#WHERE THE ACTUAL FUCK IS RIGHT TO REPAIR OR EVEN FUCKING RIGHT TO OWNERSHIP ON FUCKING PURCHASE

[nexus-nebulae]

absolutely fucking screaming ripping my hair out over the stage of tech today

[eggs-can-draw]

Hypothetical question that totally isn't at all related to the potential long term hospital stay discussed yesterday.

Makoto with a prosthetic leg

His left leg was amputated after a terrible accident that left it beyond recovery (even with his ultimate luck and hajime's ultimate doctor skills. Because let's be honest, Byakuya would drag him over from Jabberwock island and he probably made him stick around for Kyoko's hospital stay as well. The remnants were handsomely rewarded though for hajime's skills)

Makoto wakes up days later to find out that, not only has he lost a leg, but Byakuya has ordered enough of the best materials for him to switch prosthetics 3 times a day for a week and still have 7 unused prosthetics leftover.

Byakuya has also been in negotiations for the past 3 days to convince Hajime and kazuichi to make the prosthesis.

they're happy to make a main one and 1 or 2 spares out of gratitude for saving them, as well as do regular maintenance, however the negotiation is happening because they're not willing to make THAT MANY spares out of gratitude alone.

Byakuya is very willing to compensate them, they're just discussing how best to do that.

He's already agreed to finance any and all repairs and upgrades to the island. As well as a few other commitments. Kazuichi is fine with that much but Byakuya is insistent on compensating them more.

The problem is they're running out of ideas for ways Byakuya could compensate them more but he's insistent that what they're doing is worth more than what they've asked for and Makoto taught him to always pay people back equal to the service they've provided.

He's already funding the kids future schooling and regularly sending extra surprises in the rations as payment for Hajime saving Kyoko. (He also offered way more back then as well but Hajime refused)

Not much more to offer aside from just straight up cash which isn't even useful to them on an island where everything is shared.

Eventually he just decided to buy Jabberwock island, hire them all as caretakers/security of the island (so, instead of just living there rent free, they're actually being paid to live there) and just puts them all on near permanent paid vacation (so they can still leave the island whenever without asking permission) the only days They're officially working are the days Kyoko, Byakuya and Makoto visit the island every year (even then it's only for paperwork reasons and they don't really have any work requirements aside from 'don't destroy the place)

Their salary is regularly paid into a joint account for them to use when visiting the mainland.

Byakuya's purchase of the island also helps to prevent someone else from stealing it and trying to evict the remnants.

Hajime's name is also on the ownership documents of the island as a co-owner

The entire deal was signed and in writing so the Togami corp executives couldn't try anything funny

THE FIRST/j I've been thinking about the inciting incident for Leg Amputation and I have a little thought a little brain baby if you will. Naegi is in some pretty dangerous rubble trying to help some people evacuate their little survival group thing after a cave in between two fallen buildings. Something happens to cause the area he's in to start just. completely caving in and luckily he gets the people he was helping out, and right as a larger piece was gonna fall on them he pushed them out of the way and got his leg stuck. They went to get help but it was decided that the only way they could get him out without further endangering the people caved INSIDE was to amputate the leg and IMMEDIATELY send him to hq for treatment. He was lucky he made it to the FF hospital wing awake. also just AAAGH we love to see Togami go OVER OVER BOARD with taking care of the prosthesis, it's his love language (the secret universal love language, worry) Also also also the jabberwock gang being paid to live in their home is fucking hilarious to me. I could see the FF taking possession of the island after secretly protecting the remnants (As a way of making sure they can keep just about everything about it UNDER WRAPS) but I could definitely see Togami fighting to get Hajime atleast aprtial ownership of the island (would have given it to all of them if he could but Hajime is the Group Elected Leader)

[pattywagon2go]

Transit Talk Thursday time: From one side of the country to the other side, this week it's all about the Pacific Surfliner in California dreamin-sorry, force of habit.

Point of interest this time around is how it irritates me how transit projects will never get the love and care they deserve and instead we dump billions into roads because America is the land of the car and those who take transit are poor people and other scum of the Earth.

So for the uninitiated, the Pacific Surfliner is an intercity Amtrak route that runs along the west coast of California between San Luis Obispo to San Diego. As the name implies and as the picture shows, the route runs directly on the coast, hence the name "Pacific Surfliner". And unfortunately, loose ground and a rail ROW are not a friendly combination. The Pacific Surfliner's been in the news quite a bit because the ocean really wants to get up and personal with the rails, which runs the risk of the track becoming unstable, so either the line has to run reduced speeds or the entire line has to be closed down. And when it gets closed down it stays that way for quite a while, which sucks as it's the busiest service Amtrak runs beyond the Northeast Corridor, so a LOT of people depend on this thing.

"Oh well y'know a lot of stuff gets closed down, it was back and running before you even knew it" Oh I wish lol, when coastal erosion was found in San Clemente, the Surfliner got closed on September 30th, 2022 to have emergency work done on it. Estimated downtime was about 3 months. It took 7 for it to fully reopen. Yeah I shit you not it took all the way until April of this year for the Surfliner to resume full operations, and even then California had to close it AGAIN literally ten days later. And then after THAT it had to close down AGAIN for nearly TWO MORE MONTHS.

And if you don't believe me, here's some stuff talking about it

Are you starting to see where my anger is coming from?

We consistently continue to do these fucking Band-Aid brand fixes to our transit infrastructure instead of actually treating it with the love and care that it deserves. Meanwhile in road land, as soon as something catastrophic happens we call in the motherfucking Avengers of emergency infrastructure repair who will work nonstop to get everything back the way it was before faster than Usain Bolt can do a lap on the track. Don't believe me? Look at when a bridge on i95 in Pennsylvania collapsed due to a truck catching fire underneath it. Construction crews worked 24/7 round the clock to get it repaired in two weeks.

This kind of emergency repair is super possible, it's just political willpower just isn't there to get it done. Oh and as a side note, another issue with the Surfliner getting any major renovations done is because the Surfliner's an absolute mess in terms of who owns the right-of-way.

I wasn't able to find a map that showed ownership of the Surfliner so bear with me here About a third of the Surfliner ROW is owned by BNSF and Union Pacific, BNSF owning the route from Los Angeles to Fullerton, and Union Pacific owning from San Luis Obispo to Moorpark. Moorpark to LA and Fullerton to the Orange/San Diego County Line is owned by Metrolink, the route from the county line to San Diego is owned by the North County Transit District. So that's 4 different companies owning bits and sections of one rail ROW. That's gonna make it quite difficult to get any real work done here, especially since freight companies are near-impossible to work with. Oh, but it gets so much fucking better. In addition to the ownership nightmare, to try to "coordinate" infrastructure improvements, the Los Angeles-San Diego-San Luis Obispo Corridor Agency, or LOSSAN, assumed oversight in 2015. This is a 13 member organization composed of:: -Southern California Association of Governments (SCAG) -Ventura County Transportation Commission (VCTC) -Riverside County Transportation Commission (RCTC) -North County Transit District -Amtrak -California High Speed Rail Authority -San Diego Metropolitan Transit System (MTS) -LA Metro -California Department of Transportation (Caltrans) -Orange County Transportation Authority (OCTA) -San Luis Obispo Council of Governments (SLOCOG) -San Diego Association of Governments (SANDAG) -Santa Barbara Association of Governments (SBCAG) That's one clusterfuck of an organization, with each member being responsible for different parts of the Surfliner corridor, so you won't have a "one to rule them all" in terms of progress on infrastructure projects. There is hope coming, as there has been talk about adding a tunnel in San Clemente to move the ROW inland to prevent further coastal erosion threatening the tracks.

As of now work hasn't begun just yet, so here's to hoping this project gets the green light and work begins soon, but knowing this country, that's gonna take a while. Wow that was quite a detour, so I guess to close out it's pretty much the same thing as the whole "Wah we don't have the money to spend on this transit project!" when it's clear we very much do since we spend so much more on highways, but when it comes to infrastructure improvements like these we can get them done quickly and effectively. We just need to actually get the willpower to do it. It's really not that hard.

[promiseiwillwrite]

Responsibility

Tonight, critters and creatures, I am going to word vomit on this topic, because I am unpacking emotional processing. This is a mental health/diversity post. It will get Magical and Political. If you don't like that sort of mixed drink, keep scrolling.

For those of you who choose to be here for that, this story starts well past the middle. The other day, I had a full blown PTSD freak out, and I crashed through more than a year's worth of work trying to un-guilt myself like it was tissue paper.

I have to start there, because it is only from there that nuance even exists, and any of this can be understood by me rationally at all.

I am writing this out because I am really struggling with guilt surrounding my personal boundaries, and I feel like it is very important that I break it.

I once had an idea of responsibility that was born from abuse. In this framework, I was not the only party capable of being responsible, but it was mildly better in my mind when the abuser hooked into me instead of someone else. But abuse teaches you obsessively think mean things about yourself, your worth, and how you should be treated by others. Furthermore, according to this framework, once you accepted responsibility/(were found guilty by tribunal) you were ETERNALLY responsible, (I.E. guilty, at fault, culpable, condemned, reprehensible) because repair did not exist. This made you an available target for abuse at any time. Remember that awful thing you did? Well, Every time I scream at you, we're going to be re-hashing how Bad that was.

Understanding the nuances surrounding the word "responsibility" has been very difficult for me. I have been trying to take responsibility for Years. For Everyone. FROM everyone. I have tried to be responsible in every way that you Can be, whether that was necessarily appropriate for me to do or not. Guilt has factored hugely in my worldview, and I compulsively seek self improvement to this day, after a collective of more than 5 years in therapy.

Right now, I am struggling with where it actually stops.

Because I have learned enough to know that "responsibility as eternal guilt" is probably just an abusive extreme programmed into my mind that needs to be pried out with a screwdriver, I have been trying to see if I can approach the idea from a less extreme angle.

The idea of Ownership, and what that means has helped some. I can understand the idea of emotional investment, and likewise, seeking beneficial action as a means of actively making amends.

I have also started to understand that there is some non-zero value to doing inner work to change your thoughts, and your word use and your actions to ensure that you don't do (insert bad thing here) ever again. My impression on this point is that it depends both on whatever the bad thing is, who you wronged, and how personal the whole thing is.

Some things aren't actionable in immediately obvious ways. Some things you really have to do work to make them actionable. Other times, an apology and acknowledgement might really actually mean something, provided actions reflect change going forward. Provided that trust being re-built is genuinely desirable to the parties involved.

In the context of trying to build and reinforce boundaries, all this is well and good... but trauma fucking sucks, and no amount of calm, rational accountability and transparency erase the mortification that comes up when I react to people like they are my abuser.

I know I am responsible for my actions, and my emotions.

But god this makes me feel so helpless.

And I know that over time, this has happened Many times. There are friends I have lost, and people I have cared for that I have taught that I am not a safe person to say "no" to. Because sometimes I can engage like an adult. And other times I come apart at like a molded burlap sack. And I punish myself visibly and invisibly for Weeks because I misinterpreted a voice pitch, or something equally innocuous. And When I see myself do this, it makes me want to withdraw, so I don't fuck with other people. (punishmentpunishmentpunishment)

And god help me, I know this is wrong. I don't Want to be an unsafe person. I am trying to stop reading into subtext. I am trying to not misinterpret silence. I am trying not to bring a bad faith interpretation to every social interaction.

But old habits die hard.

It has meant a lot of crushing fear that I have had to look in the eye and say "I am ignoring you".

and it still wins at least half the time.

I know that is progress. And I know sometimes progress feels like a hangover on a hot morning.

I spend a lot of time sorry.

But I am really trying to say that less.

[plunnies-n-shit]

Starfall

so anyways when the war is over and the girls are going off to college and Isshin has fucked off back to the Soul Society, Ichigo is going through his mom's old stuff while he's getting ready to sell the clinic.

most of it can be sold or donated, some of it the girls or ichigo is keeping.

But he also finds some documents from the Kurosaki family.

it turns out his grandfather on his mom's side owned some property. A lot of property actually. It'd been a really successful farm at one point. Ownership had passed to Masaki, and she had everything set up so that, in the event of her death, it would pass to Ichigo.

The property alone would be worth an actual fortune, but the mansion is old enough to be considered historic and would be worth a lot if it were fixed up, not to mention all of the equipment on the property. Or the honest-to-god vault and the contents therein. selling it would set him and the girls up for life.

But.

It's not like they're bad off. Kisuke has promised to pay for the girls' college and anything they need beyond that, and with Isshin's savings and the recompensation Seireitei gave Ichigo for fighting three wars for him...

and

farming sounds.... nice..........

Ichigo closes the box he was digging through, and, deed in hand, looks up tickets to Stardew Valley.

The place is an actual shithole when he gets there. one of the locals has fixed up a room and the kitchen for him, but the house is falling apart. The fields are so overgrown that Ichigo can barely tell where they used to be. It'll probably be easier and cheaper to demolish most of the buildings on the farm and rebuild them entirely. Ichigo doesn't even want to think about how much it's going to cost to repair the greenhouse. Or to get rid of the mold in the cellar.

It's slow going, learning how to grow his garden to a field to a farm, earning enough to repair the mansion.

The first thing he does is rebuild the coop because chickens. chickens are easy right? and Ichigo likes eggs.

Chickens are difficult actually.

But Marnie's nephew, Shane, raises these fluffy bright blue chickens

and Ichigo takes one look at them and they remind him so viscerally of Grimmjow that he gets two of them right on the spot.

And he catches himself all the time thinking "Grimmjow might like this" or "would Grimmjow enjoy this?"

And at some point the mansion is repaired and the farm is rebuilt and the Kurosaki Farm is restored to its former glory and Ichigo realizes that he loves this place, he loves this life, he loves Stardew Valley, he wouldn't give it up for the world, but he's also...

kinda lonely.

It's the fifth day of spring, and it's the first time Ichigo's actually gotten to go to the tavern since spring started, he's been so busy planting, but Pam is talking about a visitor she drove in from out of town who's "all the way from Karakura, how about that?" and who's been staying in hostel that's been built where the jojomart used to be

and Ichigo's heart leaps into his throat

(It's Grimmjow of course it's Grimmjow who else would it be except Grimmjow.)

