#The ones where I break out the science reports is how you know its getting good

[your-faves-as-animals]

Neku Sakuraba from TWEWY is a Margay! (Leopardus wiedii)

Requested by @glovedghosts !

A unique species of cat with a solitary nature and incredible night vision, the margay is wholly adaptated for true aboreal life-- they have incredible joint flexibility in the hind legs, and are able to run headfirst down trees like squirrels! The margay is the first neotropical predator recorded as using mimicry, with calls able to closely imitate the vocalisation produced by their preferred prey-- in the original obeservation, specifically the sounds of a juvenile tamarin.

Information Source // Photo courtesy of Artushfoto

[idontknowreallywhy]

A little Teeny Scott wip snippet because the little Scooter popped into my brain as he often does when I’m a bit overwhelmed.

Tis another snapshot of my OC Primary teacher POV (oh oops I have two! No, not THAT one the other one! The one who taught teeny Scott rather than the one who trolls adult Scott)

���💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Like many a primary class store cupboard, the one in Felicity Miles’ domain was crammed full of everything under the sun that could plausibly be “useful for craft one day” alongside all the more formal stationery supplies, brightly coloured sports equipment, first aid items, cuddly toys with their own bandages (often deployed to greater effect than the official first aid items).

She also had a small shelf, high up, she kept for the special pieces of work, the ones which demonstrated where a child had suddenly Got Excited - technicolour art, poetry with unashamed overuse of newly discovered adverbs, science projects, Scott Tracy’s poster about Pi. She always smiled to remember how after his initial disappointment about what the little squiggly symbol DIDN’T mean, how Absolutely he had adopted his new “favourite number”. She had a few from each class and when teacher life all got a bit overwhelming she’d take half an hour at the end of the day and reflect on why she did this in the first place. Retaining the space meant her marking piles were rather more crammed together and higgledy piggledy than ideal - her more organised colleagues would certainly raise an eyebrow - but it was worth it.

There was also a space about half a metre wide and about the same high on the very bottom shelf which it was important she kept empty. Again, the independent observer might have queries as to why, when space was at such a premium, this was necessary. She would probably just smile enigmatically and point at the tiny masking tape sign in wobbly 7-year old handwriting that said “The Octopus House” and leave them with more questions than they were ever going to get answers to.

The Octopus House wasn’t a secret but she didn’t advertise its existence. The few kids who knew about it found it because they needed it. The ones who needed to hide away for a moment, but not be too far away from the safety of their peers or the ones who needed to squeeze up small to process the big feelings without their limbs causing trouble.

It had received its name three years ago on that memorable day when she Lost a Student. He was just gone for at least 20 minutes which must have cost her at least a year of her life. Between the three adults in the class that day they’d subtly searched the corridors, the toilets, the lunch hall, the library and what could be seen of the playground but it was like the child had evaporated. Trying not to panic she’d sent the rest of the class out with the experienced TA and the very-green-but-compensating-with-extreme-enthusiasm NQT to do Olympic relay races on the playground (thank you Ancient Greek class project).

She leant on the back of the door for thirty seconds to catch her breath and psych herself up for the inevitable crisis meeting with the head and the moment at which that would turn in to needing to break the news to his Father.

The silence crowded in on her and she felt herself beginning to properly panic.

She didn’t even know exactly when he’d disappeared. He was there at the start of the lesson, seemed happy, seemed engaged. He’d been very excited about the task they had been given to recreate the Parthenon out of craft paper and had taken charge of his small group so naturally… they’d all been given their part of the mission and they were actually DOING it! Very effectively it seemed! She’d made a mental note to add “leadership skills” to the list of positive things she was going to put on his school report (because the previous few she’d read had made her nauseous with anger) and turned to assist a wailing child with no less than three glue sticks embedded in her hair. And that was… half an hour before? Oh hell that was a long time.

She and the other adults had been so busy mediating the minor battles breaking out in other groups that when a little voice piped up “where’s Scotty? He was sposed to make the lintels!” and her blood had suddenly run cold.

If he was hurt or in danger because she took her eye off him…

She blinked back tears and had just composed herself to pick up the phone to the head teacher’s office when she heard a tiny sniff and spun around to identify the source. Nobody was there.

Hardly daring to breathe, she tiptoed through the room checking under desks already checked three times.

Just as she was concluding she’d imagined it, there it was again - the tiniest noise but definitely a sniff and seemingly from the direction of the cupboard he couldn’t be in because the thumb turn bolt was still in the locked position.

Feeling like she was going crazy she unlocked the door and looked inside anyway.

Obviously it was empty. Her wishful thinking was wasting time. They needed to get a proper search party organised.

She turned to leave and heard it for a third time.

And it was that day, in her 5th year of teaching, she discovered just how small a ball a tall child could make themselves into. Seriously, the octopus had nothing on this kid.

The space was much smaller then, barely 30cm wide and only there at all because she’d taken out the long, thin box of baton-shaped sticks that had been wedged tightly in between stacks of who knew what. All she could see was a tangle of uniformed limbs and a mass of sweaty chestnut hair.

He obviously knew she was there and was holding his breath, clearly hoping not to be seen. Expecting to be in trouble.

Felicity picked up her phone and sent a quick “crisis averted” message to her TA and then, after ensuring the door was wedged wide open, she slowly lowered herself to the floor. Pulling her knees up to her chin to mirror his posture she rested her back on some boxes a few inches to the left of where he’d tucked himself away.

And she waited.

[birdsaretoddlers]

okay everyone promised to be niceys about it so here's a snippet of the first chapter of the neo-noir whatever the fuck i'm writing. everyone be nice or else i'll explode into a puddle of tears ok?

Red Vixen Returns! After what appears to have been a two year hiatus, famed cat burglar ‘Red Vixen’ has struck again, this time taking a stab at Overeasy Industries! Newest reports claim that the Phosphoril Rose was stolen last night out of its exhibit at the Museum of Earth Sciences. The CEO of Overeasy Industries has promised that any credible claim to it’s whereabouts that lead to the recovery of the artifact will be rewarded handsomely-

“Turn that off, would you, Vette?”

The television cycled off the news and on to a different news station, then more news, and finally, a gossip tabloid that, again, was covering the news. With a disgruntled hawk in her throat, the bartender tossed the remote onto the countertop, unable to escape chippy newscasters with dead eyes and fake cheer. “If you can find any channel not showin’ that, you’re welcome to it.”

The remote slid, spinning, over the scarred, heavily-lacquered wood. The man at the bar stopped it with the hand not currently holding his glass, tapped the channel buttons a time or two, and eventually settled on golf. The tournament lasted for all of fifteen seconds before the breaking news bled overtop of it, too. He finally turned the whole system off instead.

“Don’t know what you were expecting, Mars. It’s Overeasy. They’ve bought every station we get out here.”

“Mm,” said Mars. “Can’t hurt to try.”

“Awfully hopeful, coming out of you. Careful, someone might just try to steal that off ya.”

Knocking back the remnants of his drink, he set his empty glass an inch over the invisible line that begged for a refill. “Welcome to it. Not sure who I lifted it from myself.”

Vette smirked and pulled a pair of dirty bottles from the rack behind her, grey hair tied out of her face with a black leather cord. “Probably the Valentines, if I had to guess. Julio’s always got some to spare.”

“Julio’s full of spare parts. His brother and his sister in law aren’t much better.” Mars waited patiently as Vette offloaded old stock into his cup, then took it back with two fingers. “Dunno why you let your boy run around with ‘em. Gang types, through and through.”

Vette shrugged her shoulders and replaced the liquors to the shelf, sending up a puff of dust as she did. “Who cares where they came from? Keeps Tommy out from underfoot. Better he go knocking over trash cans with them three than the neighborhood boys. At least the Valentines know how to handle a weapon.”

Mars gave his head an acquiescing little tilt. “Just thought you’d stay away from cats that reek of a family, that’s all.”

Vette leaned over the bar with one arm, gesturing at the establishment, as much as it could be called that, with the other. “Hey, here at the Dog, everyone’s family as long as they leave their guns at the door. Doesn’t matter who killed who, what corp fucked over the next, anyone that wants a drink or somethin’ to eat can get it as long as they have the money to pay and don’t spill bad blood within two feet of the doorstep.”

That was true. This dive was the only place that was truly neutral in the entire town. The bartender looked and acted like she’d shoot you, along with her husband and the entire waitstaff, so nobody dared cause any trouble within the doors of the Sighthound. Otherwise called ‘the Dog’, by anyone who had been here more than once. The walls, floors, even the tables were stained with the arguments of generations of enemies who had come together to dine as strained equals, along with a hefty dose of grime. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the rank scent of desperation. The opened front door only did so much to clear it out, but hey, if having health insurance was mandatory by law, why not make good use of it?

Mars removed his hat to fan it under his nose anyway. He couldn’t smell the ethanol of his drink through this haze. Vette rolled her eyes, made a comment about his failing constitution, and wandered off without waiting for him to bite out a retort. “Sure, sure. Have to be the one born this minute to start anything here. You’d have ‘em sharing a scientific classification with a colander in a second.”

“Damn right.” Vette turned the television on again, though Mars hadn’t seen her swipe the remote out from under his sleeve. The news bulletin had faded, golf proceeded apace. She pulled a face and started looking for anything else. Mars sipped his highball and did not pull one, though tequila rose was not a proper ingredient no matter what old swill Vette was trying to cycle through the inventory tab. “That’s why we say two feet away from the door. Gives us enough time to close it before we start gettin’ stains on the hardwood.”

With a subtle glance behind him, Mars studied the floors. It was hard to tell there was wood under the inch of grit and mud, but he’d take her word for it. They were almost alone here. The ‘enforcers’ that were the Valentines were playing babysitter, the owner of the bar was up in his office, and who drank at two o’clock on a Tuesday?

Other than him, of course. And the guy that just walked in the door.

Vette looked up, blue eyes a-blinking. “Oh, that’s gotta be the lunch order. Hold that thought, Capone.”

[legolasghosty]

Okay but if I go into your inbox and ask for more zombie apocalypse au would that work??? ;D

Alright, but you quite literally asked for it, so don't blame me if this gets crazy!

For those of you who have been politely ignoring my madness, this is in reference to a post canon type zombie apocalypse au. You can read part 1 and part 2 of me spewing randomness about it on those links if you're interested! I blame Inny and whoever that anon was for enabling me.

Soooo I thought we might start this one by looking at the bit that started this whole tangent: Julie and the guys finding zombies of the boy's bodies.

Listen, they don't really see the apocalypse coming, no one does. So, a couple of months after the Orpheum, following many long conversations and stuff, Julie finds where the guys are buried and they all go to visit. It feels both very right, to pay their respects and all, and very wrong, cause visiting your own grave is just creepy, okay?!

Flynn is driving(cause there's no way Julie was up to learning to drive while struggling with losing her mom, even if she has turned 16 by this point), and the ghosts are being antsy in the back seat. Julie turns on the radio, but all the stations keep getting interrupted by some news people yelling about whatever crisis is happening now. Weird. So they just switch to the aux and Julie starts playing old 90s music. The boys appreciate it. Flynn is less of a fan.

They get to the graveyard just as the music gets cut off by Ray calling Julie. That's... not normal. Usually he texts unless it's urgent. Well, once his kids actually taught him how to actually write text messages, not whole emails in a text bubble.

Ray is like, COME HOME NOW, STUFF IS WEIRD AND THERE'S ZOMBIES!!! Julie thinks he's messing with her, cause like... zombies? Really? Everyone knows those aren't real. Flynn points out that everyone thinks ghosts aren't real either while googling it. And oh frick... maybe they should have paid more attention to those breaking news reports.

Look, I don't know how zombie infections start, okay? Haven't really figured that one out yet. But my general theory for this AU is that whatever chemical does it got into some kind of groundwater supply, and thus is in the dirt. It latches on to forms that still harbor some level of organic matter. Or something. I don't know. It's too late to be doing the science of zombies. Regardless, it's infecting dead bodies and the graveyard they are at is much closer to the source than home.

Reggie screams when the first one scrambles out of the ground behind him. Those first few are the newly dead ones, cause they still have the most organic matter attached and the dirt on top of them isn't as packed down from decades of being stepped on.

Alex panics and summons part of his drum kit right on top of it, crushing and killing it. They all kinda stare at it for a second, and then everything gets nuts. More zombies start climbing up from the ground. Flynn may or may not light a couple of them on fire with her mom's lighter. Look, she doesn't really smoke much anymore, but having the lighter around makes her feel better for whatever reason. Flynn doesn't get it but she also doesn't question it.

It's a small graveyard so they manage to take out most of the zombies fairly quickly, once they get over their initial shock... but then they see another zombie forcing its way up. It has a tattered beanie and they can see bones sticking out of its flesh where it has rotted away. And it's not Luke. They all know it's not. But even Luke himself is a bit stunned by the appearance of his own dead body.

Reggie and Alex zombies are coming up behind Luke. Figures that Luke would be the first one up. And none of them really know what to do. Cause, yeah they're zombies, but also, they're the guys???

But then Luke gets between zombie him and Julie and she realizes that, regardless of what the zombie looks like or who the body used to belong to, it's not him. Cause, ghost or not, Luke is standing right there, dead and breathing and trembling a bit in his beat up vans. So she does what any logical person would do: She grabs a big stick(or a shovel lying nearby or something, I don't know) and smacks zombie Luke over the head with it. Hard.

They take out the zombie boys and get in the car. (Reggie may or may not beat up zombie him with his bass.) They take off towards home just as fast as they can. Cause...what else do you do when zombies are suddenly real?

But it does make them sure of one thing: Zombies aren't people. Their souls aren't tied to their corpses, even though said corpses are moving again.

OKAY TIME FOR SOME FLUFFIER STUFF NOW THAT WE HAVE THAT OUT OF THE WAY!!!

The ghosts all start leaving notes and writing stuff down for the non-Julie lifers when she's not around to translate. However, none of them really expected both Carlos and Ray to start leaving notes back. Carlos's are mainly for Reggie, asking random ghost questions and making dumb jokes. Ray leaves notes for all three of them(plus Willie when they find them), usually asking apocalypse type questions or asking if they can get some supply item on their next run, but sometimes it's just random questions about themselves. And all of them get a note at least once a week or so that just says, "Thank you for taking care of my little girl."

Julie figures out how to get zombie guts out of clothing mainly for Alex, who got set off into a full on panic attack when some got on his hoodie. It wasn't really about the hoodie of course, but still. It wasn't that much more complicated than getting blood out of clothes, thank goodness. Alex hugged Julie for like a full five minutes when she gave it back to him, mostly gut free.

The ghosts struggle to actually make physical contact with the zombies, similar to other life or life adjacent forms. Thus they're not the best in a physical fight. However, Reggie gets really good at finding heavy stuff to drop on top of them. Hey, when you're not a living being, you don't have to worry so much about little things like how heavy that box is.

