shoes off by the stairs with a hum to your voice, showing Cooper you were okay – even if it didn’t need to know. Tiredness was setting in hard in your mind, causing a slight headache to erupt at your temple. Using your free hand to massage the tightened muscle, you made your way up the stairs; Every other creaking as you leaned forward. The strawberry cheesecake you bought yesterday was calling your name, all you wanted to do was cut yourself a slice, sit back on the couch and watching some Penny Dreadful. With the start of your weekend now commenced, you just wanted time to yourself to think. The closer you got to the top of the steps, the more you felt the sleepiness roll in behind you, wanting to curl up and snuggle the night away. A yawn released itself from your mouth, causing you to stop in your tracks. On the top step no less, you managed to press your back to the wall, so you didn’t fall, or topple down.

Shaking your head as the aftereffects of the yawn roll through you, you started to make your way into the kitchen to the fridge – feeling the draft of the windows behind opened cascading over you. With a thud on the countertops, you dropped your bag off with your phone – rubbing your eyes to ease the pounding. You didn’t realize how hard it had got to focus once you began, the feeling too good to stop. This was exactly what you needed to start – something brain numbing and desensitizing so you could continue on. You did have half a mind to sleep at the kitchen counter, everything else just seeming so far away. Just a little nap until your felt energized, it would fix everything for you. You dropped your hands at your side to stare forward, trying to let the stars in your eyes disappear before moving. Though, something was out of sorts.

Squinting your eyes in the dark of the kitchen, you strain to see what was at the far head of the kitchen table, wondering if it was just your imagination confusing you, or if there was someone sitting there. Your hand found purchase on the kitchen countertop next to your light switch, thumbing it on with a bright bulbed gleam. “Jesus!” You exclaimed out, jolting backwards into the stove, clutching your chest. There was a person sitting there, and surprisingly the one you hoped for. Your labored breathing echoed in the space as you huffed out a laugh, running your fingers back through your hair. The initial shock of seeing Cooper in your kitchen was starting to wear off, instead it caused you to be giddy. Finally, you thought with an internal smile. But it was clear Cooper did not mimic the same. Instead of looking like his usual sweet, kind, and caring self – he looks pissed off. The softness that laid upon his eyes this morning, we replaced with a darkened line of hard steel – ready to tell you off.

He was wearing that damned stripped sweater you loved so much, the autumn colors contrasting beautifully with his complexion. His biceps building as his arm crossed over his chest, his feet finding purchase flat against the linoleum. Cooper shot his brows up in a challenging way, as if to secretly say seriously. You couldn’t stare in his eyes as he looked at you, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks and neck, causing you to burn up. The tick in his jaw as he focused on you made your knees weak; Sucking down the moan threatening to escape almost broke you. “You didn’t lock your door.” Cooper stated in a non-bullshit tone, causing you to cower. If you looked at him, you knew you’d confess as to why you did. You promised yourself he’d never know about that, no matter the circumstance. “Two days the cops were here because of the body. And you didn’t think to lock your door when you went out?” The fatherly tone in his voice caused you to shrink away, jaw set in a hardened place.

Cooper shook his head back and forth with no change in expression, still so disappointed to see what you had done. “Windows open, doors unlocked. Have you forgotten there is a killer in the neighborhood?” That was the thing, you hadn’t. You left this as an open invitation for The Butcher to try something. Maybe, just maybe he’d let you live long enough to learn more, jot it somewhere or record so when you were gone, at least the evidence was behind. But there were faults in that, The Butcher wouldn’t give you time for anything. You’d be here and done in the next, depending on how long he wanted to play with you. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked, moving to the opposite counter, trying to get closer to Cooper. You could see it in his eyes he didn’t want none of that, he didn’t want an apology. The longer Cooper stared at you, the more his face shifted from annoyed and disappointed, to scared and worried. He must’ve realized how he was being and wanted to correct it before you thought differently.

“I wanted to see if you were up for having a movie night. Imagine my surprise when I see your door open and unlocked.” There was a fearful waver in Cooper’s voice, causing your stomach to sink. The one thing you didn’t want to do in your soon-to-be budding friendship was worry him or scare him for that matter. But there was a feeling of failure starting to weasel its way through your stomach, wanting nothing more than to console Cooper. He couldn’t look your way as he spoke, shaking his head away from you as he focused on the plastered white wall of your kitchen, counting the tiny specks of paint dots in my mind. “I thought…I thought The Butcher had gotten to you.” It was low, but loud enough to break your heart – tearing welling in the corner of your eyes. Your heart was plummeting, you needed to act fast.

Coming around the kitchen island, you stand at the front end of the kitchen table to face Cooper – your eyes silently pleading for him to look at you. His foot tapped against the floor in pointed rhythm with his fingers, tapping along the edge of the table as he unwound them from his chest. His thick fingers came up closer to the edge, grazing over the handle of something. Your eyes were curious, deciding to have a mind of their own as you glanced down to see the silvery glint of a sharp object – eyes going wide, breath going still. Sitting next to your thigh on the table was a meat cleaver from your knife set you just bought, the edge sparkling with attraction – wanting to be used. You understood that Cooper was scared for you, so he grabbed something to protect himself just in case. It was admirable to say the least, you felt your heart warming at the thought.

Cooper let his fingers cascade over the black handle of the knife, pulling it to him without a stutter in his step. Picking the knife up, he tested the weight of it in his palm, dragging the tip of his finger over the serrated edge, feeling it cut him a bit. You winced at the sight of blood pooling out of the small cut, your stomach doing flips. Blood never made you squeamish but self-inflicted wounds did. “I’m so sorry Cooper, I never meant to upset you with it. Honest to God, I forgot this morning.” You were lying through your teeth and Cooper knew, he fucking knew from a mile away. The saddened look in his eyes switched so quickly, if you blinked, you’d miss it. Placating a docile look to his own face, he stared at you carefully, making no quick movements or hasty decisions. He was giving you your chance to confess, and you fucked it up.

“I think you did it on purpose,” he called out, sitting forth on the chair so his elbows rested against his muscular thighs. He chuckled in a sinister way as he pointed the cleaver in your direction, waving it up to your face so you’d look at him, rather than the floor. “I think, you wanted The Butcher to come in here.” The heat sliding across your chest and neck made you feel sick, like you were exposed. A live wire touching a hot nerve ending; It was electric in a twisted way. There was no admiration or happiness but despair and darkness. He was calling you out so fast on your bullshit, it scared you. It made you feel weak just knowing he could read through you. Sweet, doting Cooper was a thing of the past as he kept going. “I think you wanted to catch him on your own and make yourself a hero.” Touch. Fucking. Down. It was the closest Cooper was going to get to the truth – he didn’t need to know the other half of it. Knitting his brows together, a light sheen in his eyes made the ember pupils go misty, your eyes letting the tears slip. “Is that true?”