(Grimmjow who's been run around for 5 days because the townspeople know that Ichigo is stressed out with the planting season and Grimmjow clearly is....)

(A Lot)

(But Grimmjow was promised a fight and he'll travel as far as it takes to cash that in.)

[withteeths]

Maybe Steamrolling Games is Bad Actually

Videogames are unique in that they are inextricably tied to corporatism and have been since birth (this is an oversimplification but roll with it). This means that to an extent most companies even since the ’80s have never really cared about proper preservation or easy access to their titles. Nintendo carts were originally manufactured to have their battery die in 3 years so you would have to buy a new one (this failed, but it’s why you still see a lot of dead carts floating around). I think there's a nostalgia issue within the gaming fandom regarding "oh x was great back then" but a lot of the time, games manufacturers have been historically shitty and anti-consumer and it’s just that they now have the tools to execute it much more effectively. Regarding obtrusive DRM, that’s an issue PC games have had since their zenith, where if you lost your original copy of a manual or a small plastic key you could never play a game again because the codes were individualized for each copy and support would refuse to give you a new one. Even back in the arcades, there were particularly batshit examples like the CPS board, which I shit you not was built to explode a battery pack filled with corrosive acid if it detected you were attempting to repair or modify it. There’s a lot to say about the current state of games but what I would likely illustrate is that 2/3 major consoles are racing to decide who will be obsolete first. Games consoles are reaching a point where they are trying to emulate PCs with more restrictions and DRM. We're already seeing interest in steam spike again and it’s likely that eventually, we will see almost a crash for consoles where no one can justify the price for games they can play on a PC rig. The only solution I see there would be a merger between the two consoles which feels inevitable. 

That being said as interest in the PC space increases again so does attempts at entering the bubble. We have Epic, Origin, Microsoft, Indiegala, Itchio, and Steam all vying for attention, requiring accounts, and offering exclusives to justify the use of their storefront over others. Some people think this is a good thing because it's breaking up Steam's monopoly but it literally is not, if you ever really wanna hear me rant ask me about Leftist obsession with itch being some sort of ethical steam, which it is provably not. In the end, the real sort of saviour figures that work to preserve games are random ass people on the internet. I know people who automatically assume that at the end of the day, companies care about games preservation too, and they usually have a three-pronged argument that cites a) Steam’s ability to allow the redownloading of delisted games, b) retro companies periodically rereleasing titles for modern consoles in compilations, and c) companies doing limited reruns of a game that fans request. All three of these examples are basically an incredibly effective use of diversionary tactics, but most of the time when someone cites these I just assume it’s a misunderstanding and not outright malicious intent because a lot of the time companies will attempt to actively implant these ideas to build brand loyalty.

My main dissertation is usually that Steam is incredibly selective with what titles you can redownload, and most importantly, corporate benevolence is more-so a band-aid on a gaping wound! There’s no contingency for when Steam might migrate to a new service, go belly up, or become obsolete when a new OS is created. That means thousands, tens of thousands of dollars worth of games are just gone, permanently, along with fan mods, DLC, and content. It’s a terrifying thought that not many people bring up when discussing the problems with game storefronts that focus so much on providing a cloud and have DRM attached to every purchase. In a way, Steam preceded the trend of not allowing consumers to actually own the things they purchased, and they’ve avoided criticism by strategic use of silence and creating the illusion of a company being made by the consumers they’re attempting to serve. At the end of the day, Steam is a business, and if you ever lose access to your Steam account, or they decide to up and leave one day, you will not be able to play almost all of those games, even if you have them installed on a hard drive, because if you’re online, they connect with a server to ensure your steam account has the ability to play them. When it comes to other arguments like the limited rereleases or use of compilations to preserve arcade titles, I usually just beg people to look at community-driven options that have existed for years. The Scott Pilgrim game is a big source of contention, but I would point out that for years now, it was playable, for free, with all the DLC, on PCs. Preservationists didn’t wait for the gods of Universal and O’Malley to rerelease it for 30 bucks or save up to snatch the fucking ridiculous 200$ limited edition with shitty paper cut-outs, they straight up just did the work to make the game free and available. RCPS3 has (with a contemporary build) been able to run the game pretty flawlessly for years now, in fact, it was how I played through a majority of the game in high school on my shitty brick of a laptop. If you look further out than this one example then it gets even better, MAME and other emulation backends have been able to play obscure, unfinished, and homebrew titles with 100% accuracy, on almost any setup, for free, for decades! I found out about many of these options back in 2015 or so, certainly late to the curve, but I never really questioned as to why emulation, games preservation, and some key titles being available on PC remained some sort of arcane, unknown knowledge to most people interested in games. In the end, the answer was a highly effective propaganda campaign that combined with strategic use of DMCA takedowns has resulted in the concept of communal games-preservation and emulation becoming some sort of debate, where people will wholeheartedly side with corporations in some sort of quest for preserving things the “ethical and correct way,” which is code for preservation on the condition that it remains profitable for the IP owners.

 I think the best way to illustrate this would be with the community built around the preservation of an infamous PS4 title, PT. The story of its inevitable delisting from the storefront and the messy breakup between Kojima and Konami is well known, so I won’t regurgitate it, look it up at your own leisure. What is significant here is corporate reactions to attempts at preserving the game, which can basically be boiled down to Konami acting with borderline rabid fervour to prevent redownload, redistribution, or recreation of a seven-year-old demo, released for free download. Mentions of solutions to redownload the game have been taken down, fan-made recreations for PC, and archival servers that store a copy of the game for future preservation or emulation. Usually when this is brought up a debate occurs citing that technically speaking, Konami has a right to do this whenever they want, for whatever piece of media they believe infringes on their copyright. On one hand, yes this argument is factually correct considering the current state of copyright and ownership of media, but on the other hand, what compels someone to step into the ring for a multi-million dollar company with the primary argument being “well actually, people SHOULDN’T be able to play this specific video game until it benefits the shareholders”? In my opinion, it’s some sort of corporatized symbiosis where players believe that, if you cull the bad actors and play by the rules of the company, you may be able to eventually play the game a couple of years down the line. Sure, this has happened in the past with a few isolated cases, but it can’t be stressed enough that this is a genuinely dangerous and reductive position for people to take regarding games preservation.

 I have two colleagues, Mariken and Fotocopiadora, who released a short interactive title called Videopulp (playable here: https://fotocopiadora.itch.io/videopulp). It’s a dramatic reimagining of a real historical event, wherein a promotional event was held in 1994 at Lelystad to destroy bootleg carts by a figure in a Mario costume. This perhaps best encapsulates something I am pleading with younger generations to understand, as an archivist, art historian, and creator: corporations are not your friends, and they never will be. With the rise of online circles of leftism, this concept is starting to gain traction but is starting to be polluted with concepts of fandom and tribalism. This has lead to arguments that while *most* corporations are bad how could you say that about Nintendo? Or Valve? Mario is so innocent and characters like Wheatley are beloved by all! I feel some people don’t realize that they can enjoy a select title or character without enlisting in a corporate faction in the battle for “best company” or “best videogame”. It leads to a parasocial kinship with a nonexistent figure that was hand-crafted to ensure consumer loyalty to a certain brand. It’s depressing, terrifying, and should stand as a disquieting example of how the grip of capitalism on works of art has permanently distorted how we think and engage with media today. So, what’s the solution? As always I can never really provide something concrete that’ll act as a cure-all, only things that people in games need to work towards. Bring up conversations about games preservation, create archives for your own work, support archivists and boost their work whenever a new discovery is created, and try to promote optimism and solidarity in your hobbyist communities. I’ve noticed a lot of futility being intertwined with the future of AAA gaming, use of online storefronts, and the inability to own pieces of media anymore, and I feel this should be pushed back against, even in a minute way. Open-source programmes still exist that allow you to hold on to what you have purchased, offline and ad-free options exist for games launchers, e-readers, and media players. The future isn’t bright, but it is not a place without hope, and as long as people continue to enter communities with passion and ingenuity, I think we have a chance at stopping the events at Lelystad, 1994 from happening again. 

[mst3kproject]

Voodoo Island

Leonard Maltin thought this movie was boring, which is, honestly, kind of terrifying.  Its ostensible star is Boris Karloff, who somehow managed to avoid ever being on MST3K, but it was produced by Howard Koch, the director of Untamed Youth, and was written by Richard Laundau, who did the same for Lost Continent (uhoh).  It’s also got Jean Engstrom from The Space Children, and if the voice of the radio operator sounds familiar that’s because it’s 🎶 Adam Weeeeeest.

A hotel company wants to build a resort on a tropical island, but the scouting party they sent never came back – except for one guy, Mitchell, who has been reduced to a catatonic state by whatever it was he saw there.  Worried, the hotelier sends renowned skeptic Mr. Knight to find out if it’s true that the island is under some kind of voodoo curse.  After much wasting of the audience’s time, Knight’s party reaches the island and finds it infested with man-eating plants, coconut crabs, and unfriendly natives.  I wish I could tell you more of the plot, but that’s basically all there is.

Voodoo Island is unusual as bad movies go, in that you don’t actually realize how bad it is until it’s over.  Things that seem to be the plot move merrily along, always feeling like it’s building up to something cool… and then at the last moment it just deflates like a gas station tube man with his fan turned off.  In hindsight, the audience realizes that very little of what they just saw had anything to do with what was supposedly going on. In many ways, you never do find out what was going on at all!

The middle section of this movie is not quite as obviously padded as Lost Continent with its endless rock climbing, but almost all of it is, retrospectively, pointless.  On the first leg of their journey to the island, the party’s plane is caught in a storm and forced to make an emergency landing – only to find that the weather has mysteriously cleared right up!  After repairing their radio they set off again, and nothing much comes of the incident.  They stop on another island where they have trouble hiring a boat, and where somebody puts a curse of some sort on them.  Nothing comes of this.  Later still, their boat stalls out and refuses to start again, even after they’ve cleared a blocked fuel line.  This has no real consequences, because the tide carries them in anyway, and the movie never deals with what happens when they try to leave the island again.

Along for the ride is Mitchell, the guy who was so terrified by what he saw on the island that he hasn’t moved or spoken since. He has a couple of medical emergencies that resolve themselves without long-term consequences, and then simply drops dead before they ever reach the island.  They don’t learn anything from him or his condition.  A similar fate later befalls another character, Finch, but this time the movie ends before he has a chance to either die or snap out of it. Mitchell is only in this movie to make it longer, and possibly so it could claim it had a zombie.

With the movie already half-over, we finally reach this mysterious island.  The group are greeted by a trail of clues that make Knight thing somebody is trying to lead them somewhere… perhaps to answers, perhaps to a trap.  Eventually they’re captured by the natives, but there’s no reason they had to be in a particular place for this to happen – the natives have been following them the whole time and could have intervened at any point.  None of this stuff reads as padding because it feels like it’s going to lead to something.  Again, it’s only when the credits unexpectedly start to roll that you realize almost the whole movie was irrelevant.

Padding is not Voodoo Island’s only problem – the dialogue is awkward at best.  Most of it is on a Revenge of the Sith level, where characters just say exactly what they’re thinking in a way that might have sounded poetic on paper but just doesn’t work out loud.  The boat captain, Gunn, gets a Gunslinger moment in which he narrates his traumatic backstory in a single talking head shot.  Knight is forever going on about Rational Explanations and then suddenly declares his change of heart when confronted with a voodoo doll.  There’s no meat to this arc at all, no sense of Knight questioning his worldview or coming to terms with anything – he just says I do believe! like he’s in a Santa Claus movie and then it’s over.

The worst of both the dialogue and the supposed character arcs occur in the love story.  There are girls in this movie, so of course there has to be a love story, and it’s terrible.  The lady half of this one is Knight’s assistant Miss Adams, who is very poised and professional and doesn’t smoke or drink, and spends the first half of the movie being tutted at by just about everybody.  The other woman in the group, Claire, tells her she could just be so pretty if she’d only change the way she did her hair.  Gunn calls her a ‘machine’ and asks if she even knows how to be a woman.  This raises some hackles in the modern viewer, who wants to see Adams appreciated for what she is rather than what she has the potential to be if she changes everything about herself.

But Voodoo Island was made in the fifties, when changing yourself to please a man was what women aspired to!  Miss Adams therefore swears off being a nerd and kisses Gunn, whose main personality trait is being a stunning asshole.  He’s drunk and bitter, and earlier in the movie he tried to hit on Claire, who had to tell him to fuck off about four times before he got the idea.  Later he insults and threatens Adams because her intelligence makes him feel like less of a man.  Apparently one kiss from her completely undoes his PTSD and he’s a better person now.

These two getting together also totally dismisses the healthy and supportive friendship Adams has with Knight, who is not only her boss but has some fatherly affection for her.  He praises her work ethic and tells her that she shouldn’t listen to people who think she’s boring.  I guess we’re supposed to think it’s good that she quits working for him so she can run off with a drunk who’s threatened to slap her, because Gunn will make her life more exciting.

At the supposed climax, the natives (an assortment of ethnic-looking extras who never speak) take the group prisoner, and they are brought before the chief (a white guy in dark makeup), who tells them why outsiders aren’t allowed on the island.  The prisoners are taken to a hut where they are tied up.  One of them is possibly murdered by voodoo, and then the chief… just lets the rest of them leave.  No conditions specified, although it’s implied that the islanders have more voodoo dolls and plenty of pins.  We don’t even find out if they actually made it back.  To get to their boat, the party will have to pass back through the carnivorous jungle without a guide, and once they reach the beach, they’ll have to fix their engine.  It really feels like there ought to have been more of a climax, never mind a denouement. As the credits begin, I was just going, “that’s it?”

The actors are mostly mediocre.  Boris Karloff tries really hard to rise above the material but never gets there, which is understandable when his lines are things like, “no, you fool, they’ll slaughter us to bits!”.  All this badness really is a terrible shame, too, because Voodoo Island’s setpiece monsters, the man-eating plants, are actually incredibly cool.  They never look real, but they’re much more creative than the standard giant Venus’ flytrap.  There’s a thing that wraps long bean-like leaves around a swimmer and drowns her, another than catches its victims with a sticky bulbous stem, and yet a third that folds ferny fronds around prey and digests it!  A movie that made proper use of these monsters would be a great time. I hope the prop people went on to the better things they deserved.