The gang develops a point system for zombie killing. It's mostly the ghosts and kids doing it, in an attempt to bring some humor into a terrifying situation. Bigger zombies are worth more, as are taking out a bunch at once, combo kills, or a takedown that's just objectively cool. Points can be cashed in for random stuff like first dibs on food or specific coveted positions in the cuddle piles they fall into at night.

Speaking of cuddle piles, they become very common, cause with everything going on, Julie, Flynn, and Carlos all start having a really hard time falling asleep alone. The ghosts do as well, but they tend to brush it off more since sleep isn't a biological necessity for them. Thus, cuddle piles become a pretty normal thing to help them all fall asleep.

Okayyyy it's after midnight and this is kinda long, so I'm gonna call that good for now and attempt slumber. Hope y'all enjoyed, or at least are not annoyed at me for once again talking too much about a random AU idea.

(Send me an AU and I'll give you 5+ headcanons about it!)

[chronically-enthusiastic]

HI ELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

you like podcasts, right?

do you have any recommendations? so far i've been listening to all vampires are gay and it's pretty cool but you have a great taste in Things so i thought you might have some suggestions :D

i love you <3

A;S.DKLJFASKJDF SO MUCH EXCITEMENT RIGHT NOW AND i CANT COPE HEHEHEALKSJFHALJ AGAGGGGGHSDFSFFFFFFHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*dies*

Okay.......... *composes myself, adjusts blazer and tie, pulls out a briefcase and begins*

Hmm this post got a lil out of hand so here's a read break for anyone who doesn't want to hear me talk for *copies and pastes into google docs to count the words* 800 words about fiction podcasts :DDDD

Sooo! I have not listened to all vampires are gay, but have read the podcast description so I know a little about what you are looking for....

Audio dramas (In order of how similar to AVAG I think they probably are):

Where The Stars Fell is a dark supernatural podcast (I had to stop listening bc it got too dark....) that seems very similar? I don't remember much and didnt listen enough to get a proper feel for it.... check it out and see!!

I listened to a like 20 episodes of Welcome to Night Vale before that one got too dark - but it is very popular on this website and each ep is kinda like a news report. Its set in a weird town where lots of supernatural things happen and almost every conspiracy theory is true there.

The Unseen Podcast has a *very* cool format. Each episode is kinda a monologue from a different person each week. It talks about their individual experiences in a fantasy world and it has SUCH a cool magic system!! Please listen to this/do more research..... I've spent like 45 mins on this post at this point (I haven't written it in order, this is one of the last parts im writing) and I'm tired so can't really explain it properly.... Sorry!!! But I loved the non-dark episodes of that!!! (they had content warnings so I only listened to the ones with reasonable content warnings)

Civilised is an improvised science fiction dark comedy show about a ship stranded on a planet and strange things ensue. I listened to the first few series but then from what I remember it got a little too dark for me. (my threshold is very low fyi). I listened to that one a while ago so don't have much else to say, check out the first few eps if it sounds interesting!!

We Fix Space junk is again a dark comedy sci fi show (also a dystopia kind of) about scavengers in space! Again, listened to it ages ago so I don't remember much....

The amelia project is kind of a surreal (maybe?) show about a company that fakes people's deaths. Each episode is framed as an interveiw. So far it has 72 episodes, and it has just come to the end of the 2nd part of the 5th series! The first series is very much a collection of semi-unrelated stories but the plot begins to unfold in S2, and *lots* of things start to happen in S3 onwards!! My personal favourite!!!

Wooden Overcoats is a comedy podcast about a funeral home run by Rudyard and Antigone Funn, two probably autistic, probably a-spec, characters. Eric Chapman opens another funeral home and its kinda about their rivalry but also how they kinda cant live without each other and if any of that sounds even remotely interesting please please please listen because it is truly hilarious and excellently written and produced!!!!! It is finished with 4 seasons. My other favourite!!!!

Alba Salix is a fantasy show that is very very fun!! Again, I listened to it a while ago so I don't have much to say bc I can't remember, but it has quite a similar feel to BBC Merlin I think? With more fairies and magic though. I remember loving it very much. I should probably relisten soon!! This is from the website:

"Farloria’s Royal Physician has her work cut out for her. As head witch and the only regular staff member at the new House of Healing, Alba’s got an endless lineup of patients and a bickering King and Queen to please. Fortunately, help is on the way. Unfortunately, that help is from Magnus, a troublesome young ex-monk and aspiring surgeon, and Holly, an accident-prone fairy herbalist."

Forgive Me is a comedy about a father (the religous type, not a parental figure) who runs a church and each episode is framed as a confession in the catholic church. It's not very religous-y and does point out some of the problems with religion etc. Its quite lighthearted from what I remember? The amelia project did a crossover episode with them!

WOW this post got very long! I will put a read break to shorten it........ oops!! I like podcasts very very much.... heheeeee

These are all the fiction podcasts I have listened to (I think? there are probably more that I have forgotten about....) but if you want any non-fiction ones I have a lot more to talk about heheee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love you too Echo!!! And thank you for inadvertently letting me infodump about a special interest for this long!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mentallyshattered]

Everyday Freak of Science: part 6

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"Azul, calm yourself. I can explain."

"You better, Jade," Azul starts up, "because doing what it sounds like you're doing is not something I am willing to tolerate."

"Mister Melanopterus has not been eating things he can digest. Upon realizing what he was doing, I took the matter into my own hands. Evidently, I misjudged something."

"Misjudged something?"

The housewarden sighs. "Misjudged what?"

Jade starts petting my hair. It's a nice sensation, and I allow myself to relax into his soft, comforting touch. "What additional affects there may be aside from a dislike of edible food that could cause an apex predator to starve themself."

"Rephrase that."

"I failed to consider that what could have made a blacktip reef shark intentionally avoid eating meat would also affect them when eating properly."

"Dumb it down, Jade."

Jade sighs. "Whatever causes an individual to avoid eating edible food must be traumatic to have that effect. Traumatic events tend to have multiple effects, and food-related traumatic events are bound to cause problems when eating. If these problems are significant enough, the individual may starve themselves. I only saw the starving part, and failed to consider that its cause was significant issue when eating correctly."

Jade then tilts his head. "I was under the impression that you were intelligent enough to understand me the first time. You usually are- has something changed?"

Azul fixes his glasses, sounding only a little annoyed now. "No. In fact, I did understand you the first time, but the noise means we are almost certainly going to have to fill out an incident report, and I don't trust Crowley to understand sentences of that complexity. Do not tell anyone I said that- and that goes for you both."

Jade and I nod before I shove my head back into the wall of muscle that is this triangle-toothed boy.

"Requiem. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine now, Jade."

"Jade? Jaaaaaaade? Where did you go?" The voice on the other side of the door is clearly annoyed, and apparently belongs to someone who's looking for Jade.

The doorknob turns and clicks a bit. I'm hit with the realization that the door is locked. Whoever's on the other side keeps trying for a few minutes, but soon gets bored and goes back to shouting for Jade.

...At least, that's what I think they do. Instead, just a few retreating footsteps later, the voice audibly grins. "Juuust kidding! I know you're in there, Jaaaade."

With that, the door opens. I can't see who comes through, but I can hear his conversation with Azul.

"Floyd! You know you aren't supposed to break things!"

"Eeh? I didn't break anything."

"Then what are you holding?"

"...A doorknob."

"My doorknob! To this room! Fix that right now!"

"Okaaay, octy-chan."

"And don't call me that!"

Jade stands up. I stand with him, keeping my face buried in his school uniform jacket and my arms wrapped tight around his waist. Before I can properly register what's going on, a hand threads into my hair.

"Be gentle." Jade's voice.

Entirely disregarding that, I am then yanked away from the person I've been clinging on to, and realize I am face-to-face with what looks like a fake Jade. This imposter doesn't fool me, though- his piercing is on the wrong side, and his eye colors are swapped from those of the real Jade. The streak of black in his otherwise teal hair is on the wrong side, and his eyes are tilted downwards instead of up.

So, naturally, I do the first thing anyone in my situation would do: bare my teeth, cling on to Jade harder with one arm, and sucker punch the fake with the other.

"Excuse me!" Azul shouts immediately when he registers that I've socked someone, clearly not realizing there's a fake Jade in the room. "Don't!"

The imposter's previously carefree expression quickly shifts to one of barely-restrained rage, and then Jade- the real Jade- talks.

"Floyd, don't. Requiem, for future reference, that was a terrible idea."

"Jade, he's impersonating you!"

"What?"

"Floyd" bursts out laughing, as does Azul. Jade is still too suprised-looking to react for a few moments, but he soon joins the other two with quiet snickers that soon become manic laughter. Only I am left utterly baffled by whatever the fuck is going on here.

"I apologize, this is entirely unprofessional." I can hardly make out his words; he's laughing so hard. Azul apologizing isn't what I expected; I more thought the fake would have to say sorry.

What if this fake Jade got caught and turned over a new leaf? Maybe then they gave him a name of his own- a middle-aged white guy's name, as punishment. That might make sense.

Well, only one way to find out!

"So you named your doppelganger, Jade?"

The three of them laugh harder. I'm pretty sure Jade is struggling to breathe, and, given that he's still holding me, I can't really breathe as well as I usually can, either. Then again, I'm on land, and I normally can't breathe on land at all.

For what feels like days, the three of them just laugh. Then, finally, Azul stops laughing for long enough to stop entirely, recompense himself, and talk.

"There is no imposter. The supposed doppelganger is Jade's twin brother, Floyd Leech. I take it the two of you have not met?"

Oh. Twins? That... makes a lot of sense. They must be fraternal- identical twins would surely have identical eyes, not mirrored in color and different in tilt. They look extremely similar for fraternal, though...

"Ah, they have now. As if anyone could impersonate me..." Jade says the last part very quietly, but I still hear. Big whoop, I was clinging on to him for dear life just an hour ago. Probably. These three were laughing for way too long, and I have a horrid sense of time. I'm not sure why.

Maybe this place has a library with psychology books...I'll check later.

"Ahaha! Good ol' Jade. Nee, why's this blackie-tip in here? Tryin' to scare me?" Floyd leans right into my face, triangular teeth on display. Most humans would probably fear him in my situation. However, I am no human. The nonshark DNA within my every cell was handcrafted, bit by bit, and added to a shark embryo, cell by cell. I was their greatest achievement. Their 18th lab's pride and joy, alive without machine assistance since March 16, sixteen years ago.

"Firstly, dear brother, this is a blacktip reef shark. Secondly..."

Something I don't like settles in my gut. How could I forget? All I've kept down is a single cuttlefish tentacle.

Crap. It's going to be a while.

[unhingedselfships]

LINK TO GAME

🌍Adventurecore🌎 ~ If you could take your F/O anywhere in real life, where would you take them?

Literally anywhere. I would go anywhere with this man, as long as I could be with him.

🛍️Barbiecore🛍️ ~ Show us your favorite outfit that your F/O has worn!

I have posts about this already lol.

🖕Bastardcore🖕 ~ Are there any “flaws” of your F/O that you find endearing?

Uh. I really shouldn’t like that he’s a man-child, highly manipulative, serial killer with mommy(?) issues, but here we are.

🌳Cabincore🌳 ~ You and your F/O are enjoying a weekend in nature. How do you spend it?

Attempting to camp! Then giving up, renting a cabin, and enjoying nice hikes that end with us in a very pleasant actual bed.

📖Dazecore📖 ~ What would you say is your F/O’s biggest passion (outside of you, of course 🥰)?

Murder? I’m kidding. Guns, knives, cooking. Probably.

😱Expressionism😱 ~ Describe to us exactly how your F/O makes you feel! Or, for a twist, describe how you make your F/O feel! Or do both!

Oh lort its a lot. Tired, frustrated, annoyed, happy, content, safe, comfortable, satisfied. He exhausts me but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

I couldn’t really speak for Kenshi, except I know he needs me too, and that he is… a bit conflicted, about the nature of our relationship. But then, feelings in general confuse him so.

🖤Femme Fatale🖤 ~ What, in your opinion, is your F/O’s greatest achievement?

Look at all that emotional and character growth!

🔍Film Noir🔍 ~ Are there any questions about your F/O that you’d like to see their source answer?

So many. I’m working on wearing the creator down!

🪨Groundcore🪨 ~ What would your F/O do if you became a worm?

Bruh idefk. Let me ask.

Apparently, per Word of Creator, in character, he would step on me and crush me. Now we know how he really feels lmfao.

📝Hipness Purgatory📝 ~ If your F/O drew you, how would it turn out?

… I actually know nothing of the man’s art skills. I’ll need to investigate. Will report back.

Ok so update! He has no art skills but he does have steady hands. So it would be a vaguely Kimi-ish human shape with a "sorry" speech bubble because she apologizes all the time.

💾Internet Academia💾 ~ How did you discover your F/O or their source?

I stopped being intimidated by Majimemegoro and interacted and then BAM. Shit happened.

🚎Joyride🚎 ~ How would a road trip with your F/O, friends/associates, and you go?

Depends on which friends/associates. But probably not too terribly? Probably? Kenshi loves to drive, Kimi loves to ride. They'll trade aux/Bluetooth control. Lots of pee breaks for Kimi that he'll pretend to be annoyed about. So many snacks. They'll definitely take a rental so she doesn't get crumbs in his car.

🪁Kidcore🪁 ~ Tell us about the earliest memory you can remember with your F/O!

Meeting him at a Tojo Clan party! Incidentally it was my introduction to basically everyone. He was one of a very few that spoke English and the only one not being an asshole to me!

(Childhood Friends AU, we meet when I find him crying in the corner of a park and I drag him home with me! What a cutie!)

🎧Lo-Fi🎧 ~ Let’s say your F/O is up late working on something. How do you support them, or how do you get them to go to bed?

Depends on how focused he is but generally he can be coaxed into bed with cuddles. Otherwise I keep him stocked in smokes, snacks, and water. He handles his own alcohol. I miiiiight bring him coffee. Maybe.

🎮Nintencore🎮 ~ Create a Pokémon team for your F/O!

This one’s tough. Do I make a team I think actually represents him, or one he would have? I’ll try for both. Majimeme can weigh in perhaps. I can say there would be absolutely NO dog types lmfao.

(Should I do a team for Kimi too?)

Team One

Muk - reference to the environmental impact of the factories Sneasel - a sneaky ambush type attacker Murkrow - bearer of misfortune Mimikyu - tell me this isn’t Kadokura in pokemon form. lonely, but watch out! Porygon-Z - science! technology! the future! Garbodor - majimemegoro insists he’s trash so….

