#also very fascinated by the way nick is moving and him dropping to his knees

[sophaeros]

sagganuts, featured in meet me in the bathroom (x)

[rose7420]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I love your g/t Loki work! Would you be able to write one where Loki is living on Asgard in this cabin all by himself because he was banished? Thor brought Peter and Y/n to Asgard (but they're both small). Y/n asks about Loki and finds out what happened to him, so she sneaks off to find the cabin. Oh! Also, Loki could not like humans because of what happened with NYC, so when Y/n sneaks into the cabin, Loki finds her, but instead of the nice giant she thought she was going to meet, he acts cold towards her (causing her to cry). Then Loki's soft side comes out and he tells her to not be frightened of him :)

Cabins and Curiosity

This was a request from the lovely @lokiismyhubby who came up with an amazing prompt! Thank you so much for letting me write this for you!

Y/N was amazed by the looks of Asgard. As Thor carried Peter and her in his large hands she constantly peeked over the edge of his fingertips to see more. As she leaned over for the third time, she was quickly tugged back from a pull on her arm.

“Y/N no! You’re gonna fall if you lean over too much.��� Peter exclaimed.

Y/N shook his hand off her arm and continued to lean over Thor���s hand. It was odd that Thor had not picked up on the conversation happening right in his own palms. She wondered if he could even hear them from all the way up there.

“Oh Peter I’ll be fine, don’t worr-” Y/Ns words are cut short as her grip slips from Thor’s fingertip and she rolls off the edge of his hand. Her stomach plummets and the breath leaves her lungs as she falls to the awaiting, unforgiving ground. She screams with terror and closes her eyes waiting for the dreadful, deadly impact but it never comes. She sees that she has ended up in another palm. She looks up at Thor who with very quick reflexes caught her in the nick of time.

“Little one, you gave me a heart attack. Is that what it is called on your planet? I don’t understand why it is called a heart attack. Your heart is not attacking-”

Peter cuts Thor’s outspoken thoughts off with his own worrisome thoughts. He sits in the opposite hand of her and yells across the gap.

“I told you to stay still! Are you okay?” The shock is wearing off and Y/N nods her head assuring Peter she is okay.

Thor approaches a towering door, much taller than Thor himself. He gently shifts Y/N into the hand bearing Peter and opens the door. Thor walks through the magnificent hallways lit with light from the glowing torches perched on the walls. Thor comes upon a door and enters the room. The huge bed in the middle is draped in red sheets, the same color as Thor’s cape he often wears. He deposits Peter and Y/N on the gigantic bed and kneels down to their level.

“Alright little ones, I need you both to wait here while I take care of some things.” Thor tries to keep his voice low, but it booms to her ears reminding her of his largeness. Both teenagers nod their heads and watch as Thor returns to his full height. A shiver runs down her spine but a question pops into her head.

“Where is Loki?” Y/N asks curiously. She has yet to see the God of Mischief. Thor stops in his steps and comes back to the bed, kneeling. A sad look appears on his face. “Loki was banished from the royal palace. He lives in a cabin that I know not whereof. Promise me you won’t go searching for it little one?” Thor looks into her with eyes that plead her not to go searching. Peter agrees immediately not to go near the cabin. But her curious soul yearns for adventure. Why not venture out to search for the banished prince? These desires cloud her thoughts and she quickly looks up at Thor and nods her head in agreement that she will not go looking for Loki. If only Thor knew the lie she had told right in front of his face.

Later that night, Y/N has made her way outside. She knew it was a bad idea but at the current moment, she has no care. Earlier Thor had let it slip that he actually had lied and did know where Loki lived. Mentioning a small pond, wooden cabin, and plenty of tall trees. It seemed like enough information to go off of. So she had sneaked her way out of the palace and started walking towards the sound of water. She knew she would have little luck tonight at finding the cabin but she wanted to give it a try. The grass she stood in was taller than her waist, every rock she came across seemed like a boulder to her and the sound of woodland creatures roared in her ears reminding her she was no longer at the top of the food chain. She continued to search high and low for the cabin that housed this interesting god. Her legs were becoming weary and she had brought no water or food to drink. Yet, she kept going and pushed herself to find any source of Asgardian life. As if her thoughts were answered she came upon a golden light shining through the darkness. Her knees wobbled with relief at her discovery. She climbed the great, wooden stairs and stopped at a towering, wooden door. It stretched up and up seeming to never end. However, there was a gap at the bottom where the door itself didn’t quite reach the floor. The perfect size just for her tiny form to slip through…

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Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight of the giant’s home. Everything was out of her reach. Chairs that were higher than buildings and tables that spanned further than Central Park. Caught up in her fascination she did not notice how a great shadow cast over her, but she did notice the tremendous footstep that rattled her bones. She turned back slowly, not entirely ready to see the giant that hovered intimidatingly behind her. However, before she could fully see him, the back of her shirt was pinched cutting her air supply off. She frantically clawed at her shirt collar desperately wanting air back into her lungs. She didn’t even notice the green eyes staring with malice at their capture

“P-please sir, I can’t breathe,” Y/N said with a break in her voice, tears escaping her eyes.

“How in the nine realms did you find your way here you pathetic animal?” Loki snarled with disgust.

Y/N was terrified she couldn’t get air into her lungs and this man, who she presumed to be Loki, did not look exactly thrilled by her arrival. He shook her tiny form, increasing the pressure on her collar. Her vision started going black, with the lack of oxygen and her limbs felt weak. The darkness greeted her with pleasure willing to take her away from this horrid decision she had made.

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Loki was infuriated and disgusted that this pathetic mortal had made its way into his home. The charms he had set after he had been banished allowed him to know of when an intruder entered into his house, or anyone of that matter. He didn’t receive very many visitors. His fury blinded him into plucking the girl off the floor with no gentleness in his touch. He heard her say something but her voice was too faint to hear, even though she was directly in front of his face. He watched as she grabbed the collar of her shirt and had asked her how she had found her way here. However, he had not expected her to go limp in his hold. His heart dropped as she went still, and he studied her for a moment before realizing her tiny chest was not moving.

He had suffocated her.

A mere child and he was killing her.

He immediately released her shirt letting her fall into his opposite palm. She landed like a ragdoll, and onto her stomach. He nudged her onto her back. Panicking, he lightly pressed a fingertip to her chest to make certain her heart still beat. A weak thumping relieved him that she was alive still. His eyes stayed glued to her chest watching for signs of life, she inhaled very shallowly, exhaling with a shaky breath. After several moments he watched as she groaned and shifted, awaking at last. Her eyes searched her surroundings then stopped upon his face. He felt her body stiffen, then as her little limbs scrambled away from him, almost off of his palm to a deathly drop. He quickly closed his hand into a fist, trapping the terrified girl inside. He could feel her hysteric fists hitting the skin of his palm. The tiny movements made his heart wrench.

He had never liked mortals but despised to see such an innocent child who had shown such curiosity at first, now to be petrified of his own person. With his fist still shut, he walked to the table. He lowered his hand down onto the wooden surface and unfurled his fingers. The tiny mortal was sobbing and holding her arms over her head, poised in a protective crouch. Guilt ran through his heart.

“Oh, little one. I am so terribly sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Her cries continued and he tilted his hand slightly for her to gently slide down onto the table. She looked awfully tiny, barely reaching the height of his thumb. He noticed how she wore a thin shirt and pants, perhaps she was cold? He conjured a blanket of her size, that did not even span the entirety of his palm and lightly draped it around her shaking shoulders. The small scrap of fabric swallowed her form immensely and he watched her dainty fingers grasp at the ends to pull it tighter around herself.

She finally dared to look up at the god with red, swollen eyes studying him to see if his act of kindness was just a ruse for false hope. He allowed a small smile to show on his face, trying to gain the girl’s trust even more.

“Hello, there little one. My name is Loki, may I ask yours?” Loki whispered.

The tiny girl shook her head quickly unable to speak.

Loki took no offense to her distrust but kept speaking. “That’s okay. There’s no hurry. Please allow me to apologize for my previous actions. I meant you no harm, if I had known I was hurting you I would have stopped immediately.” He said soothingly. The girl stared back at him with wide eyes, but, they no longer held the palpable fear as they had earlier which eased his heart.

He did take notice that she was still shaking and as she attempted to stand, her legs gave out on her sending her falling onto her rear with a squeak of discomfort.

The poor thing must be exhausted.

“Are you okay little one?” Loki asked, trying his best to not scoop her up in his embrace, afraid of scaring her again.

To his surprise, she actually speaks. “C-can I have some w-water, p-please?”

“Of course give me one moment.” He conjures a cup and fills it in his sink with a droplet of water returning to give it to her, delighted that he was able to do something right.

She hesitantly takes it from his fingertips and starts gulping greedily.

How far did she come from? He thinks to himself. He knew Thor liked to bring mortals to Asgard. But for this small one to walk that far must’ve drained her completely of energy.

As he looks back at her he sees her body slowly falling to the tabletop in a sleepy daze. His heart drops thinking that she is hurt or stopped breathing again, but he sees she is unharmed and just tired.

He gingerly slides his hand under the tiny girl ferrying her to his bed to lay her on a pillow blanket and all. As he starts to slide her off his palm she lets out a cry and unconsciously clings to his pinkie with her arms. He finds the small action endearing and instead lets her off onto his chest, with her grip still on his finger. He has not the heart to pry her off, so he leaves her from be. Even when his arm cramps and becomes uncomfortable.

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In the morning Y/N wakes up to a rising and falling platform. Heavy, loud snores interrupt her thoughts, and she turns around to find herself on the chest of no other than Loki. She gasps in astonishment that she slept on his chest for the entire night. And he had caused her no further harm. The rhythm of his breathing changes slightly, she looks up to see his green orbs looking at her. She is not as scared as she was last night but she still is wary of the god. However, she feels no ill intent from him as his hand curls around her preventing her from rolling off his body as he sits up. A loud knock interrupts their peaceful and quiet session of the morning.

“Loki, where is she? I know you must have Y/N.” Y/N recognizes it to be Thor’s voice.

“So thats your name little one. Y/N, I like it it suits you.” Loki says peering down at her with a small grin.

Y/N blushes faintly at the compliment and grips onto Loki’s fingers as he moves to open the door.

Thor stands there with a very unhappy and concerned look on his face. He immediately spots Y/N sitting in Loki’s hands.

“There you are little Y/N. You had Peter and I worried.” Thor says.

“Who is this “Peter”?” Loki questions.

Thor begins to respond but is taken off guard when a tiny head pops out of his chest pocket.

“Y/N! I was so worried! How dare you leave me!” Peter pipes up from Thor’s pocket, looking immensely tiny compared to both gods.

“Little one! Did you sneak into my pocket?” Thor asks very astonishedly.

Peter ignores Thor and starts climbing out of the pocket taking a free leap onto Loki’s palm that bears Y/N, immediately hugging her tightly.

Loki’s smooth voice rings out, “Well… what a nice reunion to have...in my hand.” he deadpans.

Peter and Y/N are oblivious to his comment only happy to see each other again.

Loki looks down at the two tiny mortals ready to hand the small ones back to Thor when he feels Y/N grasp tightly to his pinkie.

“Little one you cannot stay here, go back with my brother. He will take good care of you.” Loki assures her.

Y/N shakes her in disagreement. “B-but I wanna stay with you L-Loki. Please.”

Loki looks up from the pleading mortal to Thor who nods his head. After all he had done and she still wanted to stay with him? How could he even say no?

“Alright, and you Little Peter? Will you be staying as well?” Peter nods enthusiastically saying:” Y/N and I are inseparable, where she goes I go.”

“Well, I guess it is settled then,” Loki says gleefully, looking forward to getting to know these tiny mortals better. Y/N says nothing but looks up at him shyly, and hugs his finger even tighter.

[veinereastath]

(if) they stand in front of you, watch their back;

Fandom: Far Cry 5 

AO3: Right there! 

Description: Irina just wanted to get some rest in the cabin in the woods. She didn't expect to see Jacob Seed, carrying his wounded little brother on his back.

And didn't expect that she will have to help him by pinning his brother to the table. 

Word count: 4260

Author’s note: This is just a one-shot that I felt the need to write down because reasons. :))) We have three idiots in one room and sexual tension can be cut with a knife but there’s nothing explicit, just John and Jacob having a time of their life, and Irina just wants to bury herself in the ground. :))

    Irina had a weak spot for cabins in the heart of the woods. They were small, not exactly warm, but also very minimalistic - something she quite liked. There were many nights in her life before Hope County when she slept in her car. It wasn't the best, but definitely enough for her. Now she didn't have her car, but she would steal one from time to time. Peggies didn't learn about her car-sleeping preferences yet, so she was safe, to some extent at least. 

    This night she didn't have a car to sleep in, though, so one of the cabins had to do. She chose the one that was still in the Whitetails, but also dangerously close to the Holland Valley - in case she needed to get away from the Mountains. The good thing was that Jacob was always kind enough - or, actually, confident enough - to let her know that the hunt for has has begun, which gave her at least few minutes to find a safe spot. Not that it always worked. Sometimes hunters' arrows manage to find the way to her knee after just few seconds.

    She always considered herself to be the worst resistance leader in the history of resistance leaders. And she didn't even want to get the job in the first place - the fact that she got it was just an example of how desperate the people in the County must have been. 

   The first thing she did was checking if there is anything good inside the cabin, and by that she was thinking about cigarettes. Alcohol would do as well, but she wasn't that much fond of it. It was good to drink some when she was having a talk with Nick and Kim, or when Adelaide felt the need to share another one of her heated stories about Xander. This was something that Irina couldn't listen to while being sober, especially because she had no sexual experience whatsoever - so despite her prideful attitude, she felt really weird and uneasy when she had to listen to people talking about it.

  "Hello there."  Irina murmured with delight when she managed to find a half-empty and slightly sticky bottle of whiskey, a bit of oregano - she didn't need it, though - and two cigarettes. She put her bow on the wooden table in the center of the room and sat on the old and squeaky chair by the window, sighing quietly and hugging her knee to her chest. It was afternoon, and the dark clouds covering the sky for the last few dozen minutes finally began to release the first drops of cold rain. She just hoped it would end soon enough for her to get out. She couldn't stand sitting in one place for longer than an hour.

    She took off her black, dirty jacket, leaving only a loose shirt, bloodied and torn to a point where it was nearly non-existant. She pulled out of her pocket the one thing that she couldn't move anywhere without - a lighter - and lit a first cigarette, putting it to her mouth and dragging it thoughtfully. As the first clouds of smoke were released from her lungs, the cabin door unceremoniously opened - with quite a lot of force, so it definitely couldn't be a wind, it didn't managed to get strong enough yet. Her instincts kicked in with a slight delay, and if it wasn't for the fact that the person who just came inside didn't want to kill her, Deputy realized that she propably would already have a hole between her eyes.     ... Wait, he didn't want to kill her?

    She was already accustomed to seeing Jacob, so each of their subsequent meetings no longer caused her to feel exaggerated emotions. This would also be the case this time, even though he had just entered the place where she intended to rest - were it not for a small detail - he had a traveling companion on his back. John lifted his head from his brother's shoulder, showing chaotic tousled black hair and poking his huge blue eyes on Irina, who was just two meters away, parting her lips slightly. Jacob tensed instantly, reaching with his hand to his thigh holster, while a woman was completely speechless and stared at the two brothers in disbelief, feeling her cigarette begin to burn out and dangerously approach her knuckles.     "Are you lost, or...?"  She asked after a moment or two, blinking way too faster than she should. She saw in Jacob's eyes that he's calculating, gears in his head are turning furiously, and then his muscles seemed to relax a bit. John, on the other hand, seemed tense - and he was looking at her in a way that was far, far from comfortable. Irina felt like she was being devoured alive, and wasn't sure why it felt somehow amusing for her.          "Oh, for fuck's sake."  Jacob finally spoke, then closed the door to the cabin by kicking them with his foot, and moved to the wooden table where she left her bow a few minutes before. He took it and placed it by the door, so if she wanted to get to it, she would have to get through him first. Well, she had a knife strapped to her leg, but Irina wasn't stupid enough to try and attack him. She tried once, it didn't go well. She wasn't a match for him. "Get outta here, girl, before I change my mind and knock you out instead."     If Jacob would ask her to leave in a more polite way, she may have actually done it. But Jacob was Jacob - and Irina was Irina. Her pride and stubborness didn't allow her to just do his bidding, so of course, she decided to start another one of verbal fights with him, one that they shared many times already. And she never got bored with those. But usually lost anyway. It wasn't suprising that, in the current state of events, she just hugged her knee to herself with even more force, like if showing that she wasn't planning on moving anywhere, and took another drag of cigarette, before smashing in on the floor with her shoe. "I was here first."  She deadpaned. Jacob grunted in response, but she was sure that there was a hint of amusement in this sound. "So get your little squirrel with you and go away."