(At the other end of the effects scale are the coconut crabs I mentioned.  These are not actual coconut crabs, but dead specimens of some other, much more gracile species.  This, too, is unfortunate, because coconut crabs are living crustacean nightmares capable of killing and eating seagulls.  One theory about Amelia Earhart’s ultimate fate is that she was devoured by coconut crabs.)

As for Voodoo Island having anything to say… it has some kind of muddled point about not dismissing the supernatural out of hand, but its ‘magic’ is pretty lame, and Knight’s arc is handled so badly that it passes by without making much of an impression.  The story does seem to have another possible theme, though.  As usual I can’t tell if this is intentional or not, but Voodoo Island seems to have something to say about concepts of ownership.

The hotelier has taken an interest in the island because he did an inventory of his properties and discovered he owned it. How he came to do so, we have no idea… it must have been sold to him by somebody else who’d likewise never been there, since the tribal chief tells us that Mitchell and his companions were the first white men to ever go there.  What made that person think they owned it?  Does the concept of ownership even mean anything when you don’t know that you own something?  Does owning something entitle you to destroy it?

The natives own the island in the much less abstract sense that they live there.  The chief tells the party that his people went to this island on purpose, because they thought its nasty flora would keep white people from following them there. They want no part of modern civilization, and seem completely unaware that somebody outside their community is claiming he owns this land.  Whether the idea of ‘owning’ land is even a meaningful one to them, we can’t tell. When the Lenape allowed the Dutch to live on Manhattan Island, they probably had no idea the settlers would consider the land exclusively theirs.

These are some things that still need thinking about in the twenty-first century, and if you’re going to watch Voodoo Island do it for that and for the fun monsters.  Even then, you’re likely to be disappointed.

[ifandomalot]

Something with getalt not letting the reader join him on hunts and making up something about be proposed to and he gets all mad and possessive😍

An: sorry if this sucks i had no idea where to go with this lol 😣

It was a long month, Geralt hunting down some monster for a man who offered a large amount of coin, of course Y/N offered for Jaskier to stay with her in his absence, but he annoyingly said. "How can I write the best ballads in the world without seeing them?"

The small house was tucked away from town, a little divot in the woods but not to far out that any danger would come, most didn't even know it existed. It was older, her parents passed it down before their death, shingles blown from the roof leaving little bare spots that Geralt swore he would get to soon, the door creaked loudly with wind but it was still perfect, mostly because it where she was.

The difference between then and now was the spot was no longer bare, actually the roof was alined with all new shingles, these of high quaility. A new door, made from strong wood, it wouldn't even move if a grown man tried kicking it down. Geralt suddenly felt annoyed as Jaskier mentioned it, a small stack of hay was lazily thrown in the front yard. Food for the small amount of animals she housed.

The sweet sound of her laughter filled his ears, they moved towards the sounds, but chest tightened at the sight. Despite the hay stack being almost as large as herself, she carried it lowly, but the man next to her easily carrying two on each shoulder.

"Uh ohh." Jaskier mumbles when seeing the twist of anger and annoyance on Geralt's face, he jumps from Roach as his beloved drops the hay, noticing him.

"Geralt!" Her face lights up instantly as she jumps to wrap her arms around him, kissing his cheek sweetly and then moving to Jaskier, hugging her bestfriend from cheek to cheek.

"I missed you guys." Geralt clears his throat, annoyance clear. He didn't like seeing her after weeks, a little over a month with another man at her house, laughing with him and he had no doubt in his mind the new repairs came from his hand.

"We missed you." Jaskier answered for him, pushing on Geralt's back harshly, telling him not to be so broody.

Geralt rolls his eyes as his large hand cups her cheek. A small kiss against her lips is all she allows, the other man's doing no doubt. Even though the last time they left it wasn't with good parting, it was arguing, tears and meaningless words. She wanted nothing more in the world to escape this town for a little, join them on her first ever adventure but Geralt wouldn't allow it, claiming it wasn't safe, he can't afford to watch two useless bodies.

"I started dinner, it should be done soon." She pauses, pressing her hand against the dark haired man's should, rubbing it soothingly. Anger blots the Witcher's chest and neck red. "This is Harold, I have hired him right after you left. He stumbled into town looking for a place to stay for work so here we are."

"He's been staying here bunny?" Geralt's throat felt tight, his chest stopping. He uses the nickname, mostly to show his ability too... his ownership.

"Yes, don't be silly Geralt. This is Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier the bard." No bunny back? No love? Jaskier could feel the tension between the two growing as she invited them inside. Geralt went to take his normal spot on the small chair but Harold beats him to it, he bites his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

"Why don't you tell him of our adventures Jaskier." Geralt says, mostly wanting a few uninterrupted moments with his beloved. She stands in the kitchen, stirring a large pot of stew. The delicious smell making his stomach grumble loudly.

"Bunny." His voice is soft, but insecure. The voices of doubt mumbling his worst fears, she doesn't love you anymore. He comes behind her, trapping her between his large arms as his hands lay flat against the counter.

"Yes bunny?" The nickname making his heart inflame once again, igniting the warmness of his skin as she turns to face him. Beautiful as ever, soft hair, beautiful eyes, a sweet smile and lips that look as kissable as ever.

"Who is this man?" She scoffs, pushing against his chest but he doesn't move. He forces her to face him, his cheek rubbing against hers. Taking away the scent of that man, the vile, bile rising smell replaced by his own. "Answer me." It's soft, a whisper against her ear.

"He is my farm help." She growls, "A man who needed help, so I helped him."

"Why is he staying here?" Geralt could smell his scent almost everywhere, on the couch, kitchen, the bath. It made him sick as the ugly scent collided with the sweet one, tainting this house.

"He needed some help." Her tone is harsh, as if she was being accused of something and soon is.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"You are out of your fucking mind witcher!" Her voice raises loudly, she pushes against his chest again. This time her strength catches him of guard, just enough to sneak past him. "You leave me for months at a time forcing me to stay here alone, not knowing if you are dead or alive and want to get in my business."

Geralt is about to comment back but she beats him to it. "No, but he has asked me to marry him. Settle down, because he says a woman like me shouldn't be waiting around for any man."

Geralt snarls, as if he hasn't already known this. A woman like her deserved everything beautiful in this world, everything good. "You wait for me because it is too dangerous out there. And I am your business. I'm giving you one chance, tell him to leave before I kick his sorry ass."

"Don't be ridiculous Geralt! You heard me, he would marry me in a heart beat, you dont even love me enough to let me come with you."

Geralt had enough of these lies, his large hand cupping her jaw with stern eyes, lips meeting hers with rush. His lips rough and harsh: jealous and protective. He was claiming what was his, reminding her with every movement of his tongue to hers. Her large hands lifting her to the table, opening her legs to wrap around his waist as his lips pressed against her neck and jaw with sucks of possessiveness, purple marks in their wake. "I don't let you come with me because I do love you."

"I lied." She sucks in a sharp breath, "He didn't purpose. I got mad you accused me of being unfaithful to you."

A large 'mmm' grumbles inside his chest as his hands cup her cheeks once ahain. "I'm sorry bunny, I felt a moment of.." he taped his lips, looki ng for words. "Insecurity."

"No need." She pauses, "His type is more you or Jaskier."

[thetrueghostqueen]

A Fake Not So Fake Marriage - Chapter 29

Masterlist cover chapter one  chapter two ??? chapter four  chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve 5 chapter fourteen chapter 15 chapter 16 chapter 17 chapter 18 Chapter 19 chapter 20 chapter 21 chapter 22 chapter 23 chapter 24 chapter 25 chapter 26 chapter 27 chapter 28

“I thought it was you that didn’t sign the papers?”  

Taehyung glared at his brother for interrupting his conversation. “What was the point in me signing the papers? She didn’t sign them and no one had a clue where she was. Whether I signed them or not we’d still be stuck in this situation.” He turned his glare back to Ji-ya. “I’d still have an absentee wife. I’d still be stuck. Not knowing what to do, not able to move forward.” 

Ji-ya stood at her counter trying to digest what Taehyung just stated to his brother. He hasn’t moved on? There’s no one new in his life? She didn’t realize she spoke out loud until he answered. 

“Of fucking course not! I am not a cheater.” 

“Tha-that’s not what I meant. I just figured after all this time-” She drifted off not completing her thought. 

“Figured what? That I’m not an honorable man? That I don’t take my commitments and promises seriously? What is it that you figured about me?” He spat angrily. 

Ji-ya stood straight. The anxiety and nervousness of the situation disappearing as the emotion of anger finally started taking over. “I’m not questioning your integrity or whatever. I’m just saying that since everything was fake to begin with. Since there were no emotions on either side that you would have moved on with your life. I apologize for not doing my part in signing the papers before sending them to you. I will have that rectified as soon as I get back home. I’m sorry that you had to be in limbo.” 

“Have you moved on?” Jaebum asked. 

Ji-ya glanced past Taehyung to look at Jaebum. Slowly she nodded her head. “O-of course.” She paused to clear her nerves before speaking again. She wanted to be convincing. She didn’t want them to know how completely pathetic she was. “I wouldn’t call it moving on. I’d call it just living my life. The life that I chose for myself.” 

“So, you’ve had relationships since you’ve been gone?” Yoongi asked. 

Ji-ya nodded. Lies. “One or two.” Pathetic liar. “I’m actually in one now. I think it’s getting serious.” You are such a hopeless liar. “That’s why I need to get this mess rectified now that I know. I can’t exactly... you know?” She trailed off. 

She didn’t feel the need to continue as Taehyung stood and walked out. Her eyes lowered to the floor as she felt the glares of Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok. It was only seconds later that the three of them followed suit after Taehyung.  

She felt absolutely horrible for the lies she told. But, she accomplished what she wanted right? She wanted them to be gone. She didn’t want to be their princess anymore. So, why was the guilt so excruciating?  

“Was lying worth it?” Jaebum asked as he made his way to the kitchen island where she was standing. 

“What?” 

“You heard me. I don’t need to repeat myself, Ji.” 

“Why do you think I’m lying?” 

“Because I’ve known you for years. Relationships aren’t something you do. You’ve been in love with the same person since you were in the first grade. You may have never opened up much about your life with Bangtan to seven, but you must of forgotten that we raised you. The first time that we ever really saw you smile was when Bangtan made an appearance back in your life. Even if it was for a very limited time, you came alive. I saw the longing stares you would give Taehyung when you thought that no one was watching. So, yes, I say lying because I can’t see three years changing you. I mean hell seven years didn’t change anything.” 

Ji-ya stared at her brother in law. She didn’t know what to say to counter his argument. He wasn’t wrong. All she could do was shake her head. She stepped around her brother in law to take a seat on the couch. 

“So, what’s the real reason that you stayed away from them? From all of us?” 

Ji-ya remained silent for moments. Did she really want to reveal the reason for her remaining lost? She felt justified in her reasoning, but did she want to show the chinks in her armor? “Rejection.” 

Jaebum furrowed his brows in confusion. “What? Don’t feed me the same line you fed Bangtan.” 

Ji-ya sighed. “I know it sounds stupid, but my biggest reason for staying gone was rejection. I slept with Tae and the next morning he walked out of the room without a word. It broke me. At first I fled the house and stayed at a hotel. All I did was cry. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with every negative thing that the Min’s said to me. All I could hear was their voices telling me that I was worthless and not good enough. Day four or maybe five the Choi’s called and reminded me of their offer. I was in a really bad place. Focusing on the Choi’s offer was the only thing that silenced the voices. So, I flew to Seoul. I met with lawyers. Had meetings with all of Min Corps investors. Set a plan in motion. I was in frequent contact with the Choi’s. With Youngjae. It was Jae who told me that I should contact Bangtan in some way.  

To be honest, at the time it didn’t occur to me that I would leave them and disappear. That I would leave any of you. Focusing on Min Corp pushed everything else to the back of my mind. It wasn’t until after I accomplished what I had set out to do that everything came flooding back in. Tae’s rejection was at the forefront of my thoughts, but as it sunk in that I left all of you with no explanations fear of all of you rejecting me too took hold. Before you tell me how stupid that sounds please trust I know. The small logical part of my brain tried to tell me that none of you would reject me. Be upset yes, but you wouldn’t reject me. The stronger part though, the emotional part that clenched my heart in fear said otherwise. I listened to the fear. I went to a lawyer and had the deeds for the houses and Min Corp drafted up for a transfer of ownership. I had the bank draft the checks that were issued to each of you. The divorce papers drawn up for Taehyung. I came back to Hawaii with all of the envelopes. I met with the Choi’s and asked them to meet with you as my proxy. I tried to do it myself, but the fear was too much. So, I fled. 

I flew back to Seoul and hired renovators to fix and change Min Manor for Bangtan. Figuring that it was the least that I could do for what I put them through, for everything they did for me. After, I spent time modeling. I hoped that it would keep my mind off of everything and everyone that I gave up. I traveled to all of the countries and cities that held Min Corp properties and sold them all. No matter how busy I tried to keep myself though, I could never stay busy enough to keep my mind from thinking and wandering. I kept a watch of all of you from a distance. I knew that Jinyoung hired people to find me. That he himself searched for me. He almost caught me once, but Jae warned me so that I could get out of Prague before I had to face him. I was there for every award and accolade that Bangtan got. Always in the shadows, but I was there.” 

“Youngjae knew where you were?” Jaebum asked bitterly. 

Ji-ya nodded. “Jae and Soo-yeon. Jae, because I kept in contact with the Choi’s. We are business partners of sorts. Soo, because she spotted me at a café in Seoul and cornered me.” 

Jaebum bit his lip. He silently counted numbers in his head to calm himself down. He was furious learning that Younjae knew her whereabouts all this time. Three years and not once did he tell them anything. Not even something as simple as a, “she’s okay.” No, now was not the time to fume about that. He’d confront Youngjae at a later date. “So, now that you’ve been found what are you going to do? Are you going to disappear again?” 