Team Two

Sudowoodo - trees! nature! conservation! Ursaring - mountain village vibes, Hokkaido energy Abomasnow - Hokkaido, snow, do I need to explain? Sawsbuck - more nature shit Gothita - he has no idea what this thing is but it’s cute and it makes Mio happy so whatever Pangoro - “Kimberly this feels racist” “hush it markets well”

🐕Petcore🐕 ~ What animal reminds you of your F/O?

He’s known as a Coyote. He often acts a bit like a cat. Is there an intersection to be found there?

🍷Red Academia🍷 ~ What’s your favorite fun-fact about your F/O?

SPOILERS hehe

💤Sleepycore💤 ~ What is it like going to bed with your F/O? How do they sleep?

He’s clingy. Bad nights he takes a ton of pills and good luck waking his ass. Worst nights, night terrors, although those are pretty rare.

[nutraexperts]

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Testrx Reviews

When it comes to testosterone boosters, I know there’s a lot of noise out there.

You might be wondering if TestRX is worth your time and money.

Is it really effective?

Can it help with energy, muscle gain, or even libido?

Let’s break down the real feedback from those who’ve tried it.

Real Users, Real Results: Testrx Natural Testosterone Supplement Reviews

I came across some genuine testimonials that reflect what people have experienced with this supplement.

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It seems like this supplement does more than just boost testosterone; it can enhance overall well-being.

What People Are Saying: Testrx Review 2021

Looking back at the TestRX review 2021, many were curious about its effectiveness during that year when fitness became crucial for a lot of us.

A common theme in reviews was how quickly users felt changes.

David, 29, mentioned:

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The Buzz Around Testrx Testosterone Booster Reviews

Now let’s talk about the buzz surrounding TestRX testosterone booster reviews.

Many folks appreciate that it's made from natural ingredients rather than synthetic ones. This gives peace of mind when incorporating something new into their routine.

Jessica, 42 years old, summed it up nicely:

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Standing Out From The Crowd

What makes TestRX stand out?

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Users have noted improvements in muscle mass and fat loss over time as well—definitely appealing if you’re hitting the gym hard!

Final Thoughts on Testrx Reviews

So what’s the bottom line here?

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Testrx Ingredients

Let's chat about what’s inside TestRX.

You might be wondering, “What do these ingredients actually do for me?”

Good question.

When it comes to a natural testosterone supplement, the right mix can make all the difference.

Here’s what you need to know.

The Power of Testrx Natural Testosterone Supplement

TestRX is packed with ingredients designed to boost your testosterone levels naturally.

No gimmicks here. Just solid science-backed components that have been shown to work.

D-Aspartic Acid (DAA): This amino acid plays a crucial role in hormone production.

Studies suggest DAA can increase testosterone levels, especially in those with lower baseline levels.

Fenugreek Extract: A staple in traditional medicine, fenugreek may help enhance libido and improve overall sexual health.

Some users report increased energy and stamina after using products containing fenugreek.

Zinc and Magnesium: Both minerals are vital for testosterone production.

Zinc deficiency has been linked to lower testosterone levels, so this combo is essential for anyone looking to boost their T-levels.

These ingredients aren’t just random picks; they’re chosen for their effectiveness in promoting hormonal balance and enhancing performance.

Understanding Testrx Dosage

Now let’s talk about how much of this goodness you should take.

The recommended TestRX dosage is straightforward: two capsules daily, preferably taken before meals.

This simple routine can help maximise absorption and effectiveness.

Some people ask if they should take more or less based on their needs.

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Overdoing it won't necessarily speed things up but could lead to unwanted side effects instead.

Why Choose Testrx Ultra?

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Enhanced libido

Improved muscle recovery

Increased energy levels

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Here’s a quick testimonial from Mark, a 35-year-old fitness enthusiast:

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That kind of feedback speaks volumes about how effective these ingredients can be when combined correctly.

Final Thoughts on Testrx Ingredients

In short, the blend of ingredients in TestRX isn’t just impressive on paper; they deliver real results when used as directed.

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Buy TestRX

Look, if you’re here, it’s likely because you’ve been searching for a way to boost your testosterone levels.

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TestRX Coupon Code

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Sometimes they offer limited-time discounts that can save you even more cash!

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Real-Life Experiences

Still wondering if it's worth it?

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Final Thoughts

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Testrx Vs Nugenix

When it comes to testosterone boosters, two of the big names that pop up are TestRX and Nugenix.

I get it.

You want to know which one packs a better punch.

Let's break down what each brings to the table.

Key Ingredients: What’s Inside?

Both products claim to boost your testosterone levels, but they do it in different ways.

TestRX is known for its natural ingredients like:

D-Aspartic Acid: This amino acid is often highlighted for its role in hormone production.

Fenugreek Extract: A herb that may help improve libido and overall sexual health.

Zinc and Magnesium: Essential minerals that support muscle recovery and testosterone production.

On the other hand, Nugenix uses a blend of ingredients like:

Testofen® (Fenugreek Seed Extract): Similar to TestRX but marketed differently.

L-Citrulline Malate: Often used for improving blood flow and endurance.

So, if you’re looking for straightforward natural testosterone support, TestRX's formula might resonate more with you.

Effectiveness: Real Results

Now let's talk about effectiveness.

I've seen people rave about their experiences with both products.

For instance, take Jake, 34:

“After using TestRX, I noticed an increase in my energy levels within weeks. My workouts improved, and I felt more motivated.”

Contrast that with Mark, 29:

“I tried Nugenix, but honestly didn’t see much change until after a couple of months.”

While individual results vary, many users seem to find quicker results with TestRX compared to Nugenix.

Side Effects: What To Watch Out For

Every product has its potential downsides.

With any supplement, it's crucial to be aware of possible side effects.

Some users have reported mild issues with both products:

For TestRX, common mentions include slight digestive discomfort or headaches.

As for Nugenix, some folks have experienced increased heart rate or restlessness.

If you're concerned about safety, checking out customer feedback can provide insights into the real-world experience of others using these supplements.

User Experience: The Overall Vibe

How do these products feel in daily life?

With TestRX, users often highlight how easy it is to incorporate into their routine—just a couple of capsules daily.

Many appreciate not having to deal with complicated dosing schedules or special meals around taking the supplement.

Conversely, some users report feeling overwhelmed by the number of pills required for Nugenix when combined with their other supplements or medications.

It's all about finding what fits best into your lifestyle without adding unnecessary stress.

Pricing Comparison: Getting Value For Money

Let’s talk money because we all care about getting our bang for our buck.

Typically,

A month’s supply of TestRX hovers around £40.

While Nugenix usually runs closer to £50 per month.

When evaluating price versus performance, many feel that TestRX offers better value given its effectiveness and simpler ingredient profile.

You want something that works without breaking the bank—at least that's how I see it!

Final Thoughts: Which One Should You Choose?

At this point, you should have a clearer picture between these two options.

If you're after solid results backed by natural ingredients without any fuss—go for TestRX.

It seems to deliver quicker results while being easier on your wallet too!

But hey,

Everyone's body reacts differently. So consider what matters most to you—ingredients, speed of results, or cost—and make your choice accordingly.

Remember,

The best decision is one based on your personal needs and experiences!

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FAQ

What are the benefits of TestRX?

TestRX is designed to naturally boost testosterone levels. Users often report increased energy, improved muscle mass, and enhanced libido. It’s all about feeling more like yourself again.

What ingredients are in TestRX?

The main ingredients include natural herbs and nutrients like D-Aspartic Acid, Fenugreek Extract, and Vitamin D3. These elements work together to support healthy testosterone production without any harsh chemicals.

How should I take TestRX?

For best results, it’s recommended to take two capsules daily with a meal. Consistency is key here. Stick to the routine for a few weeks for noticeable effects.

Are there any side effects of using TestRX?

Most users tolerate TestRX well with minimal side effects. Some have reported mild stomach upset or headaches initially. Always listen to your body and consult a doctor if anything feels off.

Where can I buy TestRX?

You can purchase TestRX directly from their official website or select health supplement retailers. Just make sure you’re getting it from a trusted source to avoid counterfeits.

Is there a money-back guarantee for TestRX?

Yes! TestRX typically comes with a satisfaction guarantee. If you don’t see results in a certain timeframe, you can return it for a refund. That’s confidence in their product!

How does TestRX compare to Nugenix?

Both products aim to boost testosterone but differ in formulation and marketing. While Nugenix has its fans, many prefer the natural approach of TestRX due to its specific ingredient blend.

What do customers say about their experience with TestRX?

Feedback on TestRX tends to be positive overall. Many users rave about the energy boost and improvements in mood and strength after consistent use.

Can women use TestRX?

While primarily marketed towards men looking to increase testosterone, some women may benefit from its ingredients too. It’s always wise for anyone considering this supplement to chat with their healthcare provider first.

Is there any special discount or coupon code for buying TestRX?

Occasionally, there are promotional offers available on their official site or during seasonal sales events. Keep an eye out for those discounts; saving some cash is always nice!

👉 BUY TESTRX TO BOOST YOUR TESTOSTERONE

[poems-of-a-lover]

HERE WE GO AGAINNNNNN SPIDERMANNNNNNN GET READY TO BE DESTROYED

okay so the stacys are out for dinner for gwens like. graduation celebration. and they invited peter. and gwen sees him outside but he walks away so she goes to check on him.

and this scene SUCKS it makes me SAD i dont LIKE IT

peters like crying over how hes not keeping gwen safe and hes disappointing her father and everything and its sogjskdhfksjdhfkjds

"what does that make me?" "i dont know, what does that make you?" "it makes me not able to live with myself." PETERRRRRKJGSHKGJHSJKGH

gwen is upset bc she loves peter over spiderman, and peters upset bc hes worried that her being involved is gonna get her killed, so they both have very valid points here i think

so peters kinda distancing himself bc hes scared of hurting her, and gwen just breaks it off completely bc she cant handle him being distant like that

WHICH IS IG A SOLID SOLUTION BUT I DONT LIKE IT JUST BC IT MAKES ME SADJKGHSDKJGHKJSD

"because you cant lose me, we cant be together? who does that work out for, peter?" AND HE JUST SAYS "i cant, im sorry" AGHGHGHGHHGFHHSHS

i have issues with this movie. issue one: ITS DEVASTATING BACK TO BACK

gwen goes back into the restaurant with her family and they look at each other thru the glass again and now theyre both crying and its heartbreaking and peter runs away and then it cuts to spiderman content just in case u forgot hes spiderman too

this montage of him like helping ppl while news reporters badtalk him in the background is so fun

theres this clip where hes helping a kid from bullies and he fixes his science project and walks him home, and they almost cut it bc they thought it was unimportant but andrew said he needed it in bc it shows how much it would mean to kids like that if ppl stood up for them

oh yeah also hes like. watching gwen. keeping an eye out for her making sure shes safe even after theyve broken up and stopped talking and everything

oh my GOD this scene with may. this is iconic. peter just got done with helping out with a fire so hes still in his suit and hes covered in ash and may is knocking on the door and asking him to help her take her car into the shop for something, so petes like scrambling to hide himself under the covers so she doesnt see the suit, and then she comes in and thats where we get the "what happened to your face? its filthy." "it is?" "yes!" "oh yeah, yeah, i was cleaning.......the chimney........" "we have no chimney" "pffwhaaaaat??" exchange and it means so much to me

u guys. i have a confession to make. i miss harry osborn. where is he. wheres his entrance scene. wheres his intro. i need it right now.

NEVERMIND I THOUGHT IT WAS THE NEXT SCENE I WAS TRYING TO BE FUNNY BUT THIS IS MAXS INTRO

so max dillon is "the guy with the blueprints" that peter saved earlier in the film, we've gotten two mentions of him now but i didnt mention the second one bc it was barely important at all fjsdhfkjsd so we're going around his apartment with him while hes getting ready for work and its very clear that he is. obsessed. with spiderman. just by how his apartment looks. its completely decked out in merch and decorations and all that, and while he's getting ready, he talks to himself and he mimics having a conversation with spiderman as if theyre best friends???? like he gives him a super deep voice and certain like. vocabulary that he doesnt use. max even makes himself a cake and pretends that "spiderman", the one hes pretending to talk to, made it for him bc no one ever remembers his birthday. so hes very much a spiderman fan, hes very devoted and obsessed, and i want u to keep that in mind going forward in the film. there originally was a plot where max lived with his mother and she was incredibly cruel and dismissive towards him but they cut it for whatever reason and i think that was a good choice tbh bc he works so much better as an individual character. anyway, thats my max dillon blurb, on with the film.

so now we're onto this scene with may and peter, and may is on the phone with what we can assume is her manager at a diner, and shes asking for some time off bc she starts training rounds at the hospital to become a nurse, but she doesnt want peter to know bc she knows he'll worry and its so important to me jksfhskjdfh

theres a little throwaway joke here between peter and may where theyre talking abt how much peter makes and peter says "jameson pays me a fair wage, if it was 1961, he pays me a fair wage" and i dont think they thought many ppl would catch this but I DID so 1961 was the year before amazing fantasy #15, which was the comic to introduce the amazing spiderman, came out!! i had to look it up on one of my first watches of this film just to be sure

IM WRITING SO MUCH IM SO SORRY BACK TO MY SILLY HAHAS INSTEAD OF MY INFODUMPINGKJSDGHSKJGHSKDJ

may is the "laundry sheriff" bc peter tried washing his suit and ruined all the laundry JKGHSKJGHJKS hes so dumb

okay!!! max is going to work!!! u will never guess where he works!!! oscorp!!!!!

HIS BOSS okay his boss is alistair smythe!!! the guy from comics and stuff that goes by "spider slayer"!!! idk if they ever intended to do anything with this character but he doesnt have a very significant role other than being the bitchy boss for max

max has this moment where smythe makes a joke abt spiderman which sends max into a rage, grabbing smythe and shaking him around while screaming at him and threatening him, but that turns out to just be like. a thought that he has. like something he wishes he could do. great sign great sign this guys gonna be a great guy

oh yeah max runs into gwen in the elevator!!! remember she works here like in the first movie!! so they watch footage of spiderman and max is talking abt how great he is while gwens kinda not so into it, and then gwen mentions how max is holding a happy birthday card thing. max says that hes having a very exclusive party, and he would invite gwen but the guest list is too full bc theres a ton of celebs going. clearly she doesnt rlly buy this but goes along with it anyway for his sake, then she leaves and says like "nice to meet u, max" and he freaks out bc she remembered his name before the scene cuts. very fun scene esp knowing the rest of the film.