    John scoffed when he heard his new nickname, and oh, if looks could kill. Irina send him a short, dry half-smile, that seemed somehow menacing when combined with a big scar on her left cheek. Jacob, on the other hand, shrugged a bit, giving his brother the signal to come off his shoulders, which the younger Seed did. "Stop gambling your life, will ya?"  Jacob looked at her one more time and wrinkled his nose slightly, seeing the extremely torn shirt she's been wearing, then took off his military jacket and tossed it at the woman. "You're distracting my squirrel."  He explained with a hint of amusement in his voice, then started to take care of John, who was still far from happy and sitting on the edge of the table.           Irina accepted the little gift with a slight, cynical smile and swiftly put the jacket on. It was warm, which was actually pretty pleasant, and smelled of fire, resin, blood and gunpowder - nothing new to her. Irina rolled up the sleeves, which were far too long for her, and lit a second cigarette, watching Jacob unceremoniously rolling up John's soiled and bloody shirt out of the corner of her eye. she refrained from sighing with delight, noticing the blood and tattoos on the body of the younger brother. She was starting to understand Adelaide's fascination, but would absolutely never admit it out loud. Not to mention that for her John was still the most irritating being in the whole County. Pretty body wouldn't change it.

    "So."  She cleared her throat. "Care to tell me what the fuck brought you in here?"

    "No."  Was Jacob's harsh response when he saw that John was ready to start answering. "Stay quiet, Dep. We both know you hate small talk and don't give a fuck about little anecdotes."

    "Oh? How can you possibly know that?"  Irina asked just to push him a little bit, even though he was totally right. She really didn't like talking. Well, in most cases. This time she was actually a little bit interested.

    "I managed to notice."  He wasn't looking at her, focused on the wound on John's stomach. A bullet wound, no doubt, she realized, while slowly finishing the second cigarette. Damn, something interesting must've happened.

    "Because I was always silent when you were telling me parts of your life story?"           "I told you to shut up, didn't I?"

    This time Irina really did obey, but not without a quiet, irritated hiss. She turned her back on whatever Jacob was doing to John, but she definitely felt the eyes of the second one on her back, and it was driving her mad. She gritted her teeth and focused on looking at the window, trying to get fascinated by the race of two rain droplets that managed to catch her eye in this specific moment. Boring activity indeed, but it was far better than thinking about her current situation, which was far from what she hoped for on this day. She ran a hand through her forehead, then the mess on her head. She never really cared about her hair, so they were truly wild and untamed, pretty much like she was. She smiled a bit at that thought, but returned to her neutral, bored expression after a short second. It was quiet - the only sounds being the rain hitting the walls and windows of the cabin and rustle of fabric, where Jacob was trying to bring his little brother - squirrel, she reminded herself - back to shape.     Then she heard a loud hiss, like if someone stomped their boot on a rattlesnake.

    "Fucking hell, Jacob!" John growled, sticking his fingers into the edge of the table to the point that they started to turn white. Irina looked at him, head resting on the window frame, trying not to look as amused as she was right now. "Wait, you don't have any antiseptic?"      "Well it's not a luxury hospital, little brother, the best I can do is find some alcohol."  Jacob responded calmly, but with a bit of typical, brotherly mockery and shrugged, which definitely didn't brighten up John's mood.

    "Squirrel."  Irina murmured under her breath, but loud enough for them to hear it. The look she got from John was sharp enough to cut through diamonds. Jacob growled and it was enough to silence her once again. She sighed, watching as Jacob started to rummage through various shelves, looking for someone good enough to treat John's wound with, but all he managed to find was a bit of oregano she noticed earlier and a pack of cigarettes. Damn, she thought. How the hell she didn't notice this one? Her eyes glowed and she run a tongue over her lips. Jacob shot her a quick glare, smiled, in his own way, and tossed the cigarretes to the table on John's leg.

    "Fuck you man..."  She sighed, barely audible. But the most important thing right now was that the soldier didn't manage to find what he was looking for. Oh, that's something she could use, but she didn't speak about it. Yet.

    "No alcohol." Jacob looked at John, who clenched his jaw so hard she could almost feel it. "Pretty fuckin' weird, considering that most of this county has a weak spot for it."

    "Oh, but there is a bottle."  She said, finally, looking at him nonchalantly and swaying her legs like a little girl. "Well, half of it, to be exact."     "Oh, someone's been drinking?"  This time John spoke up, a bit strained, and instead of killing her with his stare he smiled viciously, then clicked his tongue. "Tsk tsk."     Jacob rolled his eyes, but didn't care enough to give a comment. "Give it to me."  He ordered in his typical, calm voice, but with a characteristical sharpness in his eyes.      "Not until you give me those cigarettes you found a second ago." It was a bold game to play with him, but she was determined to do so.

    "You're in no position to bargain."  He said, but realized a second too late that it wasn't the best choice of words, since it was him that needed something the most. "Either you tell me where it is, or I will force you to. It's your call."          "She would probably like that." 

    Now it was her turn to shot John a murdering glare, and his to chuckle darkly, but she did her best not to start playing his game - she knew she would eventually lose. The most reasonable thing Irina could do right now would just tell Jacob where the whiskey is and stop bothering him, but her pride was stronger, so she wasn't going to go down like this. "Force me, then."

    Jacob seemed a bit tired, or bored even, but he wasn't planning on giving her a second chance to change her mind. He was fast, so incredibly fast she almost gasped, before his scarred hand closed around her neck and pushed her head even more into the window frame, to the point where her hair weren't good enough to shield her from it's hardness. She gritted her teeth and raised her lip a little, in a feral tic, flashing a few teeth at him. "Whatever you say, Dep."  He said hoarsely, and while she couldn't really focus on John right now she was sure he was glad to look at all of this - even though he was bleeding and sitting on the table, slowly starting to freeze without any shirt on him. "Now. Where is it?"  Jacob asked, while still clenching his hand on her throat. At this point she was truly starting to have trouble with breathing, and a first bits of adrenaline started to kick in and her pupils dilated significantly, almost completely obscuring the light brown iris. But she kept silent, with cold expression on her face, like almost daring him to go further than that. She stared into his eyes, a piercing blue, until she actually saw a glimpse of her own face in them.     If Irina had a more artistic soul with a tendecy to make metaphors, she would say that this is a sign, a symbol of how similar they both were.     "Oh for fuck's sake, get a room." John growled with a bit of something weird, something off - jealousy? - and then tossed the cigarettes to her, and she managed to catch them while not breaking an eye contact with Jacob, and then she smiled cynically, pointing her head to the second chair where she left her jacket.

    "You're welcome."  She rasped calmly, barely able to breathe. Jacob's hand left her throat and she stroked it with her own fingers, narrowing her eyes and taking a deeper breath - but not loud enough to actually show how hard those last few seconds were for her. Well, she asked for it, didn't she?

    Jacob came over to the chair on the other side of the room and took a half empty bottle of whiskey from under her jacket, then came over to his brother. "Alright, lay down." He said, patting his shoulder. His voice was a tiniest bit different when he was talking to John - he really must've cared, she realized. It was weird to her because she never had any siblings, but Deputy guessed that this is how the love between two brothers looked like. For a short second she felt jealous, but ignored it and returned to staring at the window, just hoping that they would finish this soon and get out of here.

    Well, part of her wished they stayed.     The silence, onece again, was to be short lived - John growled, nearly screamed, when his brother poured the alcohol into his wound while pinning his shoulder to the table, holding him in place. "Oh come on, don't be a pussy."  Jacob huffed and Irina actually giggled a little - thank God they didn't notice, or maybe just didn't care.

    "Yeah, because you would-FUCK-stay silent during something like this!"  Was John's irritated response and he raised his head to look at what Jacob was doing.

    "Of course I would."  Jacob mused, then patted his brother's forehead. "Keep your head down, will ya'? You're really not helping."  He put the whiskey bottle - with quite a bit of fluid still left in it - on the counter behind him and fuck, Irina realized she's thirsty, and that this is the only source of anything to drink right now. She gulped and then slowly and quietly stand up, trying to sneak behind Jacob and take the bottle, then hurriedly get back to the chair where she belonged. And maybe twist the knife in his leg? No, that would be impossible, even if it was tempting.

    Irina wouldn't do it because she cared about him, somehow. About both of them.     She slowly came closer, focused on the bottle and she was so, so close, but then Jacob knelt down and took the bottle, almost snatching it from her fingers and giving it to John, who was looking really... Bad. He was quite pale at this point, his hair. scalp, beard and whole body were covered in sweat, lips parted like he was struggling to breathe. Irina looked at him in silence and she realized that she was simply staring, so just hissed and turned around, trying to get back to her chair and keep sitting there in silence. She was just hoping that John was so much beaten up by the pain that he didn't notice her staring from few seconds before.

    "C'mere, Dep."  She heard Jacob and cursed under her breath, slowly turning on her heel, her eyes watching him with unspoken question. "Keep him pinned down, I have to put the bullet out of his wound."  

    Irina just stood there, confused, and blinked a few times. "... You want me to stop him from moving."

    "Yes."  He stated, matter-of-factly, not even looking at her, focused on preparing everything he needed to get started.         "And you're not... I don't know, afraid that I would try to stab him in the process? Whatever?"  Deputy kept asking, not daring to move, shooting a quick glace over to John, who was taking a sip from the whiskey bottle. Her throat became even more sore at the mere sight. She gulped and oh fuck, he was looking straight at her, his eyes narrowed, his gaze tired, but lips curled in that mocking smile of his. Oh fuck you John, sincerely, fuck you.     "You wouldn't dare."  Jacob looked at her for a short moment, his eyes sharp like knives - and yes, he was right. She bit her lip, rolling the sleeves on his military jacket once again, then slowly came over to the other side of the table, but still not close enough for John to reach her, in case he tried to do so for some reason. He was touchy, she knew it.     "Do you want to keep him pinned down with your willpower, or will you stop being all blushy and do what you're supposed to?"  The soldier sighed and she sensed the first bits of irritation in his voice, like if he was a poor old man forced to take care of two stupid kids. And goddamn, this seemed exactly like it, she realized. "Trust me, he won't bite."     "Oh, what makes you so sure?..."  John mused, finishing the bottle of whiskey with another sip and swayed slightly, putting it down on the floor. "I might bite, but not too hard, don't worry."     The bastard smiled, wet hair sticking to his face, and Irina never wanted to punch him in those perfect, white teeth of his more than now. "Christ, fuck it."  She murmured and then decided to just be harsh and professional. Everything will be fine, it will only take a couple minutes, maybe even less, then you can go home. Her fingers touched his shoulder and his back collided harshly with the wooden table beneath. The soft "ow" came out from his lips and she felt that sting of pure satisfaction, which was definitely visible in her eyes. Yeah, you won't be such a cheeky bastard now.

    Jacob dipped the penknife in John's wound and damn it, Irina had the feeling that the scream that was starting to come out of his throat would reach beyond the county limits, so instinctively - and quite violently - she put one hand to his face to silence him. His beard was moist with sweat and irritated the skin on the inside of her hand, but she tried to ignore it. Be professional, don't say anything, don't look at him, just look at Jacob's hands. And keep this bastard down... OH FUCK!     She didn't realize that she actually hissed those last two words out loud, but she doubt she could be blamed - because when Jacob was starting to get the bullet out of his brother's body, John's teeth dugged in her finger. Irina growled and did her best not to hit him in the face, looking at Jacob instead, the feeling of betrayal clear on her face. "You said he wouldn't bite, you fucking liar!"  She knew how stupid and childlish it sounded, but was too irritated to really care.     "Well, to be exact he said he actually would, so I didn't lie. It was just a miscalculation."  Jacob didn't even look at her, focused on his job, but she could swear he smiled.

    "Fuck you. Both of you. I'm fucking done."      "What's about you and fuckin'? Your preferences are showing."  He responded and in this moment, she went speechles and felt John starting to chuckle, blocked by her hand, so she dug her nails into his cheek. He almost seemed to enjoy it, enjoy her frustration and the fact that Jacob was winning in almost every argument, every sentence. She didn't respond, because the only thing that came to her mind was another "fuck you", but somehow it didn't really feel like it would help. Stay quiet, get over with it and get out.

    It took him a way longer than she would hope for, but finally Jacob managed to pull the bullet out of his brother's stomach, applied some stitches and oh damn, she could finally leave the table and get back to her chair. She slumped onto it and sighed, closing her eyes. This was not how she wanted to spend this afternoon. Jacob got rid of everything and John managed to slowly lift himself up and looked around. "Where's my shirt?"  He asked, narrowing his eyes. "Jaco--"  He didn't managed to finish before his brother tossed the blue and still covered in blood shirt to him. "Yeah, thanks, brother."     "You're always welcome."  Jacob answered and leaned on the kitchen counter. If it could be even called a kitchen, this cabin had just one room. "My jacket, Dep. I know you've probably grown fond of it, but it's mine."       Irina just scoffed and a bit reluctantly - because damn, she actually did grow fond of it in those last few minutes - took it off and gave it back to it's owner. She felt at unease - of course someone was staring at her. She did her best not to look back at John, just focus on the silence currently lingering in the air. If only not the fact that he was breathing so fucking loud and she was losing her mind-     "Deeeputy?"  He nearly sing-a-songed and she clenched her jaw, feeling the scar on her cheek tense. Irina sighed and looked at him, waiting for bastard to continue. "Oh, there you are. Such a frustrated little thing." He chuckled darkly, then shook his head and looked at the ceiling. "Sweet."      She wasn't sure if he actually said that, it was so quietly spoken that she told to herself it was just an illusion.     "Who needs a room now, huh?"  Jacob mused. "Well, put the shirt on, we're leavin' before she will start throwing things at us, and I see she's close to doing so."

    "Very close, indeed."  She murmured through gritted teeth. John clicked his tongue once again and she took a sharp breath, but didn't say anything else, just watched him getting dressed - he was quite clumsy at it, and Irina was looking at him purely because she wanted him to feel watched, feel the frustration when someone is making fun of him. She wasn't sure if it actually worked, though.     "Alright, let's get movin'. See you around, Dep."  Jacob didn't even look at her anymore but she heard the dangerous promise, the silent threat in his voice and she was already on edge, feeling the sudden need to run away as far as she can, preferably somewhere outside this god forsaken county. Irina watched as John clumsily stood on his own feet, then Jacob opened the door to the cabin, waiting for him. 

    John looked at her one more time and something flashed in his eyes, and without a word he left with his older brother, both leaving her alone.    Irina just slumped on the floor and let out a loud, nervous gasp, feeling the fire slowly rising in the bottom of the stomach.

[cptn-stvngrntrgrs]

A Post-Avenger Nick Fury accidentally goes to the future and sees his two best agents (Steve and Nat) are married. Natasha notices Nick isn't from their timeline (she just knows lol black widow tingle) and Steve gets a smug grin and just says "Best matchmaker ever" Nicky Fury returns to the past and calls Steve and Nat to his office to offically "partner then up" and said to himself, "this two motherfuckers don't know what's in store for them" NICK FURY IS THE OG MATCHMAKER 🤪🤪🤪🤪

hi anon! i know this took me a while to finish but i hope you like it! thanks for the prompt!

Title: when push comes to shove

Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

Summary:

These two motherfuckers don’t know what’s in store for them.

so the future part of this place takes place after Endgame.

modifications: Steve and Natasha has been married before IW. They had kids in those five years between IW and Endgame. And of as per my usual, no one dies XD enjoy!

Also on AO3!

“Motherfu-”

–

Nick Fury woke up in his room, his head pounding. He couldn’t remember much except for an explosion at the SHIELD facility the day before. Has it been a day? He only remembers getting hit with a ray of light. And suddenly, he woke up. He propped himself up on his headboard gently, his vision swimming.

After steadying himself, he squinted and looked around his room. It looks different from how he left it from. He remained sitting that way, analyzing his surroundings. It’s most definitely his room, yes, but also, it doesn’t feel like it. He heard a beep and looked down at his phone.

Frowning, he took the device and examined it. It’s most likely his personal phone because it’s not SHIELD issued but why does it look so… advanced? He patted the jeans he was wearing - Why is he wearing jeans to bed? - and took out a phone. His phone. It’s an iPhone 5. The one that is currently beeping looks way too modern. What is this, an iPhone 12?!

Nick checked the newer phone in his hand. It immediately unlocked when he brought it up to his face level. What in the SHIELD tech power is this?Opening the messages app, he saw an unread text from Natasha R. Hm, Romanoff.

“ Hey Nick, let me know when you get there! Have a safe flight! The kids miss you already.”

“What the-”

There was a photo underneath the text - of two young kids pouting at the camera. The boy has reddish-blond hair while the little girl has long blonde curls.

“Why is Romanoff sending me pictures of kids all of a sudden…” he muttered to himself, feeling his headache come back - this time, from stress. What is happening to him? Last time he saw Natasha was two days ago, giving him an update on the Chitauri clean-up happening in New York.

Gathering himself, he walked to his living room to turn the TV on. He almost did a double take; his living room is vastly different from how he remembered it. What felt like a bachelor’s pad before - bare walls, sleek black leather sofa and a matching glass table - is now replaced with a leather sectional and picture frames all over the place.

He sauntered over to the shelf that holds what looks like awards and photos. One of the framed photographs looks like a wedding, looking closer, he almost dropped it when he realized who were getting married.

It was Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. And it looked like he officiated the wedding, based on how he was at the head of the altar looking at the two happily. Next to that is a photo of two kids smiling brightly, the same kids he saw on his phone earlier, sitting on his lap on what looks like Christmas morning - And is he wearing a Santa costume??!! The frame’s border has an engraved “World’s Best Grandpa” on it.

Well, he’ll be damned.

–

Okay, Nick Fury pieced it all together. After a while of brooding and confusion, he figured that he’s not in 2012 anymore. How he got there, he has no idea. So far his theories are severe memory loss or time travel. He’s witnessed the cutest, cuddliest cat eat a person and just a month ago, aliens were on New York City. So, really, the possibilities are endless.