“N-No, not at all!” It was obvious in your shifty tone that you were lying, that this was all bullshit. Cooper had it down to a tee, he read you like a book before you even stepped through the door. He saw you for what you are, a pusher. Cooper sighed as he lowered his head, shaking it from side to side as he stared at his boots. The leather tightened as he put his weight onto his boots. The stretch of them caused your pulse to shake, your feet moving back at the detection. You knew Cooper wouldn’t hurt you, he would even attempt to kill a fly, let alone a person. He was trying to get the point across to show you just how serious he was, but to you – he was a bit too committed to the bit. Tossing his head back, Cooper slid his calloused fingers through his hair, disheveling the length of it so it draped over his face.

 “Monsters exist, you know. They’re everywhere.” He began, his tone dropping to a lethal level. There was a drop in your abdomen as you heard it, sounding like something otherworldly. It didn’t seem like Cooper had control at all, but something else. Was it aggression? Pent up stress? Months and months of rage he needed to express? He was never wound tight so you were taken aback. You didn’t know how to navigate it, because the second you would try, it would backfire by tenfold in your face. It was the fact that Cooper was almost talking down to you that made you upset – leaning in a little too heavy on the reprimand. “I-I know that.” You shot back without hesitation, ignoring the stutter in your words as you stared at him. There was a venomous bite to your words, to which Cooper was not a fan out.

Cooper began to stand as his body evened out, his six foot three stature towering over you. Gulping down the fight you had in your throat, you focused on his facial expressions, waiting to see what he was planning next. The way he looked down his nose at you made you shiver, dread creeping its winding way across your spine. “No, you don’t. Clearly.” Cooper stated, the bladed ended of the cleaver coming to rest against your side, creeping along your sweatshirt. You didn’t dare to break away from Cooper’s expression, knowing if you did – something bad was going to happen. But it already wasn’t it? He was the bad thing. In that moment, a lightbulb went off. Cooper Adams wasn’t just the fire chief, or a doting father. He is The Butcher.

The revelation caused your palms to grow clammy, balling into shivering fists at your side. It was too good to be true, you never would’ve guessed though. The secret condo, the overt fascination in watching you, making sure you were safe. Always needing to hear you, knowing you were okay. Hell, he played the caregiver role very well – you just were oblivious to the fact that it is because you’re working with the same people trying to take him down. If there is one thing Cooper wouldn’t have, it is that. For years he has gone undetected, twelve victims, bodies brutalized into bits and pieces. “…because you let the biggest one walk through your door. Sit at your kitchen table. Watch you make a fool of yourself, and you’re still turned on.” Cooper ended his statement, causing you to tune back in to what he was saying.

Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize that Cooper had moved the cleaver to sit under your chin, the cold metallic feel against your skin caused your pulse to push. Anchoring you in your spot was Cooper’s free hand against your hip; A punishing strength you knew would leave bruises come the morning. With the cleaver at your throat, Cooper leaned down to whisper in your ear, letting his warm breath fan your flesh. “Don’t lie to me again, I won’t go easy on you.” Cooper growled out, his fingers driving into your hip deeper, causing you to wince at the pain. It was not a threat but a promise. A way of holding that control over you, to show you that no matter what – you were never in control of your life, for as long as he has been in it. You didn’t realize it but, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. The emotion on your face was feeding some sick, twisted passion of Cooper’s, causing his once evil scowl to turn into a bright, beaming grin.

Stepping hard in front of you, Cooper jolted a bit to spook you – pulling the cleaver back enough so you didn’t get hurt. A cackle slipped past his lips, causing you to press against the kitchen wall closest to the stairs. “How long would it take you to get your locks undone, and get to the corner store before I caught you?” He asked it as if it was a simple question, but it was a challenge. If he could tell you left your door unlocked on purpose then, he could tell you had a crush on him too. His proposition was to showcase loyalty; Would you run and cry like the rest of his victims, or stand your ground and grovel at his feet? In another world the second option would be the best one, but this is reality – not fantasy. You couldn’t, after what he did – what he wanted to do…you were not going to be a statistic in his book – you were not going to be an easy kill. You are a fighter.

“Want to find out?” You didn’t, you truly did not want to but knew it was your only chance. If you stood your ground, it would be bloodshed. At least if you tried a bit more, pushed further – you could stop him once and for all. I mean, that was your plan after all, right? Catch The Butcher, put a stop to his shit. Your plan, a dumb – yet smart plan. But it being Cooper made it difficult for you, like a lump in your throat trying to pass. You didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t in fact, but the more he let his guard slip the obvious it became. You didn’t respond, didn’t look away from his eyes either. You stared ahead and watched Cooper with intent, challenging him to drop everything and stay there. You didn’t feel your feet leave the ground; you didn’t notice your knees hiking up with a sprint. Hell, you barely registered what was going on as your vision went from Cooper to the halfway point of your staircase, the deadbolted door only a few feet away. Jumping from the fifth to last step, you landed right on your booted feet – bringing a shaking hand up to undo the first lock. As you slid the deadbolt out from its place, you reached for the doorknob – but not before both of your hands were pinned to your side.

“Too slow there, princess. Did you even try?” That evil laugh ran your blood cold, a pout evident on his face without even turning. You went to scream but, Cooper cut off your noises with his arm across your neck, your chin sitting in the crux of his elbow. Instantly your nails found purchase in his thick sweater; Tiny fibers coming up as you pull with roughened hands. Donkey kicking your way into his knee, Cooper grunted with an annoyed mewl, letting out a heavy sigh against the side of your face as he pushes you face first into the wall. “Seems like you wanted me to catch you,” Cooper snarled, lips pressed so hard against your ear you felt his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Fear is the biggest betrayer; When an escape comes your way, you take it. No second thoughts, you go. But alas, the fear of not knowing caused you to panic and stutter with the deadbolt. If only you had been quicker, you’d be at the police station, not at The Butcher’s mercy.

It hurt knowing this was Cooper’s goal all along, to make you lucky number thirteen in his black book of death. Just another name, just another victim, just another live lost because of the inadequacy of the police. Another pair of eyes snuffed out, another brilliant mind gone to senselessness. You know you are a survivor, you know you need to prove it. Placing a tender kiss to your temple, Cooper sways you a bit as he pushes his weight into your back, tightening his hold with a grunt. “Ask me why, come on. I know you want to.” The whisper was one of petulance, like he wanted to give you the reason before you became his thirteenth reason. It was your parting gift on this realm; To know before you met the others. You didn’t want to give in, you didn’t have Cooper Adams to have the upper hand. But the feeling of a small knife poking just under your right lung in the hold made tears fall, a gasp of sorrow spewing out. “W-Why!” You screamed, feeling the anguish and despair wallowing in the open air.