OKAY. IM DONE FOR NOW. MAYBE ILL GET BACK TO THIS TONIGHT BUT THATS A LOT FOR U GUYS TO READ SO ILL GIVE U A BREAK FROM MY MENTAL ILLNESS FOR NOWJGHKSJDHGKJSD ENJOY

nick watches spiderman. again.

i have done this so much. the first movie was so long. this ones even longer. by like ten minutes but still. ANYWAY LETS GET GOINGGGG IM SO EXCITED

it should be noted that i spent thirteen dollars on this film and its so worth it

the opening music is SOOOO GOOD

this little motif that plays here is played a few times thru the movie and i love when movies do that sjdhfksjd its so fun to have little music cues that carry over thru the film

i heard someone say this was their least favorite spiderman and it breaks my heart i love it sm

anyway. richards killing things.

so basically hes killing the little spiders they worked on and just kinda running off rn

this is a surprise scene thatll help us later

i know what hes doing and why hes doing it but its a secret so i wont say until it comes up

OMG HEYYYY SO REMEMBER IN THE FIRST FILM WHEN THEY WERE PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK. THAT COMES BACK NOW.

he was recording a little video diary thingy =]

okay droppin him off at mays weve seen this part already

i know its important but cmon. places to be.

yippee mary and richard on the plane!!!

DUDE. MARY DIDNT WANT THIS. "did you see his face? hes never gonna understand. hes just a little boy." SHE DIDNT WANT TO PACK UP AND LEAVE HER SON THIS ISNT HER FIGHT AJKGHKJAHGS JUSTICE FOR MARY PARKER

"we're going to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, never feeling safe. we cant do that to him." funny u say that richard

okay mary is off to the bathroom. in walks flight assistance guy.

i feel like i gotta explain every little detail of this film bc it means so much to me and i need u guys to understand KJGHSKJDGH

flight assistant guy is washing his hands off and theres a little bloodddd on himmmmm yikes

richard sees but doesnt say anything bc obv

oops flight assistant has a gun. and hes locked mary in the bathroom. and he has a parachute. and he stole richards laptop. AND HE HIT MARY WHEN SHE ESCAPED.

fight sceeeene marys down

this scene is fun but theres no way in hell richard parker would be able to fight AND WIN

the planes going down they shot out the window

flight assistant guy is now out of the plane JKGSKJHGJK richard and mary go down with it but marys already gone before they crash, richard dies in the crash as far as i know, like thats whats implied

parents dead. time for spiderman.

PETERRRRRR PETER PARKER GUYS LOOK ITS SPIDERMAN ITS PETER HES ON SCREEN GUYS GUYS LOOK ITS PETER

THIS OPENING SWINGING SEQUENCE. I WANNA BE HIM SOOOOOO BAD U GUYS HAVE NO CLUE.

FUN FACT the movie made a mistaaaake and i caught it like my first watch. so theres this truck carrying plutonium that was stolen from oscorp that peters abt to go catch, right? and they say that plutonium is highly explosive. WELL ITS NOT. PLUTONIUM 238 IS BARELY A DAMN FISSILE ISOTOPE. SPIDERMAN. ITS USED AS A SOURCE OF HEAT AND ALPHA EMITTERS FOR SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH. STUPID MOVIE. and look they couldve just taken the name or something bc it sounds cool but cmonnnn its wronggggg

yeahhh the driver of the stolen truck is aleksei sytsevitch. remember that itll come back later.

this chase music is so good i love the score for this film

another motif here while hes swinging that comes back later ehehe

we are nine minutes in. argh.

"hey, mr criminal? hey, my names spiderman, you can call me webhead, you can call me amazing, just dont call me late for dinner, you get it? not a shaker, areeee you a hugger?" "i am killer!" "woah, okay!"

makes me laugh every time its so dumb

peters banter is so fun in this movie i love it so much

omg max dillonnnnn okay so hes walking with all these blueprints and they fall into the street and no one helps him but peter. guess if thatll come back later.

peter catches all the vials of plutonium. except for one. hes a bit dumb.

okay so peters o the front of this cop car and he looks over into the cop car next to him and who does he see but mr stacy! from the first film! "nick thats impossible hes dead" oh just wait GKHSKJDGHDSKJ

HIS RING TONE IS THE "spiderman, spiderman, does whatever a spider can" AND I LOVE IT

HIIIII GWEN MY WIFE I ADOREEEEEE THIS WOMAN

oh yeah theyre graduating today and peters late bc hes in a high speed chase. if i was allowed to decorate my cap it wouldve been spiderman themed.

HER SPEECH AGH im not gonna quote t bc its so long but it means the world to me

oh yeah aleksei sprays peter with the windshield wiper water thing i love that

gwen stacy the woman u are

again i love how they did gwen like they didnt just make her a basic love interest like in tobys films they actually gave her depth

OKAY SO. PETER RUNS ON STAGE TO GET HIS DIPLOMA. AND HE DOES THE DRAMATIC DIP KISS THING TO GWEN. APPARENTLY THAT WASNT SCRIPTED. it couldve been but its so much funnier to think it wasnt

HIIII AUNT MAYYYYY

theres a deleted scene here where the graduates are with their families where flash runs up to them in his cap and gown all excited and he tells gwen like "i made it i knew i could bc u believed in me" and they shouldve kept it bc it makes me so happy

"i know the next thing your unvle ben would say, dont just follow the path, make your own trail" "ralph waldo emerson" "no" "what do you mean, no?" "ben told me he made it up!" I WISHHHH BEN WERE HERE

ugh the way they both laughed over ben i love these two

aunt may says that she wishes ben were here and peter goes "yeah, and my folks" and mays smile drops a bit, her demeanor changes ever so slightly and she just "...yeah" THIS DOESNT SEEM IMPORTANT AND ITS NOT BUT IT MAKES SENSE LATER

im gonna finish this scene then continue in a rb this is getting long

i love that may tries to take a photo of peter and gwen and gwens like "cheese!! =D!" and peter is so awkwardly stood there like "cheeeeeese 😐"

she invites him to dinner with her family and she says shes gonna do her speech for him "over and over again, all night long" bc he missed ittttt aghhhhhhh

THIS. THISSSSSS. he watches the stacys take their family photo and then mr stacy appears in the background, and we flash back to the first film, his death, where hes telling peter to leave gwen alone. i am soooooo sad.

okay this dinner scene is devastating so! next post! i love this movie i have so many thoughts and were only 17 minutes in

[elixlozgamer]

Im probably gonna get a lot of hate. Im probably gonna get death threats in my ask box (again. Yes Im looking at you "kill the soldiers" anon. Speaking of which, anon will be OFF until this post stops getting notifs. Block me if you don't want to see any other opinions than you own, because I'm allowed to have them.)

Rest of PSA is below the cut. TW for mention of death threats and possible cussing.

But we do NOT need to send death threats, things with smutty themes, etc. Into a celebrities ask box all because they're gonna be on this site.

They're people just as much as we are. If you don't like them, theres a handy-dandy feature called "blocking and moving on". Not writing rude messages. Not saying "Blazing a post is a pvp attack". (Because god forbid an artist use a feature to be seen)

I understand not wanting big corps to make their way on Tumblr. Believe me, I do. However Tumblr's advertising (or at least on mobile) is easilly skippable/you can scroll past or actually look at the ad if its somewhat interesting.

Also, Tumblr sells shoelaces for 19 dollars. That should only be like three dollars, but it shows that it really does need the money. (@indigoartistqueen mentioned that, along with other various things in this article) Such as paying programmers to create new features. Paying artists to create new logos and themes. paying the employees that check out the reports. (which I am rlly sorry for them bc I just so happen to keep finding really rude comments or things shipping an 8 year old with an 1000 year old.)

So, if tumblr got a little more money, then merch will cost less. Features will cost less. You can crab someone for less for goodness sakes. (Speaking if which, if you REALLY hate a celeb that badly, run them off with crabs.) But tumblr, just like any other site and app, NEEDS money to keep it running.

Also, don't you think SOME form of algorithm will be good? Or at least better search results? Because artists do tend to use very different tags. (Like memes, funny, lmao, lol, etc.) All that could be grouped under "Funny" so that people can actually find and search for their content easier.

Not to mention that with the way the tumblr staff are, I highly doubt they're gonna be implementing things that will cause a riot from their supporters, like the algorithm, bc the blogs ARE the algorythm, reblogging stuff they like to spread it out.

But just a better tagging system! i myself have stopped posting art as much because I just DON'T get seen! People just don't like or reblog my work, but if I were to blaze it, I would suddenly have 1,000 notes full of threats and "this is a pvp attack. Everybody block on sight."

Now, getting back to the celebrity thing. So many people have said that they don't want any political opinions to divide this site. Well I'd hate to break it to you, but we have, in some form, a type of political dispute. Usually its over the type of view one should have on a fiction character. How you can interpret them. What headcanons are correct. Which fandoms better. Which characters hotter. I could go on over the disputes! Plus the political side of tumblr! Science side of tumblr! Religous site on tumblr!

It never ends! If you don't like a celebrity, DON'T SEND DEATH THREATS TO THEIR ASK BOX! Some will actually commit it! Instead, BLOCK. THEM. It's easy! Don't pay attention to it! Just block them. If you really don't like them, send a cursed image, like I don't know, Patrick Star in stripper heels! A perfect circle thats slightly off! Do NOT send threats, because they're humans just like you! (Or as a Fairy myself, xenogenders as well)

Point is, quit trying to run celebrities off this site all because you're afraid of contriversal opinions that you don't agree with! Just block them! It's there for a reason! It's not like roblox where you can only block 100 people total!

Use the block feature. Don't fight fire with fire. It will ONLY get worse. You don't see firemen using flamethrowers, do you??? No! Please for the LOVE OF WHOEVER OR WHATEVER YOU BELIEVE IN quit spreading hate! It only makes things worse! You're only making yourself worse! Just because tumblr is an anonymous site does not mean you can do whatever you want... Because guess what? There's other humans right behind that post you just saw! (Unless its a bot ofc, that's a different story for another time)

Respectfully, have a good day. If you don't like my opinion, block me. If you send me a threat, I'll block and report you.

[hardheadedbighearted]

Tin Man and Boyd the Definitely Real Boy

(closed starter)

The streets of Duckburg were under attack.

This was not exactly out of the ordinary and in fact if one were to look in the windows of shops on the way by to the scene they would find people rolling their eyes and complaining about the impending interruptions to their commute, the interruptions to their lunch breaks, the trouble with getting work done in this city, come on, or simply calling to let the boss/partner/babysitter/etc know that there was a monster, they would be a bit late, sorry, as the fleeing populace followed the emergency response teams who were responsible mainly for making sure the battleground was free of civilians.

Duckburg was a hotspot for science and technology and sat at multiple crossroads of supernatural and paranormal interest. Duckburg was a hotbed of occult activity. Duckburg was the home of the world's greatest adventurer.

The streets of Duckburg were always under attack.

Today's specimen was a giant mammoth, big and shaggy and wearing a mask of some kind, because, you know, why not. As it tore through the streets, upsetting commuters and lunch breakers and people just trying to get a cup of coffee, goddammit, another enormous figure approached it.

The first word to come to mind to describe it was 'wolf', well, after 'big'. Big it was; the chest alone was big enough that a large adult man could set comfortably and have elbow room. You know, to use a completely arbitrary measurement.

It was also flying, which was not a normal thing for wolves, even big wolves, but then it was also not normal that wolves have gleaming white fur with an almost metallic sheen to it, and spikey back armor on its back and face.

And to consider a wolf opening its mouth and firing a lazer, well, forget about it. This wolf was clearly one of a kind.

The wolf dispatched the mammoth easily, hogtying it with destroyed electrical cables, and knocking it out with a tranquilizer fired from one claw. You know, after he was able to get through the hide, that was.

Choppers were already descending to retrieve the mammoth. A ballsy reporter hurried to the scene and waved a microphone.

"Tin Man! Tin Man! Down here!"

The wolf paused in overseeing the load-up, and turned its attention to the reporter.

"Tin Man, what will you do with the creature now that it's been subdued?"

The wolf's tail swished faintly, and suddenly the fearsome creature that had fought the mammoth seemed friendly and approachable. It opened its mouth. The voice that came out sounded projected; it was not caused by the mouth itself, merely projected through it.

"Our scientists will study the creature to see if it can be safely released into a habitat where it won't cause any harm to human life or the ecosystem, and if not, will be safely put into stasis until a better solution can be found."

"Tin Man, ready to go," called one of the ground crew.

Tin Man gave them a nod and turned back to the camera just long enough to say, "Hopefully, the former," before flying off after the chopper and the mammoth.

'And so another day was saved by the Tin Man, Duckburg's own-'

"Turn that off, will ya?" Qrow didn't wait for Leonardo to comply, merely grabbed the remote and flipped the newsfeed off himself. He folded his arms and glowered at the tv, then out the window of the compound to where the Tin Man and the rest of the ground crew were coming in.

Tin Man was no longer needed to oversee the Mammoth situation; he headed for the bunker where his crew lived and worked, mainly on himself; inside, he took a seat on the large support stand that would allow them easy access to him. In his seat, he leaned forward, supported by cables that hooked into him as he sat, and-

-a seam down the middle of the armored spines on the back split, separating the armor and ejecting a pilot's seat, occupied by a pilot.

"Nice work out there, big man," Qrow said, holding out a paw to help the pilot from his cockpit. "Oz wants to talk to us, come on. You can let your alterego wait a while."

"No rest of the weary," the pilot said, and followed.

-/-

"What do you mean decommissioned?" the pilot roared.

His name was James. Let the mind's eye pull out just a bit to see the whole picture: a boardroom elsewhere in the compound. Seated around the table, a thin rooster in an emerald-green suit, the crew who attended the Tin Man, and several others, whose identity we'll get to later.

And rising halfway from his chair, fury rising his fur, is a wolf. Not a wolf like the Tin Man, just an ordinary wolf, albeit a big one- tall and broad and bigger, now, in his fury.

"Oz, I've spent the past decade putting everything I had into the Tin Man. I've given up more than one man ever should, and now they want to just... replace me? Him? With a child?"

"Perhaps those in power agree with your assessment of how much you've been asked to give up," Ozpin said calmly, as several eyes drew to James' metal fist, sitting in a dent on the table, to the seam peeking just out of his collar.

James sat down. He steepled his paws over his muzzle, and counted slowly, enough Mississippi's to get his temper under control, and said, more calmly now, "He's just a child. This is not a job for a child. This isn't right."

"And yet, this is what has been decided. There is nothing we can do. The Tin Man will be decommissioned, his parts displayed in a museum, and you-" He smiled kindly. "-well, now you have time for all of the things you didn't have time for before. Make use of it. Take a vacation. Enjoy yourself."

James sighed, and slumped back in his chair. "With all due respect, sir... I would rather just have my machine."

[bokettochild]

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

Angst! My Beloved!

Not a lot of whump here, but I put Wild through the wringer!!! Lots of BotW2 ideas and concepts here, but nothing really cannon.

Also, disclaimer: I think Flora is a wonderful person, a bit harsh and sometimes unkind, but I feel for her a lot. The prompt submitted to me however asked for her as an ass, so that's what's here, for angst reasons. THIS IS NOT HOW I PLAN ON WRITING HER NORMALLY!!!