Ji-ya picked at the throw blanket on the couch as she tried to come up with an answer. A huge part of her wanted to continue on the path that she chose. Find a small place somewhere, settle down, and leave her past behind her. A smaller part knew that, that was no longer an option. At least not yet. Right now she had to clean up all the messes that she made. She had to contact her lawyer and get new divorce papers filed. She needed to set Taehyung free from being tied to her. She didn’t know if there was anything that she could do to repair the damage with Bangtan. Or Seven. But, she would fix what she could and this time when she left it would be done the right way. She’d say goodbye to their faces and then settle somewhere far away. “No, at least not right away. I am going to do things right this time.”

[lovemesomerafael]

Under The Influence

Peter Stone one-shot (NSFW)

This is a writing exercise I did to try to write in present tense, because @mforpaul does that and I really like it.  It’s also Smutty McSmutface, which @mforpaul also does really well, but I am responsible for my own smut.  (I’m so ashamed.)  It’s long AF, sorry about that, but did I mention smut?

Shout out to @peter-stone and @thomas1340 because Peter Stone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter Stone can’t believe his Monday morning is going to start with a garden-variety drunk driving arrest.  He thought he’d graduated from these ten years ago.  But when the suspect owns a major international oil conglomerate, D.A. Jack McCoy doesn’t want the news showing pictures of a junior-level A.D.A. handling the case.  So Peter finds himself trying to drink his tall, double-shot, caramel macchiato with extra foam and run at the same time, because he’s late.

Alyson Sanders’ heels were not made for walking the long, tiled halls of a police station.  Truth be told, they weren’t made for walking at all.  And Alyson has no business being in a police station.  Her last exposure to criminal law was as a first-year law student, and it was the last time she’d wanted to think about it.  But Chester Palerisian had called her at an ungodly hour this morning, drunk as a skunk and demanding that she get him out of jail.  So here she is.  She should have had an associate handle this, and she would have, except that it’s Palerisian himself, and she just knows what she’ll have to listen to if he isn’t represented by someone whose name is on the door of the firm.  Of course, having her name on the door of a firm that doesn’t do criminal law should mean that she doesn’t have to deal with the drunken fuckery of an overbred clown like Chester Palerisian.  But his ownership of CTP Oil, and its status as one of her firm’s most lucrative clients, means that she does.

Alyson walks up to the Desk Sergeant she’s been directed to, and asks to meet with her client.  Then she waits, taking the opportunity to look around at the diverse and fascinating group of people waiting with her.  She listens to the conversations she can overhear, trying to identify languages and intrigued by the dramas going on around her.  She is almost sorry when the Desk Sergeant calls her and escorts her to an interview room. 

The room has the standard one-way mirror, which shows that today’s wet fog has done Alyson’s hair no favors.  She congratulates herself on going wavy and messy with her long blonde bob today, because that was how it was going to end up, anyway.  There is also the standard long, metal table with scratches, dents, and metal loops for handcuffing suspects who threaten to get out of control.  The room reeks of alcohol.  To be precise, her client, sitting on one of the mismatched and battered chairs haphazardly surrounding the table in a suit that had cost several thousand dollars and was probably now beyond repair, reeks of alcohol.  The minute he opens his mouth, it is clear he is still very, very drunk.

“Aly!  Thank God.  Get me the fuck out of here,” he says, standing as though she is just going to lead him out this minute. 

“That’s why I’m here, Chet.  Are you all right?”

“Does this look all right to you?  I’m in fucking handcuffs, for fuck’s sake!  What am I, a criminal?”

Alyson is just annoyed enough to consider answering that question, but she hasn’t gotten to where she is by giving in to impulses.  “All right, I just wanted to check on you before we talk to the cops.  If you’re ready, I’ll let them in.  And you are not going to say one word, all right?  Let me do all the talking.”

“Fine, fine.  I’m not stupid.”

On that wildly debatable note, Alyson suddenly realizes she has no idea how to summon whoever they need to meet with, presumably the cops and maybe an ADA.  She puts her briefcase and purse down on the table to stall for time.  Fortunately, very quickly thereafter, the door opens and tall, pretty man walks in, his very well-cut suit outlining what appears to be an insane body underneath. 

Peter will later thank God for muscle memory, because the minute he comes through the door and sees the defendant’s attorney, time stops.  “I’m ADA Peter Stone,” he says automatically, holding out a hand, because that’s what he always does when he walks into this room.  If Peter had to think his way through this moment, the beautiful blonde would be standing there holding his hand while he had feverish sexual fantasies about her for a very long time.  His vision is actually fuzzy, which tells him that, in addition to the things happening lower down in his body, his eyes are already dilating with lust.  He has never seen a better-looking woman in real life. 

Her hair looks as though it is doing exactly what she intended, although what it’s doing is making him picture himself doing things to her to get it gorgeously tousled like that.  Her beautiful suit is tailored by a master, and her hand feels warm and soft and feminine and holy shit the dirty thoughts going through Peter’s head right this minute.  She is wearing very small gold earrings, and he wants to nibble on them, for some reason. 

Peter is fortunate enough that the woman’s moronic client begins to speak at that moment, stirring the alcohol reek in the room and reminding him why he is here. 

“Well, this is my lawyer, Alyson Sanders.  Of Ogilvie, Sanders and…  somebody else.” 

Alyson’s contemplation of the way the ADA is looking at her is interrupted, and she’s not happy about it.  The man looks like he’s about to take a bite out of her, and she’s down with that plan. 

“Fishbach,” Alyson says, still holding Peter Stone’s hand and looking into his eyes.  The voice that comes out is not her usual “meeting opposing counsel” voice.

“Hmmm?”  Peter asks, not letting go of her hand, either.

“Fishbach.  My other partner’s name.  Jared Fishbach.”  The blush of shame at such a stupid statement begins very low on Alyson’s chest and blooms, rapidly and hotly, up her body.   

“Right,” Peter says, realizing with a minute shake of his head that he needs to release her hand.  “And your name is…”

“Aly.  Alyson Sanders.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sanders,” Peter says, and shakes her hand again.  Both notice at the same time that this is a bit redundant, but they still shake.  They just laugh nervously as they do it, and drop their hands quickly.  “Ogilvie, Sanders…  I wasn’t aware your firm does criminal defense.”

“We don’t,” Alyson responds, grateful she knows this one.  Her neurons are not working correctly.  She notes, however, that her autonomic nervous system is humming along nicely, increasing her heart and respiratory rate and hardening her nipples, as well as dilating capillaries and stimulating lubrication.  Because damn.  The way this Peter Stone has just the very slightest lisp when he says her name should be at least a Class C Felony.  Don’t think about punishment, Aly.  Don’t think about punishment.  Client.  Opposing counsel.  Not spanking.  Work mode.

“I guess I should explain,” she tries to fake coherence.  “My firm represents Mr. Palerisian’s business interests.  When he was arrested, he called me.  I’ll be representing him for the time being, but I’m likely to be replaced at some point.”

“I see,” Peter answers, moving to sit down at the table in hopes she won’t notice that his legs are actually shaking.  Also in hopes she won’t notice other things in the neighborhood of his legs that he is helpless to control now that he’s had a whiff of her perfume.  He can’t remember the last time he had an involuntary hard on.  “Well, I just need to ask your client some questions.”

“Right.  I thought you might want to do that, but I’m afraid we’re not going to be answering any questions this morning.  He’s been arrested, correct?”

“He has.”

“What are you charging him with?”

“Second offense aggravated DUI, felony assault, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, and misdemeanor possession of marijuana.”

“What do we need to do to get him released?”

“He’s charged with 2 felonies and 3 misdemeanors.  He can’t be released until he’s been arraigned, and even then he’ll only be released pending trial if the judge allows it.”

“That is bullshit!”  Palerisian shouts, standing abruptly and basically falling onto the table, which fortunately is bolted to the floor. 

“Chet, I got this,” Alyson says, giving him a steadying hand to sit back down.

“Fuck that!  I’m not staying here one more minute.  I demand to see this guy’s supervisor!”

“Chet, ‘this guy’s supervisor’ is the District Attorney.  He’s got better things to do.  And you’re not in a position to demand anything.  Let me do my job.”

“I want out of here!”

Alyson wants out of here, too, but she doesn’t yell it and kick her feet into the table leg like a three-year-old.  Instead, she asks whether it would be possible for her and Mr. Stone to meet privately.  She immediately regrets her choice of words, because it sounds very much like she’s asking for the other thing she really wants right this minute.

“Of course,” Peter responds, standing up.  He ignores Palerisian, who is making toddler noises and asking what’s happening, opens the door for Alyson and waves her into the hallway. 

He escorts her across the hall to a small meeting room.  As she passes him, she purposely moves too close.  She has to see if he smells as good as she thinks he will.  Oh, holy fuck.  He smells better.  Without her consent, Alyson’s hypothalamus sends a signal to divert additional blood and energy to her autonomic nervous system.  She really doesn’t need to be this turned on right now.  She is a bit lightheaded – there’s only so much blood to go around, after all – so she sets her briefcase and purse on a chair and sits down at the battered little wooden table that dominates the tiny room.

“My client is…”  She begins, faltering almost immediately.

Peter raises an eyebrow.

She smiles then, tilting her head with a twisted, wry grin.  “A petulant, entitled asshat.”

“So stipulated,” he grins despite himself.

“Unfortunately, that’s not illegal.  Prisons are overcrowded enough already.  So let’s talk about his actual crime.  Bail?”

“I can live with releasing him to you, but he surrenders his drivers’ license.”

Her face clouds over, just a little.  Just enough that he knows she is letting him see it.  “Yeah…”

“That’s a gift, Ms. Sanders.”

“Oh, I fully recognize that.  You’re clearly a man willing to make deals.  But I think that, in this case, maybe not as much of a gift as you’d think.”

“I won’t go ROR.”

“No.  And I wouldn’t ask you to.  I’m thinking more in the neighborhood of a reasonable bail.”

Peter looks at her with surprise.  “Ms. Sanders, I was offering to release him to your recognizance.  No bail.”

“Mr. Stone…  Peter.  May I call you Peter?”

“Of course.”  Call me Daddy.  Call me anything the fuck you want. 

“I understand your offer.  I just don’t accept it.”

“You understand that, if he has to bond out, it’ll cost him money.  That’s not as good as the deal I’m offering.”

“Mr. Palerisian wouldn’t need a bail bond.  He has the cash.”  Her face holds an expectancy that tells him she is sending a message she’s not willing to put into words.  Peter gets the message anyway.

“And you don’t want to be responsible for him.  Maybe you also think he should have to go to the hassle of putting up his own money.”

“This is DUI number two, and he’s been well above .18 both times.  Besides which, he’s an asshat whether he’s drunk or not.  Frankly, if it didn’t mean having to deal with my partners’ whining, I’d fire him.  Maybe if I can’t get him ROR’ed, I’ll get lucky and he’ll fire us, instead.”  Then, as if a switch has been flipped, Alyson sits a bit straighter and says mechanically, in a tone almost – but not quite – imitating robotic quoting of a statement that is not her own, “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.  You’re suggesting I’m not advocating for the best deal for my client.  That would be unethical.”

With a wide smile, Peter says, “Ms. Sanders – Alyson – you’re a tough negotiator.  I don’t feel good about half a million dollars’ bail-“

“Don’t push it, Peter,” she tilts her head with a playful scowl.

“As I said, I don’t feel good about two hundred fifty thousand dollars bail…”   He waits for her smile of agreement, then proceeds.  “But you’ve twisted my arm.”

He reaches out his hand.  She stands and shakes it firmly for the third time in under ten minutes.

“I’m sorry I had to be so rough on you.”

“Let me call, see if I can still get us on the arraignment calendar this morning.”

Alyson looks up at Peter from under her long eyelashes, muttering, “Don’t push too hard.  A night in jail might do him good.”

He stops with his phone in his hand, just about to touch the screen.  “It’s usually fairly difficult to get a last-minute addition to the arraignment calendar.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with an obviously faux chagrin, and puts his phone back into his inside jacket pocket.  “I did everything I could.”

“I appreciate the professional courtesy.”  They stand there, grinning conspiratorially at one another.  “Once he sobers up, I’ll talk to my client and see if he’s open to a plea deal.”

“Who says I’m offering one?”

“Well, I’ve heard you are sort of a hardass.  You might not.  I’ll make sure he knows that.  But, just in case, I’ll see what he’d be willing to accept.”

“I’ll see you at the arraignment tomorrow morning.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Peter can’t concentrate on the scumbags today.  He needs to, and he needs to ride herd on all the Junior ADAs he’s responsible for, but for the life of him he can’t clear his mind of the picture of Alyson Sanders walking away from him down the hallway at the police station.  He wants to find the person who tailored that skirt to fit her bum like that and shake their hand.  Or perhaps punch them in the throat, because that picture is not helping him get shit done today.  He wonders what she’ll wear to the arraignment tomorrow morning, and hopes like hell she won’t be replaced by then.  Peter had no desire to see Randolph Dworkin in a tight, ass-hugging skirt.  

 *****************

The gods smile on Peter Stone and he sees Alyson Sanders sashay into the courthouse wearing another beautiful suit.  He gets one look at the skirt and knows this will be the second day in a row shot to hell. She has an eager young man walking beside her, legs twice as long as hers but still running to keep up with her in her heels, and she is listening attentively to what he has to say.  Peter recognizes him now; he worked for Peter until about six months ago, when he quit to go where the money is.  Alyson’s eyes light up when she sees Peter and the smile she gives him wakes his cock up for the day.  

After another handshake that goes on a beat too long, Alyson asks Peter whether he remembers whatever the kid’s name is.  Peter remembers him, and instantly forgets his name again.  The kid is there to give Alyson a crash course in arraignments, which aren’t rocket science, and she and Peter already have a deal.  Still, Peter admires her preparation.  He imagines she doesn’t like being out of her depth any more than Peter himself does.  

“I’m going to need to get in there in a moment, and I don’t know when they’ll call Palerisian’s case.  So I may not have a chance to talk to you again this morning,” Peter explains to Alyson.  “I also have a crowded day, but we need to talk about what we’re going to do with your client.  Are you, by any chance, available to have dinner with me tonight?”  He hopes he got the inflection and expression just right, like he couldn’t give a shit, even though if she says no and he doesn’t get to peel off that skirt, he might just cry through the entire arraignment docket.