Cooper took a deep breath as you spoke the words, fueling his ego with the emotion you were giving. The glimmer of hope he was snuffing out of you set him on edge, in the best way possible. Here you were, pressed against a wall with his arms wrapped around you. His knee between your legs to keep them open and his face melding with yours. Cooper and you were one in the same, a victim and killer creating a blinding situation. One where the only outcome is red. Running his nose along the backside of your ear, nuzzling into your skull, let out in a low tone: “Because I can.” It was straight forth, no mistaking what he said or the meaning behind it. Cooper was not one to fuck around about the kill, he took it seriously as he should. It scared you how quickly he shifted into The Butcher – there was almost no time to adjust. Now, he confessed. He can so he will, and you are going to be the sweetest one for him.

“Oh, was that not what you were expecting?” Cooper pouted as he asked, feigning innocence as he omitted a sad sound in your ear, causing the silent tears to erupt. Turning your head slightly to try and see his face in the glow of the pale moonlight, your eyes shone with disbelief and tiredness. His lips screwed up into a soft smile, using his free hand to caress your cheek. Every tear that fell, Cooper kissed it away from the back. He was mourning as well, mourning a soon-to-be friend, maybe a love interest, but all in all another brilliant mind. “No one expects me to take a life, and that is the thrill of it.” There was no hesitation, no gallop along bullshit to make you feel better. Cooper was direct, manipulative, psychotic. “I hold power over everyone, and they let me.” It was stated like a prayer, a true belief that it was making the world a better place. Cooper didn’t forget the accusatory stance when he spoke next, making sure you heard his words loud and clear. To know what a mistake this was. “You let me.”

A guttural, wretched wail leaped its way from deep within your body, ripping out through your lungs like a beast fully being unleashed. You dropped your knees slightly to try and get the advantage to slip away, groaning out in frustration as he locked his own. The knife slid across your sweatshirt like butter, not cutting your skin but sending the message. Cooper wouldn’t have gutted you in his sweater, no, it would be too dirty. The blade was dull, but the point was sharp. It was meant to scare you, to keep you in check. Did he think it would cut through cloth? No, but he knew it couldn’t skin. So, Cooper let you drop out of his grasp as the knife slid, backing up only slightly for you to scramble out. Yes, you exclaimed mentally as you crawled across the foyer floor.

Like a silent killer, Cooper turned around ala Michael Myers style and watched you – a blank expression making its way back to his features. He didn’t press forth, nor did he grab at you. Instead, Cooper watched you struggle like a stuck pig in mud, scurrying your way across the stairs and start to gain your balance. The first few steps were tough to keep your balancing, your boots sliding across the laminate wood. Halfway up you started to gain traction on each step, gripping the railing and not daring to look behind. But it was quiet, too quiet. You knew in your gut Cooper was planning something; You had no idea what but, this was something more than you. “You’re so pretty when you’re scared, it’s kind of hot.” Cooper drawled out as he slowly made his way up the stairs, smirking in the moonlight as he crept after you. Turning back around you kept the same speed to keep the distance between you both substantial. Slamming of boots coming from behind you, causing you to panic. But you were able to make it free of the stairs, and jet towards the deck door in the kitchen, thankful it was still unlocked.

As you moved forward on fast feet to grip the handle, a heavy hand came to the side of your head. The weight of it felt unnatural, otherworldly. The skin wasn’t warm on the palm, but ice cold. In a second, a simple blink, your eyes were unfocused. The world around you started to spin, and you reached your hands out, trying to find anything to grab onto. Instead, you felt the boom of pain on the left side of your head, warmth coating the skin as you fell. The floor, or table never came up – you landed in the arms of Cooper, who was now grunting and panting like a dog – perfect hair disheveled, mouth screwed up into an annoyed expression. “Sleep it off, you’ll be fine.” You dismissed off your feeling as he lowered you to the ground. Everything was in a daze, a glowing aura of red around your eyeline. No matter how many times you blinked or trying to focus your eyes, everything spun like a merry-go-round. Bursts of lights coated your vision, your wrists met with hard plastic as they were tied together. Your feet following the same fate.

You felt your body move, sliding down the kitchen floor. It was cold, dry, and yet warm all at the same time… then everything went black. You no longer felt a thing.

To Be Continued…

[transit-fag]

You gave me approval to post this (:

So I want to write a story revolving around the friendship of 6 queer people in New York

Here are their names:

Marion Lee

Sunny Dupont

Donovan Grace

Lucille Rose

Salinas Renne

Jean Domot

Here is a summary of the first Chapter :

The Story starts with Marion inviting Salinas to stay with her at her apartment in the Greenwich Village on his trip from Montreal. He is staying in New York to see their friend Sunny's theater show. After Marion picks Salinas up from Penn Station, they walk back to Marion's Apartment, stopping by a cafe that Marion works at and Marion picks up a Flyer for an arts show coming up as well as some coffee for the 2 of them. The 2 hang out for a day before Salinas finds a letter from Marion to Sunny where she admits to accidentally killing Jean. The day after he steals the letter, Marion and Salinas walk to Sunny's first theater show with a lead role, as they walk they discuss the art show coming up, Salinas is nervous during this, meanwhile as Sunny prepares for the show, he starts to talk to a man from a monastery on Staten Island promising an escape from his sinful lifestyle, sunny ignores the man and goes back to prepare for the show. When Sal and Marion arrive at the theater, Sal leaves the letter in Sunny's changing room. Sunny begins to read the letter after the show but the curtain call happens and he heads out to the lobby and spots Marion and Sal and decides to invite them to the cast's dinner at the diner near the theater. As he leaves he is held up by a reporter and tells Marion and Sal to go to the diner ahead of him. He heads back to his room to change, grabbing the letter and a gun before leaving. As they walk, Sunny reads over the letter again and again, eventually, they arrive at the diner and Sunny reads the letter one last time and approaches Marion about the letters contents, this leads to a fight between Salinas, Sunny and Marion about what happened, where it is revealed that Marion killed Jean and Salinas stole the letter, in anger about this, Marion takes the key to her apartment that she gave Sal back and storms out of the diner into the rain. Sal comes back to the apartment to find all his things are on the sidewalk. He calls up Marion who is smoking at the windowsill and tells her that he is truly sorry before walking back to the train station. Meanwhile Sunny stays at the diner and crys for a moment before running out and into a subway station, he is heading for Staten Island. As he waits on the subway platform, he listens to a small handheld radio and hears a familiar voice with a different name, the voice he hears is a radio DJ named Lucille, she is discussing the threatened execution of 2 revolutionaries and tells her audience to go and protest this crime, he turns off the radio and sits down on a bench in silence. At the diner sits a reporter at one of the empty booths, he gets up, asks where a pay phone is and calls up the papers in Boston

[thepinkowlet]

A pelican rito + Reporter + Aviator hat and googles = Top tier design. Penn really stands out as my favourite character design in latest Zelda games!