When Wild left the Chain behind in the woods, it was with a soft smile and a hesitant wave of his right hand. It was with a gentle ‘See y’all later’ that made Warriors shake his head with a sigh while Twilight offered a wobbly grin.

He would join them again, he knew that. After all, Hylia wouldn’t have chosen him to go with them in the first place if he was only supposed to leave before they’d even really started to know what it was that they were meant to be doing.

He’d see them again, and he’d fall back into a routine with all of them, sparring with Warriors and teaching Hyrule to cook and shield surfing with Wind and learning to carve from Sky. He’d go back to sewing with Legend, to exploring with Hyrule, to learning the Ocarina with Time and teasing Twilight about his terrible singing. He could work with Four on the Sheikah Slate and experimenting with different plants he’d gathered. He would see them again, and he’d go back to being busy and smiling nearly every day.

For the time being however, he had to square his shoulders and harden his jaw as he stepped through the swirl of black that had repulsed all the others every time they tried to enter. He had to tame his mind and wild spirit and come to stand before the Princess of Hyrule in all of her stern glory and receive the scolding he was due for wandering off without permission.

He never had time to question what she meant by being gone for ‘two whole weeks’ before she was marching off towards the labs and explaining that there was a new task for them to complete.

Such a task was one that left in his mind no time for thoughts of his brothers save on the lonely nights in the sky when the islands above the clouds were silent save for the birds about him that reminded him of Sky, or when he ran across the forests and was reminded of the wolf that once ran at his side. And, alright, the tiny people in the grass and the fountains reminded him of Four and Hyrule. When the wind sang strong in his ears as he dove towards the earth from the highest places in the sky, he couldn’t help but envision a small hero whose laughter danced like the sea and who’s fingers mastered the currents of wind and sea both.

It was a lonely quest, just like his last before it, but somehow it was more painfully so, now that he knew what it was to have brothers at his side to catch a monster’s blade when he was too slow or to help him patch himself up afterwards. It was quiet when the Princess and he sat around the fires as night, she studying him as he sat still and stonelike as she worked.

The hand that had waved goodbye to his brothers now flickered green and ethereal in the night shades, iron bands clinging to the wisping appendage and acting as a bond to hold its form together. It was nothing like what he’d known or studied in the Sheikah technology, or even what he’d seen from the many worlds he’d traveled with the other, and it earned many a stare and twist of the lips from those he met and traded with during his journey.

The arm was only the first of many changes, it’s power seeping through his body and altering him before he even knew what was happening. He’d hated it at first, disliking how it changed him, made his eyes glow and his hair touch with the same ethereal shades, red bleeding through at the roots and earning him even more wary looks.

Ganon, in all his terrifying power, had been a surprising comfort during the quest, an aid to discovering his new abilities and training them to bend to his own will. The Princess had been wary of their relationship, but had accepted it when she saw what he learned to do, and every evening she would require a report of his newfound skills, as well as the occasional demonstration or examination.

It all came to an end both too soon and not soon enough.

Ganon was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, and the Princess was as cold as ever even after their second adventure at each other's sides. And now there was no use for the abilities that had fused to his soul like the arm had to his flesh. He’d asked Purah if there was something that could be done to restore his body to its normal Hylian state, without the glowing limb that earned his only stares and insults from the village people, but the Princess had overheard it and declared that such a thing should not even be attempted.

“You don’t understand, Link. Don’t be foolish! We have here a scientific marvel ready for our investigation and exploration and you want to get rid of it just because it looks odd?”

He’s shuffled his feet slowly, resisting the impulse to rub at his chest where the Hylian part of him ended and the eldritch horror began. “I can’t live like  Hylian anymore.”

“Because you aren’t one!” Her Highness rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sir Knight, after everything I certainly doubt that Hylian even applies to you anymore! Hylians do not possess the qualities that you now do, and they most certainly do not travel through stone or time or any other such thing at will. Think would you! You’re something else entirely, and I intend to find out what that is!”

Purah had frowned at that, eyes full of sorrow as they met his own with an apologetic sigh. But there was nothing the de-aged scientist could really say against the royal Sovreign of Hyrule, not as a Sheikah sworn to the service of the royal family. The woman/girl had offered him a sympathetic pat on the head later after climbing up to reach high enough to do so, as well as a few dumplings that Paya had sent on her grandmother’s behalf the day before. It was a welcome gesture, but amounted to so little on the grand scale of life. Not when so many others he had once called his friends had so blatantly rejected the mere sight of him.

Bolson and the other carpenters shied away from him with harsh whispers as they spat insults across the distance.

‘Half-blood’.

‘Gerudo Bastard’.

‘Freak’.

‘Demon’.

There were favorite insults spread from stable to stable and up and coming village to up and coming town and slowly all of Hyrule knew of the monster that had once been the hero. Gossip abounded, and he couldn’t even turn to shield his face with his hood without drawing attention to his arm.

It was only the koroks that welcomed him, themselves all too accustomed to the strange and ethereal. Them and the blupees.

Maybe it was the knowledge of how it felt to be shot at for his oddness that allowed him to ease into the graces of the flighty animals. And maybe it was his lonely heart crying for comfort, but when nestled in their midst, it almost reminded him of how it felt to be hugged by the salty veteran, on the rare occasional that the pink-haired hero had let down his guard.

The fairy’s tangled themselves in his hair and the blupees gathered at his feet, koroks dancing around him and flying to his side as if he was some sort of forest god, but the strange rise of his spirits in their presence shattered the instant a traveler caught sight of him.

Arrows and fire, once his favorite of weapons, were turned against him as words in every language of the New Hyrule had burst from the mouths of its people, and like his namesake, he ran before them, darting through the forest and fading in amidst the trees, hiding, incorporeal and translucent within the halls of the forest as those he’d once seen as allies pushed him away.

He’d begged the new Queen for aid, for relief or even just a word to the people that he wasn’t the evil they had come to think he was, but she only waved him aside with a purse of her lips. “You are not meant to be here without first asking.” The Child of Hylia declared, eyes as cold as the Shrine’s waters themself. “And why should I make a declaration on behalf of a man who refuses to even speak to me properly? You come groveling like a worm, yet for years it was I who you ignored. See how it feels, Sir Hero, to be the one left helpless at the hands of the country. Know what it is to be scorned by those who you thought would love you.”

He’d barely made it out of the window before the trainee guards of the newly repaired Hyrule Castle had caught him and Queen Zelda Diana Hyrule had stared after him with eyes colder than Hebra’s tallest peaks.

It was the Father Tree -the Deku Tree as the Queen had called it, but the koroks laughed at him for using the name, so he’d adjusted in kind- who suggested that he hide the changes, and he’d begun to wander Hyrule as much as possible to find the materials he would have needed.

The Queen still required his presence regularly so she could inspect him; her love of science no ways tainted as to stop her from ordering him to appear regularly, as there was now no need or safety in his acting as her guard. The Queen sought her people’s respect, and to employ such a being as himself, not Hylian and not quite mortal, would be to spark fear in the people. Indeed, when he skirted villages, he would wince at word of ‘the queen’s monster’ as gossip was traded. Those who didn’t see him themselves knew him as a beast of feral nature who lived amid the lost woods and destroyed any who came close.

“A specter that glows with the light of the shrines.” They would tell each other over campfires. “It has eyes like a ghost, empty and lost, with no care for humanity or Hylia’s chosen. They say it was once the Hero of this world, but he died ages ago.”

“I heard it’s the body, possessed by a being beyond this realm, a monster escaped from the edges of reality that tried to hide in our midst but corrupted it’s host so that it only scares away others, leaving it roam the earth in a shattered body. If you get too close to it though, it’ll take your instead.”

He’d stayed away from towns after that.

The blupees and koroks had been happy to help him to find what he needed to hide among the Hylians should he wish though, and two in particular guided him; the korok swinging little twigs like they were batons and humming swinging little shanties as it hopped along the path, the blupee snorting softly and nipping at his heels when he wandered too far, unnatural purple eyes staring up at him with something that was fondness and a reprimand all at once, and in their care he’d made his way across the land of Hyrule to find what would be needed to return to his once life.

The fairies and their Great cousins had been welcome help, and in time, he’d been able to walk amid the populace of Hyrule like any other, as long as he kept a long cloak about him and his hair pulled back to hide where the roots would begin showing again in gold and ethereal blue.

Once Hyrule had talked about needing to hide in his world, about the curse that followed him and made the Hylian people afraid. He’d thought it bizarre and ridiculous of the people at the time, but now he understood what it was to live it.

When the portal opened beneath his feet the day that the Queen had reprimanded him for concealing and potentially damaging the strange limb, startling the Skeikah scientists and Queen both, he’d nearly cried tears of relief.

He was going away, somewhere where he wasn’t a science project and where, unless they traveled to his world’s future, no one would know how much he had changed. His copy of the slate had enough hair dye to last him a few months, and he was certain he could make more over time, and as long as he continued wearing the tunics and gloves the fairies had helped him to adjust to hide the glow the others would probably never catch on. Or well, he could extend it anyway.

His brothers greeted him with open arms and teary eyes, and in a strange parallel to his adventure, he found himself thinking of blupees when Legend had curled against him, stiff and cold on the outside, but with fingers that clutched his tunic just a bit too tight to really be reluctant. And Four, Hyrule and Wind’s exuberant hugs and chatter brought to mind tiny forest people and koroks with twigs for batons.

It was good to be home.

It was good to cook for other people again, and they were glad to have him cook for them, even if his fondness for both Gerudo spiced dishes and fae like sweet things had increased exponentially during his newest adventure. It was good to fight at their sides, even if it was strange to once again have to take others into account before he could select a weapon. It was good to sit around a fire and talk with the others too, but that was perhaps the hardest one; it had been ages since he’d had a proper two-way conversation with anything other than a tree or a korok, and neither of those was good at either staying awake or staying focused for very long.

There were some harder things to adjust to though. Fire, for one. Unlike before when he’d have been happy to burn an enemy camp to the ground, now he was wary of using faming weapons or spreading heat further than necessary. The same went for hunting; he couldn’t bring himself to shoot an animal unless it attacked first or they needed the meat it would provide, and even then, he felt a bit bad for doing so. Is this what Twilight had felt like? Is this why the rancher never liked hunting? Because he too knew what it was like to be on the other end of the bow?

But the hardest thing by far to readjust to was his name.

‘Wild’ they had called him again, and after months of ‘the wild one’, ‘wild beast’, ‘monster’ and every other insult, slur or title that had been used on him, it made him flinch ever so slightly at the words. And unlike the other things where his brothers dismissed it as a change caused by his adventure or an increase of maturity, it was something that the others seemed to either not notice or to excuse as situational.

He had adapted though, learned to keep a smile on his face where blankness had once been required in his knightly duties, and the more he wore the mask the easier it was to put on again.

He’d reveled in traveling across time again, in dancing through battles and exploring the world without the Queen reprimanding him in her cold tones to stop wandering off. He’d pushed himself to learn more music in the last adventure, and even if his experience was more with what few instruments Ganon had had time to help him learn, he’d enjoyed sitting down with the others and borrowing one or another instrument to play a tune and sometimes he even got to sing.

He fell to comfortably into his role though, even with the changes, and he hadn’t even noticed when they’d come back to his world. To be fair, it was different in the daytime, and Hyrule had changed so much in the absence of her hero as he hid himself away from the eyes of civilization. Towns and roads had sprung up where there had only been fields before, and the Guardians that had littered the land had all been dug up and hauled to the castle to be either restored or destroyed by the Sheikah, depending on what Queen Zelda decided after she looked at them herself. The world was so different to him, so unlike that which he knew, that he’d failed to keep as alert as he ought to have been when he wandered about an open market with the others, laughing and chattering away with the other younger ones as Time and Legend herded them towards the needed stalls.

It was a traveler that was his downfall, a man who’d seen the Monster Hero and had been among the first to discover the disguise he wore.

No questions were asked when the word spread, and Wild hadn’t caught on to the whispers until a stone had struck his cheek and he was stumbling forwards on the path.

“Wild!” Twilight was at his side in a minute, Time right after him as Legend launched a barrage of insults at the guilty party who’d thrown the thing.

“’m fine.” He was careful to wipe the blood away with his cloak, holding the fabric to the wound to prevent bluish blood seeping down his face and exposing him to his brothers. He wanted to keep them as long as possible and proving himself to be a monster, not even Hylian, would surely have them turning their backs on him.

“Get away from him!” A woman scolded, grabbing ahold of two of the younger heroes while several other shoppers had like ways grabbed Legend and Sky. “Are you dears alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Freaking what?” Legend shrieked. “Who’s the injured party here?”

“I’d avoid that thing, son.” A man huffed through a frankly walrus like mustache, eyes hard as they trailed to where Wild stood, cloak still pressed to his cheek as he attempted to wave off a fussing Twilight and Time. “It’s not natural. Sure, it looks like a normal Hylian, but that’s just an effective ruse.”

Another villager nodded. “It’s one of the Calamity’s puppets, a Gerudo-Bastard set on destroying the kingdom!”

“He’s the freaking hero!” Legend shrieked, barely being held back by a steely eyed Sky. “He saved all your freaking asses and all you can do is insult his flipping guts? Who’s the-”

“Enough.” There were few times that Sky’s voice reached levels worse than Twilight’s growls, but the stern command, regal and firm, froze all present as the man stiffened with a cold nod towards the villagers. “I see we are unwelcome here, and with that being the case it would be wise to spend our rupees elsewhere. Legend,” A tug to the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s join the others and be out of their hair. If they cannot be welcoming and kind to our brother than they will not receive our patronage.” And like a swan gathering it’s cygnets, Sky swept down the street, cape fluttering as he ushered the rest of them out of the town and back to the safety of the wilds. The village stared after them with wide eyes, as if they’d just been judged by a breathing god.

The stiffness in Sky’s shoulders faded as they neared the edge of the forest, and instantly the Chosen Hero been tutting over Wild, gently but firmly prying his hand away from his face with a kind smile that almost set Wild at ease. Almost.

“It’s fine, it’s just a scrape.”

“Still.” Sky crooned softly. “I’d rather we clean it up now and make sure it’s nothing worse than let it sit and get infected later.”

And though he’d tried to fight, his single Hylian hand was no match for the firm grip of the Skyloftian, and within minutes his face was exposed to the shocked faces and flickering eyes of his brothers.

“It’s blue...” Wind breathed as Hyrule darted forwards, hands already glowing softly only for them to stutter to a stop over Wild’s skin.

“It’s... Wild, why is your blood- why is-” The healer’s eyes had flickered golden for a moment, wide as they stared up at him. “What happened to you-”

“What the freak!” Legend had startled, blinking in surprise as he stared. “Your eyes are glowing!”