“I can probably do drinks, but dinner would be tough.”

“I see.  You have another engagement.”

“No, I…”  What Aly means is that she can probably keep her hands off of Peter Stone for the time it would take to have a drink, but knows herself to be entirely unequal to the task of behaving appropriately through a whole dinner.  But that’s probably too much information at this point, especially in front of her young associate.  “I meant that I had to reschedule some things to be here today, which means I have some catching up to do.”

Alyson actually has a dinner engagement with a potential new client, which she would be insane to miss.  They’re a major retail chain just beginning to move into the online marketplace about five years after they should have.  There is serious money to be made here, and quickly.  But the dinner is small, the only guests being the owner, the Chairman of the Board, and the CEO, which means she has options.  The weather has been unseasonably warm for fall, and the firm has a lovely boat for exactly this purpose.  She’ll spend several thousand extra dollars this way, but Peter Stone would be worth it if she had to add an extra zero to that.  Maybe two.  She’d decide when she got his shirt off.  In the meantime, she tells herself the first call she makes after the arraignment needs to be to her assistant, to get the dinner moved to later in the week, with the excuse that she thought her guests might like to take advantage of the lovely weather with a dinner cruise around Manhattan on the boat.  Self-important business types eat that shit up.  It’ll be fine.  And she doesn’t give fuck one even if it isn’t. 

“I’ll tell you what, Peter.” She likes the taste of his name on her tongue, and he can see that.  “Let’s plan on drinks, and I’ll see if I can make dinner work.  Let me know when and where.”

Peter nods as though she’s just agreed to do nothing more interesting than rotate the tires on his car. “I’ll see you in there,” he says, turning and entering the courtroom.

Stone doesn’t want to be meeting Alyson Sanders for drinks tonight.  Oh, he does, heaven knows he does, but he also doesn’t.  He’s done with women.  After the hideous demise of his long-term relationship with Angelica, he has stuck to men.  Women are just too …  Well, they’re too everything.  Absolutely not worth the trouble.  He prefers women, if he had to choose, but lucky for him, no one is asking him to.  Men are so much easier – the most they ask is that he buy them dinner first, and even that doesn’t happen much.  Mostly they just want what he wants – a few laughs over drinks, a good fuck, and that’s it. 

Which is why it’s kind of a step backward to have drinks with Alyson Sanders.  Maybe she’ll turn out to be the rare woman who will just have sex with him and then leave him alone – which is very much all he wants from her.  He’s going to run for the nearest hot guy if things start to go any differently with her.  True, he wants her more than he’s wanted anyone in a very long time, but she is still a woman, after all, and therefore almost certain to annoy and frustrate him in the end.  But he’s stuck now, he made the date himself, and his dick has been looking forward to it ever since.  Peter does his dick’s bidding much more often than he wishes he did.

The arraignment is a snooze, as expected, except for the part where Alyson stands a few feet away from him.  Judge Smithson, a woman of a certain age, insists on keeping her courtroom at a balmy sixty degrees in all seasons, and apparently Alyson finds that a bit chilly.  Or at least her nipples do.  Peter finds himself in the unenviable position of standing in front of a full courtroom trying to ignore the turmoil happening in his boxers.  He’s had dreams like this.  They were not good dreams.

He texts Alyson Sanders sometime in the early afternoon.  Actually, he texts Alyson Sanders at precisely one in the afternoon on the dot, because that is the time he has decided will be early enough, but not so early that it looks like he’s eager.  

Peter meets Alyson at Geraldo’s, where meets all his first dates.  It’s small enough so they can hear each other talk, the bartenders know him and will send him an emergency text to get him out of a bad situation if he signals them, and it’s just around the corner from a fairly cheap parking garage for quick getaways.  He’s early so that he can choose where they will sit.  He chooses a small booth with room for only two people, one on each side of the table.  It’s a good strategic first-date choice, for many reasons, not least of which is that he can sit forward and get close to his date, especially if it’s a guy with long legs, or he can sit back and put distance between them. 

When Alyson breezes in, he notes that she waves to one of the bartenders.  He is annoyed at her knowing the bartenders like he does, because he likes to be one up on everyone in all situations.  His annoyance only lasts long enough for Alyson to slide into the booth across from him and announce that he’s chosen the bar well.  Her firm has an account here, and since she and Peter are working on Palerisian’s criminal case together, drinks are on Palerisian tonight.  He can’t help liking that Alyson Sanders has a bit of an edge to her.  And he is struck anew by how beautiful she is.  It’s not a conventional, fashion-model sort of beauty, exactly, although she certainly has that.  What gets to Peter is a certain swagger and sass she has that are evident even when she is standing still, and a look in her eye as though she’s up for anything.  Sassy women who are up for anything are Peter’s kryptonite, and he knows it.

“I’m a little surprised you’re so willing to piss off an important client,” he notes. 

“I’ve been really fortunate,” she says sincerely.  “I had some success early on, which allowed me to start my own firm fairly young, and we’ve worked really hard.  These days, we’re blessed with a number of important clients and it lets me worry less about losing one.  Not my partners, however, who act like we’re all going to be homeless anytime we lose a motion.  It’s a good balance, actually.  They keep my baser instincts in line, and I keep them from getting trampled by bully clients.”

“Sounds like a good partnership,” he says.  She’s being modest.  He’s done his research.  Her firm bills eight figures annually, and it’s primarily because Alyson Sanders is a giant-killer.  She’s won a number of huge cases, including several against the feds.  She personally does less litigation now that she heads a team of over forty corporate and tax lawyers.  She bills four figures an hour and still her firm has clients begging her to take them on. She’s also been very wise in her choice of partners, both of whom are as gifted as she is.

“It’s a very good partnership, as much as we bitch about each other.”

The waitress comes over with a cocktail for Alyson and asks whether Peter is ready for another.  He says no.  Drinking less than the other person is another way he likes to keep the upper hand. 

“Your appetizers will be out very shortly,” the waitress says, deferential to Peter, but even more so to Alyson. 

Alyson gives Peter a smile that he is unable to avoid returning.  “Calamari, oysters on the half-shell, fried zucchini, and some more stuff I can’t remember.  The appetizers here are great, and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Now Peter’s even more conflicted.  On top of being seriously attractive, this woman is also an eater.  Peter likes a woman with an appetite.  Shit.  This new development is good from his dick’s point of view (also his stomach’s – he’s hungry), but from a “not dating women anymore” perspective, it’s kind of a problem.  He pushes the thought aside.  It’s very, very early.  She’ll say or do something to cool the attraction anytime now. 

Alyson wonders whether they oysters were a bit much.  They come with the platter she ordered, and it’s the one she always orders, but he doesn’t know that.  And damn it, she wants to make a good impression.  Not nearly as much as she wants to tear his clothes off and see if the raunchy fantasies that have plagued her all day match the reality, but still, she was very impressed by him in court and she’s done a little research.  Peter Stone is one hell of a prosecutor.  Well on his way to becoming District Attorney someday. Not that she’s particularly impressed by titles, but she is very impressed by talent.  And he has it.

He can see that she is thinking about him, and if the glow under her skin is any indication, her thoughts are good ones.  In no time, Peter is back to the level of arousal he was at this morning, only now there’s alcohol and opportunities.  He leans forward to clink glasses with her.  “To new acquaintances.”

Alyson toasts with him and takes a drink.  When she’s done, she sits forward and takes off her suit jacket.  It’s a fitted, tweedy suit with leather accents that is lovely, but she’s suddenly feeling warm.  She seems to recall feeling a bit of a hot flash this morning when she saw Peter Stone, too, before entering the arctic chill of the courtroom.  He smiles, mutters something about removing jackets being a good idea, then removes his, as well.  There’s a hook for their jackets on the outside of their booth and Peter graciously hangs Alyson’s jacket up for her, along with his own.  This gives her the opportunity to check out his body under the shirt, and suddenly she realizes removing their jackets is not going to be anywhere near enough.  Her libido ratchets up several notches and she begins to think she doesn’t have the patience to be social.  She wonders what he would do if she just straight-up propositioned him.  She empties her glass at the same time he does. 

A few minutes and a bit of superficial conversation later, the appetizers arrive and they order their second drinks.  Peter’s leg makes contact with Alyson’s.  He doesn’t move it.  She grins and he doesn’t know whether it’s because of what he’s just said, or because their legs are touching.  The way she eats oysters borders on obscene.  He’s mesmerized.  He thinks about trying to do it, but is certain he’ll end up with a red face and a dry-cleaning bill.  She’s interested in him.  She leans in and asks questions about what he’s telling her.  She also laughs at his jokes, which always seems to inspire him.  Even he thinks he’s being fairly witty.  This is good.  He’s definitely going to invite her back to his place and do all the things he’s been imagining, and he has no doubt she will accept, especially since there is some fairly intimate leg-pressing going on now.  He’s hard, and he’s not alone; her blouse is giving him his second glimpse of her nipples today and holy crap he wants to rip that thin fabric off and just get to it.   By the time the appetizers are worked over and their drinks about gone, Peter is feeling a very nice glow that is part bourbon, part lust.  It’s a good combination, and it affects the risk/benefit calculations going on in his head about how to approach making a pass.

Alyson has imbibed two cocktails, and she drank them a little more quickly than she normally would, because Peter’s hazel green eyes and that little lisp are really getting to her. Since she met him about thirty-six hours ago, she’s been horny for him - sometimes more, sometimes less, but never not – and at this moment, she hits the limit of her ability to resist him.  She makes a motion to the waitress across the bar and holds her glass out to Peter.  There is one swallow left in the bottom.  His is about the same. 

“What are we drinking to?”  He asks, very successfully trying to smolder.

“Elevators.”

“Really.  Why elevators?”

“Because my apartment is at the top of this building, which means all that’s standing between us and my bed is an elevator.”  Her grin is almost as lascivious as the way she eats oysters. 

Peter clinks her glass and turns up the smolder.  “To elevators, then.  Sláinte.” 

Shit.  He likes women who make the first move, too.  Especially when they’re that straightforward about it. He wonders how obvious it will be when he carries his jacket in front of his crotch.  Maybe she will be lousy in bed.  Not that he wants her to be lousy in bed, he just needs her to give him something to work with so that he can keep his usual distance.  So far, she’s not been cooperating.  The waitress brings a bill, Alyson signs it, and they scoot out from the booth.  Peter would love to hold Alyson’s jacket for her to put it on, but he fears that, if he does, he’s going to make the 6 O’clock news.  Or at least YouTube.  Alyson notices what he’s hiding and she slides a hand down his chest, winking. 

“Me, too,” she whispers.  She is shaking.  Shaking, she’s so hot for him.

Peter thinks he might have to pull the emergency button on the elevator.  He knows he could come from a stray breeze right now, so he’s sure he can get off and think of a good story before the fire department arrives to rescue them.  Besides, any male firefighters are going to take one look at Alyson and be completely on his side. 

No such luck.  Peter hadn’t thought about it, all he cared about was the bar, but this is a primarily residential building.  So he and Alyson are sharing the elevator with an elderly Chinese woman with approximately seventeen shopping bags, along with two teenagers who are theoretically speaking English, although Peter has no earthly idea what they’re saying.  There is also a young woman pushing a basset hound in a stroller.  The basset hound needs a bath.  It helps Peter regain a touch of his composure as they ride up.  

Alyson’s apartment is one of three on the top floor.  Peter’s a little humbled by the elegance and size of the space.  The view is impressive, even for a life-long New Yorker like Peter.    Peter has a great job, but working for the County of New York, he’s never going to make this kind of money no matter how high he rises.  She gives him a few moments to look around, apparently used to this. When he turns from the wall of windows, she’s just sitting on the arm of a couch, waiting.  She smiles at him.  

“I know you get this all the time, but you are fucking gorgeous,” she says.  While he’s been admiring her view, she’s been admiring his.

It’s the first F-bomb she’s dropped, and he’s delighted.  “So here’s my dilemma,” he says, walking toward her in what he hopes is a measured way rather than running to her like the basset hound on the elevator, which is what he’s doing in his mind.  “If I tell you how beautiful I think you are, it’s going to sound like I’m just returning the compliment.”

Her smile brightens as she gives just the hint of a giggle.  “Well, you’ve had a bit of luck there,” she says, palming his crotch as he reaches her and she stands to meet him.  “I believe this is what we in the law call ‘evidence’.”

Their first kiss is like most first kisses: awkward, not quite right, with imperfect aim and a little bit of nose mashing.  But they’re experienced and they get better fast.  Alyson is quickly all hands.  Peter’s trying to kiss with some finesse, and she seems to really like what he’s doing judging by her breathing, but she’s touching and stroking and squeezing him everywhere at once.  Something about that makes Peter feel very good.  Well, sure, it feels good, but it also feeds his ego and lets him know he hasn’t been imagining the appraising looks she’s been giving him.  

He tastes like bourbon, with a slight hint of the appetizers they’d shared.  He’s delicious, but that’s no surprise.  The surprise is just how thoroughly he’s kissing her.  Firm, in control, the exact right amount of wetness, so far just the slightest tease of tongue…  Oh, this guy can kiss.

He slides her jacket off her shoulders, trying to be careful but also trying to slow himself down.  It’s not easy.  He’s had a raging hard on for the last half hour, and she’s starting to make noises. Peter is aroused by the sounds his lovers make, letting him know they’re enjoying what he’s doing.  Alyson pulls her arms quickly out of the jacket and starts on his tie.  She loosens the knot only enough to slide it over his head, then tosses it onto the couch behind her.  Their kisses get messy as she divides her attention between his mouth and his buttons, and when she thinks she has enough buttons undone, she just pushes his shirt up his chest.  

“Holy shit,” she breathes, getting her first look at his bare torso. The beauty she expected is nothing to the reality.  This man is a work of art.  She’s not looking for love at this point, but damn, if she was, this chest would be a good place to start.  She regrets skipping Pilates on Tuesday.  Not that one class with Gunther would make her look like this; pretty much anyone is going to look soft and flabby next to this man.  She cannot wait to see his ass.