[disneytva]

Disney Appoints Jared Bush As Walt Disney Animation Studios New Chief Creative Officer of As Jennifer Lee Steps Down To Return To Filmaking With Frozen Franchise

Jared Bush (Disney Television Animation "Penn Zero: Part Time Hero", "Zootopia", "Moana", "Raya And The Last Dragon", "Encanto", "Moana 2", "Zootopia 2") has been named Chief Creative Officer (CCO) of Walt Disney Animation Studios effective immediately, reporting to Disney Entertainment Co-Chairman Alan Bergman, while Jennifer Lee has decided to return to filmmaking full time to steward the Frozen franchise for the studio.

As CCO, Bush will oversee the creative output of the iconic animation studio, including its films, shorts, and associated projects. (Theme-Park rides by Walt Disney Imagineering and Disney Television Animation series based on the iconic and modern films from the studio)

“I am so deeply grateful to Bob Iger and Alan Bergman for their faith in me, and thankful to Jennifer for her leadership and for her generous support as she embarks on the next chapters of Frozen,” said Bush. “Disney Animation is home to some of the greatest stories and characters of the past century, and I’m so excited to work with all of our filmmakers, artists, and Disney Animation team members as we shape the future of this legendary studio together.” “I am so deeply grateful to Bob Iger and Alan Bergman for their faith in me, and thankful to Jennifer for her leadership and for her generous support as she embarks on the next chapters of Frozen,” said Bush. “Disney Animation is home to some of the greatest stories and characters of the past century, and I’m so excited to work with all of our filmmakers, artists, and Disney Animation team members as we shape the future of this legendary studio together.”

Serving as Chief Creative Officer for Walt Disney Animation Studios since 2018, Lee will be directing and writing on Frozen 3 with Marc Smith; she will also executive produce the latter. Thirty-year Disney veteran Clark Spencer (Oscar®-winning producer, Encanto, Zootopia) continues as President, Walt Disney Animation Studios.

Said Lee: “I am so grateful to Bob and Alan for supporting my decision to return to filmmaking full time. Every day working with them is a master class in creativity, business, community, and integrity. I’ve always believed in Jared’s incredible talent and can’t wait to see, with his passion and dedication to animation, what he brings to the CCO role. For me, getting to collaborate with this studio of artists, animators, and storytellers is such a privilege, and I look forward to all we will create together.”  “I am so grateful to Bob and Alan for supporting my decision to return to filmmaking full time. Every day working with them is a master class in creativity, business, community, and integrity. I’ve always believed in Jared’s incredible talent and can’t wait to see, with his passion and dedication to animation, what he brings to the CCO role. For me, getting to collaborate with this studio of artists, animators, and storytellers is such a privilege, and I look forward to all we will create together.”

“Jared Bush is an incredible filmmaker and a talented executive who’s been a prominent creative force at Disney Animation for the past decade, and I am thrilled that he’ll be taking the reins of this storied studio,” Bergman said. “I also want to thank Jennifer Lee for her passionate leadership of the studio over the past several years — she’s made an indelible mark on both Disney Animation and the industry. I know she has so many more stories to tell, and there is truly no one better suited to oversee the continuation of the beloved story of Frozen.”

Bush has been with the studio for over a decade, receiving the Academy Award in 2022 for Encanto, for which he was both director and a writer, in the same year in which he was executive producer for the Oscar-nominated Raya and the Last Dragon. Bush was also co-director/co-writer on 2016’s Oscar-winning Zootopia, writer of the original Oscar-nominated hit Moana, and received an Emmy® Award for Zootopia+. He serves as a writer and executive producer on the upcoming Moana 2 and is directing and writing Zootopia 2, set to release Fall 2025.

Bush also served as co-creator of Penn Zero: Part-Time Hero at Disney Television Animation with Sam Levine (Warner Animation Group "DC League Of Super Pets") , the series debuted on Disney XD in 2014 and had a run of two seasons that ended in 2017.

[insidecroydon]

Mayor Perry: we've reported no one for bankrupting borough

Tory Mayor now blames police for slow investigation – after having submitted complaint over former council leaders more than two years after the council received recommendations that it should do so. By KEN LEE, Town Hall reporter It’s complicated: Jason Perry appears surprised that asking the police to investigate a case after a two-year delay is taking time In an extraordinary admission,…

[fatefulfaerie]

Tears

“Link!” Penn exclaimed, wings outstretched in excitement. “What a great sense for news you have! Here I am chasing a new lead on the Princess and my partner appears before my eyes!”

Link hadn’t seen Penn since they finished chasing all the leads they had on the Princess’ whereabouts. It was at least a month since they went from stable to stable, Link almost believing the Yiga’s tricks and getting barely a wink of sleep until all twelve were dead ends. He was left just as lost as when he started until he found Impa and sunk himself into the mysterious geoglyphs that dotted the land. Link hadn’t yet found the courage to admit to anyone the truth about Zelda, so he pretended the best he could to be the eager, young reporter Penn knew him as.

“I’ve heard that Zelda has a homestead here in Hateno,” he continued. “Villagers tell me it’s across this bridge, but I’m afraid I’m at a standstill. You see, investigating her home for clues seems to go against my morals as a journalist. This may have to be a story we leave be.”

It was public knowledge that Princess Zelda lived in Hateno. That was no news story.

“What’s the lead?” Link asked. “Was she seen here recently? S-since her disappearance I mean.”

“It may be hearsay but rumors have been circulating that the Princess is married,” Penn said. “The villagers here have no idea what I’m talking about, so I’m thinking it’s no more than gossip. Traysi wanted me to check it out nonetheless. I’m thinking we at least find the may–”

Link averted his tear-filled gaze.

“Link, are you all right?”

“I…I’m fine,” he stammered. “Just…allergies.”

“Where,” he began weakly, but forced his voice to be stronger. “Where does the lead come from?”

“An old Zora at the Domain,” Penn answered. “He’s losing his memory but tends to spout some random things about his long life in an effort to keep a grasp on it. His niece heard him talking about marrying the Princess to someone, but he didn’t specify who. She was so excited about the prospect that she sent word to Traysi.”

Link looked notably nervous as he hugged his arms close.

“Don’t…don’t run the story,” he said in a hushed voice, no longer meeting Penn’s gaze at all. 

Penn looked confused.

“Link…what do you mean? Do you know something?”

“It just…it paints her in a bad light.”