Shit! The healing properties of the arm had already taken affect and it was making everything act up all weird! He shot a glance down at his arm, one hand raising to tangle in the long hair he couldn’t even see at the moment, praying silently beneath his breath that nothing was showing through. It wasn’t, but that didn’t change how Hyrule had come to fixate on his right arm, or how the healer's fingers hovered over it sparking and eyes twinkling as he whispered softly under his breath.

“Wild.” Time had sighed. “I think this one is going to need an explanation.”

All the breath left his lung in instants.

He’d panicked to say the least and Time had eventually shooed the others away to make camp as the eldest hero had sat at his side, waiting silently for him to regulate his breathing. Touch was too much right now, and any attempts from the others to ease him down or help him level out his breathes had only made him panic more. But when at last his blue eyes blinked back to clarity it was to see Time sitting at his side, a gentle tune wafting from the Ocarina at his lips.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his hardest not to startle Time or otherwise make the situation worse. “I should have said something, I know. I just- missed being Wild and I wanted to come back and be normal and I didn’t want to-”

“It’s alright.” Time’s voice rumbled softly, a single blue eye turning to him with a pained look, even as the man offered him a hint of a smile. “None of us talk about our adventures either.”

“Yes, but you’re people.” He sighed, rubbing the fingers of his glove together. “You’re allowed to choose things.”

There was pain in Time’s voice when their leader answered. “And you’re not?”

“I’m not Hylia anymore.” He whispered. “I don’t count.”

“You count to us.”

“That’s because you don’t know.”

Time shifted, turning to face him fully as the ocarina was set firmly in the grass. “That’s because you’re family and we care. Wild, I don’t care if Demise himself named you the king of the dead, you’re still my kid and Nayru knows I’m not going to let you go without a fight. If that means fighting you, alright, but you’d best better believe that no amount of physical or mental changes will break the bonds we all have with you.”

Something, something damaged and crushed and stitched up and torn open again clenched inside of him, tears pricking at his eyes as he stared up at Time’s royal blue gaze. “W-what?”

“You could be granted godhood, made a monster, I don’t care. You’re ours and you’ll have to deal with that.” Time smiled, warm even with the pain in his eyes as he looked down at him. “So how about you start again, maybe with the facts rather than the insults. Or,” Time softened, brows furrowing lightly. “If you want, we can just sit here and you can choose to talk about this later. We do need to know, so we can help you and keep you safe, but you don’t have to tell us right now. You can take some time to figure out what you want to say if you need.”

And, well, shoot him, but Time’s arms had always been a safe place and there was one thing he’d wanted more than anything since he had come back. Wild threw himself into his grand-mentor's arms with a soft sob, clutching tightly to the other, ignoring the armor and its sharp points and awkward shapes as he tried to hold back all the emotions swirling in his chest.

Time’s arms folding around him broke the floodgates though, and when the man’s hand had stroked through his shortened hair, he’d had to bury his face in Tim’s neck to muffle his sobs.

“There, there,” Time hummed softly, rocking slowly as he held the broken wild hero. “Let it out, little one. I have you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”

[birdsaretoddlers]

OKAY SO. first chapter got an overhaul and i finished the second chapter, so i'm reposting both to. more or less gauge interest? thank you to everyone who's been so nice

Red Vixen Returns! After what appears to have been a two year hiatus, famed cat burglar ‘Red Vixen’ has struck again, this time taking a stab at Overeasy Industries! Newest reports claim that the Phosphoril Rose was stolen last night out of its exhibit at the Museum of Earth Sciences. The CEO of Overeasy Industries has promised that any information that leads to the recovery of the artifact will be rewarded handsomely-

“Turn that off, would you, Vette?”

The television cycled off the news and on to a different news station, then more news, and finally, a gossip tabloid that, again, was covering the news. With a disgruntled hock in her throat, the bartender tossed the remote onto the countertop, unable to escape chippy newscasters with dead eyes and fake cheer. “If you can find any channel not showin’ that, you’re welcome to it.”

The remote spun over the scarred and heavily-lacquered wood. The man at the bar stopped it with the hand not currently holding his glass, tapped the channel buttons a few times, and eventually settled on golf. The tournament lasted for all of fifteen seconds, but then the breaking news bled overtop of it, too. He finally turned the whole system off instead.

“Don’t know what you were expecting, Mars. It’s Overeasy. They’ve bought almost every station we get out here.”

“Mm,” said Mars. “Can’t hurt to try.”

“Awfully hopeful, coming out of you. Careful, someone might just try to steal that off ya.”

Knocking back the remnants of his drink, he set his empty glass an inch over the invisible line on the bartop, begging for a refill. “Welcome to it. Not sure who I lifted it from myself.”

Vette smirked and pulled a pair of dirty bottles from the rack behind her, grey hair tied out of her face with a black leather cord. “Probably the Valentines, if I had to guess. Julio’s always got some to spare.”

“Julio’s full of spare parts. His brother and his sister in law aren’t much better.” Mars waited patiently as Vette offloaded old stock into his cup, then took it back with two fingers. “Dunno why you let your boy run around with ‘em. Gang types, through and through.”

Vette shrugged her shoulders and replaced the liquors to the shelf, sending up a puff of dust as she did. “Who cares where they came from? Keeps him out from underfoot. Better he go knocking over trash cans with them three than the neighborhood boys. At least the Valentines know how to handle a weapon.”

Mars gave his head a slight, acquiescent tilt. “Just thought you’d stay away from cats that reek of a family, that’s all.”

Vette leaned over the bar with one arm, gesturing at the establishment, as much as it could be called that, with the other. “Hey, here at the Dog, everyone’s family as long as they leave their guns at the door. Doesn’t matter who killed who, what corp fucked over the next, anyone that wants a drink or somethin’ to eat can get it. As long as they have the money to pay and don’t spill bad blood within two feet of the doorstep, that is.”

That was true. This dive was the only place that was truly neutral in the entire town. The bartender, her husband and the entire waitstaff looked and acted like they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you, so nobody dared cause any trouble within the doors of the Sighthound. Otherwise called ‘the Dog’, by anyone who had been here more than once. The walls, floors, even the tables were stained with the arguments of generations of enemies who had come together to dine as strained equals, along with a hefty dose of grime. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the rank scent of desperation. The opened front door only did so much to clear it out, but hey, if having health insurance was mandatory, why not get your money’s worth and take a deep breath of the carcinogens?

Mars removed his hat to fan it under his nose. He couldn’t smell the ethanol of his drink through this haze. Vette rolled her eyes, made a comment about his failing constitution, and wandered off without waiting for him to bite out a retort. “Sure, sure. Have to be the one born this minute to start anything here. You’d have ‘em cozyin’ up with a colander in a second.”

“Damn right.” Vette turned the television on again, though Mars hadn’t seen her swipe the remote out from under his sleeve. The ‘breaking’ nature of the news bulletin had faded, golf proceeded apace. She pulled a face and started scrolling for anything else. Mars sipped his highball and did not, though tequila rose was not a proper ingredient no matter what old swill Vette was trying to cycle through the inventory tab. “That’s why we say two feet away from the door. Gives us enough time to close it before we start gettin’ stains on the hardwood.”

With a subtle glance behind him, Mars studied the floors. It was hard to tell there was wood under the inch of grit and mud, but he’d take her word for it, as there was nobody else to ask. They were almost alone here. The ‘enforcers’ that were the Valentines were playing babysitter, the owner of the bar was shut up in his office, and who drank at two o’clock on a Tuesday? Other than him, of course.

Vette leaned around him, blue eyes a-blinking as the watery light in the windows grew dark with the shadow of a car. “Oh, that’s gotta be the lunch order. Hold that thought, Capone.”

Him, and the guy that just walked in the door.

“Loooonng gone, sweetheart,” he hummed, in a tone that might have been sing-song if Mars had the capacity for that. Instead it approached something like a half-assed croak, which was good enough for his purposes. It had been a long time since he’d sang anything, and the rust shaking off his vocal cords caught in his throat, making him cough up an ah-hem! to clear it.

The lunch order stranger that wandered in didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual. Most patrons of the Sighthound tried not to acknowledge the others, like a gaggle of cats sharing a particularly small bedspread. He wore a plain, unmarked suit, a hat pulled low over his eyes, devoid of any personality. Walking with an economical gait that was silk-smooth and too precise, he went to post up in the corner under the long since faded ‘ORDERS’ sign. Like any good customer who was interested in a lead-free liver, Mars ignored him utterly.

Vette had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the doggy boxes herself. With the Valentines gone, off to play with Thompson, extra hands were in short supply. No waitress to ferry orders from the back, no pair of whackouts on the stage, doing an absurdist comedy routine or noodling around on an instrument or three. Such was the price to pay, when a small prince took a liking to someone. And in this city, the Vicinatos were royalty.

Well, maybe more like small, local lords, but the sentiment was the same.

Mars rested his head on his fist and circled his finger around the rim of his glass, mouth revolting at the idea of drinking another drop of the wallpaper paste Vette had poured for him. Drinks were half price, as long as he was fine with getting the overstock, or the specialty liquors that nobody wanted past the special occasion they were ordered for. That was how he ended up drinking vile concoctions such as ‘tequila rose’, which sounded nice on the surface until the liquid that poured out of the opaque bottle was pink rather than, oh, any other acceptable tequila color. Clear, for example. It looked like and had the mouth feel of a melted strawberry milkshake mixed with paint.

But, half price. Mars braved the chalky waters again and tried not to taste them. Not having a great sense of smell helped with that. If he added actual chunks of strawberry to it, the drink might not have been half bad. Chilling it would’ve really been a swell idea, too. Vette came out from the kitchen and Mars watched her hand over the towering stack of brown paper boxes to the stranger, who gave her a little nod.

He picked up his glass as she trotted back over, happy to while away the hours with him, as long as he kept drinking garbage. Mars gave it a little wiggle, ignoring the not-water consistency of the liquor. “Shouldn’t this be in the fridge?”

“Why, you gettin’ picky now?” Vette turned, plucked the bottle off the shelf, flicked her reading glasses down over her eyes from atop her tight, fluffy curls. “Hmm… Yeah, refrigerate after opening. You’re right. Guess you’re taking it home with you. Don’t have space back there.”

He did not want to take this home with him. “Whatever I don’t drink, dump it.” Mars rolled his tongue in his mouth, felt a film on it, grimaced. “Scratch that. Dump it now. Not even I’m gonna go back for another round.”

Whistling, Vette rolled her eyes. “You are getting picky! Can’t afford that out here, buddy.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sure you do, Mars.”

Mars leaned back on his barstool. He was going to try for something snide, slick, along the lines of what he might’ve said a decade ago. Instead, he opened his mouth and felt his shoulder get caught and yanked aside. Alarmingly, the chair screeched as it threatened to capsize and dump him out of it. In a scramble, he grabbed the bar and pulled himself upright, nails clawing the layers of varnish off in yellowing spirals. Something crashed wetly behind him, and Mars sank down into his shoulders, ears heating as he peered around to see what had happened.

He’d tipped into the poor guy who was just trying to get his lunch. The stranger ended up eating splinters, laid out flat on the floor, nose to the so-called hardwood. The doggy boxes had gone up in smoke, or rather, a myriad of pastas and sauces. Vette started cursing about her precious hardwood again, how hard the tomato paste was going to be to clean, that it would never come out. Cringing, Mars slid out of his seat, his arm smarting from the impact. The other man was silently stewing in the puddle Mars had accidentally created. His suit was ruined. His meal was ruined. His afternoon was ruined.

If Mars made it out of this without getting punched, it would be a happy day for all. Crouching and feeling his knees pop in protest, he offered the stranger a hand.

“Sorry, pal, I didn’t see ya there. Let me pay for your food, it’s the least I can… Oh.”

Oh.

He’d been right. That guy didn’t move right because he wasn’t a guy. The cold, dead eyes of an automaton peered up at him from under his stiff-brimmed hat. Mars felt something inside of him twist, under all the boozy cream.

“Quit your yakkin’,” he tossed over his shoulder at Vette, who stopped the instant she heard his tone, just as flat and lifeless as the machine. “We’ve got a bot.”

“A bot?” Neck craning to get a better look, Vette popped her lips. “Well shit, so we do.”

Mars helped the automaton back to its feet. It whirred and clicked, head jerking on a neck only made for minor motion. Not one of the especially lifelike ones, then. Its jaw worked but did not open, suggesting a lack of capacity for speech. Or emotion, though it was doing its best to pantomime dull confusion, like a dog seeing a magic trick. Completely at a loss for a situation outside of its programmed, day-to-day operations. At least it didn’t immediately resort to violence, like some of the crasser ones. Its outfit probably cost more than the bot itself, and bots weren’t cheap to begin with.

Most of them possessed basic learning ability and problem-solving skills, so in the interest of fair communication and a hefty dose of belief in miracles, Mars set both of his hands on its shoulders. He spoke slowly, clearly, enunciating his words so they would be easy to parse for a language model that was caught in the stone age.

“I’m going to pay for your meal,” he told it, indicating the splattered boxes all over everything in a five foot radius. Including him, he’d gotten ala vodka all over his slacks when he kneeled down in it to get the robot up. “Your bosses’ meal. Whoever’s it is. Where is he at.”

It stared at him blankly, the words stringing together into a sentence, then being fed into whatever neural networking it had. One piece of information, one command, two things that weren’t relevant to it. After a moment of processing, fake eyelids making a soft tik sound as they moved on an interval, it raised an arm to point straight outside. Mars nodded and released the bot. “Thanks.”

He turned to make good on his promise, but Vette rapped her knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “Don’t,” she hissed when Mars looked back. “You don’t want anything to do with what’s out there.”

“Why?” Came the question. He looked to the door again, trying to pick up what had spooked her through the small sliver of natural light it provided. There was a simple black limousine, idling in the street, and… That was all. Mysterious black limos were essentially part of the biodiversity in Tos Vardens. As natural as a pigeon, and just as plentiful. Nothing to be afraid of, most of the time. Mars arched an eyebrow. “Just another car, Vette. And the bot isn’t all that nice. Sorry,” he apologized to the bot.

The bot, incapable of feeling offended, did nothing.

“Why?” Vette repeated angrily. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. The whole setup reeks of a corp, Capone. Just send the bot back out there. I’ll refund the bill and call the number they used to order, tell them the kitchen’s overworked. Hopefully they’ll just go away.”

Pulling his lapels to secure his overcoat, Mars retrieved his hat from where it had been set on the countertop. “Yeah, well, maybe you can just sit by, Vette, but I’ve got enough morals left to fix my fuck-ups.”

He ignored her scathing, worried stare burning a hole into his shoulders as he ambled to the exit, pausing just outside the square of dim light where the pale sun shone in. “‘s what I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years, anyway.”