She gives a frustrated grunt as she realizes she has forgotten the buttons on his sleeves, but together they fumble through that and he is finally, blessedly, shirtless.  Kissing is forgotten for the moment.  The look in her eyes has Peter pulling at her blouse now, but she’s not helping.  She’s not resisting by any stretch, but she’s very busy feasting her eyes on the dirty dream of a man undressing her in her living room, and she’s preoccupied.  

He gets her blouse off somehow, a little concerned that a couple of buttons may have been lost in the process, but she doesn’t seem to care so he certainly doesn’t.  Besides, she’s begun to work on his belt and he doesn’t want to distract her.  He strokes her shoulders and arms and closes his eyes while she starts running her face all over his chest.  It couldn’t really be called kissing, because although there’s a lot of kissing involved, there’s also a lot of tasting and smelling and nuzzling.  And appreciative noises.  

Belt undone, Alyson takes a little longer to undo Peter’s slacks, but only because she’s distracted by his abs.  She is going to run her tongue along them, but that will have to wait until after she gets him inside her because she is on fire and she could come just from looking at him.  She hopes he doesn’t mind the artlessness with which she yanks his pants, socks, and shoes off.  

Holy flying balls of shit his cock is gorgeous.  Cocks are not, as a rule, particularly aesthetically pleasing appendages, but Alyson has just discovered that Peter Stone’s penis is as beautiful as the rest of his body.  It’s perfect. It fits him; large and strong and hard and stunningly attractive.  She’s mesmerized.  Just as a few moments ago, she was distracted by his beautiful chest, and then his abs, now it’s his penis.  She runs her hands along its length, awed, trying to find words to describe how well-shaped it is, with the exact right amount of veining, and a hot rosy pink color rather than the angry red some guys are, that she tries to ignore when she sees it.  Can you compliment a man on his lovely penis?  

She doesn’t get the chance, because suddenly he’s all over her skirt and it’s off before she really has time to drag her mind back from his cock. He makes the most wonderful noise – a gasp with a moan behind it – when he sees the lingerie and thigh-high stockings she purposely chose this morning in hopes he’d see them tonight.  He doesn’t so much lay her down on the couch as throw her there.  Fine by her. She would’ve jumped if he’d asked her to.  She keeps her heels on.

He kneels next to the couch and suddenly, it’s him who is all hands and mouth, gliding his hands up her thighs and mouthing her breasts through the soft, satiny and barely functional bra designed for pretty much exactly that. She’s lost the ability to monitor or control the sounds she’s making.  His huge hands have her entire attention, or at least the part that isn’t laser focused on his soft biting at her nipples through the slippery cups of her bra.  

Peter kisses his way to the top of Alyson’s breasts so that he can flick his tongue under the cups.  He wants to hear the noise she’ll make, and he isn’t disappointed.  He hopes the hot drops rubbing from his cock onto her couch won’t be a problem – the couch is white.  But he has much more important concerns at the moment, like whether to slide his fingers underneath the satin of her barely pink panties, or tease her through them first.  He decides that the latter is the way to go, and at last touches her where he’s wanted to since the second he saw her the previous morning.  The panties are soaked.  Drenched.  He can feel moistness on the inside of her thighs, even.  Oh, this is good.  Very, very good.  

As soon as he touches her through the thin, wet fabric, she moans and begins to lift into his touch.  She moves against his fingers, one hand splayed in his hair as he licks her nipples under her bra, and the other firmly grasping his ass.  She knows she’s being selfish, but she’s beyond caring about anything but the way he is making her feel.  It’s starting to drive her crazy that he won’t take her lingerie off.  She wants him to touch her everywhere.  Of course, he knows that and he’s doing this on purpose, the bastard.  She tries to make a mental note to do it back to him, but her entire blood supply is shunted far away from her brain.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he says, looking into her eyes, pupils huge and lids heavy.  “I’ll decide when to make you come.”  He’s smiling evilly, and it is an absolutely outstanding look on him.

She can only moan and nod vaguely.  He rewards her by slipping a finger under her panties and beginning to stroke the wet folds there.  

“Oh, Peter, that feels so good, you’re so…”  She slides her hand around from his buttock to grasp his pretty cock. “I want you…”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to tear my panties off and fuck me.  Now.”

He smiles and mercifully slides a finger inside her.  She arches her back and cries out, immediately beginning to rock into it.  He leans over and begins to kiss her again, slowly and deeply, with a great deal of tongue, while he slides his finger in and out of her, enjoying her wanton, increasingly desperate response.  

“More,” she begs.

She’s surprised – in a very good way – when he grants her request and slides another finger inside her and softly touches her clit with his thumb, coating her with her own moisture and rubbing lightly.  She still has his cock in her hand, but her stroking is haphazard because she has too many sensations to focus on.  

“Peter!”  She cries. “Oh, fuck!”

“Don’t come,” he murmurs.  

“I don’t–  I can’t-“

He continues to use his fingers, allowing her to fuck herself on them and increasing his thrust slightly, but stops rubbing her clit with his thumb. Soon, his fingers slow.

“No…”_

“Do you want me to fuck you?”  He asks with just the hint of a smirk.

“Yes!  Oh, yes, I want you.”  Her breathlessness makes it hard to speak.

“Then sit up.”

She does.  He somehow manages to be aggressive and gentle at the same time as he unclasps and pulls her pretty bra from her.  He sits next to her on the couch, then pulls her up so that she is standing before him. She’s fairly dizzy with lust, and he keeps an eye on her as he pulls her panties quickly down and off, leaving her thigh-high stockings where they are.  He reaches behind her to the floor where his pants are, and fumbles his wallet out of a pocket.

She stands naked but for her heels and the stockings while he pulls a condom from his wallet.  She takes it from him and knees down between his knees, tearing the packet with her teeth. There is a lot of eye contact. There is a lot of smiling.  She leans in and takes him in her mouth for a moment, holding the condom between her fingers.  She nearly loses her concentration when she begins to taste and feel that beautiful penis between her lips, but she is too desperate for release, and so is he.  

“Put it on,” he groans between gritted teeth.  She does, stroking him and kissing the insides of his thighs.

He immediately pulls her up, guiding her onto his lap until she is straddling him, on her knees.  With his hands on her hips, both of them watching what she is doing, she takes his cock into her hand and guides him to her entrance, then pushes roughly down on him. Both of them cry out with pleasure, Peter’s cry a series of curse words Alyson hasn’t heard in that particular order before.  

Her arms naturally encircle his neck and shoulders, and she begins to kiss him as though she’s missed him.  His lips, the way he moves his mouth on hers, could easily become… Well, this is about sex.  She refocuses, which isn’t hard because she is very, very close.

“Peter, you’re going to make me come…”

“Now, Aly.  Come now.” He puts a hand on her backside and rolls his hips into her.  On her knees, she can move her pelvis against him, and his pretty cock is about as much as she can take, so within the next several thrusts, she begins to feel the inevitable wave of pleasure start to roll through her, from somewhere deep inside, gaining momentum as it makes its way toward the surface.  She pulls away from his lips and throws her head back, her groans almost grunts as she explodes, grinding against him and rolling her hips.  

He watches her face, her flushed chest, her breasts bouncing lightly with her movements.  This is a woman who knows how to ride an orgasm.  And she looks like a fucking goddess doing it.  So good, in fact, that he is already coming before he really realizes it. Soon he is lost to himself, jutting his hips into her and shouting.  

It takes a very long time to come down for both of them.  They’re gasping for breath.  She needs to get off of him so he can remove the condom, but damn she doesn’t want to.  Eventually, however, she resigns herself and lifts herself off of his lap.  She stretches and arches her back while he goes into the powder room.

Alyson looks around.  There are clothes in a wide semicircle around the couch.  It’s kind of fabulous, actually, like a modern art piece.  Peter catches his face in the mirror of the powder room.  He looks fucked out.  He is fucked out.

But Alyson is not done with Peter Stone.  Oh, hell, no.  When he saunters back into the room – he usually struts, and he does it very, very well, but apparently post-coitally, he saunters – she takes his hand and leads him into her bedroom.  He makes no comment or protest as she yanks the covers down and climbs in, holding her arms out to him.

Post-sex cuddling with Peter Stone could cure cancer, bring about world peace and end famine.  Alyson is sure of it.  Nothing could possibly be wrong in life when this gloriously handsome male sprawled naked in your bed and put his powerful, sturdy arms around you.  Actually, she realizes, this is not post-sex cuddling, but intra-sex cuddling, because Alyson plans to have Peter at least twice more before she lets him out of her apartment.  It’s time to do that ab licking she’d planned earlier, so Alyson begins lazily stroking Peter’s chest.

Peter is fairly hormone-muddled at the moment, but he realizes that this is an extraordinarily comfortable bed.  He also realizes that Alyson has not turned out to be lousy in bed – or on the couch, as the case may be – so he is going to have to find something else to dislike about her.  But right now, she is worshiping his body, which he kind of can’t dislike, so he’ll have to think about that tomorrow.  Or the next day.

[doomedandstoned]

Meet Judd Madden: Melbourne’s Most Prolific One-Man Band

~Interview by Shawn Gibson~

Art by Jeff Smith

How are you doing?

Pretty good! As good as we can in these strange times.

When you are not doing music you are doing web design. How busy does that keep you?

There's not much work on at the moment honestly, so personal projects have filled the void. And video games.

You live in Melbourne Australia right? Tell me a little about Melbourne and where you live.

Melbourne is home to 5 million people. It's a wonderful city with vibrant live music, restaurants, parks – anything you're into, you can find. I've lived here for 16 years and I absolutely love it.

How have the wildfires affected you?

We had smoke here in Melbourne for weeks, though Sydney was much worse. The bushfires (as we call them) were hell on earth for those nearby.

How are you holding up with the Corona virus affecting everything?

My wife is working from home now, with me, so that's nice. My friends and family are healthy and safe, but I miss seeing them in person – video chats and phone calls are just not the same.

I miss live music and being in a crowd, the physical space and sharing in the moment. Australia is doing well comparatively, we're a spacious country with a low population, and we're good at following rules like "stay home."

What places do you go to in Melbourne to see heavy music?

The Tote, The Bendigo, Max Watts (HiFi), The Forum. I can't fucking wait to get to a gig when all this is over.

What are some Australian bands you love and we should check out?

In the doom/metal scene there are so many. Droid, Dr Colossus, Pod People, Thaw, Holy Serpent, Lucifungus are some I've enjoyed live recently.

Glacial by Judd Madden

My first introduction to Judd Madden was Glacial. I loved it and checked the other albums on your Bandcamp page.

Oh, cool! That album featured my one and only music video; Mountain Slayer, which received great exposure.

Is there an album that was removed from your Bandcamp page? There was a song on an album that almost had a hardcore tempo, great bass line! I want to say something like against set. I wish I remembered!

Before Waterfall (the first album) was released I made dozens of rough songs, to see if I could do it all by myself, and to experiment. Most of them were bad. "Against Set" and some of the less bad songs are on the Old Doom & Demos album. Listening now, it's not that fast -- maybe you're thinking of something else? There are not a lot of fast songs in my catalogue, perhaps "Mouth" from Waterfall or Waterfall II?

Please tell me about 528hz (DNA repair). I have heard many frequencies in that range, higher and lower but never in a doom song!

It's from "Everything In Waves" which is about reality, energy, perception, matter, cosmos. In my research about wave-forms of all types, I stumbled across the "healing tones" genre, with its wild claims about specific frequencies.

The song is mostly tongue-in-cheek, but leaves the question open. Can listening to certain tones have healing/meditative benefits? Well, we don't know everything, right?

Feel No Pain by Dead End Thoughts

What prompted Dead End Thoughts?

The desire to create even heavier music, with vocals. It's a separate project, as my main catalogue doesn't have vocals – Dead End Thoughts is a different beast. I wanted a space to explore complex ideas, the edges of my mind and darkness. The songs are thematically and musically extremely heavy.

It doesn't come from a place of depression or anger, as some people have suggested, but a need to explore and create something original. If it's original I'm happy. Musically the songs are totally organic, it's a stream of consciousness in the jam, with vocals and instrument layers added after.

Dead End Thoughts recently released 'Feel No Pain' (2020). Please tell me about the spark that started the fire for this album.

Feel No Pain is created directly from live jams between myself on guitar and Dan on drums. It's an evolution from the first album, which I created recording guitar first and drums second (which was difficult).

When you jam with one melodic instrument and one rhythmic instrument, both are free (within reason) to do what they like. Adding a second melodic instrument like a bass usually requires more planning and results in more structured songs.

We enjoy seeing where things go. These five tracks were chosen from around 20 that we recorded throughout the year. I realised mid-year that this could be the next album; the riffs were of similar tone, and I wouldn't have to drum over them!

Once I added a second/third guitar, bass, and vocals, they no longer sounded like jams and became real songs -- but you can still feel the live energy. It's also not perfect, which I think makes it more interesting.

We surprise ourselves when we're jamming, there is no staleness from playing a rehearsed song over and over. Most of the riffs on the album were new to us as we played them. It's so much fun.

On 'Feel No Pain,' Dan Jolly plays drums and did the album artwork. Please tell me about him and his role in Dead End Thoughts.

Dan has been one of my best mates for many years. We've played a lot together, he's a fantastic drummer who's even more into doom metal than I am! He played on half of these tracks unaware that they would become an album, sorry Dan. (laughs)

Our drumming styles are actually pretty similar, but he's younger and more energetic. I asked him to do the album art, as I was doing all the production and extra instruments, so he could share ownership of the project. It's an awesome painting, we had it before the lyrics so I was able to connect with "By Burning Heat."

Colour High by Colour High

Tell me about Colour High and how that is different from the music you make most of the time.

Colour High is an electronic doom project, similar to the music in Stranger Things. It was made over two months very late at night, in headphones when I couldn't make noise.

I've always dabbled in electronic music, once I even 'played live' in 1999 with my brick of a computer and CRT monitor. I just sat behind it and pretended to be doing things -- I wasn't.

Colour High is all about exploring sounds, compositions, just having fun and enjoying a different process. Having the entire score and all instruments available when composing is very different to the track-by-track approach required for solo instrumental music.

What makes Judd Madden laugh?