After figuring out how to get to Natasha’s house, he stopped on the sidewalk to take it all in first. Who would’ve thought - his best agent and master spy, living in a house with a literal white picket fence. And has two children. Married to the American Icon. Oh, the number of Cold War jokes he could think of right now.

His reverie was broken by screams of “Grandpa Nick!” and he turned just in time to see two bouncing children run to him and latch themselves on each of his leg. He looked down and smiled at them, awkwardly patting their head.

“Grampa Nick, you’re back!” the little girl basically screamed, tugging on the sleeve of his pants.

“Mommy said we won’t see you until next week!” the boy told him, giggling, and failing to notice the strange look he had on his face. He was thinking of something to say until a voice cut him off his thoughts.

“Nick? What are you doing here?” Natasha asked, leaning on the doorframe and looking at them. By her legs is a golden retriever watching him. Dang, they even have a golden retriever. Nick smiled and shook his head at the thought.

“I, uh, decided to stay…?” he answered her, well, more of asked, really. The kids let go of his legs and took each one of his hand, pulling him to get inside the house.

Natasha arched a brow and stepped aside to let them in. “Steve is grilling on the backyard, we’re still waiting for some of the guests to arrive,” she informed him, watching him sit on the couch.

Nick nodded absent-mindedly as he looked around the living room; the house just feels so warm and so… not Natasha. Not that he doesn’t think she’s a warm person, no, but she’s just not one to settle for domesticity. That’s why she’s one of his best agents - she’s not one to get attached or dwell on herself for too long. She’s cold and closed off - he knows that the only ones to get through her barrier are himself, Clint, and occasionally, Maria Hill. So to see this Natasha - wearing a casual tee and shorts, with her hair long and up in a messy bun - is a nice change.

She also looks younger and happier . Nick isn’t one for using cheesy words or anything, but there’s nothing else to describe it - Natasha is positively glowing. Natasha caught Nick looking at her and narrowed her eyes and tilted her head while he gave her the look . It’s the look he usually gives her when she questions him during meetings and she laughed.

“You know, I missed that look,” she said, moving to sit next to him, the little boy on his lap. “I haven’t seen that since your last meeting,” she said fondly, stroking the boy’s hair.

“My last meeting?” he asked incredulously. Surely she’s not implying that-

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him once again. “Yes. You know, the last meeting you had before retiring?” Nick���s eyes widened fractionally - never the one to openly display his reactions, but Natasha noticed it nonetheless - and he stayed silent. Natasha sighed, leaning back on the couch. “You’re not Nick Fury, are you?”

Nick frowned. “The he-” he was going to say ‘hell’ until Natasha widened her eyes and looked down at the boy on her lap. Nick cleared his throat. “What do you mean, I’m not Nick Fury? You know me better than that, Romanoff.”

Natasha chuckled and poked the child. “Hey James, go get daddy and play with Sarah for a little bit please?” the boy - James, it seems - beamed up at her and kissed her cheek before jumping down and running out. Natasha looked back up at Nick, who was watching the two intently. “See, that’s how I knew you’re not Nick.”

Nick opened his mouth to defend himself but Natasha held up a hand to continue. “Yes, you’re Nick Fury - I don’t think you’re a Skrull,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “But I have a feeling that you’re not from this timeline, aren’t you?” she asked, as if a person not in the same ‘timeline’ is a very normal occurrence. Since when did she know about Skrulls? Is Carol back?

He was about to answer when Steve Rogers walked in, an apron fastened around his waist. Nick tried not to laugh as he got closer and leaned down to kiss the top of Natasha’s head as if he hadn’t seen her in a while. “Nick? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Mexico with Phil and May by this time?”

Natasha waited until Steve was sitting next to her before speaking. “I don’t think this is our Nick.”

Steve frowned and stared at Nick. “Is Talos playing a prank on us again?”

“How do you know Talos?” Nick spoke up and sat up straighter.

Natasha grinned. “See, you’re not our Nick, but I think you’re still actually Nick Fury.”

Nick Fury just looked at her passively, obviously asking for an explanation.

“Nick, what was the date yesterday?” Steve asked.

“June 17, 2012.”

Natasha and Steve shared a look - in sync, Nick noticed with fascination - before turning back to him.

“Nick,” Natasha began softly. Uh oh. He does not like where this is going. “I’m sorry to tell you but the date today is September 28, 2025; you’re 13 years into the future…” she trailed off, laying a hand on his knee and squeezing it.

“The Nick Fury in this timeline is currently on vacation in Mexico with Phil Coulson and Melinda May as well as other SHIELD agents. He must have left his backup phone at home.” Steve added.

Nick stayed silent, trying to process what he just heard. “Do you know how to get me home? Or back to 13 years ago, at least?” he asked after a while.

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look. Again. Nick fought the urge to roll his eyes. Really, they’re cute, but they’re going to make someone feel left out if they continue to do their silent communication thing.

“Well, we do have a way to travel through time… but it’s complicated. Do you think anyone from your time can bring you back?” Steve asked.

Natasha snorted, making both men turn to look at her. “He’s from June 2012. That’s a month after the Battle of New York. Time travel won’t even be on our minds back then. I highly doubt it.”

Steve cast her a sheepish smile before raking his fingers through his hair. “Well, I guess we gotta do a part three of the Time Heist, then.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at them. “Time Heist?”

“A lot of things happened in those 13 years, Nick.” Natasha answered with a smirk.

“I can tell,” Nick retorted, looking pointedly at the two. “Last time I saw you, a helicarrier blew your mind and you were crying about the 21st century. But now you’re talking about time travel like you do it everyday and both of you have two children and house with a white picket fence.” Nick tipped his chin at Steve. Natasha’s smirk grew wider while Steve blushed an angry scarlet and looked down, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“So spare me the gory details and tell me about you two,” Nick continued. “How did this-” he waved around them, “- happen?”

“Well, all I can say about that is you’re the best matchmaker ever,” Steve answered, squeezing Natasha’s hand, his eyes twinkling.

—

After a whole afternoon-long conversation, Scott was ready to take Nick home. They all went to the Compound to set everything up and explain the mechanics of it to Nick.

“You ready?” Natasha asked Nick as she and Steve approached him.

“As I’ll ever be,” he answered with a smile.

“Here, keep this,” Steve took out a picture of James and Sarah from his wallet and handed it to Nick, who was hesitant to take it at first. “Really, it’s okay. We have thousands of pictures at home,” Steve reassured with a chuckle. “Besides, you’re the reason we happened. Or should I say, the catalyst that made us happen. I know Nat and I’s partnership were rocky at the beginning so whenever you feel like screaming your head off at us, just look at this photo. I swear, it’ll help.”

“Maybe all that yelling I did was what made your sexual tension snap,” Nick joked, making Natasha blink and look at Steve. Nick noticed the action. “Don’t tell me-”

He was cut off by Scott calling him to get in position. He shook both Steve’s and Natasha’s hands as he made his way to Scott. After a wave at everyone, he was gone.

“You know, he’s not wrong. It was after that one mission where he yelled at us after we fucked up in Ireland that we first…” Steve cocked his head down at Natasha, who was smirking up at him.

“Tested the durability of Irish-made headboards?” Natasha asked, licking his lips as they both reminisced their first “casual sex” night together. Steve let out a throaty chuckle and leaned down to clash their lips together.

“My god, go home you two!” Tony yelled, rolling his eyes fondly as he brought Scott back.

Steve and Natasha were pulling away from each other just as Scott materialized. “Aw, I want a kiss from Captain America too.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a kiss,” Sam piped up, waggling his eyebrows at Scott, who walked over to him and gave him a hi-five.

—

“Nick! You’re alive!” Maria Hill all but shouted in surprise as he walked in his office in the Triskellion. She was at his desk furiously flipping through reports.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked, approaching his desk. Maria stood up from his chair and made way for him.

Maria gave him a weird look as he sat down. “What do you mean? Nick, part of that building exploded , we have 10 SHIELD agents casualties. Well, I guess it’s just 9 since you’re here…” she muttered the last part to herself. “But you were the only one missing - we figured you were vaporized on the spot. The others died from the explosion itself. These are their files,” she pointed at the stack of folders on his desk.

“You thought I was vaporized ?” Ouch. That sounded like a harsh way to die, even for Nick. Maria just nodded grimly. “I was just… transported somewhere else.”

Maria perked up at that. “Oh? Dr. Selvig had that theory but we all thought it was nuts… he said based on the energy, you must have been brought in another time.”

Fury scoffed. “Well, he’s not wrong.” Maria tilted her head, fishing for more information, but Nick waved his hand. “Another time. Are Romanoff and Rogers here?”

Maria nodded. “Yes, sir. They were both in town because the facility in New York had to be renovated. Most of our active agents are here save for Agent Barton who’s still out on his mission.”

“Can you call Romanoff and Rogers in, please?”

“Yes, sir. Do you need anything else?” Maria asked and Fury shook his head. She gave him a nod and exited the room.

Once he was alone again, Nick pulled the picture Steve gave him. James looks just like Steve except he got his mother’s eyes and most of her hair color. Sarah, however, was all Natasha, except for her father’s bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He smiled fondly at the picture and put it back in his wallet just as he heard his agents approach his door.

“You called us in, sir?” Steve’s head popped up from the door. Nick nodded and Steve and Natasha walked in, standing in front of him.

“I never thought you’re dead, you know, for the record. I believed Dr. Selvig,” Natasha told him smugly, making Nick chuckle.

“Well. I’m back and I have a mission for the two of you.” he took one of the folders from his desk and slid it forward to them. “This will be your first solo mission as official partners.”

Silence followed his statement as the words hung in the air. He raised an eyebrow at them, waiting for the blow up that’s about to happen. He almost thought they’d go down without a fight until:

“NICK!”

“Sir, I’m not-”

“He’s not a spy-”

“I’m really more of a sold-”

“Clint is my part-”

Ah, there it is. Nick leaned back in his chair and let the two of them scream it out, their words drowning the other out. This is fascinating to watch, really. After a few more moments, the two eventually stopped, huffing, when they noticed that their director was silent.

“So there’s that. The folder has everything you need to know. Take what you need and report back when you’re done. Good luck!” Nick said with a fake cheerful voice and a big smile. The voice might be fake but the smile was real. He really was excited.

He saw Natasha glare at Steve, who looked just as pissed, if not a little horrified. She grabbed the folder from his desk like a snake would snap at its prey, and promptly turned on her heels to exit the room, Steve following with his head hanging down.

Nick has to admit, he thought there would be more fight. But he also knows that Natasha knows that once he puts his mind onto something, it’s not going to change. Once they were fully gone from his office, he leaned back on his chair and pulled out his wallet to look at James and Sarah again. Oh, these two motherfuckers don’t know what’s in store for them, he mumbled to himself and grinned mischievously.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Remnants, Part I

They did Ahkmenrah so dirty in the NATM movies, so I’m indulging. I’m not sure if this piece is going to work as a female reader-insert, but I am going to try that first. If you think it would be better with an OFC, let me know.

  Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

   Warnings: None for now, but you can bet there will be smut; also, Ahk is a solid 20 years of age to be certain to avoid any squick factor. Also, if you’d like to be tagged, let me know : )

Part I

On the night you first officially met, you weren’t sure whether it was his beauty or his sadness that overwhelmed you. Ahkmenrah was sitting in his exhibit alone, gazing at the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. His mouth was set in a serious line, which only served to accentuate his sharp jawline. His eyes, a polychromatic swirl of blue and green, were trained on the stories, his stories. The air was filled with such a level of concentration that it felt wrong to disturb this once-king.

   Larry whispered, “About a year ago, we figured out that he wasn’t an evil, cursed thing. It is his tablet, after all, that brings everything to life.”

   “He’s not wax or stone, though, so, he reanimates?” you ask hesitantly, even though you already know the answer. It’s just that you can hardly believe in its morbidity—cheating death always has a price.

   “Every night.”

   Your mind whirled. Every night, this former king came to life, and every morning, he returned to the nothingness of death. A price—there’s always a price.

   “Does he remember things, like the new things that happen at night? Or is he stuck living only with the memories of his past?”

   Larry chuckled, “Do you want to ask him all these things yourself?”

You nod your head. Of all the exhibits Larry had introduced you to over the last month, he saved Ahkmenrah for last because he knew that the ancient pharaoh was the reason you became an anthropologist. Not, Ahkmenrah in particular, but the culture of ancient Egypt. Your grandmother used to tell you stories about the pyramids and first introduced you to the riches of this ancient, civilized land. Their mythology fascinated you, from childhood until now, and it was the very last step of your doctoral pursuit. Your dissertation was about the parallels between the monotheistic cult of Akhenaten and the foundational principles of early Christianity. Although Ahkmenrah was a pharaoh of the Middle Kingdom, you were certain that the path for monotheism had been laid as the pharaohs navigated the world, acquiring more wealth and power. Science advanced. The miracles of the gods were explained. And one god, across cultures, emerged.

   And then you got stuck. You needed a lead and Rebecca, Larry’s girlfriend and your aunt, cajoled Larry into helping. She knew you would make any sacrifice to prove your research and keeping the secret of the museum seemed like a small price to you. So, Larry tested your character by introducing you to a new exhibit each night, carefully measuring your reaction, and then making sure nothing wound up in the tabloids the following day.

   While it was shocking, you had already spent so much time living within the past, it almost felt like coming home. The knowledge each reanimation possessed gave you hope that Ahkmenrah could provide you with the information that would cement your doctoral candidacy.

   Larry gently took your elbow and pushed you forward. Your slight stumble echoed into Ahkmenrah’s chamber, and he slowly turned toward the noise, his statues shifting, awaiting the young king’s word.

   “Son of Ra,” you spoke as you lowered your head in a bow until you closed the distance between the two of you, then you dropped to your knees, extended your arms in a full bow, and touched your lips to the stone floor at his feet.

   You didn’t move, even as you heard Larry chuckle from behind you.

   “Larry, guardian of Brooklyn, leave us,” Ahkmenrah spoke in a commanding tone that immediately silenced Larry and you listened as his footsteps shuffled quickly away.

   “Rise.”

   You rescinded your arms but rose only into a kneel, keeping your head bowed.

   Ahkmenrah sighed, an utterly sad, small noise of nostalgia.

   “You are familiar with the customs of my people, and you greatly honor me; however, you and I both know there is no longer a need for such a display of reverence. My time has long, long passed.”

   The despondency in his words called to you. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his large eyes trained on your face, searching it as you looked at one another.

   Ahkmenrah offered you his hand, and you hesitated in a comical moment of twitching forward to accept it, but holding back, the customs of the ancients reverberating through your mind.

   Ahkmenrah chuckled, and you huffed out a laugh, too. Your 21st century self won out, and also your insatiable curiosity to know if he felt more like skin or a tanned hide--you know, how a several thousand years old mummified corpse might feel.

   As your hands connected, you immediately knew it was not the latter; his hand was smooth and warm, your fingers glided across his palm to grasp his wrist as he grasped yours and pulled you up from your position on the floor. Neither of you let go immediately, until a slight blush colored both of your cheeks. You dropped his hand and apologized, but he cut you off.

   “I’ve had so few visitors,” Ahkmenrah began. “It’s just nice to remember what a person’s touch is like. I apologize for . . . I believe the correct term might be . . . lingering?”

   You smiled at his furrowed brow and at his struggle to articulate himself. English, after all, wasn’t exactly his first language.

   “You speak beautifully, your majesty.”

   “Thank you; I was on display at Cambridge for a number of years, but please, call me Ahkmenrah,” he stated, tilting his head just slightly as it occurred to him he didn’t know your name. “And what shall I call you?”

   “Y/N.”

   He smiled and said, “A lovely name.”

   You took a deep breath, gradually becoming more relaxed in his presence. Nothing prepared you for your meeting with this young man, well, sort of young man. As Larry tested you by moving through exhibit after exhibit, you thought you would be able to handle the one thing you were really here for. Most of the exhibits, while they did add a depth of feeling, were like talking to living, very interactive history books.

   Except now, face to face, this creature in front of you was clearly no text book. He radiated warmth and power; his eyes were so alive it made you feel like you were the one who was a reanimated corpse. Never had you seen such depth in a person’s gaze; it was unnerving, but also it was like a key, turning a lock to something deep inside of you that you didn’t know existed.

   It also didn’t hurt that he was beautiful. Because of his age at his death, he still possessed a softness around his features that made you want to define him as cute, but his presence elevated him to handsome. A flicker of jealousy coursed through you at the thought of him choosing a queen from a line of many, many suitors. And then there would be the matter of his secondary queens, and you were sure he would have no shortage of choices there, either.  

   You shook your head, wondering why in the fuck your mind chose to venture down that path. You shouldn’t be thinking about this barely-adult king and his sex life; it’s not like you were going to go that far in your research . . . he may not even have functioning parts, hell, he may not even have any of his organs—

   “I believe the expression is, ‘Penny for your thoughts?’” Ahkmenrah asks, startling a blush out of you.

   You choke out an awkward laugh, run your hands through your hair and take a deep breath.

   “This is just so surreal. I’m not sure how much you know about me or my work, but I guess I should just start at the beginning. I guess the easiest way to explain would be to use a reference. So, there’s a fun little game that people sometimes play and during it, you divulge who you would invite to a dinner party if you could have your choice of any person, living or dead.”

   Ahkmenrah watched you intently, listening.