Then he set his trillby back on his head and braved the world outside, off-putting black limousines and all.

—

Emerging from the lusterless, muted world of the Sighthound, the outside seemed like a flashbang being fed directly to him on a mirrored plate. Mars squinted. This was why he tried to stay inside during the daytime. Even through the perpetual cloud cover, the sunlight still hurt his eyes. People smarter than him claimed it used to be brighter, that it wasn’t meant to be so dull. In his opinion, it was still plenty bright enough. He wasn’t sure how he spent days at a time in the great outdoors in his youth. He’d been out here a scant few seconds, and already craved the comforts of his barstool.

Tos Vardens was an old town, even by today’s standards. A monorail rattled in the distance, the scaffolding that held up the tracks curving over buildings of dubious habitability. Everything here was covered in a fine layer of age and silt, reflecting its citizens. The mayor eight years ago had tried to start an initiative to clean up the town, then run off with the donations and tax money collected for the job. 

Nobody had been too put out by it. Or shocked.

The mayor in power now at least pretended not to be corrupt, but his grift was more well-hidden than most. It wasn’t cynicism or nihilism to say so, merely experience and enough time spent in reality. Everyone in Tos Vardens used whatever power they had to grab for more, an ouroborus of taken advantages and burned bridges. Made the tourism push more laughable than most, unless a guided tour of brick squares passed for sightseeing in the current climate. Mars wouldn’t know. He hadn’t left the city since he’d moved in.

The engine of the black limousine gave a short cough. Mars rubbed his nose with his hand, hunched his shoulders, and walked towards it. Slowly though, presenting himself as non-threateningly as possible, keeping his fingers well away from his pockets much as they wanted to jump in. People in this town tended to be tetchy, quick with their triggers, and he’d like to buy himself at least a minute before whoever was inside capped him for the audacity of being alive too close to them.

Unsurprisingly, the car had black-tinted windows, too thick and dark to see through. That proved Vette’s theory that it was a corp car. Most common folk couldn’t afford bulletproof glass, but Mars could pick out the layers of laminate sandwiched between the vinyl in the frame. Mars leaned down, hands on protesting knees, and knocked his knuckle against the window, twice.

“Hey, pal, I kinda knocked into your bot and spilled your food. Real sorry. I’m gonna pay for it, but you might have to wait a while for the order to get remade.”

Nothing. No movement from inside the car. Mars could see his reflection in it, and he hoped the circles under his eyes weren’t really that dark, though it wouldn’t improve much if they weren’t. At one point, he might have been roguishly handsome. Nowadays, he needed a shave and a solid night’s sleep. Maybe several. Couldn’t hurt. The only thing that stood out about him were his eyes, flat chips of amber that were wasted on a guy like him. A girl deserved those.

The car remained silent. Mars shifted his weight on his ankles, not quite anxious, and too disinterested to be unnerved, but decidedly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Uh… Hello? You hear me? I said I was sorry-”

The window began to lower, with a soft, mechanical chirring sound. Mars wasn’t quite sure what he expected when it got to the bottom-

But a pistol in his face was woefully high on the list.

His heart jammed up into his throat, but was promptly snuffed out by the tequila and too much experience with this kind of thing. The gun was nicely made, well cared for and shimmering in the light. Pearl handled and connected to a slender arm, covered in a silk glove and linked to a woman who wasn’t even looking at him. A corp, forever shackled to the phone in her hand. The driver was another bot, who’s lack of attention was less insulting.

Right. Mars used the back of his pointer finger to push the barrel aside, not roughly, telegraphing his intent even if its owner wasn’t paying him any heed. “Rude,” he said, without thinking. “I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here, lady, so couldja put that away so we can talk like adults?”

The redhead in the passenger seat blinked. Unaccustomed to that tactic not immediately sending an annoyance screaming for their lives, she looked up. She was pretty, in a vintage way, like she’d strut straight off a theater screen and into this car. A cigarette stick was clutched in her pinkie, under the phone, and her hair was streaked with gray. Her eyes were so pale as to be transparent, only blue at the right angle. Black lipstick, red eyeshadow, the very picture of a woman who had better places to be and better things to be doing. 

For a moment, she just… Stared at him. Mars wondered if she was a bot, too, one of those nicer ones that were almost impossible to pick out as inhuman, but eventually her mouth split into a grin that wouldn’t have been out of place on a shark.

“Why, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Mars Capone?”

He barely swallowed the grimace, but he couldn’t stop the tightness forming around his mouth and eyes before it took root. “Ma’am, your food?”

The woman let the gun swing downwards, the muzzle now pointing away from where it had been aimed somewhere soft. “It is you! What’s a man of your renown doing out in this backwater?”

He would not call the fifth largest city on the continent a backwater. Mars did not say so out loud, though. “I’m doing nothing and I am no one. I’m going back inside now, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no, no! We have so much to talk about. Stay.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he caught movement glinting in the silver of her pistol. His body swept sideways without conscious thought, and the robot that had followed him outside stumbled clumsily into the space he’d been occupying not a moment ago, arms lancing through empty space. Finding it had grabbed nothing, it stood upright, head pivoting to face him. The woman in the car had the grace to look mildly abashed.

Mars put his hands into his pockets, arching one eyebrow. It would’ve been sarcastic if he wasn’t so fed up.

“Okay,” he said dryly. “Does it involve me getting into the back of that limo and going to a secondary location? Because I’ve got a drink inside I’d like to get back to.”

Subtly, he flicked his head at the bar’s windows. Both an indicator of destination, and a signal to Vette to put her own weapon down before things got complicated. She’d break the two foot rule for him, but he’d handled himself into this mess. He could handle himself out.

Waving her hands, the woman snapped her fingers and shook her head. The robot, dutifully, opened the door of the backseat and clambered inside. “No, no, Mister Capone. Sorry, old habits,” she offered with a sly grin. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. In fact, I’d like to help you.”

This day kept getting weirder. First a cream based tequila, then an all-channels news bulletin, and now this. “Corps don’t help anybody,” he stated flatly. Mars stayed where he was, a nice five feet down the pavement. The robot shut the car behind it. 

The woman puffed her cigarette stick, blew a smoke ring out of the window and laid her arm over the edge. “Who says I’m a corp?” She asked innocently. “You know what they say about making assumptions.”

“You know what they say about ducks.”

She laughed. If he didn’t think she was dangerous before, which he did, now she definitely was. A laugh like that, so charming and musical, was practiced. Deadly as any piece of iron, and infinitely more versatile. Mars would not be moving any closer. Pouting, the woman beckoned to him with a single finger, like she was reeling in a fish.

“Come on now, don’t play hard to get. Give me your ear for two minutes, and I’ll forget all about the little bill. You can’t be doing too hot in the cash department, Mister Capone. Not after you cut your wings.”

Mouth writhing into a deeper frown, Mars flared his coat back and put his hands into his slacks pockets. She had him there, his wallet was light on a good month, and as of late, a good month was a distant memory. At the same time, he didn’t like how much she knew about him already, and how well she was twisting it against him. He weighed his options. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “Two minutes. And I’m counting.”

He approached again, though kept the edge of his overcoat well out of grabbing range. The woman smirked, eyes knowing under the red eyeshadow. Mars still saw a glimmer of teeth under her lips, barely contained. “Good man.”

“Minute forty five.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Minute forty.”

Sighing, the woman placed her gun into the passenger door and ran her fingers through her hair. Even mid-rumple, it was styled in just the right way to flip effortlessly over her forehead, voluminous and beautiful. Even if she wasn’t tied up in a corporation, she had enough money to buy the Dog outright eight times over. “Oh, Mister Capone, would it kill you to lighten up a little? Don’t answer that.”

Mars swallowed the sardonic comment he’d had perched on his tongue. She rolled her eyes and took another drag, blatantly wasting time she should’ve spent on her pitch. “Thank you,” she continued. “Now, I’m certain you’ve heard the news today? I will be quite amazed if you haven't!"

Her tone was indulgent, breezy, voice smoke-damaged as to be low, but not yet rough and grating. Mars gave her a stiff nod, already afraid of where this was going. “I heard. Phosphoril Rose stolen right out of its case by the Red Vixen. Classic robbery for them. Nothin’ new.”

“Excellent! I want you to find them.”

What. “What.”

“The Rose, Mister Capone. And the thief both! A man of your skills could-”

“No.”

Mars stepped away from the vehicle. Mid-speech, the woman in the car paused, mouth open, looking up at the sunroof. She glanced to him, a small smile playing out over her features that did not reach her eyes. “You didn’t let me finish,” she cooed.

“No need, ma’am. I’m out of that game for good.”

“Aha, Mister Capone,” she began, but he didn’t give her time to continue to wheedle him. He turned away. “You’re making a grave mistake, Mister Capone!”

“Answer won’t change no matter how much capital you put up, lady. Mars Capone is firmly retired. Go ask someone else.”

Grumbling, and quite accustomed to getting her way, the woman in the car called after him again. “At least take my card? You’ll need to know where to route the payment for my meal, as that was not two minutes, and I paid with an encrypted account.”

It had been a minute and fifty seconds, but Mars could play the petty game with the best of them, so he slid around on his heel and marched back. It was quite impressive, really. The smug, triumphant expression she wore managed to ignite an emotion he didn’t know he could still feel: rage, incandescent and sparking. It was muffled, years of a stone-cold front didn’t melt off so quickly, but it was something. 

The woman held out the card between two fingers. It was glossy, white and black, professional and understated. He plucked it out, stuck it in his hatband with an appropriate amount of force, and spun back to head for the door of the Dog. 

She was laughing behind him, even as the car started to pull away from the curb, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you, Mister Capone!” She sang, leaving behind a small pile of ashes from her burned out cigarette to mark her passing.

Leave it to a corp to wrangle his heart out of the box it was put in, only to mash it into a quivering, angry paste. Mars hunched his shoulders in and removed the card from his hat, infinitely curious at to what it said. He just wasn’t willing to give that woman the win she’d take from seeing it As she’d now left… He took a peek a the card, the identity of his would-be benefactor.

ELODIE FAUX

COO OVEREASY INDSUTRIES

ROUTING NUMBER 61524

Mars tilted his head up to the sky. While he’d been getting his chain yanked by the most powerful woman in the country, the sun had pulled the blanket of clouds over itself and hid. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, said the only word he could think of.

“Fuck.”

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (1/5)

part one of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 6.3k 

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut. 

a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg​, I finally did it.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily. 

0615.

Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all. 

Somehow, you kind of doubt it. 

The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder. 

“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face. 

He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction. 

You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.” 

He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business. 

You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment.  Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table. 

That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it. 

It works. That’s all that matters.

You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.

The doorbell buzzes again. 

You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning. 

“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen. 

“Good morning,” you say serenely. 

“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you. 

“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name. 

Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.

Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”

Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.” 

Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh. 

Fuck. 

“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.

 Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god. 

His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top. 

Subtle.

Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack. 

Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him. 

Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?” 

You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?

“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly. 

“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.

You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy.  In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”

Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.

Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.” 

Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out. 

You sidle up behind him, curious.  He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.

You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.

It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.

You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.

Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower. 

You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient. 

Whatever this is, it’s big.

Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it. 

The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.

Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain. 

A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter. 

The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.

By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled. 

Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.

Not even for the best lay of your life.

Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.

“Peña.”

He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.

“Peña.” You say it louder this time.

“Hmm?” 

“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.

You have his undivided attention now. 

“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze. 

You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.” 

His brow furrows. “Come again?”

You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder. 

Shit.

You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”

He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.

“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.

“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it. 

You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”

Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.

You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”

There, you said it.

“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.

“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”

He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent. 

Indignation sets a fire in your chest.

“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.

Goddammit, he’s mocking you.

“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been. 

He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”

Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.

He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. 

Oh, fuck. 

“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.

“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed. 

“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets. 

Goddamn, you want him already. 

You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”

He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him. 

“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.” 

You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”

The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.

Oh fuck, what have you done?

♠

You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon. 

You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.

You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.

This means war. 

♠

You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day. 

It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard. 

“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk. 

You flip him off in response. 

♠

Your apartment feels strangely empty. 

It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia. 

You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice. 

The hand you deal is a losing hand. 

Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine. 

You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway. 

There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone. 

 A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”

“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”

“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.

“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.

You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.

“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”

“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’ 

“But it’s just liquor, right?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.” 

You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…

“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”

You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”

“Oh, yes. Seguro.” 

Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up. 

Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits. 

You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”

Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”

Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”

You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.

♠

Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied. 

You let it go.

She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs.  “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.  

♠

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional. 

“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”

Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”

“We?”

“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,” you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”

Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”

“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”

Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”

You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling. 

“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.

“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.

“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone. 

“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”

♠

It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again. 

You just need a drink. 

“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around. 

Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.

He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you. 

He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once. 

“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink. 

You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.

He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents. 

He’s drinking it neat, apparently.

“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused. 

He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.” 

“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo. 

Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”

“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar. 

The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”

Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter. 

You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -

You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.

“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t. 

His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection. 

You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore. 

You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him. 

Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is - 

You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day. 

You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña. 

“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening. 

“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play. 

You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi. 

He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night. 

Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again. 

Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes. 

Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space. 

“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him. 

“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler. 

You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck. 

Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”

You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”

He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”

He’s just dying to prove you wrong. 

“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.  

“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable. 

‘Seems a little silly to me,’  he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”

Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”

He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work. 

It’s nice.

You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty. 

You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes. 

He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.

That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased. 

You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…

Oh, god. 

Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize. 

Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you. 

And oh, oh god.

You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games. 

The realization takes the breath from your lungs. 

You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated. 

Javi needs a friend. 

Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you. 

And, and…

You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.

Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version. 

The last thing you want is to do something stupid.

Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light. 

“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?” 

The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.

“Alright?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”

You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”

Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.

“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”

He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.

“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”

“Eggs?” 

You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”

Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”

“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter. 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking. 

“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much. 

Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”

♠

Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.

You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”

He grins loopily.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat? 

Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly. 

Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak. 

He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.

He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart. 

God, what is with you lately?

Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction. 

You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.

He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow. 

You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.

He scoffs.

Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along. 

“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood. 

“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap. 

That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines. 

“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…

Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure. 

Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.

You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.

Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.

The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream. 

He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.

“Night, babe.”

You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember. 

Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.

“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light. 

In the darkness, you hear him snort.

♠

author’s notes/confessions: 

I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome. 

Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait. 

Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it. 

This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably. 

Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends. 

At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.

This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.  

Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (10)

A small part from the Epilogue where Chuuya and Dazai met up with Dr. Wollstonecraft. It was from one of the translation requests I got long ago and this part is fun, everyone is so adorable, so here it is.

Feel free to retranslate if you want. Just note that I am not a native speaker in either Japanese or English so I make mistakes sometimes.