Most things. My friends, my wife, my cat. I love TV shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm, Always Sunny, South Park, The Office. Love stand-up comedy -- hard to name just a few, but Dave Chappelle, Brian Regan, Bill Burr, Iliza Shlesinger, Joey Diaz, Dylan Moran and all the greats like Carlin, Seinfeld, Prior, etcetera!

Which bands have influenced you and the music you make?

My parents like Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Beatles, Metallica. 90's bands like Tool, RATM, Chili Peppers, Prodigy. Then I started getting into Kyuss, Sleep, Yob, and the amazing stoner rock/doom metal scene. It resonated strongly with me and I immediately wanted to make music in that genre.

Now I listen to anything good: jazz, classical, electro, darksynth, math, weird stuff like Scott Walker or doom bands like Conan, Bongripper, Aleph Null. Completely obsessed with an electronic artist called 2814, the album Birth of a New Day is a real trip.

Name some good books that you have read.

The Gap Cycle, Stephen Donaldson. The Nights Dawn Trilogy, Peter Hamilton. Enders Game Series, Orson Scott Card.I like big space operas, currently getting through The Culture series, but honestly I've fallen out of the habit of reading – I usually listen to music in headphones in bed.

How is the weed in Australia? Good?

It's illegal mate. But good, yes. I never touched it until I was 30 – now it's fun occasionally. I find it can help creativity, particularly with music. It can lower your ego, allow a more natural flow.

Is there anything you want to plug or promote?

Aside from the new album and the other projects we've discussed, my wife and I made Duel 52, a card game that you can play with a standard deck of cards. It's free and fun, if you're bored in lockdown check it out!

What is in the future for Judd Madden and Dead End Thoughts?

Once Dan and I can jam again we'll keep making music, and another heavy album. For my main project I have the beginnings of a lighter album similar to Float, spacey and guitar-heavy. Calm, meditative music to balance all this darkness.

Judd, thank you very much for your time! Stay safe and sane through these tough times!

Cheers, thank you for your support!

Waterfall II by Judd Madden

Follow The Band

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[silverskye13]

well to be fair pornhub has not the best reputation in the world. (the name doesnt help its case either)

Hello you’ve stumbled upon something I could probably write a novel about ahaha. Not PornHub in particular but, like, the idea of porn being gross.

I definitely understand it’s not everyone’s thing. And I understand the need for a way of filtering it so that a younger audience doesn’t see it [ because it does mess with the development of young kids ] and so that people who just don’t want to see it don’t have to. I understand for a lot of people everything to do with sex is something private that they don’t want interfering with their regular internet experience - I am one of those people.

However, porn, and sex for that matter, by itself isn’t inherently bad. Nudity isn’t inherently bad. There are a lot, lot, worse things [ in my opinion ] in everyday media that are more widely accepted. I have A Thing against the massive amounts of violence available to people at all times. I think we expose kids to topics of cruelty far earlier than they need to, and at the very least far earlier than we expose them to things like physical intimacy, which I think is much more normal than the violence in easily consumable media.

But my personal opinions aside, PornHub as far as the individual site has actually done [ from what I’ve read anyway, I haven’t done an in-depth analysis of the company or anything ] a decent amount of good for it’s genre. It has policies against the mistreatment of the workers on it’s site. They have screenings for illegal sexual content, and policies for footage put up against the actors’ will. They have attempted to help fund sex education and sponsored projects for repairing and maintaining roads. In a genre where a lot of the workers are actively demonized and discriminated against, this is actually pretty groundbreaking, even if it’s not ideal.

The issue [ I’ve seen ] a lot of people are having with PornHub purchasing Tumblr isn’t specifically with the website PornHub, it’s with the monopolistic company that owns it [ whose name escapes me, something-Freak ]. They’ve bought a lot of similar companies [ RedTube and a few others ] for pornographic content online, and have singlehandedly tanked the wage industry for their actors because of it. They’ve curated an environment where re-uploading and redistribution of their work can’t be regulated well [ and some would even argue contribute to the piracy because of their lax copyright follow-through ]. Adding Tumblr to this mix, a site already rampant in re-uploading and redistribution without proper artist credit, means that problem could be exacerbated.

Along with this I’ve heard rumors that there is a clause in their TOS that states some kind of ownership of the media uploaded to platforms they own. I haven’t read their TOS myself, but I’m curious what the specific clause I’ve seen cited actually says. I’m worried it could be a similar thing to the Deviantart scare from awhile ago where people thought DA was stealing their artwork for resale, when in reality they were just claiming basic rights to it for use in advertising, which most websites claim. I’m also wondering if the clause cited involves specifically the PornHub system of creating paywalls for your work, which would mean it wouldn’t be applicable for artists using Tumblr as a platform for simply meme-ing and sharing their media.

What I’m worried about as an artist, isn’t that PornHub is purchasing Tumblr. It would be nice to not have to worry about a fritzed-out AI taking down my artwork, or for my pieces to not appear just because I wrote “this fucking sucks” in the tags. What I’m worried about is the lax copyright system, and the possibility of ownership of my work. I have school works I’ve posted here, comic pages I might want to pursue, stories I plan on rewriting. I don’t want to have to worry about jumping through legal hoops because a greedy company bought a social media platform.

But PornHub hasn’t in fact bought Tumblr yet, and I haven’t even seen people outright link the TOS that has them worried about the above.

So right now all I’ve got for you is conjecture.

Still food for thought though.

TL;DRSex vs Violence is something the Western World needs to squint atPornHub isn’t that shitty of a siteThe supercompany that owns it worries meI wish people would link the ownership TOS they’re so spooked ofBut we don’t even know if PornHub will buy this hellsite anyway so it’s a little early to panic.

[oneandahalfwolf]

Paranormal AU

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it [x]

PARANORMAL AU [x];

Ben’s biological family died in a car crash while on the way to the hospital for them to be born. The emergency services had to cut them out of their mother’s womb and resuscitate them as they had died. Luckily they are brought back to life and survive. They get adopted and live a fairly happy life up until their adopted family die in a fire when they are 17. They get caught up in it and end up dying very briefly again before being brought back once more by emergency services. They end up in hospital for a while due to burns and smoke inhalation. After they are discharged Ben finds out that social services and police looked into their background for next of kin. While the officials found no next of kin, they did find a will. In this will, it was discovered that Ben has the rights to ownership of a manor on a hill near the woods in another town that still belongs to their biological family, as well as a large amount of money. Ben has nowhere else to go so moves into this large house. They end up pretty much living exclusively in the converted attic which feels modern - having a fairly open plan layout with a bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. They only come down stairs to leave the house because the rest of the manor... puts them on edge a bit. This is basically because of all the spirits that live there, their near death (or rather actual death) experiences making the pup sensitive to them even though they don’t believe. Ben and the spirits have the kind of relationship where they leave the spirits alone and stay in their attic and don't mess with the house much except repairing things that desperately need it while leaving all the old stuff as is, and the spirits - who appreciate all Ben does - leave them be. However the teen doesn’t ever go near the basement. Ben went to the top of the basement stairs once and refused to go down there because they had such a really bad feeling about down there. They simply shut the door and locked it before dropping the key in a kitchen drawer and leaving.

Iley grew up in an orphanage. She was sensitive to spirits and the paranormal, something one of the old women of the child’s home saw given she recognised her own powers in the girl. She teaches Iley what she knows much to the girls delight, since finally there’s someone who doesn’t think she’s crazy. Iley leaves the orphanage at age 16 and ends up as the assistant to a Paranormal Investigator for four years. When she’s 20 the PI gets a really good opportunity and has to move away, which means Iley has to find a new place to live. She’s heard stories about this old manor on the hill near a wood two towns over that’s supposed to be abandoned and haunted, but people see lights on in the attic all the time. It seems like maybe it’s a good place to check out and see if it’s available. After all she does want to remain a PI, and now she can be a real one instead of an assistant one. She makes it to the town and finds out it’s owned by some family who died. But, she thinks, maybe there’s a caretaker or something. Little does she know as she rings the door bell and expects some old crone or creepy old janitor like person, she gets a tall and pale skinny dude answering the door in glasses and a beanie who’s only a year older than her, and is wondering what the fuck she’s doing on their property. After some conversation Iley ends up being allowed to stay and the two live together along with all the spirits.

At first Iley isn’t allowed in the attic, isn’t allowed in Ben’s space, but after they have an extremely bad nightmare - Iley following the sounds of spirits banging on the ceiling where their bed is in an attempt to wake them up - the brunette is forced to go in their to help. She wakes them up and comforts them, getting them ice cream and playing video games. They soon start to bond and Iley gets invited upstairs more often.

Ben works at an animal shelter as both an animal handler and the head of social media. Iley goes to work with them on their first day back after the nightmare incident. Mostly it is to keep an eye on them but also because she’s curious. When she gets there however she is overwhelmed by all to cute and fluffy animals. Ben ends up taking a number of photos of Iley with various animals, asking Iley’s permission to use them for the shelter’s Instagram and Facebook. She of course agrees, and in turn she steals Ben’s phone and takes some photos of the pup when this little black kitten keeps walking all over them, as well as sitting on their shoulders and head, because Ben is never in any of the posts despite working twice as hard as everyone else and running the social media. 

One of the photos Iley took of Ben with the kitten she sends to herself and saves it as the pup’s contact picture. The one for Iley on Ben’s phone is a candid of her being super engrossed in a video game, holding the controller so intently because ‘damnitt this boss is gonna die this time’.

On the way home from work Ben often passes an antique’s shop and will buy some sort of trinket - like a coin or bullet etc - to take home. They don’t know why, they just know it feels like something they should do. They leave these ‘offerings’ around the house for the spirits, something that the ghosts appreciate.

[chaniters]

Karaoke night

Sidestep goes deeper into the super-hero underworld. His friends reveal some dark secrets. Also. Sidestep at a party!

Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------

You pull your mask down as you enter, following Ortega and Anathema. You really didn't want to come, to the party, but Anathema insisted, and Ortega has been down for a while now. He got into a huge fight with Riley about a month ago, and they haven't spoken since.

You were shocked that Riley was male, you had always been convinced Ortega was straight. Perhaps he was convinced too, and that's what makes him so confused. He's had a few flings since you met him, and he's never been so bothered by a breakup before.

You take a good look around you, studying the large warehouse

Ortega has explained how this works. Twice a year, Owl and several heroes organize the party at a different location. All heroes of Los Diablos operating on the west coast are invited, even those that keep their identities secret. So you can go in with your mask if you want.

The crowd is much larger than you expected. You can see Sentinel flirting with Elyse at the back. The Answer sharing drinks with Omega. Bastion and Blast are dancing. 

No cameras or cell phones are allowed. It's virtually the safest place for you.

You turn to talk to your friends.. but they're gone. 

The music is too loud... you only know a handful of people here... Now you can feel them staring at you, the guy with the casted arm (or is that just your perception?). 

So many thoughts... You feel overwhelmed and immediately raise your shields. You slowly creep towards a wall. Panic slowly creeps up like a cold breeze on your back.ed

But then your training kicks in. Parties. You have been thought about how they work. There are ways to change your shields.. to help yourself not be noticed so much by the crowd.

If you can concentrate then you can...

"There you are!" Anathema says bumping into you. "Come! This is going to be epic!"

"What? Where are we going?"

"To the reading contest"

"What's a reading contest?" 

"Oh, you'll see" He snickers. He leads you towards an improvised stage on the other end. The owl is there talking to some people.

"Hey, Can Sidestep and I go next?" He asks cheerfully.

"Sure can" Owl answers. "We're short on victims right now. Did you find a good piece?

"YES!"

Owl chuckles. "Alright, you're next, just wait until Warhawk and Medea are done.

"What... is this?" You ask approaching Anathema. 

"Oh just watch and listen"

You lean in to observe the "Reading Contest". 

Warhawk and Medea each hold texts on their hand, and seems to be enacting some sort of play... it doesn't take long for you to realize the type of play they are in is not for children.

"What's.. going on?" You ask nervously.

"Fanfiction. Hero fans flood the web with all kinds of stories involving us heroes. The reading contest is just that. two or more heroes have to read their parts in the fanfiction stories, and the one who does it best wins."

"Is this a real thing?"

"Yep"

"But why is there so much... Sex in their scene?"

"Oh if you're not the best at acting, then making your opponents laugh or chicken out is the best way for them to lose. Actually, almost every fricken scene is sex. It's the funniest"

"WHAT? WHAT KIND OF SCENE DO YOU HAVE FOR US?"

"Ohhhh forgot to give you your copy. Here you go" he grins.

You scan the pages quickly.

"I-... I'm not reading... any of this!" You aren't sure how to feel about this. It's quite a shock to think people would consider you would do these things to Anathema... and in his sleep...

"Did you see Chapter two when I wake up?" He is beyond himself. 

You look for a way out when...

"And the winner is... MEDEA by a landslide! She's the filthiest of them all! All Hail Medea!" The crowd cheers. 

"And now, ladies and gentlemen... I bring you an old favorite... ANATHEMA!" 

This is so surreal... Anathema is on one side of the stage.. and you feel Owl pushing you into the other side.

"And a newcomer! Never seen before... SIDESTEP!"

"And the piece da resistance they present is titled... "Sidestep/Anathema, AU, Escape from the village of the Rammed, part 3! "

The heroes around you cheer. Anathema takes his lines and starts. You feel yourself growing smaller under the pressure of people watching you...

He finishes his lines. People expect you to say yours... what to do... You look at your text. You try to speak, but your voice is a croak.

Only your training can save you. You focus...

.....................15 minutes later.................................

"I can't believe you fucking beat me" Anathema walks with you to the open bar. "I had rehearsed that shit!"

"THat's what you get for challenging me " you chuckle nervously holding the little medal they gave you. It reads "Filthiest hero". In truth, you are sweating so much under your double set layer clothing. REading that was amongst the most uncomfortable moments of your life, but you managed. 

Your training makes you a good actor. And you're curious. You don't want to admit it, but you're probably going to browse into more of these "Fictions" of you and other people.

"Where's Ortega?" You ask a bit concerned. You were supposed to try to cheer him up, but you totally lost track of him.

"There" Anathema points. "I left him by The Karaoke area."