“Link, I know you care about the princess’ public reputation. Your work at the paper honors that gleamingly. Your search for the absolute truth is inspiring to the whole team. You service our kingdom and our princess well.”

Link steadied his nerves with a deep breath and a slow blink of his eyes.

“It was me,” he admitted, quietly at first.

Penn blinked, shocked. He assumed he heard wrong.

“What?”

“It was me!” Link finally burst out pointing at himself. “All of it, everything. The mysterious hero who came out of nowhere and saved Hyrule from the calamity, me. I brought Zelda here and we built a life, and it was a good life. I married her because I loved her. We didn’t tell anyone because goddesses the Yiga were trailing her everywhere and everyone was looking at her to rebuild but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore because she’s gone, okay? She’s gone! That’s it, that’s your story. She’s a magic, floating dragon in the skies because I failed her again. She sacrificed herself for this kingdom and no one will ever know because there’s no proof! Nothing! No one else sees the dragons but me, so that’s what I have for you, absolutely nothing! I have nothing!”

Link panted and Penn stared. He blinked his eyes once, twice. Link expected him to call him crazy. Instead, he pointed his white-feathered wing at the house across the bridge.

“That’s your house?”

Link’s disbelief was shown in his face.

“Yes.”

Penn looked at the house for a moment, letting the breeze sift through his feathers.

“Link I think in a time like this Hyrule would quite like to hear a story like this about their Princess,” Penn said. “I don’t think your story paints her in a bad light in the slightest. In fact, it may be the heartwarming tale people need right now.”

Link’s gaze angled down and pondered the suggestion.

“And no, they won’t believe that she’s turned into a dragon,” Penn continued. “But they will believe as I do how much you loved her, and how she must have loved you.”

Link nodded.

“If you don’t mind I’d like to interview you,” Penn admitted. “In the house you built together. You’ll get final approval of the story I send to Traysi.”

Link looked up and over at the house. It felt like he hadn't been there in ages, like it was a lifetime ago that he went in scouring for clues, hoping she'd just be around the next corner. Waiting for her was like waiting for a sunrise that would never come.

“No, I don’t mind.”

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣

trent frederic.

word count: 4.0k

warning: explicit content

"let it happen (it's gonna feel so good)" — tame impala

A/N: this fic was inspired by the locker room raw of trent from december of 2022, gifed above. if you’d like to watch it, you can here. enjoy, and as always, happy reading!

- - -

Being a reporter isn’t all it’s made out to be when you’re harboring something that could put your career at risk.

Yet that’s exactly what you were doing, working as a journalist for the Boston Bruins.

Being in the presence of sweaty, large hockey players was something you’d inevitably have to get used to when working the field that you did. However, you never seemed to struggle with it. When people asked, you always told them that you’d simply set any minor attractions aside and focus on your work, rather than your desires. It was easy.

Until Trent Frederic came into the picture.

Something about him caught your attention the first time you stood in his proximity amongst the other reporters. He wasn’t attractive in the conventional way you knew the other players were. Most people would say he was “cute”, or “good-looking”, but that was the extent. So maybe that was it. Maybe it was his eyes, or his freckles, or the curls that poked out from under his hats.

Or maybe it was simply how fucking gorgeous he was to you, regardless of anyone else’s opinion.

That being said, you were frustrated; frustrated with yourself for letting his appearance get to you, even though you fought yourself daily for years to make sure it never happened. You knew that, at some point, someone would get the best of you, and unfortunately, he just happened to be that someone. You wanted to blame him. To take some of the pressure off of yourself for once. You wanted him and his goddamned charm to be at fault instead of you.

It’s the way he looks at you, you’d tell yourself. He’s trying to get a rise. He has to be. After all this time, you can’t be that weak.

Right?

But you knew that you were. You were weak for him. And it was just about the most unprofessional thing you could do in your position.

“What do you think it’s going to be like—to be in this type of environment?” the first reporter’s voice sounded, blinking you out of your already nervous state as you stood beside Trent.

“Uh, it kinda reminds me of a Penn State,” he replied, hand coming up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Or kinda like the, uh…What is it, Yost Arena in Michigan?”

The reporter nodded to confirm his statement. “I like those two rinks, so…hopefully, uh—thought we always,” he paused to breathe, “always played well there, so…hopefully it’s similar.”

Then it was your turn to speak up, and when you cleared your throat, his head pivoted in your direction. His eyes followed your voice and landed on you, his chest rising and falling as he awaited your question.

“Are there any adjustments you had to make where you’re playing in a,” you hesitated as you watched his tongue slip past his parted lips, tracing a line from the center of his bottom lip to the corner of his mouth. Your mind did all but ignore this and his audible, heavy breaths. You quickly blinked out of the state.

“In a smaller arena?” you finally continued in a humiliating attempt to sound put-together. “Or—”

“I don’t think so, I think when you’re playing you really only see the first,” he gestured his hand, “ten rows and up, so I think it’ll be fine. About the same.”

His gaze lingered on you for a split second longer than it should’ve before he turned the other way to face Sophia as she asked the next question. And it was then that you were certain he’d picked up on you.

Not to mention him abruptly cutting you off.

A few minutes passed before the cameras cut and the small crowd dispersed, leaving only him and you standing alone in front of his stall. But his voice stopped you before you could even manage a step in the other direction.

“Hey,” he called out calmly, and when you turned back around you were met with the sight of him standing nonchalantly, arms folded in front of him. “I don’t think we’re done yet.”

“…Yeah, we are. We already finished the media, no?”

“The media’s done,” he spoke, straightening himself out and taking a step toward you. “But we’re not done.”

“Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, Trent, but I have places to be. So if you’ll kindly excuse me—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You were taken aback, no doubt, but knew that you had to oblige him whether you wanted to or not. So you let out a sigh and shook your head.

He slipped off his padding, then silently jerked his head to the side, motioning for you to come with him as he walked down the outside hallway and into the nearest empty room. He promptly shut the door behind him, then walked toward you.

“What is it?” you finally piped up.

“Do you have a thing for me?”

“Wow, okay,” you scoffed, irritation lacing your defensive tone. “Do you have some sort of ego issue, or?”

“Do not play dumb right now,” he rasped, leaning closer. “You don’t think I’ve noticed the looks? The staring? The stuttering?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you rebutted, nostrils flared as you swallowed thickly.

“Oh, so you mean to tell me that I wasn’t just saving your ass back there?”

You sighed, finally letting your guard down as you lowered your voice. “Fine,” you admitted through clenched teeth. “I have a thing for you.”

And just like that, the corner of his lips twitched just slightly, as if he were suppressing a smirk. He finally leaned back and gave you room to breathe, so you seized the opportunity and took a long breath. He remained silent, waiting for you to elaborate.