Chuuya went back to the pier, and as he was about to get on his bike, a black car slowly approached him. The window at the back seat slowly came down and the person inside called out, "Chuuya".

That was Dazai. It was a rare sight. He had his black suit and his tie on, the formal attire for guests greeting.

"Work is in five minutes."

Chuuya and Dazai were standing under the gangway of a luxury passenger ship.

That was a ridiculously expensive fancy liner. The ship that Shirase had boarded before that was incomparable to it, both in size and materials. Its paint was chalk-white without a spot, the five-story guest rooms were decorated like the finest hotels. No matter where the passengers went, they would be accompanied by a skilled guide on board. The ship was also known for its navigational capability. Even when it sailed at twice the speed of an ordinary ship, its turbulence was less than one tenth of a normal one.

That ship was called "The Boswellian".

The government's passenger ship that only high-ranking government officials were allowed to board.

The gangway was lowered and delegation descended in front of Chuuya and Dazai's eyes.

First were the guardsmen in black suits. They cautiously looked around at all directions. The bulges around their waists showed that they were all carrying guns.

After that came some bearded men who looked like officials. Old, capable, with gray brown eyes that showed no hints of what they were thinking. Their clothes were of top-quality. A man carrying a cane with a golden spiral pattern on it was pushing the crew who was trying to help him off board with the tip of his cane, so crudely as if he was chasing away a stray dog on the street.

"The noble demons of England have showed up." Dazai murmured in a voice that only Chuuya who was standing next to him could hear.

Those people were high-ranking officials of the British government who came here for the post-incident investigation, the “Assassination King incident" that occurred through multiple levels of state secrets. A team of investigators were dispatched to Japan to investigate this serious case that went beyond a normal criminal case, and report to the government. And Port Mafia had come forward to welcome the team and cooperate with them in the investigation, as a party to the case.

Illegal organization Port Mafia is in charge of welcoming the investigation team of the British government.

It was an odd situation, but there was a certain rationale and calculation of the Boss behind it.

First of all, the one who had the whole picture of the incident this time was neither the Ministry of Foreign Affairs nor the police, but Port Mafia. As from the beginning, the European governments had been trying to hide it completely from the Japanese government. Also from the Port Mafia side, they also had a reason to keep a close eye on the movements of the mighty British government.

That was because they suspected that these people might try to eliminate every person of Port Mafia who was involved in this incident to cover up the "Assasination King incident" that arose from the state secrets.

Obviously, Port Mafia had no intention to reveal the truth and the secrets of the case. But it was hard to tell how much the British would believe in words of a criminal organization. That was why Dazai was sent to greet them. If they really had the intention to eliminate the people involved, Dazai would have to negotiate to stop that from happening. If the negotiation failed, then Port Mafia would have to eliminate the investigation team before the other party had the chance to eliminate them. That was why Chuuya was accompanying him. Depending on the other party's actions, this might turn into an interstate war that involved the whole Port Mafia.

“Well, let the fun deception game begin.”, Dazai said excitedly as he headed towards the investigation team.

The guard men immediately reacted to the person approaching, their hands reaching for their waists where the guns were.

“Thank you for coming all the way here, ladies and gentlemen of the great British Empire.” Dazai's attitude changed completely as he greeted the guests with a fluent and courteous voice. “You must be the members of the investigation team? I know this is sudden but may I ask who your representative is?”

“Representative?” the guardsman whom Dazai directed this question to looked rather confused and tilted his head. "This is the technical advisory unit of the investigation team so if you say representative, I think that might be Dr. Wollstonecraft...”

Dr. Wollstonecraft?

Chuuya tilted his head. He had heard that name somewhere before.

“Aa!” Dazai seemed to get it right away. “I heard that name before. That’s the skilled engineer who designed Investigator Adam Frankenstein, right? Hmm... you must be Dr. Wollstonecraft then?” Dazai followed the gazed of the guardsman and called out to the most dignified and oldest man in the investigation team. He had a shaggy white beard, a receding hairline, and two medals for achievements in the military science sector pinned to his chest.

The old man noticed Dazai’s voice and laughed out cheerfully.

“No no, I’m not Dr. Wollstonecraft. I’m just tagging along. Doctor is... Look! She's getting off the ship right now.”

Dazai and Chuuya followed the old man’s eyes and looked up at the ship’s gangway. At the top of it, an oversized travel suitcase was left there unassisted. Wait...

“Okay. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Wollstonecraft... Oh so this is the said country? It looks bigger than on the map.”

The small figure that appeared from behind the suitcase, no matter how you looked at her...

“... How old is that?”

That was a little girl.

Blond hair, white blouse. The suitcase was big, but she was also small enough to be completely hidden behind it. She wore a big pair of round glasses that covered half of her face. And on her chest were more than twenty medals for achievements in science.

“Hey hey...” Chuuya made a drawn face.

“Oh! It's getting interesting.” Dazai laughed happily.

The little girl struggled down the gangway. She was holding the oversized suitcase, or rather, clinging onto it as it dragged her downwards.

“Heave ho! I am.. heave-ho... Dr... heave-ho! Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley, heave-ho!”. The girl spoke every time she got off one step, still clinging on to the heavy luggage. “People call me the girl with a genius brain but, heave-ho, those are people who don't have the ability to see the essence of things. Heave-ho! My achievements are thanks to my special skill that make any designs possible. Heave-ho! And because I am a genius.”

“Hey, aren't you going to help her with that heavy luggage?” Chuuya couldn't stand it anymore and asked the bearded old man next to him.

“Hahaha. Doctor is the type of person who doesn't want anyone to touch her luggage.” the old man laughed cheerfully. "Even Her Majesty wouldn't be able to take that from her. Because if we do so, she will start crying and screaming, just like a kid who has gone back 10 years in time."

“If she goes back that much, isn't she gonna end up in her mother’s belly again...?” Chuuya said with a tired face.

“Also, she may look like that, but Doctor was really looking forward to this trip. That case is filled with her favorite essentials for this trip. No-one will be able to take it from her.”

“Old man! Don’t go around talking about me like I am just a normal little girl! I might be short but I will be a full-grown decent adult very soon.... heave-ho!”

Dr. Shelley finally got to the end of the gangway. She wiped off the sweat on her face and fixed her clothes with her hands. “Phew! Nice to meet you again, people of Japan. Well... you are Chuuya-kun right? Thanks for taking care of Adam.”

Upon hearing Adam’s name, Chuuya's face looked like he just shallowed a bitter thing down his throat. "I am not sure." , he then said. "The one who was taken care of was me."

The little girl fixed the big glasses to the middle of her face and stared at Chuuya.

“He died saving me... Doctor, Adam is your best work, right? I'm sorry for breaking it.”

“Hmm.”

Doctor Shelley observed Chuuya from the left, from the right, then stared at him closely from the front. Like she was observing an interesting research subject.

"You are right, Adam is my greatest work." , she said with her arms crossed. “Rather than sending him to a good-for-nothing island country like this for investigation, I’d have him in the lab and continue the research to upgrade him.”

Chuuya listened in silence. His expression was not looking at something in front of him at that moment. What he was seeing was some scenes of the past.

Doctor Shelley cleared her throat like a child then continued, “The best thing about Adam is that, he is equipped with the intelligence to think and judge the situation by himself. In other words, Adam chose to sacrifice himself out of his own will, his own judgement.” Dr. Shelley smiled. “Because you are worth it. I believe in Adam. I appreciate your apology, but it’s not something you need to worry about.”

Chuuya opened his mouth, trying to say something but he couldn't put it into words. Just like a child who had forgotten his way home, he just stood there with a stunned look on his face.

Seeing Chuuya like that, Dazai giggled as if he couldn't do anything about it.

“First off, from the beginning I didn't like the idea of using Adam for such a worthless investigation.” Dr. Shelley crossed her arms, looking sullen. “The government is always like that! They send out machine investigators for missions and when they are done with it, they just blow it up together with all the secret information. Even though we could have got the best test data from interacting with different cultures from those solo missions! Just because it's for the sake of human's life, they think that they can neglect science like that?”

To Chuuya and Dazai’s surprise, Doctor Shelley ordered her subordinate for “that” and had a black tube the length of an arm brought to her.

"That's why, such an ill-natured person like me had installed a detachable sub-processor and non-volatile memory. Without telling the government.” She took out the thing inside the black tube. “In here.”

The thing inside the tube that had the length of an arm, was actually an arm.

That was Adam’s right arm, the arm that Chuuya sent flying and stuck into the ground when he was escaping from inside of the Demonic Beast Guivre.

“This is...” , a question mark appeared on Chuuya’s face. “After the incident, I searched the scene but couldn't find it anywhere. Why is it here?”

“I mean, it's rather obvious to do this, isn't it?” Dr. Shelley put her finger on her huge travel suitcase. After her vital signals were verified, the auto-lock was released.

The figure that came out from the suitcase took the arm. And he said as he was attaching it to himself, “Do you want to hear an Android joke, Chuuya-sama?”

Chuuya stood still in shock. He kept his mouth open in surprise. Finally, he took a breath slowly through that mouth. A deep breath, as deep as he could. Then his expression changed as if he was about to burst.

And he laughed, "Hahaha...!"

[nautilusopus]

Turk Cloud

for monkey's paw askbox fics

okay yes this one i can do, this one is in my wheelhouse

here have some time travel fix-it

(i swear i have no particular dislike for reno i actually think he's fun to write, he just tends to die a lot in stuff i make????)

anyway the next one of you fucks that tries to insist shinra would be especially progressive because city and avalanche would be homophobic because hick criminals gets a faceful of they/them raytheon shrapnel

happy pride

"Fix things from the inside". 

That had been the plan when Cloud had joined the Turks. His mako tolerance was too low for him to ever survive in Soldier, but the Turks were where the real power was. Turks made rules and broke them. Enforced policies. Changed lives. Usually for ill, but in Cloud's case, for good. This timeline would turn out better than the last -- even though, all things considered, his own had turned out pretty good. But things could always be better. 

That attitude had lasted him until maybe a week into his second month. Two months turned into four, which turned into a year, and then two of those, and then three, and then....

Once again, Cloud sat down at his desk, furnished with positive affirmations, and opened his first email. 

This one was, thankfully, an impersonal company morale booster, although its contents made Cloud's blood pressure subtly rise anyway. 

Hey, all!

We're pleased to announce that, thanks to your hard work and support, our fundraiser for slum awareness week raised $25,000 for the Wutaian War Relief Fund! None of this would have been possible without all of you here at the Shinra Family, whether we're giving out of 

Cloud felt his eyes glaze over as the email turned into a two page spread highlighting the struggles of one rags to riches middle manager, and how the Wutai War affected them. He deleted it and moved on to the next email. 

This one was unfortunately a direct request for his presence in the Science Department, and could not be summarily deleted. He sighed and marked it for later. 

The third email was an automated notification from the workplace messaging program, Wark. One of the Soldier Seconds wanted to know if he'd be going to the quarterly icebreaker party; Shinra prided itself on creating a friendly, psychologically safe atmosphere, which must have been why they asked questions like, "Does anyone here have any mental illnesses they struggle with?" and, "What is your worst memory?" and, "Who here has some good coping mechanisms to deal with burnout? Cloud, I really liked what you mentioned in your email to HR where you just have a good, long cry after work. It's great you're managing your emotions in a healthy way like that!"

Suddenly the labs seemed a lot more appealing. He deleted the third email and rose from his desk to head down to the labs. 

He passed a wall entirely papered over with rainbow flags on the way to the elevators. Shinra might not have wanted to bother having a healthcare plan to cover things like hormones or childcare to save money, but at least they still cared enough to print out rainbows on a sheet of paper and staple them to bulletin boards. Helped keep riots from breaking out.

Cloud himself had been sent to "discourage" the last shit-stirrer. 

He didn't even flinch as pneumatic hiss of the door to the labs opening gave way to agonised screaming. Hojo was there waiting for him. 

"About time," he said. "I need you to take these reports to Tseng; I have some things I want to cross-test with Ancient cell tissue."

What did you need me for, then? he thought. Could you not have emailed him yourself?

Aloud, he said, "Sure. By the way, the president wanted to speak with you again regarding your budget."

Hojo scowled, and Cloud, to his great revulsion, found himself sympathising. Installing Rufus as the president had been step one to Changing Things, but aside from regularly giving speeches about how Shinra was a forward thinking company always hunting for fresh ideas, he'd done nothing but slash budgets and crack the whip. Then a few days later he'd smooth things over with a "mental health questionnaire" to remind employees that he cared. 

It had done wonders for Shinra's stock prices, though. Already he was being heralded as the dawn of the new age of mako energy -- a youthful, charismatic figurehead, Shinra's first gay CEO, wililng to talk about the grind of rising to meet the challenges of inheriting a billion dollar industry from his dad, by cutting down on unnecessary spending. 

Cloud thought about his time in the military, where he'd been thrown in solitary for having a nervous breakdown over his first kill, of Tifa barely making ends meet, of Aeris being dragged off the streets to draw blood once again, and sighed. 

The screaming had started up again. One of the specimens clawed desperately at the glass with what was left of its arms. He couldn't make out what it was saying through the reinforced plating, but it was clearly pleading to Cloud to be let go. 

Cloud straightened his tie and looked away as Hojo hit a couple buttons on the console to sedate it. It had been painted a sunny green, for Mako Poisoning Awareness Week. 

"Well?" said Hojo sharply. "You have your orders. Go."

Cloud trudged back to his desk and resumed his seat in time to check his fourth email -- a message signifying a meeting at 2 pm, to "answer questions". 

When he'd first started this job five years ago, he'd taken that literally, and had been stupid enough to actually ask questions to be answered. Questions like, "Hey, where did Reno go? He hasn't shown up to work all week," whereupon he was informed that they couldn't share specific details at this time, but that his departure had been a mutual decision that was best for both parties. 

Which was how most corporate "removals" at Shinra went, as it turned out. 

Cloud's head snapped up as he heard the sharp rattle of gunfire in the distance. Those weren't Shinra guns. He looked up at his desk calendar and checked the date. Could it really be...?

He switched back over to the Turks chat room in Wark and quickly hammered out the message:

Strife: Hey guys i think there's a terrorist group in the building we have an active shooter situation. do we stand down for mpaf or what

He got an immediate response. 

KetShee [BOT]: Please bear in mind that the makeup of this Wark is very diverse, and some people feel excluded by the use of the term "guys". Maybe you could try using people, team, all, folx, everyone, or y'all? (More info)

Cloud's eye twitched. 

He stood slowly, made sure his sidearm was loaded, and then left for the stairs again, this time going to the upper floors. With any luck, he would have time to "hand in his resignation" to the president before hitching a ride back to his own timeline. Tifa, at least, had a lot of nice outfits he could borrow that violated the dress code here, and knew how to huck a mean molotov.