   “While Akhenaten was always first on my list—18th dynasty, awhile after you, I always wanted to meet a ruler from the Middle Kingdom, one of the most glorious periods of rule in Egypt. And, well, here you are. It’s like, almost better than Cleopatra.”

   Ahkmenrah chuckled, “I can assure you that the tales of my country will be far better than what her’s would be. From what I’ve heard, she brought much scandal because of her dalliances with foreigners,” he said, his face conveying his clear disapproval.  

   “She brought the end of your Egypt.”

   “Yes. It’s, what was the word you used? Surreal! It’s quite surreal to know the fate of one’s kingdom. I often think about what I might’ve done differently had I known what I know now.”

   “They do say hindsight is 20/20.”

   “As in, the past always looks clearer from the present?” Ahkmenrah questioned.

   “Exactly.”

   You had hoped he would be smart, and in your small exchange, it became clear that he was. While his intelligence excited you, it was the genuineness of his smile that took your breath away. For a moment, you were reminded of Nick Carraway’s description of Jay Gatsby’s smile. And just like Nick, you were immediately drawn into it, drowning with a need to just know the bearer of that warmth with a greater intimacy.

   “You’re doing it again,” Ahkmenrah said through his smile, startling you out of your thoughts.

   You shook your head, embarrassed yet again.

   “I was thinking about something I read in a book once.”

   Ahkmenrah spoke with excitement, “Larry told me you preferred books to people because you didn’t have many friends in your youth. I’d like to show you something.”

   “I’d like to show Larry something right about now,” you mumbled as you followed the swishing of Ahkmenrah’s golden cape. He disappeared into a smaller nook between the walls of his exhibit and returned with a stack of ancient paper.

   “The tablet seems to also restore anything that is organic,” Ahkmenrah explained, showing you the pieces of papyrus that were covered in hieroglyphs. “This is the history of my family as told through our own voices . . . I think you would call it a diary?”

   You must have looked like an idiot, your mouth agape, your eyes darting between the paper in Ahkmenrah’s hands and his dancing eyes.    

   You started to speak, stopped, stuttered, and started again.

   “This is a first-hand account of the life of ancient Egyptian royals?”

   “Well, not exactly. My father was very thorough in his tracking of the members of our lineage and decided to include everyone’s stories—cousins of cousins, people who worked the fields or the rivers. I believe you will find there is much to learn from these pages.”

   Your voice cracked a little as you thanked Ahkmenrah for this honor, but before he held the pages out to you his face turned serious.

   “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you will only be able to read them while at the museum. Once dawn comes, they turn to dust, and if too much is scattered, I fear they will no longer reform.”

   “Of course! I’ll only read them right here.”

   “So, this means that you will be returning?”

   “Yes! My god, Ahkmenrah. You have no idea what this means to me.”

   Ahkmenrah smiled, the sadness leaving his eyes entirely for the first time that evening as he watched you carefully examine the pages of his ancient life.

[certifiedshitpost]

Get to Know You | Nick Scratch

Here’s a quick one-shot fic of Nick Scratch/Reader - 

It’s PWP, reader has one drink, consensual sex, little bit of fluff at the end.

You're at a party and you see Nick across the room. There's instantly a connection, and after a quick drink you guys get down to business. Hope you enjoy! If you want to follow me on AO3, here’s my link

When your eyes meet across the room, a fire sets ablaze in the pit of your stomach. He’s dressed in all black, his shirt open a few buttons. His skin is pale, but even his dark eyes pull you in like a black hole. He doesn’t look away from you, and that’s how you know he feels the same way. Simultaneously, you both walk away from the people that surround you and meet in the middle of the room. 

“I couldn’t help but notice how immaculate you look tonight,” He says, motioning to you with the hand that holds his drink. He lifts the amber liquid to his lips, but his eyes never leave you.

“You look ravishing yourself, Nick.” You smile. 

“Mm,” He winks. “You’re too kind.”

“I must say I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” You admit, glancing around the crowd.

“Really? You don’t know me very well, then.”

“I’d like to,” You say, watching the fire in Nick’s eyes reignite quickly at your words. “Get to know you, I mean.”

“Oh, I know what you meant, sweetheart. Dorian!” He calls behind him, still not taking his eyes from you. Dorian steps into sight behind the counter, pausing his progress on cleaning a glass while he listens. “Get m’lady and me a drink.” 

“What would you like?” Dorian asks.

Nick turns his attention back to you. “Any suggestions?”

“No preference.” You shrug.

“Perfect. We’ll have the Negroni!” 

Nick holds out his arm, and you slip yours through it and join him at the bar. No one glances as you pass them, all in their own trances, drinking, laughing, kissing. It even seems as though your friends have quickly adapted without you as if you never left.

Dorian slides two glasses towards you both as you approach, and neither of you hesitates in picking them up and downing the liquid. A shocking bitter taste slides over your tongue, but you don’t dare stop in the presence of Nick Scratch. You slam the empty glass down, the orange peel garnish the only thing left along with the ice.

You turn to see Nick smiling at you. You return the gesture.

“What’s in that?” You ask, smacking your lips lightly.

“One part gin, one part Camponi, and one part vermouth rosso,” Nick says, somehow out of breath. “Insanely bitter, isn’t it?”

“It’s not unpleasant.” You admit but turn your glass upside down anyways. The ice and orange garnish don’t waver from their positions from within the cup.

“So… I’m curious, what do you want to know about me?” Nick asks, leaning on his side against the counter beside you.

“Ah,” You smile, looking at your hands. In the heat of the moment, or perhaps just with the help of the alcohol, you turn to him and say “Things that cannot be found with words.”

Nick’s eyebrows raise with interest. “Perhaps we should discuss this matter in a more… private setting, then?” 

Cheeks hot with blood, you once again grasp his arm and climb the stairs of the bar and exit. The fire in the pit of your stomach ignites again, and as you walk side-by-side it only grows more intense. Before you really know it, you’re approaching the library. Nick opens the door for you.

“I know we will be unbothered here.”

You walk slowly for a moment until Nick catches back up to your side. You’ve spent quite a lot of time within these particular walls, studying for classes or escaping certain witches. You spot some tables and a fire pit beyond the aisles of books. When you get there, you turn and lean on a table, letting Nick get close - so close that you both are inches from each other’s lips, eyes almost completely lidded, your breathing slowed. 

“Is this what you meant?” He asks, the bitter alcohol still in his breath. A nod is all you dare.

And then you kiss. Something you wish you did when your eyes first met in the bar. It’s passionate and rough, and his hands are running from your neck down to your legs. He lifts you up and sets you on the table, splitting your legs and standing between them. He keeps one hand hooked under your knee and then other at your neck as he breaks the kiss and begins trailing his way down your chest. 

You grip his waist as if you’d topple down if you didn’t hold on. 

“Nick,” You whisper. He moans in response, and comes back up and to lock his lips with yours again. This time it’s a little gentler, yet still just as passionate. You move your hands over his chest, the silk smooth on your fingers but not distracting as you begin to unbutton the shirt. 

You separate shortly as you push the shirt off of his shoulders, observing the scars that cover his skin. You trace some with your fingers, fascinated at the stories that are hidden just beyond new skin. Nick pulls your hand to his lips, giving a small kiss. His eyes shine in the fire from behind you, and his beauty takes your breath away. 

“Undress for me,” He asks of you, and you don’t need convincing. 

You hook your thumbs underneath the straps of your velvet dress and pull them over your arms and allow it to drop to the floor. Nick stands still for a moment, his eyes raking over your body. Not only can you feel the heat on your back from the fire, but also in your cheeks. You reach down and unclasp your stockings and pull them off so that you stand before Nick in only underwear and a bra. 

“Wow, you are beautiful.” He breathes. You lean forward and close the space between you once again. 

You turn him around so that he’s against the table and only break the kiss to push him back so that he lay down. You climb on top of him and resume kissing him, his hands roaming your thighs and coming to rest on your ass. With your crotch resting just above his, you can already begin to feel his cock hardening.

You lean back without pulling your lips from his and grind against him lightly. Nick groans against your lips, and so you do it again but harder. He moans again and squeezes your ass, encouraging you to continue. You move your hands down to unbuckle his pants and he helps you quickly shove them off. In his underwear, you can see his cock hard and half-standing. You reach down and grope it, Nick’s head hitting back against the table and biting his lip as he tries not to voice his pleasure. 

You pull his cock out through the slip in his briefs, pumping it. Sitting up, you pull your underwear to the side and slide down him. Both of you moan at the pleasure. You begin slowly by rotating your hips, then lifting yourself up and down on him, always rotating when you come down. 

Nick doesn’t hold back, slapping your ass and moaning words of encouragement to replenish your strength when you can feel your thighs aching with pain. He grips your waist for a moment, suspending you while you’re elevated and pumps himself into you quickly, faster than you were ever going, and you can’t help yourself. 

You reach down and rub your clit as he somehow continuously hits that special spot within you and in absolutely no time at all, you are unraveling and coming fast and hard. You clench his cock a few times, making him shiver. He turns you over so that you lie on your back beneath him, your legs wrapped around his waist and your lips locked together again. He continues to pump into you, and even though it’s slightly painful, he doesn’t take long before coming himself.

“Oh!” He groans, twitching inside of you as he releases his load. His head falls to your chest, the sweat of his brow mixing with the sweat on your body. You both breathe heavily for a few moments, and then Nick pulls himself from you and lies beside you on the table. You can see him from the corner of your eye as he turns to you. Against your better judgment, you look towards him as he leans over to kiss you on your cheek.

As he pulls away, he stops to say “You know, you still look beautiful.”

You smile, the heat of the fire behind you suddenly feeling very warm. Nick reaches down and holds your hand. For a long moment, you both just lay there in the aftermath, enjoying each other’s presence and the crackle of the fireplace, and then Nick sits up. He tucks himself in and then hops off the table.

“C’mon, I’ll clean you up.” He holds out his hand to you, and you sit up and take it. 

When he lifts his free hand, a wet cloth appears in it. He carefully wipes it over your body, and you feel this overwhelming cleanse wash over you. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling. It’s almost like a really nice bath after a long day of hard work. You lose yourself for a few seconds and are suddenly pulled back to reality when Nick kisses you. It’s simple and over as fast as it started. When you open your eyes, he’s gone. Your clothes lay neatly on the chair next to you, as well as a rose. You chuckle lightly. 

“What a tease.”

[racingtoaredlight]

RTARL’s 2020 NFL Season Week 5 Extravapalooza

My 13-year-old nephew was visiting this weekend, and he decided he wanted to become an NFL fan. In his short time on Earth, he’s lived in England, Montana, Georgia, Guam, and Connecticut, so he doesn’t really have strong regional ties anywhere. My brother and I are New Englanders, and since they now live in Connecticut, the Patriots seemed like a logical choice. But, he wasn’t feeling it. He has a fascination with New York City, so I helpfully told him that NYC has TWO teams he could choose from. He was excited, and settled on the Jets. Years from now, when he’s bigger and stronger than me, he will stuff me in a garbage can for setting him down the path of New York Jets fandom, and I will totally deserve it.

BONUS LINK THAT I FOUND INTERESTING: Scoring is way up in the NFL so far in 2020, and this post on 538 tries to figure out both why that is, and which teams benefit the most from this high-scoring and aggressive environment.

My picks are in BOLD, and the lines come to us courtesy of our friends at Vegas Insider. I use the “VI Consensus” line, which is the line that occurs most frequently across Vegas Insider’s list of sportsbooks. Your sportsbook of choice may offer a different number, and if you’d like my opinion on said number A) you are insane, and B) leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer at some point before things kickoff today. 

EARLY GAMES

Philadelphia Eagles at Pittsburgh Steelers (-7)

I saw a Smart Football Knower on Twitter saying that the Steelers defensive line leads the NFL in “pass rush win rate,” and that Carson Wentz has been the worst QB in the league when under pressure. That seems less than ideal for Philly, and it’s good enough for me to lay the points here.

Carolina Panthers at Atlanta Falcons (-2)

The Packers’ ruthless stomping of the Falcons this past Monday probably choked out any hope and crushed whatever will Atlanta had, and they’re doomed to spend the rest of the season listlessly playing out the string and losing to less-talented squads like Carolina....IS JUST WHAT ATLANTA WANTS YOU TO THINK! I’m not falling for it and neither should you.

Las Vegas Raiders at Kansas City Chiefs (-11.5)

Kill them, Patrick. Make them regret they were ever born. It’s crazy that as good as the Chiefs have been, it still feels like they haven’t played at their full planet-destroying potential for a whole game yet. Doing so this week against the hated Raiders would make me a happy man, all because the Raiders have had the audacity to ruin my picks more than any other team over the last couple of seasons. Well, it sure SEEMS like they have, anyway. I suppose I could actually go back and check to see if the numbers bear this out, but that seems like far more work than I’m willing to put in. It’s way easier just to hate them in blissful ignorance.

Jacksonville Jaguars at Houston Texans (-5.5)

I’m happy for Texans fans finally being rid of Bill O’Brien, but this team still has issues and I’m gonna need to see drastically improved performance on the field before I raise them above “Trash” in my personal power rankings. Also:

Arizona Cardinals (-7) at New York Jets

The Jets had their own coronavirus scare yesterday when one of their players popped a positive test result. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, it turned out to be a false positive, so game on. Allow me to be the 1,000th person to make the joke that Adam Gase purposely tried to infect his team in order to get this game postponed, so that he may live to coach another week.

Los Angeles Rams (-7) at Washington Football Team

It’s COMPLETELY insane that Alex Smith is the #2 QB for Washington in this game. He has drop foot! His leg is made of paper mache!  Alex Smith entering the game to the deafening silence of a fanless stadium and immediately having his leg destroyed again would be the most Washington Football Team thing imaginable. 

Cincinnati Bengals at Baltimore Ravens (-12.5)

Cincinnati’s 8-time Pro Bowl defensive tackle Geno Atkins will be making his season debut in this one, and that should be enough for the Bengals defense to contain Ravens QB Lamar Jackson. Hahahaha, just kidding. This pick is based purely on my potentially misguided faith in super cool new kid Joe Burrow and his ability to put up enough points in garbage time to hit an infuriating backdoor cover. 

LATE GAMES

Miami Dolphins at San Francisco 49ers (-8)

San Francisco is 2-2, they’ve had an absurdly easy schedule so far, and they’ve also been decimated by injuries. Tough to get a read on these fellas. I’m inclined to believe they’ll round into form and make a nice playoff run, but it might take a bit for them to get into rhythm as they reintegrate their returning players. I think the Dolphins are plenty frisky enough to make this a legit scrap.

Indianapolis Colts (PK) at Cleveland Browns

Is it just me or is Indy Phillip Rivers infinitely less charming than San Diego Phillip? I don’t even know why I feel this way, he’s the same loudmouthed redass as before, but the Colt version just seems so bland. Maybe it’s the missing lightning bolts on the helmet/uniform. Those really do add pizazz to everything. Like everyone else, I very much enjoyed the Browns deploying multiple gadget plays in their thrashing of Dallas, but I’m not sure it’s a good sign that they felt the need to bust out so many of them against a truly ghastly Cowboy defense. Baker Mayfield still wasn’t all that great in that game (19-30, 165 yds and 2 TDs), so it’s tough for me to say the Cleveland offense has actually turned any sort of corner, especially with the loss of Nick Chubb.

New York Giants at Dallas Cowboys (-8.5)

I assumed this game was gonna be on FOX and I was excited at the prospect of Uber-Crotchety Troy Aikman making an appearance as he finally loses it completely and shits all over a poor Cowboys performance and the NFC East as a whole, but it turns out this is getting the CBS Romo/Nantz treatment. So, now I think we’re gonna get a hefty dose of Gigglin’ Tony as Dak throws for another 450 in a blowout win. Is this sound reasoning for making picks? Absolutely not.

SNF: Minnesota Vikings at Seattle Seahawks (-7)

Once again, the Seahawks find themselves in the game with the highest over/under for the week (56). Giddy up! Vikings QB Kurt Cousins finally showed faint signs of life last week in a win over Houston, and a meeting with Seattle’s worst-in-the-league secondary should fully unleash the dragon. Among a fantastic-looking rookie class of WRs, Minnesota’s Justin Jefferson is quietly emerging as the best of the bunch. GEAUX TIGUHS!

MNF (Early): Denver Broncos at New England Patriots (-8)

As of now, the Broncos and Pats are scheduled to kick off at 5:00 PM on Monday night, but this could obviously be derailed by another positive COVID-19 test result from New England (or Denver, I guess). There’s also a question as to whether or not Cam Newton will be allowed to start at QB for the Patriots. Since Cam’s infection has been asymptomatic, he’s allowed to resume playing either A) ten days after his initial positive test or B) five days after his initial test, but with two consecutive negative tests 24-hours apart. Cam tested positive on Oct. 2, and the game is set for Oct. 12. 

This game is off the board at sportsbooks right now, but Vegas Insider pulled that Pats -8 from somewhere, so fuck it I’ll take a crack at it. I’m picking the Broncos to cover based on my assumption that Cam will NOT play, because believe it or not emotionless cyborg Bill Belichick has been one of the more progressive coaches at any level of football in terms of taking COVID-19 seriously. Low bar to clear, but still. 

UPDATE: This game has now been postponed as another Patriot has tested positive for COVID-19.