“No matter how bad I want to act on it, I can’t, because I’m already in deep enough shit for wanting you in the first place,” you flatly explained. “But if we ever got caught for something like that…I’d lose my damn job, Trent. The job that I worked my ass off trying to get, and the one that’s already at enough of a fucking risk because of you.”

You shook your head disappointedly. “So sorry if I’m not getting my words right the first time.”

You brushed past him, trying to make your way toward the door but were quickly brought to a standstill when he spoke up.

“You think you’re the only one in that situation?”

You turned back around to face him, brows knit together in confusion as he stepped closer.

“And before you up and leave, I need to make something clear to you,” he spoke.

“Trent—”

“If I wasn’t attracted to you, I wouldn’t be enabling you like I do. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be trying to help you,” he told you promptly. “So think about that next time you want to think you’re the only one with problems.”

“God, Trent, that’s—this whole thing is beyond unprofessional. On both ends,” you scoffed in disbelief. “And you know that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do anything with you because it would put me at risk.”

Of course, you wanted to. You were lying straight through your teeth. It was clear as day to Trent, too, because the subtleties told him otherwise—the hint of hesitation lacing your tone and the unease in your expression. But, to be fair, it was difficult to mask. You were already struggling with how inappropriate the whole conversation was.

And after all, nobody said it was easy to stop imagining what someone would taste like.

He stepped closer and your feet carried you backward until you came into contact with the wall behind you. Your head tilted back as you looked up at him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Not to mention it’s a,” you hesitated, “—a conflict of interest.”

“Write whatever the hell you want about me, because it won’t change how drawn to you I am.” A large hand gently placed itself on your hip, “And it won’t change that I’d take that chance with you.”

The tension in your face softened, sincerity bleeding through his voice as he spoke to you. You took a long, deep breath and—against any remaining shred of logic in your conflicted mind—lifted your hand to his chest, slowly trailing upward until it reached the curls on the back of his neck.

“If we got caught,” you reiterated, “you’d be the player who hooked up with some reporter…And I’d be the slut who couldn’t keep it professional.”

You softened your voice, “I’ve worked too hard to let it all go to waste, Trent.”

“Sounds more like a societal issue than an us issue,” he shrugged, “and last I checked…two adults deciding to get a little physical isn’t exactly illegal.” His voice shifted to a low rasp, “But I can’t wrap my head around why you’re still here, because someone else in your current position wouldn’t still be here unless they’d started to change their mind.”

“God, you’re frustrating,” you muttered. Warm breath hit your lips, forcing you to realize how close he’d become. Your eyes watched as the remaining beads of sweat dripped slowly down his face. “I haven’t considered anything,” you lied.

“Then tell me to stop.”

Your conscience told you to say it; that stupid guilty conscience that you were admittedly fucking tired of. Normally, it would’ve forced you to rattle off all of the reasons you could’ve said it—why you should’ve—but it didn’t. Because every other part of you wanted the complete opposite. Every consequence seemed to evacuate your thoughts, with Trent conveniently replacing each one.

So you finally turned your mind off and let your body take control.

His lips roughly connected with yours and you didn’t protest. You were quickly pinned to the wall by his hips as his fingers untucked your shirt, hooking under the fabric and slipping it up and over your head, allowing it to hit the floor, and his lips hungrily returned to yours. He was too intoxicating to deny, and the feeling of his tongue as it rolled slowly over yours only solidified that fact.

You reached up and pried the baseball cap off his head, tossing it aside and running your hand through his hair, transferring the moisture from his curls to your fingers, beginning to dampen them. Your other hand slipped under the fabric of his shirt, peeling it from his upper body to reveal his toned physique underneath, which you’d only ever caught small glances of. And boy, did it not disappoint.

When his lips left yours, you whimpered at the loss of contact, but they soon returned to your skin, peppering it with kisses as he trailed a path from your shoulder up to your neck, spending extra time there. Your hands traveled to his bare back, palms resting on his shoulder blades as your head tilted to the side, granting him more access.

“We’re—fuck,” you panted, eyes screwed shut, “we’re screwed if someone hears us.”

“That’s why we’re not near the door,” he muttered, kissing up to your jawline. “And also why we’re going to have to be quiet. Sound good?”

You nodded softly, then felt his lips move to your throat, eyes fixated on him as he reached your collarbones. At his movement, your hands lifted and moved to the wall beside you, palms flattened against it. He continued the path downward and lowered himself to his knees. Soft lips could now be felt on your stomach, burning the skin in their path.

Fingers curled into the waistband of the leather skirt hugging your hips and swiftly removed it, with it the lacy material beneath. The cool air of the empty room hit your exposed skin, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

It was all too much when his hands pried your thighs open so he could slip between them.

His warm breath grazed the sensitive skin between your legs. You knew how close he was. Then you were proved right as he gently pressed a trail of kisses from the inside of your thigh up to the flesh between them. His tongue parted your folds, dragging itself up and down slowly, gathering your taste on it.

He let out a groan of approval when your hand darted out, fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him closer. You wanted—no, needed more, especially when his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking it gently as his calloused hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling you into him.

He lapped at you hungrily, building you up and forcing you to chase your release. He was no stranger to being between a girl’s legs. He could’ve gone hours with someone’s thighs wrapped around his head. But he never needed to.

And you were going to face the same fate.

“Shit,” you sighed weakly, running your fingers through his damp hair. Heavy breaths filled his ears, your voice breaking through and turning them into soft whimpers.

“Mm,” he hummed against your skin, and your hips slowly, painfully rolled, the grip on your thighs making it near impossible for you to move them enough to give yourself the relief you craved.

But he took this as a sign, holding you tighter as he delved his tongue into you, steadily moving it in and out as he brought you to your breaking point. The thrill of being at such a risk only fueled his fire. Trent always refused to pull away until a girl was properly satisfied. The payoff was as rewarding as ever to him. So why deny someone the pleasure that you were giving them? He never understood it.

Besides, he always got off on seeing a girl come undone so fast.

His name fell from your parted lips in a moan as he flattened his tongue against your clit, that being the final push over the edge. Expert flicks of his tongue worked your body through your release, prolonging the process, and he began to taste you on the tip of it. He collected every last bit, moaning softly in satisfaction as he swallowed.

Finally, he pulled away, pressing a final kiss to your skin before releasing his grip on your thighs and standing up slowly. The grin he donned as he straightened out burned a hole through any remainder of the facade that masked your weakness; the one that made you give in to him unwillingly, without as much as an afterthought. It was too late for regrets. And you didn’t particularly seem to have any.

He watched as your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath as your eyes seemingly fixated on his lips. His thumb came up and wiped the corner of his mouth, then moved in front of his lips for him to lick it clean.

“Keep staring, why don’t ya,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You’ve got some nerve saying that when I could just walk right out,” you quipped.