"I'll go check on him" you offer. 

"Hey" you sit by his side. "How are you?"

"Hey" For once he's the one startled. You notice a few empty drinks by his side. "I'm alright. I guess."

"Want to talk about it?" You wish you could read his thoughts. 

"It's the same old story... only that it went nuclear this time" he sighs, taking another sip of tequila.

"How? What happened?"

"He wanted some sort of commitment... And I'm..."

"Still in the closet?" You smile 

"Yeah. I haven't figured out how to handle the media about it...."

"So it's over? Just like that?" 

"Well, he hasn't answered a single text or call. I even went to his place a few times. I think I really hurt him"

"I'm sure he'll get over it. It's been a while"

"I just want to apologize. I even invited him here. But he didn't come either"

"Well... you know, there are other ways."

"Hmm? Like what?"

"I could lend you a brick" you jest.

He can't help the smile. "Stop it"

"What? It worked like a charm"

He punches your arm playfully, now laughing.

"Ow. It was a valid suggestion"

"You bastard. You know how much I spent on repairs?"

"Nope" you confess. "I wasn't very good at talking back then."

"Well.. a lot." He takes another sip of his drink. "But don't worry about it"

"Hey, I could repay you"

"Hmm? No need seriously I..."

"Remember the Karaoke machine at your place?"

"Yep. You avoid it like the plague."

"I'll do it now and we call it even. Deal?"

"Ha. You can't do it! You'll just chicken out"

"Just watch me," you say stepping over and picking a microphone. It's not about debts. It's about distracting your friend. You are learning fast how these things work.

Someone connects a light on top of you. Then the music starts.. and the video... 

You are frozen. This isn't like the reading with Anathema. You are alone. And everyone's watching you. The mic slips from your hand. You take it back... your cue is about to start and you can't...

Someone is singing the lyrics. It’s Ortega. He took the other mic. He gets by your side, singing badly.

What the hell. You join in. You are a cuckoo, and birds are supposed to sing, right?

.................... a few awkward moments later......................

"Wow... we are... terrible. We should probably not do that again" Ortega says laughing 

"Hey, we gave it our all," you say drinking from your own glass now. "We should be proud" 

"Yep!" he smiles. "Cheers!" 

You toast and take some more. You only started drinking but he's clearly going to get drunk tonight if he keeps this up. }

"Also.. thanks for the rescue," you say blushing under your mask.

"It was fun. Maybe we should torture them some more" he gazes at the microphone "But right now... I've got to go to the bathroom" he says "where was it?" he looks a bit lost.

"Come, I'll show you," You say guiding him through the crowd. You wonder how many drinks he had before you got to him.

You take him to the bathroom area and lead him to the door. But he doesn't come in.

Instead, he gets closer to you.

"I... sorry I lied. I don't really need to go"

"Oh?" this is unfamiliar ground. "What is it?"

"I just... wanted to talk to you. Out of that crowd. I know how uncomfortable you get"

 "It's true" you admit sheepishly. "So.. I'm here what did you want to talk about?"

"I think... I..." he seems unsure.

"What?" 

"I think I'm having a crush"

"Oh? On whom ?"

"A very close and dear friend." He looks into your eyes. You suddenly feel a bit dizzy

"Ahh.. really?"

He takes your hand

"My best friend"

You laugh nervously. "You are drunk"

"Just drunk enough to speak out," he says

He gets closer to you. "Just... tell me I'm wrong... and I'll go" he 

You say nothing. He pulls your mask halfway up.

You feel your world spin. Half of you wants to panic. The other half just wants to...

He kisses you. His arms go around your back. Your casted arm gets in the way. You make do.

You can't recall how long did you stay there, kissing him. Being kissed by him. 

It seemed to go on forever.

You do know how it ended though.

Riley’s fist on connecting with your left eye.

And not too long after that, Eldritch trying to destroy you all. 

________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[randolphmccracken07-blog]

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[trillhouse-lh]

Threat Incapacitated (Zombieverse)

>It had been nearly a year since the outbreak. It had come suddenly, without warning… those in high-density areas, particularly those living in cities, had suffered the most casualties. One or two shamblers were no problem… hell, even a GROUP of them provided little issue, unless you were some sort of idiot. But in large numbers? That was a different matter. All it took was one bite, and you were fucked. >But Bryson was one of the lucky ones. For the first time, he had been glad to live in the outskirts of the city… as soon as the scope of the outbreak became clear, he had wasted no time in gathering supplies and fleeing. While many had opted to flee towards other cities for protection, Bryson had a different plan: stay off the grid. Keep to rural wooded areas where there would be less people and, therefore, less zombies. >Which isn’t to say he hadn’t run into problems along the way. As bad as the shamblers were, the REAL threat were other survivors. Many had become desperate for survival, willingly killing and stealing from others without hesitation. Others were far more reasonable, but unfortunately for them Bryson fell into the former category. He was more than willing to earn a group’s trust and then, when they least expected it, butcher them without mercy. He knew this was harsh, but it was the only reason he had been able to survive thus far. Besides, he’d always been a loner.

>Bryson was not a particularly strong man, but he was clever, deceptive and, above all else, patient. He always waited until the time was right before making his move. And now, he had discovered quite possibly his greatest find yet: a car. An honest to God, fully functional car. Once again, fortune had shined upon the middle-aged man. >That said, there was a small issue… a VERY small issue, in fact. Bryson was not the first person here: a young boy made his way in and out of the auto repair shop, carrying out supplies and packing them into the car. He would be easy enough to deal with, of course, but for all Bryson knew there could be MORE survivors inside… hell, he’d bet his life on it. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old; surely there was no way such a young child could have survived this long on his own.

>The most unusual thing was the boy’s appearance. He wore a white helmet that even at a distance Bryson could tell was little more than a toy, topped with a red beacon and two antennae-like protrusions. It looked like he had a bandolier of some sort strapped across his torso, and perhaps most notably the entire right side of his body looked… wrong, to say the least. It was red and heavily scarred… perhaps he’d been burned. Either way, Bryson didn’t care. He wouldn’t make a move until he knew just what he was dealing with. >Bryson waited until the boy went inside again, then quickly bolted towards the building. He had gotten used to moving both quickly and quietly, and he was able to dart around the side of the building without being seen. He crept his way along to the back, looking for any way to get a handle on the situation.

>His answer came in the form of a row of windows along the back wall. They were high up, perhaps fifteen feet or so, but once again lady luck favored the man: amongst the wood pallets and dumpster were several empty oil drums and a decommissioned vending machine that, combined with his considerable height, would be JUST enough for him to peek through the windows. >Even empty the oil drum was quite heavy, but he couldn’t risk dragging it across the concrete… that would make far too much noise. He gently set it beside the vending machine and carefully climbed onto it. He nearly lost his footing, but was able to grab onto the vending machine for support just in the nick of time. >He let out a grunt of effort as he climbed atop the vending machine, then got to his feet and looked through the window. To his relief, there was nobody else inside… a car had been left on one of the lifts, no doubt abandoned mid-service as the mechanics fled for their lives. And now, with the boy struggling with a particularly heavy box of supplies, Bryson figured it was time to make his move.

>Bryson darted around to the front of the building, ducking down behind the car and out of the boy’s line of sight. Thankfully, the door had been left unlocked, and his face fell slightly as he looked inside. Though the key had been left in the ignition, there was a box strapped onto the seat and what looked to be makeshift wooden leg extensions secured to the gas and brake pedal. He could only assume that the boy had crafted these as a way to actually DRIVE the car, given his short stature. Bryson cursed under his breath; he’d have to remove them before he could make use of the car.

>”Wh-who are you?” >Bryson bolted upright, quickly drawing his handgun and aiming it at the intruder. It was the boy, of course… he stood a distance away, trembling and glaring right at the man. Now that he had a closer look, it was clear just how fucked up the kid actually was. Even mostly concealed by his tattered clothing, Bryson could tell that the entire right side of his body was severely burned. The crazed look in his exposed left eye left no doubt that this boy had seen some shit. >”I-I said, who are you?!” The boy repeated in a demanding tone, apparently unfazed by the gun pointed at his head. “State your name, rank a-and assigned s-starship.” Bryson cocked an eyebrow. >”The hell you on about, kid…?” >”Are y-you not with Starfleet?” The boy asked. The man’s brow furrowed as he realized that the bizarre child before him was completely out of his mind. He let out a short laugh and holstered his weapon.

>”…Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you are…?” He asked, figuring it best to play along with the child’s nonsense for now. Besides… he had to admit it was pretty amusing. >”I-I am Second Officer Robert Loud o-of the Starship Epsilon.” The boy stated. Bryson smirked. The boy had fallen right into his trap, introducing himself first so he would know the proper means of doing so. “N-now, I won’t say it again,” Bobby said, “State y-your name, rand a-and assigned starship!” >”Right, sorry. I’m… Captain Bryson Howard of the Starship… Detroit.” Bryson said. “At ease.” Bobby’s eyebrow raised slightly in surprise. >”I… I have not heard of a starship by that name…” The troubled boy mumbled. >”We’re, uh… we’re new.” Bryson said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Bobby frowned and gave a small nod. >”I-I see. My apologies, captain… one cannot be too careful in this hostile world.” He said. “It would seem much h-has changed in my a-absence. A-are you s-stranded here as well?” >”Er… yeah… crashed here a few months ago. Damnedest thing.” Bryson muttered. “Pretty nice ride you got here, Robert.” He added, resting a hand on the car.

>”…Yes, finding a craft in such condition was fortuitous indeed.” Said Bobby. >”I’ll bet. Anyway, I’m afraid I’m going to be… commandeering this vessel.” The man said with a smirk. Bobby frowned. >”I c-cannot let you do that,” The boy said. “I have need of it. You are more than welcome to a-a-accompany me if you wish, but I will not relinquish o-ownership to you.” >”Yeah, see, that’s kind of a problem… I’m something of a loner, you see.” Bryson sneered. “And I’m a captain. That means you gotta do what I say.” Bobby narrowed his eye. >”…Tell me, captain.” Bobby’s tone grew stern. “What is your serial number?” Bryson sighed. >”Uh… 90210. Satisfied?” He scoffed. Bobby’s suspicious expression suddenly shifted to a furious glare; he quickly drew the toy gun from his thigh and aimed it right at the man before him.

>”That is NOT a valid Starfleet s-serial number,” Bobby hissed. “Y-you’re one of THEM, aren’t you?! A r-r-reptilian!” >”Well shit, ya got me.” Bryson chuckled, shrugging in defeat. “Either way, I’m taking this… so be a good little boy and fuck off, alright?” But Bobby didn’t budge; he flicked a small switch on the side of the toy, not taking his eye off the man for a second. >”Ph-phaser set to stun…” The boy muttered. “Step away from the craft. You have five seconds to comply.” Bryson simply let out a loud, booming laugh. “…Four seconds.” Bobby said. >”Uh oh, looks like someone’s pissed.” Bryson laughed. “What ever will I do?” >”Three seconds.” >”Ooohhh, PLEASE, officer! Don’t shoot!” Bryson pleaded, holding up his hands in mock fear. >”Two seconds.” Bobby said, ignoring the man’s taunts. Bryson rolled his eyes; quite frankly, he’d played around more than enough. Now the shtick was just getting old. >”Alright, fuck it.” The man huffed, reaching for his pistol. The kid was living on borrowed time as it was… may as well speed things along, right?

>No sooner had his fingers touched the gun than a shot rang out, and Bryson felt a sharp pain in the left side of his chest. He looked down to see a red spot spreading across his shirt… he’d been SHOT. >”Th-the fuck…?!” Bryson wheezed, his punctured lung beginning to fill with blood. He looked up to see Bobby standing there with his gun in hand, a faint wisp of smoke billowing from the barrel… and then, he spotted it. Jutting out slightly from the funnel-shaped opening was the barrel of a handgun. It wasn’t a toy at all. >Bobby lowered the gun slightly and pulled the trigger again. Bryson cried out in pain as the next bullet pierced straight through his knee, dropping him to the ground. >”Shit…!” The man hissed, quickly reaching for his gun again, but a third shot blew off half his hand. He screamed in agony, coughing up blood from his collapsed lung. >”Subject would not comply,” He heard Bobby say. He looked up to find the boy walking towards, him, seemingly unfazed by what he was doing… he simply stared down at the man with the same wide-eyed gaze as before. He raised the gun again, this time pointing directly at Bryson’s head. The man’s eyes went wide with horror. ”…Use of non-lethal force d-deemed necessary.”

>”N-NO, PLE-“ Bryson was silenced by a single shot through the forehead, spattering Bobby’s shirt and face with blood. He didn’t seem to notice, or care… he simply watched with a stoic expression as the man slumped over, dead. >”…Threat has b-been incapacitated.” Bobby muttered. Then, Bryson’s body twitched; the child let out a frightened yelp and emptied the rest of the clip into the dead man’s head, reducing it to little more than a scrambled mess of blood, flesh and chunks of brain. He stood breathing heavily as the body finally went still. Bobby swallowed, taking a moment to compose himself before fishing out his tape recorder from his pocket. >”O-officer’s Log… s-s-stardate 4503.2. Encountered a hostile native of th-this world… use of non-lethal f-force was deemed necessary. An entire p-power cell was needed to stun target… either reptilians have g-grown resistant to nadion particles, or my ph-phaser is in need of recalibration. For now, I am resuming the mission. S-second Officer Robert Loud, signing off.” Bobby stopped recording and looked down at the corpse lying before him. “D-do not worry… the immobilization should w-wear off within the hour.”

>And with that, Bobby resumed loading his supplies into the car. It didn’t register within Bobby’s mind at all that he had just brutally killed a man: all he saw lying there was a stunned reptilian. He didn’t notice that the man’s body had begun to attract flies, nor the giant pool of blood spreading out from beneath it… not even when he stepped through the puddle as he got into the car. After all, he was a proud officer of Starfleet… he would never use lethal force unless there was absolutely no other option. >Bobby got into the car, strapping himself into his self-made ‘piloting frame’. He turned the key and, once the engine had revved to life, drove off; after all, he couldn’t waste any more time than he already had. >The mothership was out there somewhere, waiting for him.