MNF (Late): Los Angeles Chargers at New Orleans Saints (-8)

The Saints appear to be getting healthier, with WR Michael Thomas, TE Jared Cook, CB Marshon Lattimore, offensive linemen Andrus Peat and Ryan Ramczyk, defensive linemen Marcus Davenport and Trey Hendrickson, and safety Malcolm Jenkins all returning to practice, albeit in limited fashion. But, the Justin Herbert-led Chargers have lost their three games by a combined 15 points, and they’ve looked extremely feisty each week, including decent stretches where they were in control against both the mighty Chiefs and championship-contender Buccaneers. Eight points is too many, in my opinion. Have I mentioned that I love Justin Herbert? What a dreamboat.

Tuesday: Buffalo Bills (-6.5) at Tennessee Titans

Much like the Patriots/Broncos game, this game isn’t being offered at sportsbooks as of right now. But, in my relentless commitment to consequence-free handicapping with no discernible benefit to me personally, I’m gonna pick it using the Vegas Insider line provided. 

It’s a real shame the coronavirus has turned this game into such a redheaded stepchild, because it’s a seriously tasty matchup. The Bills are on track to welcome excellent CB Tre’Davious White back, which is great news for a defense that’s been much shittier than expected so far. Tennessee’s best WR A.J. Brown is still listed as Questionable with a knee injury after missing the Titans’ last game (Week 3), and on top of that WRs Corey Davis and Adam Humphries are question marks due to testing positive for COVID-19. Not great! But, the Titans do still have Derrick Henry and a great offensive line, and as I mentioned before the Bills D has been butt so far this season. I think the Titans will still be able to move the ball effectively and eat up clock even with their potentially depleted pass-catching corps. Dare I say we’re in for some SMASH-MOUTH FOOTBALL?! Somewhere, John Madden just used a marker to telestrate a Halfback Dive on the nearest wall. BOOM!

Now for some stupid jokes! Hey, how ‘bout this Titans team holding outlaw practices and keeping their in-house plague going? More like TENNESSEE TYPHOIDS, amiright? If this game is canceled due to another positive test by Tennessee, you can always get your football fix by watching the classic film Remdesivir the Titans!

*thanks to Gov. Mike Huckabeav for helping me with that last paragraph

UPDATE: Another member of the Titans organization has tested positive, and their facilities have been closed down once again. This game seems perilously close to being postponed/canceled. Son of a bitch.

Last Week’s Record: 4-7-2

Season Record: 30-25-4

[skia-oura]

Orange Lilies, 4/?

A/N: seVEN MONTHS LATER WE’RE still gearing up. It’s okay. I’m thinking maybe a chapter or two until big thing one happens. But who knows!! Things can change.  This chapter, we meet an Acacia reincarnation!!

 Prologue // Previous // Next

Ao3 ff.net

Chapter Three: Tommy Hangar is a Boss

           Dipper, when he takes Lata to Australia, fully intends on keeping them close to hand. Safe activities only! No petting dangerous animals. No jumping from rock outcropping to rock outcropping. No toddling close to that creek over there with the increasingly loud bunyip. Dipper looked up from the oddly-energized rock he was holding as Lata approached the child-eating creature.

           “Lata!” He yelled, standing and brushing his human hands off on his knees. “Lata, no, no, come back, that’s not safe!”

           Lata turned around, put their hands on their hips. “Why? He doesn’t look so bad!”

           Dipper observed at the monstrous, oddly-jointed creature. It looked like it was made of cobbled-together animal parts. He could smell it, just a little, and the moistness of the scent had him thinking of the Everglades in summer. Its single, bulging eye was fixed hungrily on Lata, or rather on Henry’s antlers.

If it weren’t for that last, unsettling bit (the bunyip had no right), he might be inclined to agree with his charge. He stepped forward and held a hand out to Lata. “No. Come.”

           “We haven’t even seen any kangaroos,” Lata whined. They stomped their foot. The bunyip inched forward on its odd forearms, half-out of the creek. It bellowed. “You promised me kangaroos!”

           Dipper glared at the bunyip. It didn’t pay him any attention. He bristled; yes, Henry’s antlers were fascinating, but they were his and were from him and also he held far more power than a pair of measly antlers, so the slight was unforgiveable. “Yes, I did, and yes, we’ll find them. Lata, step away from the nightmarish child-eating monster.”

           The bunyip bellowed again, louder and longer, and Lata looked back at it. They paused, brought up one hand to rub at the base of one of their antlers. Good, Dipper thought. Somebody here was finally rightfully worried about the situation. He supposed it couldn’t be helped; the bunyip seemed too stupid to figure out that there was a bigger fish on this dry land.

           But Lata didn’t move. The bunyip wriggled a foot closer. Dipper readied himself to bare his teeth in a nasty snarl.

           “Fuckin’ hell! You cunt, what’re you pissfarting around here with that ankle biter?”

           Dipper turned around. He blinked at the newcomer, and then grinned, the issue of the bunyip momentarily set aside at the wonder in front of him. “Hello!”

           The woman in front of him, in typical park-ranger tans, stared at him like he’d grown three more heads and was still only in possession of about five collective brain cells. Her hair was dark, pulled back into a short ponytail, and there was a bit of stubble on her chin. Dipper was glad it wasn’t red, or curly, but he also wished Acacia’s reincarnation looked just a little more like her.

           Acacia’s reincarnation looked over his shoulder, cursed, and pushed him out of the way. Dipper stepped back, dry grass splintering under his shoes, and watched her unholster a long-distance stunning baton.

           “Kiddiwink,” she said, holding a hand out to Lata, “come stand behind me, sweetheart.”

           Lata looked back at the bunyip, which had crept closer in the time Dipper was lost staring at his old niece. His new nibling—old brother, or whatever, keeping things straight was so hard—made a noise in the back of their throat, and finally tried to shuffle away from the bunyip. The monster’s eyelid drew back even more, its pupil dilated, and then it was rushing forward faster than anything with four joints in its back legs and none in its front should be allowed to.

           Lata’s shrill shriek rose above the bunyip’s warbling roar. Dipper felt a quick flash of fear, and then a stronger thrum of anger for being afraid of such an insignificant creature. But even as he made to drop his human guise he remembered Acacia, before him, and how demons with children were never good combinations to human beings. He hesitated.

           In that moment of hesitation, Acacia whipped the stun baton forward. Runes flared up along its side in solid oranges, and then Dipper felt the energy flung at the charging bunyip. It collided with the creature, invisible except for the clear effects it had on the monster. The bunyip screeched, like stone on stone, and scrambled back towards the safety of the water. It didn’t retreat further though, its eye glaring at them from above the surface.

           Lata clutched at Acacia’s pants, shaking, in tears.

           “Piss off, fuckstain,” Acacia pulled a charmed stone out of her pocket and threw it at the bunyip. The moment the stone plinked into the water, the bunyip let out a hiss like radio static and disappeared under the surface. Dipper watched it swim away. Pride and dissatisfaction warred in him before they were summarily cast aside in favor of bemusement when Acacia stuck one finger right between his eyes.

           “You!” she barked. “What the pissfuck were you thinking, you rabid-dog footracer?”

            “I…” Dipper stared cross-eyed at the finger in front of him. The image didn’t double, and neither did the aura, bright orange with fury. Instead, he could see the individual ridges in the skin, the regressing cuticle and a small nick  at the edge of Acacia’s fingernail. “They wanted to see the kangaroos. So. I brought them. To see the kangaroos. Where are they, anyways? Don’t you have kangaroos here?”

           “You dimwit, have you been living belly-down, head-to-arse in a cave?” Acacia jabbed the finger between his eyes. Dipper had to try very, very hard to not cross his eyes further, because he had been informed that it was Very Creepy and Not Human and he would like Lata to remain in his custody until they saw some kangaroos and blipped out, thank you very much.

           “No,” Lata said. Then, after a pause, they asked, “What’s an arse? Is it an animal? A really small one?”

           “No,” Dipper said. “It means your butt.”

           “Oooh.” Lata shifted their weight and looked up at Acacia. They reached out and held their hand over Acacia’s butt. “Arse.”

           Acacia picked Lata up. Maybe it was to dissuade any more butt-talk. “Now that that’s out of the way, what the fuck are you doing here with a minor and without an arse-minder?”

           “Again, we wanted to see kangaroos?” Dipper eyed Acacia’s grip on Lata and wondered how easy it would be to get his nibling-brother-friend back from his other nibling. “They were supposed to be here?”

           “No they fucken’re not,” Acacia said. She shifted Lata in her arms. “Because there’s been a cupgriffin-coupling load of nasties popping up here! They took out a quarter of our herd sizes before we got all the nonviolents out. It’s not like it’s news fresh in the fuckin pot!”

           “We don’t live here.”

Acacia lifted one eyebrow. “And what about TV?”

Dipper had not been paying attention to the news. When did he need to? If anybody thought it’d be important, they’d tell him. And maybe he would listen. Possibly even remember. “I don’t get TV,” he said.

           “We do!” Lata said. Dipper squinted his eyes at them in a signal to shut up, but they didn’t. “I watch Magical Mumblemuffin every Friday, and Plastisaurus’s Featherfriends on Tuesdays. And then there’s Sailor Sun: Daylight Knight-maidens on Saturdays, and sometimes Daddy lets me watch his police show with him. My favorite’s the Wardress. She kicks butt.” Lata paused, and tilted her head. “She kicks arse?”

           Acacia opened her mouth to ask a question, but a rustle in the tall grass several feet away stopped her. She moved her suspicious gaze from Dipper to the grass, and Dipper took the moment to widen his eyes meaningfully at Lata, seeing as squinting hadn’t worked. Lata looked back at him, completely unaware of the brainwaves he was trying to send them. Dipper wished that Lata had telepathic abilities, like that reincarnation a few lives before he had to eat his brother’s soul. He didn’t remember much of then, coming off the razor edge of ferality, but he did remember many mental conversations. Maybe tinged with panic. Or something. Probably. He hadn’t been in a super great place, then. At least Bentley hadn’t been—well, if Dipper was honest with himself (which he didn’t really want to be), that Henry’s situation had only been marginally better than Bentley’s, not worse. The Mizar Misunderstanding kind of tipped the scales there. Fucking Twin Souls.

           “Let’s have this convo in a better fuckin pit than this infested portapotty dump.” Acacia shifted Lata to her back. “I don’t usually flap like a thimble-warbler fairy when the sun gets shaded, but I’m real fucken interested in why a dude who can’t be trusted to wipe his own ass got this anklebiter and don’t even live in the same house.”

           Dipper almost groaned out loud. The only thing stopping him was the thought of having to explain to Lata’s parents why they had gone to Australia. Or why somebody had reported Alcor the Dreambender snatching a kid out of their arms and vanishing. “I’m their uncle,” he said.

           “Really,” Acacia drawled. Lurid shades of blue and Nk’leka swirled through her aura. Dipper wanted to label them amusement, but he really wasn’t sure.

As they cut through a slightly overgrown patch of vegetation, Acacia absentmindedly kicked a particularly nasty looking two-headed mole-like creature out of the way. It tumbled into the underbrush, spraying acid potent enough to melt through wood and leaf. Dipper hummed in interest, but didn’t root out the others he could feel just meters away to see if they all did the funny acid thing.

           “Yeah!” Lata said, their chubby arms locked neatly around Acacia’s neck. Acacia, like a boss, didn’t blink an eye at nearly getting her windpipes crushed. Dipper rubbed at his throat subconsciously as Acacia stepped around him. “He’s my uncle! He’s fun. Can you really touch your arse with your head, Uncle Dipper?”

           Yes. “No,” he said, because he was a Good and Responsible Human Being with a Spine that wasn’t made of rubber. “Humans can’t do that.”

           “Contortionists can,” Acacia said, and fuck Dipper had forgotten about them, goddammit he was blowing his human cover, he just knew it. Dipper eyed Acacia’s back and wondered how fast he’d need to be to get the jump on her. Anything that could withstand toddler windpipe grip was a foe to be wary of. Not that he wanted Acacia to be his foe.

           “Oh, right,” he said, with an awkward laugh. “But. I can’t do that.” Definitely could. “Most humans can’t?”

            “You’d be surprised,” Acacia muttered. They stepped down from the short hillside to the path carved into the side of it. Dipper followed, careful to make sure his footsteps were just heavy enough to leave prints in the dusty earth.

           “I want to be a contortionist,” Lata said. “I want to touch my arse with my head.”

           Acacia patted Lata’s shin. Dipper hurried up to walk side by side with them both. “Sweetheart, you go for it. I hope that’s the only way you pull that star down to you.”

           “What’s your name, anyways?” Dipper asked, because Bentley was no more like Mabel than Lata was like Henry. And, well, maybe changing the subject would be better. He tilted his head towards Acacia.

           “Tommy Hangar,” She said without missing a beat. “Yours?”

           “Tyrone Pines,” Dipper said.

           Acacia—Tommy—narrowed her eyes at him, and didn’t flinch when Lata started tugging on her ear. Her aura, which had been lightening to pale pinks and lime-fruit green even with the amusement???blues, started to deepen into bright orange again. “I thought your name was Uncle Dipper.”

           “Well, yes,” he drawled. “Haven’t you heard of ni—I mean, it’s my nickname. I’m—an astrologist,” he said, only knowing about astrology in that dim, suppressed way he knew everything.

           “Stars, huh,” Tommy said. Her aura cleared up and began dancing with those amusement colors. Dipper knew they were amusement because he caught just a hint of a grin on her face. “I guess it explains why a fuckwit like you don’t know anything about shit going on down here. Your head is in the clouds, like Filara’s.”

           “Above,” Dipper said, unable to stop himself. “Stars are above the clouds, not in them.”

           Tommy snorted and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. She went down the short set of rough stairs at the same time. Dipper could swear that was a no-go in the Parenting Book. A parenting book. Something.

“Stars in clouds would look so cool!” Lata said, pausing in their attempt to elongate Tommy’s earlobes. “Why aren’t there stars in clouds? And who’s Filara?”

           Dipper was distracted by trying to go down the set of steps in a manner that was Very Human, and didn’t answer right away. Instead, Tommy beat him to it.

           “Because stars are very far away, and if they weren’t, they would be too hot and too big to be in the clouds. Filara’s my wife. And she would agree with you, even if she knows the science is impossible.”

“What about you?” Lata asked.

“Me?” Tommy laughed. A light breeze caught Lata’s hair and blew it into Tommy’s face. “Cute idea, but I’m glad they’re so fuckin far away. One sun is hot efuckingnough.”

           Dipper was only barely able to stop himself from tripping, caught up in the feeling of heat against his front, his side, slowly baking alive and unable to move from the hospital bed because his spine was broken and they hadn’t fixed it yet, had to work around the other breaks over the years from wrangling with nasty supernaturals. He was sixty-three, except. Except. Except he wasn’t him, he was her, she was Tommy and she ached and ached because Filara was expecting her home, they were supposed to go out and—

           “Dipshit, you okay back there?”

           He nearly flinched. Suddenly, he just wanted to be gone. He didn’t want to reconnect with somebody who didn’t know him, who would hate him, who he knew would go up in literal flames. He knew, he knew, he knew.

           Dipper opened his eyes, and met Lata’s gaze. Lips pressed, like their mother’s. Eyes wide, unsure. In the breeze, the leaves on their tiny, underdeveloped antlers bobbed. Up, down, up, down. Dipper remembered so many leaves on so many antlers. He could only place a few to their respective Henry’s faces.

           Dipper closed his eyes. Took a breath, let it out and pushed fire and pain as far down as he could. “I’m fine. Just a muscle spasm.”

           He smiled, not too wide and not too sharp, and did not meet Acacia’s eyes the rest of the way to the Kangaroos. As soon as he had politely refused her offer for homemade lunch and information for ‘dipsitting numbskulls with kids like you,’ and as soon as Lata had their eyeful of Kangaroos, he blipped them fifteen hours back. Then he waited until Lata’s parents got home, and vanished.

           Dipper didn’t think he was going back to Australia any time soon.

           Dipper didn’t think he was going back anywhere any time soon.

_

           Bentley thumbed the clock display on his desk and watched it pop up. He was not young enough to fold his arms on his desk and put his head down, but he really, really wanted to. Three more mind-numbing hours of reviewing theory and re-structuring the plan the Thinktank department wanted him to implement was not exactly how Bentley wanted to spend his time.

           “Is…is it right now?”

           He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the poor intern the idiots up at Thinktank had playing courier. Ever since Mahnji left the department, Thinktank had been sending him worse and worse schematics, as evidenced by the fact this was the sixth time the intern had visited him that week. It was Tuesday.

           “No,” he said. He told himself not to take it out on the intern. Poor Sally didn’t deserve his ire; zhe had been perfectly polite and apologetic the entire time. “No, it isn’t, but I couldn’t tell you exactly where or why without looking it up myself.”

           “I’m so sorry,” zhe said, fidgeting with the bottom of zhir jacket with six-fingered hands. “I can take it back?”

           “No, it’s all right,” Bentley said. He ignored the fact that there were two half-finished in-depth projects currently waiting on his work pad. “I’ll fix it up and send it back. When do you get off work?”

           “Um,” Sally said. “I’m supposed to get off at six.”

           “Then if you could come around five, I should have it done by then,” he said. He hated the words even as they left his mouth, but figured that staying an extra hour wouldn’t hurt with how busy Torako had been lately, with how absent Dipper had been. “I’m out the door after that, though, so their input can wait until tomorrow.” Tomorrow, after he’d spent the night drawing up rough schematics that actually worked, instead of the scattered-fishbone scratchmarks they dared call a working proof.