“Then do it,” he laughed, confidence lacing his expression. “Nobody’s stopping you,” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you’d be running quite the risk walking out of here with practically no clothes on, hm?”

“Yeah, as if that’s the only reason I’m not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, knowing full well what would happen if you were to waltz out of the room in the state you were in.

Luckily for you and him, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you’d be moving from your spot.

Weakened legs encircled his waist as he hoisted you up, and your arms wrapped around his neck. His hand reached between you and slid the thin fabric of his pants down just far enough to adjust himself. The other gripped the underside of your thigh, that and the wall supporting your weight as he held you up.

“You think anyone’s looking for us?” you muttered, the pads of your fingers dancing along the skin of his back.

“Probably,” he answered quietly as he lined himself up, and you started to feel the pressure between your legs. “But I don’t care.”

Then, he loosened his hold on you, sliding your body down the wall as he forcefully lowered you onto him. Your lips parted in momentary shock as he stretched your walls. The all-new sensation promptly clouded your vision. Crescent-shaped marks appeared on his skin when your nails dug into it. The size of his wide cock challenged that of any other man you had the unfortunate pleasure of fucking. They made you feel empty. But Trent filled you just right. He was almost too big.

Almost.

When you finally came to, your eyes darted toward his face, quickly meeting his in a forceful gaze. You tried to steady your breaths, but your body refused to allow it until you were fully adjusted to him. Instead, you elicited what sounded like whimpers. And of course, that only drove him more wild.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, brows knitting together as he pulled you up, adjusting you to be more firm in his grasp. “All that professionalism turn you into a prune or something?”

“Shut up,” you retorted, having a sharp intake of breath as he sunk you back down.

He laughed in response. “Mad that I’m right?”

“No,” you were quick to deny. “You’re just,” you hesitated, then cut yourself off sharply, “—just shut up.”

“Sure thing, Miss Reporter.”

That was enough verbal volleying for him and he pulled back, waiting a moment before pushing himself back in. The movement stifled you dead, practically severing your vocal cords as your head fell forward and your forehead promptly connected with his bare shoulder. He groaned in approval as your sensitive walls constricted around his length, his thrusts moving at a slow pace to allow your body to adjust.

Your previous release worked to lubricate the place you were joined, giving him leeway to pick up speed as he smoothly slid in and out, hitting places your mind couldn’t have possibly imagined he—or anyone—could. And Trent, on the flip side, was relishing in how perfectly you enveloped him; how fucking good the acute pressure felt each time he pumped his hips and buried himself to the hilt.

Desperately you clung to him, using some of the strength left in you to keep yourself stable, while the rest went toward forcing yourself into silence. But soon, there wasn’t enough to do both, and his shoulder wasn’t enough to prevent your moans from bouncing off the walls of the small space you inhabited. And if they weren’t taken care of soon, they’d bleed through the walls, and the exact fear that almost drove you out of the room in the first place would have become a reality.

So he whispered your name—piquing your attention enough to lift your head—and pushed his lips to yours, enveloping your mouth in a deep kiss that was enough to keep your noises at bay. At least, for the time being. 

Rough palms pressed firmly into your thighs, a grip so firm that the fingers were likely to leave marks. But you didn’t seem to care, nor did you make an effort to stop it from happening. You’d be angry at it later. It wasn’t exactly a prominent worry in your mind while he sharply fucked into you, giving you as much as you could take.

And take him, you could.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and grazed your teeth as your hand snaked into his wet curls and fisted them, hard. He quickly removed his hands from your thighs and pressed them into the small of your back, arms pulling you impossibly closer as your legs tightened around his waist. The movement altered your position and shifted him inside of you, which forced him to hit your sweet spot, prying a moan from deep within your stomach.

It wasn’t often that a guy was rough with you, but he was. And whether you’d admit it or not, you liked it. 

“Right—right there,” was all you could manage.

At your word, he sped up, cock burying itself as far into you as your bodies would allow, soft grunts leaving his mouth as he exhaled. With each thrust, his name fell from your lips in soft whimpers as if it were a prayer. And then, the culmination of his hands on you, the noises he made, and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you as it craved its release brought you to yours.

The pleasure that washed over you as you came apart around him elicited a long, breathy moan from your throat. Once again, your vision was blackened, mind lost in a repeating loop of the only palpable thought it was able to conjure up, which was how incredible he felt from this angle, fucking you through it. And even when he brought his hand to your mouth to silence you, you allowed it without forethought.

Soon after, the pressure of you contracting around his length, paired with the sound of his name ringing in the form of your voice brought him to his breaking point. He shot into you, thoroughly coating your inner walls in a layer of hot, white liquid. You moaned weakly into his palm, taking him with a strength you would’ve been sure you didn’t have left in you. You maintained it for a few moments longer until his movements finally halted. He stilled inside and gently removed his hand from your mouth, a loud gasp filling his ears as you breathed air into your lungs.

The only sound occupying the small, dark room was that of heavy breaths, the walls absorbing the noise and preventing it from reaching the outside. Finally, Trent carefully pulled out and lowered you back to the ground, and you were grateful that his hands kept a loose hold on you for the support you knew you required.

His hands roamed your sides before finally removing themselves from your body. He pulled his pants back up to his waist and promptly adjusted himself, then bent down and picked up your discarded clothes, giving them back to you as he came back up. You thanked him quietly before stepping into the thin fabric, slipping it up your legs in unison with the leather skirt before returning the blouse to your body. Meanwhile, Trent grabbed his shirt and tugged it on, the taut fabric hugging his upper half as he moved back into your field of view.

“Hey,” he finally spoke up, prompting your head to tilt up in his direction. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed in response, arms folded as your hands rubbed them. “This…this was a one-time thing, Trent. To get it out of our systems.”

“I know,” he nodded, “but I don’t think it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Trent, if anyone ever—”

“I know,” he cut you off, lowering his voice to a near whisper as he stepped closer. “I know. But you can’t deny that it felt good to give in.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip in contemplation as you considered his words, then exhaled deeply through your nose. “Yeah,” you dejectedly sighed.

His finger tilted your chin up. “Just think about it, ‘mk?”

You silently nodded and turned to the door, silently making your way over as he followed closely behind you. The air was tense. It had undoubtedly thickened since your bodies parted. You stopped in front of the door, the soft noise of his breathing distracting you. Knowing his proximity to you prevented you from opening the door just yet.

And before your head could catch up with your body, you turned around swiftly and kissed him.

“There’s not much to think about, anyway,” you muttered softly, bringing a hand to his chest and trailing it up to the back of his neck. Your fingers gently brushed the tips of his curls, thumb pressing lightly against his skin just below them. “I’ve already made my decision,” you quietly added.

“Yeah?”