           “Okay,” Sally said. Zhe rubbed zhir long thumbs over zhir knuckles. “I’ll…go now?”

           “Of course,” Bentley said. “Thank you for bringing these to me, and for your patience.”

           Sally let out a weak laugh and waved. Zhir four feet made hardly a sound on the floor as zhe left. Bentley waited until the door had shut before he slowly got to his feet and touched the tips of his fingers to the window. With a slow, downwards swipe, the window opacity lowered until he could just see the city outside.

           Having his own office was nice. It meant that when he really needed to, he could curl up under the desk and breathe a little. Being good at his job—being one of the best thinkers in the industry, actually—had won him his own space, but it also meant that the stress and responsibility was much higher. Bentley wasn’t even thirty yet, but he kept finding white hairs growing in at the sides of his head. Bentley reached up a hand and touched his own hair, watched what he could see of his reflection in the window.

           His father’s face stared back at him.

There were subtle differences, of course—Bentley had a rounder face, his nose was wider, his eyes bigger and his ears had detached lobes—but Bentley really knew it was him because of the hair: two-toned, shaggy and starting to grow over his eyes. It wasn’t short, not like Philip’s. Bentley didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

Bentley closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the glass. Sigil formulas danced behind his eyelids, shifting and changing shape. What Thinktank wanted was something that could work in tandem with concealment wards. Easier said than done; sigils didn’t really like playing with other magics. Sigilists had to beat around the bush in order to bend the sigils to a purpose like working with wards. When Ben remembered the schematics Thinktank had sent him, he had to admit—if only to himself—that they had made a good attempt at it. It was fairly creative, actually. But all the same, Bentley knew deep in his gut that their current schematics were likelier to tear vicious, angry holes in the wards than support foreign magic.

Knowing it would fail was one thing. Figuring out the fix was another entirely.

His phone chimed on the desk. It wasn’t Torako’s muted guitar riff unfortunately, but it also wasn’t his coworker dove-croon tone, which made it twice as safe a distraction to look at. Bentley opened his eyes and went to check the handheld.

Meung-soo’s name stared up at him. Bentley smiled a little to himself as he swiped to access the message.

Bentley, it said. He sat down, sigil schematics out of mind for the moment. As you know, I enjoyed lunch with you this past Saturday, and I was hoping you might be available for dinner tonight. Perhaps with your partners, if they have the time? I was told there was an excellent Italian place near my hotel. Maybe around 6?

Bentley hummed, and turned his chair in a circle. He wanted to, but wasn’t about to leave Torako high and dry for dinner unless she was alright without company that night. There wasn’t much by the way of leftovers in the fridge, after all, and it had gotten a bit lonely without Dipper in the apartment—he wasn’t about to subject Torako to that, not after he’d volunteered to make dinner.

So, instead of replying to his Aunt—he was at work, he could say he didn’t see the message immediately—he tapped the right corner of the phone twice to call Torako. She picked up on the second-to-last ring.

“Ben? What’s wrong?”

“Hey Tora, Meung-soo texted with an offer to go to dinner around 6, if you’re free then?”

Torako let out a deep breath. The static dissolved in the space between the speaker and his ear so that all he heard was its fuzzy echoes, softened and quiet. “Stars, Ben, I’d love that, but I don’t think I’ll get out of here any time soon.”

Ben frowned. He pushed the pads to the side of his desk and leaned on the clearest surface. “Tora? You sound really tired.”

“Haha,” she said. Her tone became lighter, and if Ben hadn’t known her for almost half his life, he wouldn’t have become suspicious. “Yeah, it’s pretty tense around here. Really busy. I’ll be okay though! You should go and spend time with your aunt.”

“Tora, it’s okay, I can spend time with her later. What do you want for dinner? I’ll go out and pick stuff up if I need to.”

“Ben.” There was a thump on Tora’s end. “Ben. Darling. Friendo. Buddy. What did we talk about last week?”

Bentley honestly couldn’t remember. “I don’t know?”

“Family. You reconnecting with them. And you were so happy after your lunch with her, so I don’t see why you should skip out on dinner. She’s only here for what, a few more days?”

“End of the week,” Bentley said. “She leaves Saturday.”

“Exactly,” Torako said. “A few more days. Go have dinner! If you’re really worried, you can bring me back a serving of whatever you have. Where are you going, anyways?”

“Italian, near her hotel,” Bentley said. “I think it’s a place on West side?”

“Oooh, that place! Yeah, bring me back whatever, whenever. If you’re not back by the time I am—which, hah, unlikely—I’ll just stuff my face with vegetables or something. Maybe some crackers.” There was a suspicious pause. “Or something.”

“…you have Moffios in the house, don’t you.”

“Something!” Torako said. “Not Moffios!”

Bentley sighed. “Well, I suppose that if you went out and got them, like the adult you are, I can’t stop you from eating them. Even if I want to. You sure you don’t want me to come back and cook?”

“No! And well, maybe Moffios will be involved,” Torako said. Bentley knew it. If he were younger and had less control over his pettier characteristics, he would absolutely find and destroy them. With prejudice. “But, point is: I will feed myself if you come home later. If you come home earlier, you will bring me food. Okay?”

“You’re sure?” Bentley traced a note between the forcefields of his desk. “Positive?”

“Yes, Ben. Go. Talk with your aunt. Eat good food. Bring me good food. I will eat it eventually, if not tonight. Besides, won’t you be lonely waiting around for me? Dip’s not been back in a couple days.”

“I mean. I guess I would be.” Bentley made a mental note to summon Dip back if he was gone beyond Friday. He could be in trouble, or sad, or something; even powerful forces of the supernatural like Dipper weren’t without their weaknesses. “But like. Moffios. Do I really want to leave you with just those in the house to eat.”

“Only maybe Moffios!” Torako said. “Not definitely Moffios! And even if, hypothetically, there were Moffios, I am an Adult and will eat Something Healthy with my Delicious Breakfast Cereals.”

“You can’t call Moffios cereal,” Bentley said. “They tarnish the good name of cereal if you do.”

“You tarnish the good name of cereal,” Torako muttered. Then, louder, she said, “Okay, so you go out to dinner, I’ll suffer here at my intern job which is going to pay me overtime if it’s the last thing I accomplish, and we’ll meet up tonight even if it’s me crawling into bed and shoving my elbow in your face.”

Bentley was intimately familiar with Torako’s elbows. It’s part of why he liked being little spoon. “Okay, if you’re alright with that, then I’m good. Good luck at work.”

“You too. And have fun with your Aunt! I’m really happy you’re getting to know her, and that she’s not awful.”

Bentley laughed. “What, that’s as high as you’ll go for her? She’s not nice? Good? Decent?”

“I haven’t even met her!” Torako whined. “It’s called reserving judgment. Now, I really have to go, so—”

“Alright, love you lots. Don’t stick around too long.”

“Love you too, dork. Later!” Torako hung up. Bentley closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and tried to hold onto the echoes of her voice for as long as he could.

But, eventually, he couldn’t ignore the text or his work any longer. So he sent a reply to his Aunt—Unfortunately neither of my partners can come, but I can meet you at six, if that’s alright with you!—and pulled the most recent datapad toward him. He imported the document into his note-taking software, and began to tear Thinktank’s proposition apart.

_

           “—and really, when you put sigils with other forms of magic,” Bentley found himself saying over dinner, “you avoid nature sigils as much as possible. Especially elemental ones, like fire, or water. That’s a pretty basic and steadfast rule! There are a few exceptions, but Thinktank should know better than to try to anchor their protection formulas with ‘earth,’ because all that’s going to happen is chaos and a lawsuit. Or our building going down when my team tests the sigils.”

           Meung-soo chuckled, and propped her chin on her palm. A single silver hoop slid down from her wrist with the motion until it rest halfway down the soft swell of her forearm. It had some kind of ward embossed into the metal, but Bentley hadn’t yet asked what its purpose was. Maybe it was to subtly alter the appearance of her arms and disguise liver spots. Perhaps it was to detect foods she was allergic to and warn her in advance. Maybe she had a poor constitution and the bracelet supported her compromised immune system. He hadn’t noticed wards on the bracelets she wore last time, but he wasn’t paying attention either. Wards weren’t really his thing, though he was learning.

           There was so much he didn’t know about his aunt. There was so much, he was realizing, that he was excited to learn about her.

           “Earth seems pretty stable to me, though,” she said. “Shielding wards often invoke earth-related words. Why can’t sigils?”

“Because natural sigils are too raw,” Bentley said. “They’re not refined enough. That kind of power, paired with sigils’ tendency to attack other magics they’re put with, is a bad combination. Sigils are like—um, this isn’t perfect, but they’re like white cells.”

Meung-soo’s eyebrows rose. “So other magics are sicknesses? Viruses?”

“Agh, no,” Bentley said. He pushed his plate of half-eaten lasagna out of the way. “Maybe it would be better to say that sigils see themselves as white cells, in that everything else is there to get in their way or get on top.”

“Are sigils sentient?”

Bentley opened his mouth to answer no, then closed it and leaned back in his chair. He looked up at their slowly spinning table-light, warm-toned but somewhat dim. “I mean, there’s not been a lot of research. And people don’t go into sigils as much because they’re hard, and frustrating to work with in an age where combining magics is preferable to sticking to one, and they’re inconvenient because of needing sentient energy. But because of the SE, maybe some of the intent lingers in the sigils? Maybe they become a little sentient? I don’t know, it’s not really my area.”

Meung-soo nodded and took a bite of her shrimp fettuccini. Bentley saw her tapping her fork and waits for her to finish.

“So sigils might have some level of sentience, but nobody knows. And they don’t play will with other magics. So how does your phone work?”

Bentley blinked. “My phone?”

“You said it was warded,” Meung-soo said. “But I saw sigils on the outside rim, so that must mean they’re working together?”

“Ah, no, sorry,” Bentley said. “I meant warded as in protected. It’s all sigilwork. More complicated than the stuff I had at school, but it’s been a decade and this is for heavier duty work.” Bentley shifted the phone just a bit further away from his plate. Sigil-warded it may be, but it was not impervious to food or water.

“Oh, I see,” Meung-soo said. She smiled. “There’s some overlap with other magics, then, even if sigils hates them?”

Bentley frowned, trying to figure out where she’d come to that conclusion. “I mean, there’s overlap between all magics, but why do you say that?”

“The use of warded, even if just as a word,” Meung-soo said, holding up a hand and beginning to pull down fingers in count. “Then you said that the sigil for fire is the same as the alchemical symbol, which is a different branch of magic. And some of the sigils I was able to see on your phone looked a lot like words, like wards use.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s really observant of you,” Bentley said. He relaxed into a bit of a slouch and smiled back. “You’re really smart. Dad said my mom was really smart too; is it just a family thing?”

Meung-soo’s smile dimmed a little, turned a tiny bit bitter and soft with sorrow. There was a burst of laughter from the group two tables down, harsh in the sudden silence between Bentley and his aunt. A server passed behind Meung-soo, their elbow clipping the back of her chair, but she didn’t move even when the server apologized quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Bentley hurried to say. “You don’t have to answer that. We can change the subject.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure that…that you’d like to know more about Soo-jan. Susan.” Meung-soo pushed some of her noodles around. “Yes, she was smart. So smart. More smart with her body, smart in doing, than she was book-smart, but she was a bit of that, too.”

           Bentley remained silent. He watched Meung-soo’s eyes, which suddenly looked so tired, watched the way her left hand trembled. He wanted to tell her it was okay not to continue, but it wouldn’t come out. The air around them was suddenly so heavy.

           “I was the book-smart one, but she was the one who practiced until she remembered like it was second nature. When I was ten, she could outclimb me and beat me in karuta matches because she remembered the best spots to put her weight, and she remembered the words to the poems better than I did. When we were older, she always took the lead on vacations and dragged me along to see new things. You’re not her, but…you remind me of her, sometimes. You remind me of Philip, too, but Soo-jan was far more adventurous.”

           If there wasn’t that quiet tension in the air, Bentley would have laughed self-depreciatingly. “Adventurous?”

           Meung-soo finally looked him in the eye. Her mouth quirked up in a smile. “You went to school and then to work in another country with only one other friend. You decided to enter a field that wasn’t very viable at the time, and are at the top of your field. Didn’t your work send you abroad several times already? It said so on the website.”

           “Uh,” Bentley said, because that really wasn’t so special. Honestly. And then he registered what she heard, and asked, “Website? You looked me up?”

           Meung-soo flushed. “I. Um. I was. Yes.”

           “You…stalked me online?” Bentley had a hard time wrapping his head around this. He was barely present on social media. He had forgotten that the company had a website. He hadn’t even known they featured articles about their employees, though the fact rubbed him as somewhat familiar.

           She went darker and started to fiddle with the napkin. “I. Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I just wanted to know—”

           “No, no, it’s fine!” Bentley said, holding up his hands. “You’re fine, I just wasn’t expecting it. I’m not really online much?”

           Meung-soo laughed, a little awkwardly. “I suppose that’s true, yes. I’m not really either. Again, Soo-jan was more adventurous. Outgoing.”

           Bentley had never been outgoing in his life. Well, maybe when he was a very young child, but aside from that, outgoing had been firmly in Torako’s playing field. He wondered if Meung-soo seeing her sister in him was just wishful thinking.

           His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Meung-soo softened from stiff embarrassment. “I’m not trying to say you are Soo-jan. Or your father—I remember him being rather vivacious. You’re just familiar, sometimes. It’s okay to be your own person, though.”

           “Okay.” Bentley dropped his hands into his lap, then set them up above the table surface as manners demanded. “I. Um. I don’t think much can top Mom’s job, anyways.”

           Meung-soo laughs, all signs of embarrassment gone. “Oh, Soo-jan’s job. Our parents were so mad at her! Ma wanted her to go into something safer, Mama wanted her to marry and stay at home, and Anjan said that anything was fine except for that. Even being a self-employed cult-hunter was better than going to Dip in California, of all places!”

           Bentley supposed he understood the aversion. Out west, the storms were unpredictable—both natural and magical. The oceans were still dangerous, even two millennia after Alcor tore the coast into pieces, cutting a new plate into the Earth’s crust. It was just starting to breach the surface of the ocean in volcanic islands. Magically, supernaturally-charged islands, that nobody even wanted to touch yet.

           “She did do a lot of exploring in what time she had, though,” Bentley said. “And Dad said she stopped when she found out she was pregnant with me.”

           “At four months,” Meung-soo said. “She barely showed, even after that. That made our parents mad at her too.”

           Bentley knew his maternal grandparents hadn’t liked him while they were alive, but this made it seem like they didn’t like his mother either. He frowned, and took the last bite of his pasta to stop himself from asking if they ended up hating his mother.

           “But I remember her sending pictures of you when you were born,” Meung-soo said. She had an absent smile on her face, and was looking out the window beside them. It was showing the Italian Alps, in real time. “I can’t have children, and never wanted to, but in that moment I almost wished I could.” She looked at him, and that smile was back on her face, both soft with memory and sharp with bitterness. There was another burst of laughter from the table two groups down. “You were absolutely precious.”

           Bentley had finished chewing his food. It was all gone, even the complimentary bread in the basket between himself and his aunt, so he didn’t have anything to occupy his mouth when he said, “Why didn’t you ever visit, or send messages?”

           Meung-soo blinked. The bittersweet expression washed off her face, like dirt on the streets and houses after a magical torrent of rain. “What?”

           “Nevermind,” Bentley said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask that.”

           Meung-soo stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. She frowned, and looked away. “No, it’s. I. I didn’t. I’m sorry, it’s complicated.”

           Bentley watched her, and waited for the rest of the answer. She took a long, long time to give it, and in that time Bentley found himself wishing that the laughing table would shut up.

           “After your mother died,” Meung-soo said, “your father and I got in a big fight. We…didn’t see eye to eye on where Soo-jan’s memorial should be. Didn’t see eye-to-eye on where you should be raised. Didn’t see eye-to-eye on his job. And they were stupid, petty fights all wrapped up into one, and I was wrong about many things, but it stopped us from reconciling. We said awful things to one another.”

           Bentley opened his mouth and asked another awful question. “Did you want him to die?”

           Meung-soo looked up at him, eyes wide and startled. “No!” She said. “No, I never did. I was shocked when I heard he died. Why would you think…”

           Bentley shrugged. “My father wasn’t well known, or highly-regarded. I had one person come to the funeral that hated him, and wouldn’t even pretend at being sorry.” He swallowed the grief and anger down, and didn’t look at Meung-soo. “They brought me orange lilies at my father’s funeral, and made me accept them.”

           Meung-soo didn’t speak for a while. Bentley was finding it harder and harder to keep the tears at bay, staring at the sauce on his plate, the oil glinting in the light overhead.

           “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I didn’t know that. I’m so, so sorry.”

           They were both quiet again, Philip’s death, Soo-jan’s death hanging over them. Bentley closed his eyes and wished he could call Torako, or summon Dipper, and have them come at once to hold him.

           Meung-soo broke the silence. “Hey. Do you—sometimes, when I think of Soo-jan and it hurts too much, I eat something chocolate and remember how much it made her smile. Dessert sound good?”

           Bentley took a deep breath and looked up at Meung-soo. She looked just as tired as he felt. He wondered, then, if he would be that way about his father two decades in the future. He hoped he wasn’t. He hoped he was, too. He didn’t know what he hoped.

           “Sure,” he managed. “Dad liked berries.”

           They ordered dessert.

_

           Torako should have expected it. She’d been up early and out of work late. The day had been all about running around town, contacting apartment managers in person to ask them to keep an eye out for tenants who hadn’t left their apartments. It had been a lot of deskwork, looking through odd cases from the hospitals with the other two interns in hopes that the summoned demon has finally claimed a victim. There should have been a victim. Alû worked fast, there should have been something, and there was this low undercurrent of ‘currently freaking the hell out’ at the station that had everybody tense and easy to offend. Mellie, who Tora got along with fairly well usually, burst into tears when Torako snapped about working faster, even though Torako knew Mellie found numbers easier to read than letters and that Mellie was going as fast as she could. Torako still felt like a jerk, even though she’d immediately apologized and taken Mellie to the break room to calm down.

           But nothing had happened. Nothing was happening. And Torako felt the pressure of being a demonologist, especially that of being a demonologist intern; everybody expected her to magically find the symptoms that connected the patient to the crime. It just wasn’t happening yet. Which meant everybody kept staring at her more and more expectantly, and Torako was going absolutely insane. She should have taken off to have dinner with Bentley and Meung-soo, just to unwind a bit. Instead, though, she’d stayed at the office, taking every call about every new admitted patient with coma-like or paralysis-like symptoms that ultimately ended in nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not even the delicious spaghetti dinner Bentley brought back had helped with the frustration and exhaustion.

           So when Torako half woke up in the middle of the night, and she heard Momma Mai in the doorway asking her where she put the butter, where the butter was put, because Momma Mai needed to make pancakes with the butter so Torako, just tell her where the butter is—Torako thought Oh fuck, not this again, and tried to move.

           As expected, she couldn’t. Her hands were dead weight on the blankets, her arm lead over her side, her eyes stuck shut under a force. Opening them felt like she was playing at Atlas lifting the world, except she’s not Atlas—thank fuck, because she’s not keen on getting her stomach pecked out. Or whatever the legend says.

           Torako breathed, and focused on breathing harsher, and harsher, until she was letting out little whines. She was scared, a little, but she’s been having sleep paralysis since she went demon-hunting slash cult-bashing that one year between undergrad and grad. So honestly, it’s more frustrating now that she knew what was happening. There was a twinge of unease at the empty space at her back where Dipper usually was, though. He wasn’t behind her to laugh, then offer to eat the paralysis even though it apparently tastes awful. Like feet bathed in vinegar and then mixed with the cloves the dentist stuffs in your mouth when you get dry socket.  

           Bentley stirred in front of her. Thank the world, Torako thought. Then he woke up, turned around, and must have seen her still and almost hyperventilating because she felt the bed shake with the force of him sitting up. “Torako?!”

           She didn’t know why he was so panicked. She wished she could see his face. He touched it, held her cheeks in his hands, but she couldn’t move. Not a finger, not even her mouth—just her breath, faster and harsher in the pursuit of waking up.

           “Fuck, Torako, did—fuck, what was the name of that demon? Oh my god, I’m calling Dipper, it can’t have you it can’t have you!”

           Torako was confused for approximately two and three-quarters of a second. Then she remembered her case, and how she’d warned Bentley that comas and paralysis might not be just comas and paralysis, and she panics.

           In a burst of sheer will, she wrenched her eyes open and let out a shuddering, uncontrollable sob that’s less emotion and more physical response.

           Bentley stared at her, wide-eyed and with tears just starting to form. For a long moment, she stared into the whites of his eyes in the dark, and then Bentley clapped twice to turn the nightlight on. He pulled her up into his arms and started to cry into her neck.

           Wordlessly, she folded her arms around him and rubbed up and down his back. He blubbered things about how scared he was, how she was never allowed to scare him like that again, how he would hunt down that demon himself even though he’d never been too active about the whole Cult-Smashing-Mizar schtick before. She hummed and nodded and focused on being alive and present for Bentley.

           Maybe it should have been the other way around. Maybe he should have been the one comforting her. But he had, so many times in the past, and she knew from her end that she would be okay—he didn’t. He didn’t. And if Torako had woken up to Bentley, whining in bed and not moving a single muscle, her heart would have been in her throat within miliseconds.

           “Do you want to call Dipper?” She asked at length, when Bentley had calmed down a little and was breathing steadier. Bentley pressed his face further into her neck.

           “I don’t think so,” he murmured, fingers looser in the folds of her sleep shirt. It’s that old Sugar Daddy one, from college. Torako wonders if she should make them all new ones. Maybe some cool sunglasses to go with them. “He—he might be busy. I wanted to call him on Friday, if he hadn’t been back home by then.”

           “Fair enough,” Torako whispered. “But if it happens again, could you? It’s so much easier when he eats them.”

           Bentley didn’t ask what she’d give him, or what he’d give Dipper on her behalf. Dipper loves Moffios almost as much as Torako does. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

           They held each other for another five, ten minutes, before exhaustion pulled them under again. Torako fought the oncoming fits of paralysis, brought about by overexhaustion, until she wasn’t thinking or fighting anymore.

           Neither of them were awake when Alcor the Dreambender blipped into the room, summoned by Bentley’s spike of fear. He looked at them for a long time, and then plucked a thin, rapidly growing sprout of paralysis from the space just above Torako’s ear. He ate it.

           His impassive features twisted into a open-mouthed look of revulsion. “God that’s gross,” he whispered out loud. “Gross gross gross gross gross. Ew. No. Blech. Where’s my candy.”

           He pet at his tongue. Underneath him, Bentley and Torako slept, tense, exhausted, and worried. Alcor looked at them one last time, looked at the space behind Torako’s back, and wanted. Then he thought about Acacia burning, about elderly Bentley holding elderly Torako’s hand in the face of a magical hurricane and being swept away by the torrential floods, about young Bentley wasting away in a bright white space, about middle-aged Torako with her throat slit in the center of a circle she had almost broken up, about their graves in a thousand different forms in a hundred different places, and he couldn’t.

           Dipper closed his eyes, and blipped away.

[submissivelynick]

Kitty Chow | Stella & Nick 5/28

Tagging: @stellafabray & @submissivelynick Location: Stella’s suite Date: Sunday, May 28th Summary: Scene Week scene with home ec [Nick] and pet play [Nick]. Incomplete.

Nick dropped down to his knees when he arrived outside Stella's suite, double checking the room number on his phone. He couldn't keep track anymore of who specifically wanted him kneeling and who hadn't said anything one way or the other, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to just kneel for everyone unless told otherwise. He put his phone away and knocked twice, waiting for Stella to open up for him.

Stella smiled when she heard the knock, leaving the kitchen where she had placed all the ingredients Nick was going to need for tonight's meal. She knew Nick was in Home Ec and decided he could make them both dinner, and wouldn't it be so sweet to see him doing so as a cute kitten? She thought as she opened the door. "Hello, Nick. Come right in. You may stand dear, I wouldn't want you to bruise those knees" She smiled, moving out of the way so that the submissive could come inside.

Nick returned Stella's smile when he saw her, and he was happy to stand up and enter her suite. "Hi, Miss," he said, stopping not too far into the suite but far enough that she could easily close the door behind them. "Thank you." He bit his lip, waiting to see how this scene would play out. He'd done so many over this past week, but this was one of the ones he was most uncertain about.

Stella walked into her suite, shutting the door behind her. She smiled warmly at the submissive. "Alright dear, first things first. How are you today? I trust you had a good, maybe even relaxing day?" Stella liked to gauge people, especially people she hadn't met before. This being ever more important as they were doing a scene and she wouldn't do a scene where the submissive was in a bad state.

Nick tried not to let the surprise show on his face when Stella asked him how he was doing. He hadn't expected that--he was ready for the scene to start and it caught him off guard. "I'm doing well, Miss, thank you," he said with a bit of a smile. "It was nice to have some time this morning to myself for my homework and music... I feel like I haven't stopped all week." He chuckled lightly. "What about you, Miss? Are you having a good day?"

Stella listened intently to Nick's day, smiling happily when she found he had had time for himself. "Ah, music? Do you just listen or do you play? I play, myself. Guitar." She smiled, looking over at her guitar set nicely in the corner of the living room. "Oh yes, I spent this morning relaxing as well. It's amazing what a good book and a large cup of coffee in a quiet room can do for the soul." She nodded.

Nick nodded. "I've been playing music and singing for as long as I can remember," he said with a smile. "I was the one who sang There's Nothing Holdin' Me Back at prom, if you were around for that at all... So yeah, my guitar's basically my baby, Miss. We'll have to play something together sometime." He felt himself relaxing just slightly as they spoke. "What are you reading, Miss? I haven't had much time for leisure reading since getting here."

Stella smiled at the memory. "Ah yes! You're fantastic, Nick" She smiled. "We definitely can make that happen, dear. I love finding people with a love for music." she'd always loved music, even if her father thought it was pointless. "Ah." She smiled. "I'm rereading The Handmaid's Tale. Fascinating read."

Nick grinned broadly, really appreciating the compliment. "Thank you, Miss," he said. It was always great to get positive feedback for something he played or sang. "I'd really like that--do you have a specific genre you tend to play? If you couldn't tell, I tend to gravitate more towards pop and soft rock and that sort of thing. That's a good book, though. Is it different on the second go around?"

Stella was happy Nick seemed to be relaxing in her presence. She didn't want him to feel uneasy during their scene. "Mostly acoustic actually, but it honestly depends on how I'm feeling." She smiled. "Fifth time." A chuckle escaped her lips. "I can't help it. The book is fascinating and if you think about it, aside from killing and kidnapping woman, a lot of the topics in the book ring true to our time." She nodded.d

Nick laughed unexpectedly when Stella said she'd read the book so many times. "You probably know most of the dialogue by heart by now," he teased. He definitely had a few of those books of his own, the ones he went back to time after time when he just needed something comforting and familiar. "That's very true, Miss. I might have to give it another go now that I'm finally at an institute."

Stella giggled. "Its very true. I do" She moved into the kitchen, watching the boy all the while. "You should, it's fantastic. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I would try it again" She grinned. "Alright, dear. Would you like to get started? I recon you're just as hungry as I am."

Nick followed Stella into the kitchen and shrugged. "I liked it the first time I read it, but I'm sure I'd get something new out of it if I went for a reread now." He offered her a smile and nodded. "Let's get started, Miss, definitely. What would you like me to do?"

Stella smiled. "I definitely believe you will, dear." She then turned to the bags on the counter. "Well, first, I want to take advantage of your home ec class and have you cook dinner. However, there's a little bit of a catch. I also want to explore pet play a bit. Now, I don't want to delve too much into it, but I was thinking cat ears and a pretty cat tail plug." She smiled, then pulling out two bowls. "I also found these rather adorable myself, what do you think?"

Nick cocked his head to the side. Cooking dinner was easy enough, and it was something he'd have been happy to do even without a scene involved. Cat ears was definitely something new for him, though--he'd explored some puppy play already, but it would be interesting to try kitty play. "I love the bowls, Miss," he said honestly. "I don't... um, I'm not sure about the tail, though. Could we maybe do something where I don't have to put it inside me, Miss?"

Stella smiled, rocking back and forth on her heals. "Ah, yes." Her smile faltered but she definitely understood. "Of course, dear. How about this" She gave the boy a reassuring smile. "I'll leave it over here, and if you feel during our time tonight that you want to try it, you can, okay? But if you don't, I wont fault you at all"

Nick frowned when he noticed Stella's reaction. She was great about him not wanting the plug, but he still felt a little bad that he had had to ask for another option in the first place. "That sounds great, Miss," he said quietly. "Thank you, and I'm sorry I'm not ready for that yet."

Stella smiled. "Please, dear. Don't be sorry. You're not ready for that, and I respect that. I promise" She tried to reassure the boy. "Alright. Come now, I'm starving and I'm sure you are too. Put those ears on dear and lets see how well a kitty can cook" She teased, but playfully, trying to make the sub as comfortable as possible.

Nick took the cat ears from the table and settled them onto his head, smiling over at Stella once they were on. "Thank you, Miss," he said, tilting his head to a side a little bit. "How do they look?" He grinned brightly at her, then started to take a look around the kitchen. "What would you like to eat?"

Stella smiled, nodding her head. "You look very cute. You're such a cute kitty, dear" She moved toward the bags again, pulling out the ingredients. "I'm thinking cauliflower crust pizza with spinach and chicken. What do you think, kitty?"

Nick preened at the compliments. "Thank you, Miss," he said, watching with curious interest as she began to assemble several different ingredients together. "I can definitely do that," he said, and he started to get to work on the crust first. "That sound really good."

Stella smiled. "Of course, little kitten." She watched as Nick began assembling the crust, smiling. "Good job, kitten. You're a regular chef" She nodded.

Nick continued working, making first the crust and then spreading the sauce, cheese, spinach, and chicken on top. He didn't even really need to follow a recipe, but was enjoying the calming effects that cooking had on him. "My mom's a chef, Miss," he explained to Stella as he worked. "She taught me a lot of what she knows, and I really just enjoy cooking."

[dailynewswebsite]

Buccaneers Lose, Rookie RBs Win, Trade Targets

Week 1 of fantasy soccer is all the time bizarre. Add an abbreviated offseason with no preseason video games and fantasy GMs are left scratching their heads, questioning if the video games we watched are indicative of tendencies or simply flukes. 

There have been some fascinating upsets this week just like the Cardinals defeating the 49ers and the Eagles happening to the Washington Soccer Staff. It’s a brand new yr, a wierd yr, and Week 1 is just the start of an thrilling, and much-anticipated new season.

A Few Highlights

Some issues remained fixed from 2019 to 2020. QB Philip Rivers will discover a method to throw interceptions it doesn’t matter what jersey he wears and the Lions will nonetheless discover a method to lose regardless of a heart-stopping fourth quarter almost-comeback. HC Adam Gase nonetheless loves RB Frank Gore, though most of that might be attributed to an damage to RB Le’Veon Bell. Oh, and RB Christian McCaffrey and TE Mark Andrews are actually good, in case you missed it.

Rookie operating backs stepped up in an enormous manner in Week 1. J.Okay. Dobbins of the Baltimore Ravens scored two touchdowns, making veteran Mark Ingram woefully ineffective. Jonathan Taylor needed to step as much as the plate sooner than anticipated when Marlon Mack went down with a torn Achilles. To not be omitted of the motion, Zach Moss additionally discovered the top zone for the Buffalo Payments and Joshua Kelley carried the ball 12 occasions for 60 yards and a landing. James Robinson picked up the place Leonard Fournette left off within the Jaguars’ offense, speeding 16 occasions for 62 yards of their win over the Colts.

Sadly, D’Andre Swift dropped the ball for Detroit in an enormous manner (actually). With 10 seconds left within the recreation, Swift dropped a game-winning landing move. It wasn’t fairly. The entire Lions’ run recreation was complicated. Newly signed Adrian Peterson led the staff in carries with 14 and 93 yards although Kerryon Johnson was absolutely wholesome. It is going to be fascinating to see how HC Matt Patricia makes use of these backs because the yr progresses. I’m hesitant to go wherever close to the Lions’ backfield till then.

Regardless of a Falcons loss to the Seahawks, QB Matt Ryan gained for fantasy, connecting with WR Calvin Ridley 9 occasions for 130 yards and two touchdowns. The Ridley-hype this offseason looks as if the actual deal. RB Todd Gurley additionally proved that he’s prepared for the motion, scoring the Falcons’ first landing of the sport and ending with 14 carries, 56 yards, and a landing. It was a little bit of a shock not seeing him extra concerned within the passing recreation with solely two receptions.

The early video games have been enjoyable to observe, however let’s be trustworthy. All eyes have been on the Tampa Bay Buccaneers on the New Orleans Saints. QB Tom Brady proved that he’s human, throwing two interceptions, together with a pick-six. He completed the sport with 23 completions on 36 makes an attempt, 239 yards, rushed in a landing, and handed two to TE O.J. Howard and WR Mike Evans. Tampa Bay’s protection regarded spectacular, holding elite WR Michael Thomas to 3 receptions for under 17 yards. TE Jared Cook dinner and RB Alvin Kamara noticed 5 seems every and Kamara capitalized with a receiving and a speeding landing. Regardless of seeing Kamara typically throughout the recreation, it was RB Latavius Murray who noticed a majority of the carries with 15 to Kamara’s 12 and 48 yards to Kamara’s 16. Sixteen yards. You learn that appropriately.

QB Joe Burrow made his NFL debut for the Cincinnati Bengals in opposition to the Los Angles Chargers. True to kind, Burrow regarded cool and picked up, however a win was not meant to be. Trailing by three, Burrow drove down the sector to throw a possible landing move to veteran WR A.J. Inexperienced. Nonetheless, he was referred to as for offensive move interference after pushing off of the defender. All they wanted was a 31-yard subject purpose to tie the sport and head into time beyond regulation. Bengals’ kicker Randy Bullock missed the sector purpose, harm his calf, and Burrow’s expression shortly went viral.

All hope shouldn’t be misplaced, although. When all is alleged and accomplished, the long run is surprisingly brilliant for Cincinnati with the brand new QB underneath middle. Hopefully, they shed the dreaded Cincinnati curse.