To compartmentalize. Let your body decide what it wanted, regardless of the consequences.

And it wanted him.

[cloudninetonine]

Hey so as you guys know I've been playing Tears

So I finally decided to write something for it!

WARNING TO EVERYONE, MAJOR TEARS OF THE KINGDOMS SPOILERS DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!

“I need to reach my friend!”

The world that was once Wild’s Hyrule had changed- drastically. Not anymore did the guardians lay dormant, nor did the Sheikah towers stand tall- the Divine Beasts had been laid to rest and while the lands stayed the same, the skies seemed to become home to more than the native Islander hawk.

Changed for better or for worse, you didn’t quite know. The growling patches of gloom circling chasms to a world beneath the surface wasn’t really all that fun to you- nor were the claws of concentrated evil that crept up from nowhere to try and snatch you without a second thought. But to see how Hyrule seemed to prosper with more life. The settlement by the castle was bigger now, a fort that stood proud to the floating pinnacle that was Hyrule castle and with more warriors seasoned to fight for the place that was their home.

Purah was amazed to see you again and you didn’t know how to feel about being smaller than her now.

Felt wrong in the more comedic sense.

All across the land you had come to find new people, make new friends! Tulin had grown so much! As had Riju! Sidon’s finacée, Yona her name, was a beautiful and cute manta ray! (Never in your life had you been jealous about both partners of a relationship that badly) Paya was now chief! Yunobo had a beard! And you had met the most amazing Rito reporter named Penn! A man who had named your new best friend in these trying times.

And trying times they were- you had no idea how you were keeping up with Wild. A little older now, an inch or two taller with a stronger build and more of an mature edge to him- well, that’s what you thought when you first woke up here in Lookout Landing, a teary eyed Wild looking down at you before he near crushed you underneath his weight, Flora just as teared and happily embracing you once you were finally stood.

You had no idea what happened, not how you got here nor where the rest of the Chain were- but you were glad you at least had the Champion by your side.

Sometimes.

This time was one of those times you were ready to toss him.

“If you connect that fucking rocket to that baby’s backpack I will shove a bomb flower down your throat.” Rauru’s hand was glowing with power, frozen along with the Zonai rocket it was lifting as you stood just a few paces away. “I mean it, Link, if you send them flying we’re duking it out.”

You looked so intimidating with the Glide suit, you just knew it. (Oh internal dialogue, how sarcastic you could be)

The korok shook, little sniffles catching your ears as they gazed at the device just inches away from being glued to the material of their rucksack before sighing in relief as the rocket was dropped with a heavy thud just beside them, Wild turning with an ‘oh-so-innocent’ smile. 

“They need to reach their friend-” He pointed a thumb behind him, “A few hills over- I was just helping.”

You frowned “I don’t know what happened while you were away but you’ve become more sadistic.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never do.” Both sharing a look, you shook your head. “Hand them over to me, I’ll get them to their buddy.”

Wild’s hand fell to his hip, watching you waddle over excitedly as he side stepped, your hands out in a grabby motion as the small forest child threw their little stubby hands up with an excited “Guide!” that made your heart soar as you hauled them into the air with a similar excited “Forest baby!”

“You know we still need to get to Rito village- it’ll get dark by the time we arrive if we do this.”

“Don’t care, forest babies come first.”

He smirked, “Koroks are older than you.”

“Your mum.”

“Very mature.”

“Who are you, Twilight?” A pang went through your heart. “Ah, no, sorry that was rude-”

Wild’s face had curled in a more comedic way when you turned to look at him, sour and betrayed in the way the skin folded. “Am I really turning into him?”

Pausing, you looked him up and down- “I mean…you kinda do remind me of him right now.”

Wild raised a brow; you grinned. “You remember when Wolfie fell into that bush?”

When you burst into laughter he rolled his eyes, letting out a “hardy-har” while the korok still wiggled happily in the confines of your arms, it’s bag now over your shoulder to relieve some of the weight. (You focused on the spirit and missed the way the Champion desperately pawed at the sticks in his flowing hair)

“I’m not going with you this time- we’ve already lost a lot of hours.” Crossing his arms, the blonde continued. “If you go I’ll head towards the village.”

You shurgged. “Alright, I’ll see you there.”

The Champion narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious, (Name).”

“I’m sure you are.”

“...I don’t like your tone.”

Clearing your throat, you raised it an octave. “I’m sure you are!”

Wild did not laugh when you did.

If there was one thing you knew about the Champion it was that he was attached to your side. Stuck stronger than the fuse of the Zonai magic, the blonde followed you around like a Hylian retriever followed those that held food towards them. If you strayed too far, he would get you, if you paused mid journey, he paused, there was so many occasion that something had caught your eye mid ride on one of the many vehicles he had created and the man would slow down to let you go study it- lest you hop off, something you had almost done once when he refused to stop.

You really did appreciate all he did, you knew he had a lot on his mind, but with all that was happening didn’t you both deserve to have some moments not caught up the drama of the end of the fucking world???

“I’ll see you in a little bit!” Daylight was falling and it would be harder to find the campfire smoke in the night. “Keep the bed in the inn warm for me, pretty boy!”

And thus began your hike. Your little companion happily chattering your ear off as you walked away from the hero, hearing his heavy sigh and impatient foot tapping loose volume the further and further you got.

You had made it past the first hill, Wild’s form out of your sight as you glanced back when the sound out wheels caught your attention. The korok let out a noise of confusion at the strange noise but you merely spared a giggle, standing aside as the beam cycle (minus the beam) slowed to a stop beside you- your hero refusing to look your way as he waited.

“Get on.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me on a date first?”

He grunted and you gave him the grace to leave him be, being careful balancing the korok in your grasp as you hopped onto the odd bike and wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, another still holding the forest spirit tight. 

“You ready?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You missed the small smile that grew on his face, the Zonai devices lighting up with its phantom green glow as the hero started the machine back up and headed towards the direction of the smoke. Without a second thought, you gently kissed his nape, unable to reach his cheek and nuzzled into his back with a relaxed hum.

Wild straightened proudly.

“You still have sticks in your hair.”

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

[mindblowingscience]

Ancient, expansive tracts of continental crust called cratons have helped keep Earth's continents stable for billions of years, even as landmasses shift, mountains rise and oceans form. A new mechanism proposed by Penn State scientists may explain how the cratons formed some 3 billion years ago, an enduring question in the study of Earth's history. The scientists report in the journal Nature that the continents may not have emerged from Earth's oceans as stable landmasses, the hallmark of which is an upper crust enriched in granite. Rather, the exposure of fresh rock to wind and rain about 3 billion years ago triggered a series of geological processes that ultimately stabilized the crust—enabling the crust to survive for billions of years without being destroyed or reset.

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