The night recreation featured a nail-biter with the Dallas Cowboys visiting the Rams within the model new SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles. The sport got here all the way down to the wire with the Rams main the Cowboys 20 – 17. A questionable pass-interference name in opposition to Cowboys WR Michael Gallup and a handful of incompletions prevented Dallas from stepping into field-goal vary to tie the sport. Regardless of the loss, QB Dak Prescott completed with 25 completions on 39 makes an attempt, 266 yards, and a landing. QB Jared Goff additionally threw a landing on 20 completions for a complete of 275 yards.

Story continues

For the Rams, it was veteran RB Malcolm Brown who got here away because the fantasy winner. He rushed 18 occasions for 79 yards and scored two touchdowns. There are nonetheless query marks as to who’s going to get the quantity in that backfield. Rookie RB Cam Akers rushed 14 occasions for 39 yards however didn’t see the top zone. The Rams relied on Brown in Sunday’s recreation, however there isn’t any assure it stays that manner. When you’ve got shares of Brown, you might wish to capitalize on his massive recreation and transfer him now.

Editor’s Observe: Unlock the model new League Sync! Maintain monitor of all of your Yahoo! groups in a single place and use our Commerce Analyzer, Free Agent Finder, Lineup Adviser and customized projections to make all the best roster selections!  Get all of our Season Instruments, League Sync AND DFS Instruments for as little as $7.99/month!

Commerce Away/For

Like I mentioned firstly of this text, Week 1 is bizarre. This yr is very rocky with a shortened coaching camp and no preseason video games. There’ll undoubtedly be knee-jerk reactions to this week’s performances. Listed below are just a few names you need to take into account concentrating on as we transfer ahead into Week 2 in addition to just a few you need to take into account transferring whereas their inventory is excessive.

Keep in mind, trades are extremely goal and are solely dependent in your staff’s wants. If you end up contemplating a commerce both for a participant or buying and selling him away, consider a easy rule of thumb. Commerce away a participant whereas their inventory is excessive and commerce for a participant when their inventory is low. You’ll find some studs who bombed in Week 1 and offload gamers who could not have a constant future.

Listed below are some names to contemplate in commerce negotiations.

AWAY

Sammy Watkins (WR – KC)

Latavius Murray (RB – NO)

Will Fuller (WR – HOU)

Jared Cook dinner (TE – NO)

Aaron Rodgers (QB – GB)

Robby Anderson (WR – CAR)

Malcolm Brown (RB – LAR)

FOR

Nick Chubb (RB – CLE)

Tyler Boyd (WR – CIN)

Austin Ekeler (RB – LAC)

Christian Kirk (WR – ARI)

A.J. Inexperienced (WR – CIN)

Preston Williams (WR – MIA)

Antonio Gibson (RB – WAS)

It’s turning into a development for WR Sammy Watkins to have an enormous Week 1. He did it final yr and he did it once more this yr. In 2019, Watkins posted 9 receptions on 11 targets for 198 yards and three touchdowns in Week 1. After that recreation, he did not have greater than 13 targets a recreation and did not rating one other landing the whole yr. Kansas Metropolis has too many proficient gamers to function Watkins as a constant piece within the offense. Benefit from his growth recreation and do away with him for the very best worth you possibly can.

When you’ve got operating again depth and want some assist in different areas of your roster, take into account buying and selling away RB Latavius Murray. He bought the quantity on the bottom, however Kamara ought to proceed to be the top zone goal. You may additionally take into account capitalizing on WR Will Fuller and WR Robby Anderson you probably have depth on the vast receiver place however need assistance elsewhere.

TE Jared Cook dinner led in receiving yards with 80 and QB Drew Brees regarded his manner underneath stress. The tight finish place in fantasy is difficult and I do fear for Cook dinner’s season-long manufacturing. WR Emmanuel Sanders solely noticed three targets, however one among them was for a landing. I can definitely see Sanders matching or overtaking Cook dinner in targets. If you wish to commerce Cook dinner away maintain off for one more week. The Saints play the Raiders in Week 2 who allowed the second-most fantasy factors to the tight finish place final yr behind the Arizona Cardinals.

Chances are you’ll assume I’m loopy to counsel buying and selling away QB Aaron Rodgers. Keep in mind, commerce targets are about staff wants. Your leverage in concentrating on stud gamers simply went manner up with Rodgers on the commerce block. Though he blew up with fantasy factors this week, it doesn’t imply he shall be a constant auto-start for the remainder of the season.

On the flip facet, some potential studs upset this week, however you need to be wanting so as to add these gamers your roster if potential. RB Nick Chubb is an effective instance. He posted 10 carries for under 60 yards and didn’t discover the top zone. With a run-heavy head coach in Kevin Stefanski, I don’t assume the mediocre efficiency is indicative of the remainder of the season. The identical can also be true for RB Kareem Hunt and even WR Odell Beckham Jr. Don’t overlook that the Ravens Protection may be very, excellent they usually had a chip on their shoulder after final yr’s defeat.

Working backs Austin Ekeler and Antonio Gibson posted mediocre to poor numbers, and WRs A.J. Inexperienced and Tyler Boyd didn’t discover the top zone in opposition to the Chargers. Fantasy managers could also be prepared to maneuver these gamers after Week 1. In case you want some depth at these positions and the waiver is just too skinny, take into account buying and selling for them. You may additionally wish to have a look at WR Christian Kirk so as to add to your squad in spite of everything the eye was showered on WR DeAndre Hopkins.

Miami’s WR DeVante Parker was injured in Sunday’s matchup in opposition to the Patriots. Search for WR Preston Williams to soak up these targets. It was a poor displaying for QB Ryan Fitzpatrick and I count on him to enhance within the passing recreation because the season continues.

I apologize upfront for being redundant, and it gained’t be the final time I say it. Once you commerce gamers, you’re buying and selling them AWAY at their HIGHEST worth and buying and selling FOR them at their LOWEST worth. Simply because an excellent participant has a nasty recreation, doesn’t imply you instantly do away with him. That’s the reverse of what you’ll want to do. I do know it’s irritating watching a participant underperform and presumably value you a recreation. Wait till he has an excellent recreation after which look to maneuver him.

Don’t overlook to take a look at this week’s Waiver Wire article for pickups that is probably not rostered in your league.

Damage Updates

Cowboys TE Blake Jarwin presumably tore his ACL in Sunday evening’s recreation in opposition to the Rams. … Saints WR Michael Thomas suffered an ankle damage and is taken into account questionable. … Colts RB Marlon Mack exited the sport with a suspected torn Achilles. … Cleveland TE David Njoku scored the Browns’ first TD within the season opener however suffered a knee damage. … Jets RB Le’Veon Bell questionable with a hamstring damage. … Miami WR DeVante Parker left the sport early with a hamstring damage. … 49ers WR Deebo Samuel was positioned on IR and can’t return till at the very least Week 4. … Giants WR Golden Tate is questionable with a hamstring damage main into Monday’s matchup. … WR Courtland Sutton suffered an AC sprain however HC Vic Fangio acknowledged that if Sutton can do 10 leaping jacks earlier than the sport, he’ll play, based on NFL Community’s James Palmer.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/buccaneers-lose-rookie-rbs-win-trade-targets/ via https://growthnews.in

[vioncentral-blog]

The Search for Franchise Players in the 2018 NFL Draft Class

https://www.vionafrica.cf/the-search-for-franchise-players-in-the-2018-nfl-draft-class/

The Search for Franchise Players in the 2018 NFL Draft Class

Saquon Barkley stuck his right foot in the ground about three yards shy of the line of scrimmage and broke left, effectively turning the second offensive play of Penn State’s win over Michigan into a track meet. That’s a race that Barkley won’t often lose—this time he went 69 yards untouched. As he left Michigan’s sixth-ranked run defense in his wake, he might as well have been metaphorically pulling away from the pack of 2018 NFL draft prospects.

We mentioned two weeks ago that this year’s class is different than last year’s, in that there’s a lack of true franchise players among the non-quarterbacks. It doesn’t look like there will be much separation from the top to the middle of the first round, or from the middle of the first round to the top of the second. It’s a scouts’ draft in that most of the top guys have holes in their game and incomplete résumés. Barkley is the one exception. Quarterbacks are scouted, drafted and paid differently than everyone else; it’s impossible to compare their value to those at other positions. So once you remove Sam Darnold and Josh Rosen from the equation, it becomes Barkley, then everyone else.

NFL NFL Scout Poll: Ranking the Quarterbacks of the 2018 Draft

That’s who we’re going to address this week: everyone else. Specifically, we’ll examine whether or not there are guys in this year’s class with a chance to make a leap into the elite tier that Barkley has already reached. Here are six names to pay attention to . . .

Alabama DB Minkah Fitzpatrick Ric Tapia/AP

​Bradley Chubb, EDGE, N.C. State: One team I spoke with considered the 275-pound edge rusher the premier senior prospect in the South back in the summer, and Chubb has only gotten better. He has posted 6.5 sacks in seven games as the Wolfpack have risen to 14th in the country. “Size. Motor. Competes. Sack production,” said one AFC college scouting director, when asked what he liked about Chubb. “He’s not as good as Myles Garrett, but would’ve been in the conversation to be the second best defensive end last year.”

Minkah Fitzpatrick, DB, Alabama: I’ve found a variety opinions on the battle-tested, versatile junior. Assessments range from solid all-around player to the idea that he’s uniquely equipped at multiple positions. No matter how you slice it, Fitzpatrick figures to test well at the combine, and can absolutely play both corner and safety, and the idea that he could be a bigger, though less explosive version of Tyrann Mathieu lands him on this list. “Every time you turn on Alabama, he’s making something happen,” said an AFC personnel exec. “Every time there’s a big play, he’s around it. He’s just a really, really good player.”

Derwin James, DB, Florida State: As a true sophomore, James suffered torn cartilage in his knee that cost him just about all of the 2016 season. He hasn’t exactly come back roaring this year. To be fair, coaches are moving him around. But the fact is, he simply hasn’t shown the playmaking ability he had pre-surgery. “If he plays like he did as a freshman, yes, he belongs on that list,” said an AFC college scouting director. “Right now? No way in hell . . . He’s not doing anything. And yes, they’re playing him differently. They’re trying to create for him, playing him at outside ’backer. But he’s not the same.”

Arden Key, EDGE, LSU: He’s a high-ceiling-with-baggage prospect. Key left the team earlier this year and came back heavy—scouts say he’d gotten up close to 280 pounds. And that was after he was considered too slight earlier in his career. And that’s without getting to the off-field concerns that have some wondering if he’ll drop like Randy Gregory and Tim Williams did in their draft years. There’s a lot going on here. but Key has freakish ability.

Quenton Nelson, G, Notre Dame: Is a guard worth taking in the top five? What if that guard is a pretty good bet to be an All-Pro, and tons of teams need offensive line help? Irish left tackle Mike McGlinchey gets more attention, but Nelson might be the best lineman in college football and won’t last long in April. One veteran evaluator said “he’s better than half the NFL at his position right now.”

Courtland Sutton, WR, SMU: Sutton has been productive—he has over 1,800 yards and 19 touchdowns since the start of the 2016 season. But the 6' 4", 216 pounder remains very raw, which explains why there are divergent opinions on him. If he can develop as a route runner, the potential here is vast. “He doesn’t run any routes and he’s not polished,” said an AFC exec. “He makes plays but he looks lost in zone coverage . . . There just aren’t many big guys that move the way he moves. He’s a great kid, a little naïve, a real small-town type. If he can drop a little weight and learn to get through his mistakes, there’s something there.”

With all these prospects, there is something there. And there’s also a lot of time left for each of them to change the narrative on what the 2018 class promises to be.

FIVE FROM SATURDAY

1. I wrote about Baker Mayfield in September, and I’ll say that there are a lot of evaluators who think more of him than you might think; if he was 6' 4", he’d be grouped in with Darnold and Rosen. He’s not of course, but he just keeps producing. Last week, it was in throwing for 410 yards and two touchdowns while leading Oklahoma back from a 21-10 halftime deficit for a 42-35 win at Kansas State. His TD/INT ratio is 19-to-2, he’s completing 73.8% of his throws, his yards per attempt sits at 11.62, and he’s going to be fascinating to discuss in March and April.

2. I don’t know what Arizona’s dual-threat QB, Khalil Tate, is going to be in the NFL. But I do know he’s ridiculously fun to watch now. He’s been Pac-12 Offensive Player of the Week in each of the last three weeks—over that time he’s rushed for 694 yards and seven touchdowns while completing 31 of 41 passes for 468 yards and four touchdowns. The Wildcats have won all three of those games, and host Washington State on Saturday night.

3. It won’t match last year’s class, but this year’s group of running backs is shaping up to be strong at the top (Saquon Barkley), and deep. Among those scouts have their eyes on: Alabama’s Damien Harris and Bo Scarbrough, Georgia’s Sony Michel and Nick Chubb, LSU’s Derrius Guice, USC’s Ronald Jones, San Diego State’s Rashaad Penny, and Tennessee’s John Kelly. Plus, Notre Dame’s Josh Adams has officially burst on the scene, rushing for 191 yards and three scores on 19 carries against rival USC.

4. Speaking of the Irish, just because Notre Dame sunk to 4-8 last year doesn’t mean this year’s surge to 6-1 is any kind of Cinderella story. There’s still talent in South Bend, evident in the fact that two of their offensive linemen (Quenton Nelson and Mike McGlinchey) could go in the Top 10 in April. And a wide receiver, Equanimeous St. Brown, could join them in the Top 10.

5. There’s no question who Penn State’s best player is, but a couple of Saquon Barkley’s teammates will be worth keeping an eye on when they visit Columbus. One is tight end Mike Gesicki, who the Nittany Lions move all over the place as a matchup player. Two is safety Marcus Allen, another hybrid who’s all over the place on defense. You can bet the first tape the scouts will pop in on those two will be this game, so it’s a big Saturday for both guys.

1. Saquon Barkley, RB, Penn State 2. Minkah Fitzpatrick, DB, Alabama 3. Quenton Nelson, OG, Notre Dame 4. Sam Darnold, QB, USC 5. Josh Rosen, QB, UCLA 6. Derwin James, S, Florida State 7. Christian Wilkins, DT, Clemson 8. Bradley Chubb, EDGE, N.C. State 9. Ronnie Harrison, S, Alabama 10. Denzel Ward, CB, Ohio State

There’s a little bit of a shakeup here, with a couple defensive backs—Ronnie Harrison and Denzel Ward—joining the fray. Both have been overshadowed in star-studded secondaries in the past, but both are trending toward the top of the first round . . . Boston College edge rusher Harold Landry remains right in the mix, edged out by Bradley Chubb because of Chubb’s high end potential . . . LSU edge rusher Arden Key’s effort against Ole Miss was enough to at least get him a few mentions when I made my calls this week . . . Yes, Sam Darnold dropped. That night in South Bend, it was not good.

Top of the Class:

1. Sam Darnold, USC (20-28, 229 yards, 2 TDs, INT at Notre Dame): The numbers weren’t horrible, and USC has much bigger issues than Darnold’s play. But his turnover woes continue—he lost a fumble on the Trojans’ first offensive snap, and his second-quarter pick helped the Irish blow the game open. Combine that with a split vote with Rosen in last week’s QB scout survey, and I considered flip-flopping the top two QBs this week.

NFL NFL Scout Poll: Ranking the Quarterbacks of the 2018 Draft

2. Josh Rosen, UCLA (21-36, 266 yards, 2 TDs, 0 INT vs. Oregon): The junior wasn’t spectacular, but this was one of his more efficient efforts—and it was needed too, given the egg he and the Bruins laid against Arizona the week before. And it’s a good lead into a big game at Washington this Saturday.

3. Josh Allen, Wyoming (12-27, 131 yards, TD, 2 INT vs. Boise State): A rough campaign continued with Allen’s second multi-pick game of the season. It’s especially unfortunate for Allen, since he seemed to have turned a corner before facing the always-tough Broncos.

Helped Himself: Trace McSorley, Penn State. I have no idea what the NFL is going to do with McSorley (turn him into a slot receiver?), but I do know that he keeps getting better. That was a stingy Michigan defense that he faced on Saturday night, and yes, having Barkley helps, but the fourth-year junior deserves his share of the credit for the bludgeoning of the Wolverines. Outside of an interception thrown on a miscommunication, McSorley was steady in the passing game (17-26, 282 yards, TD) and dangerous on the ground (11 carries, 76 yards, 3 TDs). He’s small and a little slight, but he has also played really well in a whole bunch of big games.

NFL Mason Rudolph’s NFL Draft Problem

Hurt Himself: Mason Rudolph, Oklahoma State. He didn’t puke on his shoes, but he had a pretty uneven day in a 13-10 overtime win over Texas, and was bailed out by a horrific interception from his counterpart, Longhorns freshman Sam Ehlinger. Rudolph finished 25-of-38 for 282 yards without a touchdown pass. And while a drop that would’ve been a long touchdown to win the game might’ve spruced those numbers up a little, the fact remains that Rudolph has been up and down of late.

Penn State at Ohio State (FOX, Saturday, 3:30 p.m.): So I’m a little biased here, and of course I’ll be watching (obsessed with) this one. But there are a couple dozen NFL-related reasons to tune into this one. Both teams could have multiple first-round picks next April. Barkley could be the best prospect in next year’s draft, though he might not even be the best NFL prospect in this game. Ohio State true sophomore Nick Bosa, Joey’s brother, has been borderline unblockable over the last month, and he doesn’t even start on the Buckeyes’ loaded defensive line. This one should be fun. For you, at least. I’ll be busy managing my health during it.

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